Nefertari woke. The flame of Re-Atum's lamp still burned bright. She smiled and stretched, pleased. Until the oil in the sacred lamp ran out at dawn, she would be alone, a rare treat.

She slipped out from under the jasmine scented sheets and padded barefoot to a cedarwood cupboard. Opening an empty alabaster unguent jar, she dipped her fingers inside and probed for the wooden key. Turning it in the locking mechanism of the cupboard, she listened for the quiet click of the lock's release. She eased the key out and pulled the door open, careful to stop just before the point where it always creaked. Reaching in, she pulled out a linen pouch, containing three precious rolls of papyrus. Holding the pouch against her chest, she went to a divan and lifted out the scrolls, careful of the aging papyri's fragmenting edges.

Savoring the pleasure of holding the very papyrus Ramesses had once touched, she unrolled the first scroll. Her lips moved to his words as she relived the brief, fleeting months when happiness had filled her life with light. As she read, the thirteen years separating her from a vanished past melted away, and she once more walked the corridors of Pharaoh Seti's court, when she had loved Ramesses, and had been loved in return.

She unrolled the second scroll, smiling at the memories Ramesses's words brought back. She hesitated before opening the third, his most passionate declaration of love. He had written it on the night of their marriage while she slept, after he had shown her the full meaning of what it meant to be loved by him. When she had woken, still in his bed, she was alone. On his cushion, his words waited for her.

Her gaze lingered on the scroll as she remembered reading it for the first time, her heart bursting with joy. She unrolled it and skimmed to his final words, her favorite ones, hearing his voice, warm and intimate as she read.

My love is unique-no one can rival her, for she is the most beautiful woman alive. Just by passing, she has stolen away my heart.

Lifting the papyrus to her lips, she kissed his words, savoring the memory of how he had loved her then. She eased the scrolls back into their pouch with care, the memory of their last encounter returning, unbidden.

He had been quick, and rough, taking her from behind. He had not even looked at her. She had had to return to her apartment with her dress in tatters, her breasts exposed. A fresh wave of humiliation crashed down inside her. She waited it out, used to the feeling, though not the pain it brought.

Catching her reflection in the bronze mirror, she went to it, turning her face from side to side, examining her features, trying to see herself as Ramesses would. Her almond-shaped eyes, the color of copper and flecked with gold, gazed back at her. Perhaps they were not as wide as she would have liked, but she had long, thick lashes, and enviable, well-shaped brows.

Her thick, black hair had been plaited into dozens of braids, the ends tipped with golden cylinders. She liked this latest style, it framed her high forehead, long, narrow nose, round cheeks, and full lips very well. Apart from a few fine wrinkles around her eyes, her complexion was still smooth, though not as firm as it once was. Tugging on the skin at the sides her face, she brought the younger version of herself back to life. She stared at her reflection for a long time, seeing how beautiful she had once been, wishing she could have her youthful beauty back. She let go and watched her face settle into place, her jaw a little heavier, the skin under her eyes no longer tight. She sighed, disappointed, and turned away.

What did she expect to see at twenty-seven? A woman in the full bloom of youth, ten years younger?

Before he was crowned, she recalled Ramesses would take pains to keep the visits of his companions private, sparing her feelings. However, once he took the throne, he changed, behaving as he pleased, taking whomever he wished. One favorite followed another, sometimes two or three at once, all of them with full, high breasts. He would have them seated on cushions at his feet during feasts, sharing the food from his table with them. And after, she would return to her apartment alone, to be tormented by thoughts of her husband making love to those women as he once did to her.

Thinking of her most recent public humiliation, Nefertari looked down at her body, comparing the priestess's to her own, running her hands over her once youthful breasts and hips, cradling the curve of her small, round belly, distended after delivering five infants.

No, there could be no comparison, the priestess was far more desirable than she. Meresamun's body was young and firm, full and voluptuous. Her face was as perfect as a goddess's--and those blue eyes--astonishing. Even the sensible and level-headed Ahmen had been smitten by her.

The flame from Re-Atum's lamp flickered. It would soon go out, its oil matching the lamps placed outside the doors of her sleeping room. When it extinguished, her guards would open the doors and her sister Imtes, followed by Nefertari's attendants would come in, carrying trays of food and drink.

