The Lost Pharaoh Chronicles Bundle

Waset, 1365 BC

Outside, the rock’s ashes blew under the sun spells of the earth. The fiery winds whistled, carrying the cries of a newborn babe. Death crept and life blossomed. A mother whispered, “Her name shall mean ‘The beautiful one is come.’ ” 

Stroking the baby’s buttery soft cheeks, Tey cradled the little girl, letting the mother hold the baby’s tiny hand. With a soft whisper, Tey crooned, “Your name shall be Nefertiti . . . the Beautiful One . . . a name worthy of your mother’s legacy.” 

Temehu smiled in the last moment of her life. A midwife placed aside the statues of Bes and Tawaret and closed Temehu’s eyes, telling her to dream of life with Amun-Re. 

Nefertiti let go of her mother’s hand, and it fell with a thud. As if sensing her mother’s passing, Nefertiti’s little brow furrowed, and cries came forth.

Tey hummed an enchanting melody, forcing a smile even as the midwives and servant girls in the room wailed in mourning. She carried Nefertiti from that room filled with death and with life, toward the master’s bedchambers; it was time for Nefertiti to be blessed by her father, Ay, brother of the Queen of Egypt. Tey slowed to a stop as Nefertiti fell asleep in her arms. 

As she looked at the closed door to the bedchambers, that morning’s grain-rich breakfast grumbled in her stomach and bile rose in her throat. 

Temehu, her master . . . so kind and loving . . . would be traveling to the Field of Reeds—the afterlife. 

Tey had now inherited the duty to tell Temehu’s husband that he would never see his wife again in this life. 

The servant boy opened the door for her. She swallowed to clear the lump in her throat before she walked inside Ay’s bedchambers. 

“Ay,” Tey murmured as her tears finally fell. 

Ay turned to scold her for not using his official title, but at the sight of her watery eyes, he held his breath, fearing the worst. “Temehu . . . or the child?” Ay asked, leaning the full weight of his body onto the table. His eyes scanned the baby bundle she held with sudden dread.

“Scribe of Pharaoh, Overseer of Pharaoh’s Horses . . . your chief wife,” Tey said as Ay closed his eyes, hating himself for wishing Tey’s next words regarded the baby instead. “Your Thousand Splendid Suns, your Temehu, has passed from this life and begun her journey to the West.” 

Ay clenched his fists and blew out the air he held captive in his chest. Sliding his fist to his forehead to shield his tears’ escape, his strong shoulders slumped. His heart fell into his stomach as if someone had dealt him a fatal blow. He had but one wife, Temehu; he longed for no other woman. The other men of his stature could have had several wives with one chief wife, but he had only Temehu . . . his one, his cherished, his beloved.

Wanting no witnesses to his pain—his weakness—he bellowed, “Leave!” The blast of his yell defeated the candlelight on the table, and his servants scurried out of his bedchambers. 

Tey made a bold decision and remained. The door closed behind her. She could understand his anger at the life he had been handed. She wanted to collapse to the floor as if it were her own; instead, she stood strong for her master’s husband.

Ay pulled off his wig and fell to his knees. He let out a guttural moan and slammed his hands onto the table, not noticing Tey still standing at his door. He examined his wig’s intricate human hair braids interwoven with golden beads as the sweet smell of susinum perfume reached his nostrils. His hand grazed his bald head as he threw the wig off to his side. Years of working to obtain an official’s wig meant nothing now.

“Scribe of Pha—”

“I said leave!” he spat through his teeth as he spun to face her. The light glistened on his tear-stained face. The shadows in the room hid the smudged kohl surrounding his eyes, but as he spoke, the same kohl revealed itself as it began to streak down his cheeks. 

Tey took a step toward him.

“Leave, I said,” Ay entreated her once more. 

Nefertiti awoke to her father’s yells. Tey held up the baby girl for Ay to see as if hoping her small cries would cast light into his heavy heart. “Temehu brought forth this new life before she left us.”

“Tey, why do you cause me so much inner turmoil?” Ay asked. “First news of Temehu’s journey to Re . . . and now of my newborn daughter?” He reached up to hold the baby’s fingers, his heart twisting in bittersweet agony.

“To lessen your sorrow,” Tey answered, her eyes downcast. 

“It is great still.” He pulled back from the child and climbed to his feet. I cannot accept this child, not now. I need to see Temehu to know it is true, he thought. “Take me to Temehu.” 

* * *

Ay stepped into the room where his wife’s body lay. The midwife and servants dabbed the sweat from her face and bosom with reverence. Their tears dampened their work.

“My dear Temehu,” Ay whispered to his wife’s lifeless body as he knelt beside her. 

The maidservants heard the mournful whisper and stepped back, bowing their heads. Ay caressed his wife’s cheek. Wanting to melt into her and wail at his great loss, he only kissed her face and then her forehead. He examined her beauty, even in lifeless sleep, holding back his every cry, every tear, every tormenting ache. 

Finally, he said, “Prepare the burial. We will send the best we have with her in the afterlife.” He wished the servants would leave so he could be with her alone. 

As if reading his mind, Tey motioned for the others to leave. She placed a hand on Ay’s shoulder and whispered, “I will make the arrangements.” 

She followed the servant boy out as he closed the door behind them. At its close, Tey could sense Ay’s pain through the walls. She held Nefertiti close to her heart and buried her head into the child’s wriggling warmth. With tears streaming down her face, she whispered, “Your mother was loved . . . and so you will be, the daughter of Ay.”