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with Ahmose, at least – and was the best spinner in the House of Women, despite her young age. It was Aiya who had taught Ahmose to spin, and they often passed their afternoons together beneath the largest olive tree in the garden, laughing and gossiping while they dropped their spindles in the shade.
     
    The girl spoke the Egyptian tongue fairly well. Her accent was thick, but she had picked up the language quickly. She wore Egyptian clothing, loved Egyptian music and sang with a pure, clear voice. The only concession she refused to grant Egypt was her hair. She flatly refused to shave her head and wear a proper wig. It sometimes made her the target of snide remarks in the women’s quarters, but Ahmose loved Aiya’s golden hair, and often combed her fingers through it, weaving it with flowers while they passed their hours in the garden.
     
    Aiya was also pregnant – hugely so – and proud of her unborn child. She was certain it was a boy. She would bear the son of a Pharaoh, the last of Amunhotep’s children. The girl was just fourteen, only a year older than Ahmose, but already eager for motherhood.
     
    “ I heard you are soon queen,” Aiya said, playing with the spindle in her lap.
     
    “ You heard rightly, I’m afraid. Mutnofret hasn’t spoken to me in the two days since our mother made the announcement.”
     
    “ Poor Mutnofret.”
     
    Ahmose propped her distaff against her hip.
     
    “ I suppose she has every right to be angry with me, although I didn’t choose this for myself. I would undo it if I could.”
     
    Aiya shook her head. “She should be angry with mother. Ahmose is not for blaming.”
     
    “ I know you’re right, but if I were in her place I think I might feel the same way.” Ahmose licked her fingers and twisted her flax fibers, pulling them smoothly away from the distaff and securing them to her spindle. Her threads weren’t always perfect, but they were usually even and strong. Some day she would spin as well as Aiya, with threads as fine and strong as a spider’s web. She’d had plenty of practice lately. Spinning relaxed her, allowed her mind to focus. It seemed Ahmose had done nothing but spin since the Pharaoh died.
     
    “ When is wedding?”
     
    “ Ten days,” Ahmose said, concentrating on the weight and speed of her spindle instead of on the specter of her wedding. “I hope you’ll sit beside me at the feast.”
     
    “ If baby is not coming!”
     
    “ I can’t wait to meet your son. Have you thought of a name yet?”
     
    Aiya’s smile was shy. “How you say it in Egyptian?” She lapsed into her native tongue, and after all the time they’d spent together, sharing secrets and stories, Ahmose understood the words well enough. “ Of all the great men, he is first .”
     
    “ Hatshepsu.” Ahmose gave her the Egyptian word. “It’s a good name, Aiya. Very strong. Perfect for the son of a Pharaoh.”
     
    Aiya beamed, her lovely, pale eyes on her spindle. At last she said, “You should visit Mutnofret, tell her your heart.”
     
    “ I’ve been afraid to talk to her. She must be so hurt and so angry. I don’t think I can bear to see her in such pain.” Or to face her rage .
     
    “ She needs her sister.”
     
    Perhaps it was true. For all Mutnofret’s fierce temper, she had always been close to Ahmose. There was no one Mutnofret loved or trusted more than her sister.
     
    Aiya should be a priestess, not a harem woman. She always knew exactly what to say. “Maybe you’re right, Aiya. Mutnofret needs me now. I’ll go see her this evening. Gods protect a fool, but I’ll give it a try.”
     
     
     
    ***
     
     
     
    Mutnofret received Ahmose graciously, but her eyes were puffy and red beneath fresh, neatly drawn kohl. They made their awkward greetings, both of them preched tensely on the edges of the ebony stools in Mutnofret’s elegant room. A dish of fragrant figs lay untouched on the table between them. A tiny, silent fly circled the