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avoid staring at their table, but again and again my attention snared on their tense conversation.
    Akhum looked back at me one last time. The defeat on his face answered the question I dared not ask. Agony swallowedup my last and only hope to escape slavery. My heart shattered as the last shred of promise fell away in tatters.
    Tekurah, too, witnessed the look Akhum gave me. She turned, placed her bony chin on her shoulder, and flashed a victorious smile.

5
    T ekurah must have ordered Shira kept out of sight, for a month passed before I caught a glimpse of the Hebrew girl in the kitchen courtyard.
    Hauling heavy pots, scrubbing dishes with sand, plucking feathers, gutting fish, endlessly kneading dough, and tending to the blazing-hot bread ovens—Shira endured all this because of me.
    Her clothes now engulfed her tiny frame, and her weary face looked gaunt. She collected bowls in a basket on her hip, speaking in pleasant tones with the cooks and other slaves.
    Broken down, compelled to endure a life of abject slavery, treated lower than a dog. What did she possibly have to smile about?
    I refused to wait any longer. I gathered my bowl and cup in the pretext of bringing them to Shira for washing. Leaning close to her, I placed them in the basket. “I need to speak with you right away.”
    Her eyes darted toward the doorway and then over my shoulder. “The canal path. Dawn.” She put her smile back in place and raised her voice. “Thank you, Kiya.”
    I nodded and slipped out of the courtyard. Tekurah awaited me, as did another upbraiding for my lateness.
    Shira’s absence had forced Tekurah to rely on me. Latikah, the Egyptian girl with the fine leather sandals, replaced Shira but still lacked experience with her duties. Tekurah and I had settled into a stiff, but tolerable, pattern in the last month. Without Shira to lean on, I became more competent. Although she still grasped any opportunity to shame me for anything less than perfection, silently and without fanfare Tekurah acknowledged me as head handmaid.
    Much progress would be erased by my tardiness, but I did not care. Relaying my gratitude to Shira for her astounding, albeit perplexing, act of kindness was worth the loss.

    Well before dawn broke and the rest of the household began to stir, I rose and rolled up my linen sleeping mat in the corner of Tekurah’s bedchamber, grateful that Latikah still slept in the servants’ quarters.
    Allowed to bathe during my morning trips to the canal, I hoped, if Tekurah awoke before I returned, she would assume I’d left earlier only to spend more time in the river.
    Few pleasures broke the endless monotony of my days, but the sunrise over the Temple numbered among them. A grand obelisk stood at the heart of the Temple courtyard. From the canal each morning I watched the sun glide to the very tip of the obelisk before launching into the sky. When the sun reached the pinnacle, it reflected against the silver electrum at the top, and dazzling white beams refracted, a signal to return before Tekurah rose from her bed.
    Among all the deities, Ra held first place in my heart. The sun-god traveled across the sky each day to bring us light and fought the snake-god Apep in the underworld to push back thechaos of night. The exalted ancestor to the great Pharaoh also entertained foremost importance in our city. The enormous center of worship in Iunu put even the grand temples of Thebes to shame.
    I perched cross-legged on a large rock at the head of the path—a remnant of a monument or boundary stone from ancient times—now pitted and faceless. When I’d first arrived in Shefu’s household, Shira herself had pointed out this hidden path through the flax fields.
    What a glorious morning. The sun still lingered low, and the breeze breathed cool on my skin. The Season of Inundation had nearly reached its zenith. The Nile had overflowed her banks and submerged the fields nearest the