Nefertari hurried, placing the scrolls back into their hidden drawer. She locked the cupboard, secreted the key, and slipped back into her bed. She had just laid her head upon her cushion when the lamp guttered out.

Her door opened, quiet. A whisper of material as Imtes moved toward her, the train of her sister's gown trailing along the polished travertine floor. Familiar sounds followed, the linen hangings around Nefertari's bed being drawn back and the terrace shutters being folded away, unobtrusive and gentle.

Nefertari's nose itched. She ignored it, forcing herself to lay still, waiting for her sister to speak the formal words of awakening.

"Great Queen, Beloved of Isis, Re-Atum has arrived," Imtes intoned, quiet. "Let us greet him together and give thanks for his light."

Nefertari sat up, rubbing her nose.

Imtes leaned closer. "The pharaoh returned during the night from the hunt. He is unharmed, thank Re." She looked over her shoulder before continuing, "But he went straight to his private office, sending for the Lords Paser and Sethi."

Nefertari left the bed, and slipped into the robe Imtes held up. "Such urgency can only mean one thing," she sighed, resigned, "another campaign. Let us pray the gods will allow him to stay, at least until the end of Akhet."

Imtes's hand clasped hers. "I will arrange offerings of gold, and a barge to take us to Hathor's temple. The goddess cannot help but hear our prayers."

"I do not expect you to give up all your offerings so Ramesses will remain until the winter solstice," Nefertari smiled, squeezing her sister's hand. "You may keep back a little for your own petition."

Her sister blushed. "I saw Lord Paser on my way here," Imtes whispered, her eyes shining. "He looked at me. I think he smiled. Although we were in the shadows, so it is hard to be certain."

Unable to stop herself, Nefertari laughed. "I do not believe it. Paser does not smile."

Her cheeks burning with humilation, Imtes bowed and went to the terrace, busying herself with inspecting the platters; moving two of them so the courses were in the correct order, her movements elegant and graceful.

A ripple of shame shimmered through Nefertari for laughing at her sister's hopes. Imtes had suffered in silence, loving the vizier from afar for the past four years, her subtle interest seeming to go unnoticed, though it was difficult to tell with a man like Paser, who revealed nothing.

Rumor had it he loved a woman, one he could not have, though no one knew for sure if it was true, or just a tale. Regardless, even if it was true, it was foolish, Egypt's vizier should have a wife and children of his own.

Nefertari decided Imtes would have her heart's desire. At twenty-one, it was past time for her sister to be wed. Until now, Nefertari had insisted on keeping her as her companion, while Imtes waited for Paser to realize her interest. But it had been four years. The man needed a push.

Nefertari watched her sister--whose heart brimmed with romance for the vizier, fourteen years her senior--prepare the morning meal, laying it out on the queen's golden platter. Nefertari would miss Imtes's company once her sister moved to Paser's villa. It would be lonely without her. She shook her head, banishing the selfish thought, she had stayed her hand long enough thinking only of her own needs, while Imtes waited, patient, hopeful and good.

Nefertari considered what to do. It would take some planning, and perhaps a little cunning, but she would find a way to see them wed. Somehow an opportunity would present itself, and she would make certain to take it. Where she had failed in her own life, she would succeed in her sister's. At least one of them should know happiness.

She went to the terrace and sank down onto the divan just as Re-Atum's barque left the horizon, its warm, golden light illuminating Imtes's face, almost identical to Nefertari's. Though where Nefertari's beauty was considered regal, Imtes's was filled with innocence.

Nefertari lifted her golden cup to the east and took a sip of the mead offering, honoring Re-Atum's return. As she uttered the prayer of thanks for the god's gift of a new day, she gazed across the palace gardens toward her husband's apartment, thinking of him still filthy from the hunt, holding council.

How she longed for him. It had been like this for almost her entire marriage. The man she loved, so near, yet so far. Still holding her cup, she walked to the edge of the terrace and gazed at the empty terraces of his apartments, its blue awnings rippling in the river's cool morning breeze. Closing her eyes, she whispered a prayer to Isis, entreating the goddess to move the pharaoh's heart so he would send for his queen--just for one night--before he was gone.