OUT FROM EGY PT1

C ounted
S ta r s
W ith the

Connilyn Cossette

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on-

2016 by Connilyn Cossette

Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 978-0-7642-1437-0
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansfor example, electronic, photocopy, recordingwithout the prior written permission of the publisher. The only
exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015956737
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearances of certain historical figures
are therefore inevitable. All other characters, however, are products of the authors
imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover design by Jennifer Parker
Author is represented by The Steve Laube Agency.
161718192021227654321

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To Chad, whose sacrificial love makes this possible

To Collin and Corrianna, my most precious gifts
And to my Abba, Yahweh, who opens my eyes

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Prologue
20th Day of Akhet
Season of Inundation
1448 BC

y sandals have not crossed this threshold since I was

ten.
Inhaling, I focused on the Eye of Horus woven
into the papyrus mat beneath my feet. After summoning an
infusion of courage from its steady gaze, I lifted my chin and
entered my fathers chambers.
My fathers braided wig lay on his desk, as if flung aside
without a thought for his usual meticulous appearance. He
stood with his back to me, studying a document with such
intensity that my quiet entrance had gone unnoticed. Did I
imagine that his hand trembled?
Intuition fluttered in my chest. Never had I seen my father
so unraveled.
Appointed with vibrant tapestries and a gilded sleeping couch
fit for Pharaoh, this room resurrected a long-forgotten memory
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of sitting beside my father as he studied trade reports and his

warm hand enveloping mine.
Hoping to swallow the quiver in my voice, I cleared my throat.
Father, you sent for me?
He startled but did not turn as he spoke. Yes, Kiya. Come
in. Scratching at the silver stubble on his head with one hand,
he continued examining the document in silence.
Fidgeting with the beaded shawl I had just purchased in the
market, I stroked the embroidered ibises and the silver beads
that twinkled like stars along the hem. I had also been considering a lyre at a musicians stall. Roses scrolled down the body
of the instrument, the petals so lifelike I could almost inhale
their delicate fragrance. But before I could make any offer, Yuny,
my fathers servant, had skidded to a stop in front of me. His
chest heaved from exertion as he repeated a curious demand
from my father that I return home in haste. The stricken look
on the mans wrinkled face had caused me to abandon the lyre
and rush back to the villa.
My sandals, although crafted from the finest kid-leather,
had not been designed for running, so now blisters plagued the
sides of my feet and between my toes. Surveying the room for
somewhere to sit and ease the pain, I was surprised to see my
fathers friend, Shefu, on a chair in the corner.
Shefus children and I had played together when we were
young, and we were frequent guests at his wifes extravagant
banquets, but I had never spoken with him. A wealthy businessman, he was very tall and quite handsome, even with the touch
of gray at his temples. He seemed quiet and kindstanding in
sharp contrast to his wife, whom my mother avoided whenever
possible.
I attempted to catch his eye and offer a smile, but his gaze
was locked on the floor, and he gripped the ebony armrests
with his long fingers, knuckles white.
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Connilyn Cossette

Were he and my father discussing exports? Arguing? My

father had seemed distracted for the past few days and had
been even more distant than usual when hed returned from
a trip north to Avaris. But why would I be called in during a
business negotiation?
Kiya... My father paused, placing the document facedown on the desk. He sat on a nearby chair, giving me the faint
impression that he was sinking into the tiled floor. He gazed at
his palms, as if searching there for words.
What is it, Father? Is it Akhum? Have you heard something?
My pulse began to thrum with concern for my betrothed, who
was away on a military expedition.
No, its not Akhum. He dragged in a quivering breath.
His eyes flicked to mine but then away, as if he was afraid to
meet my curious gaze.
Shefu He raked his fingers across his scalp. Shefu is
here... to take you with him.
Panic rose in my throat as I tried to decipher his statement.
Take me where? I looked back and forth between the two
men, but neither of them would meet my eye.
My stomach hollowed, and alarm screeched in my brain.
Father? Tell me. Where is Shefu taking me?
After a few agonizing moments of silence, my fathers words
broke free, flooding out in a rush. I am ruined. My boats, all of
them, sank in the Northern Sea. I did all that I could to avoid
this. But everything He rubbed the back of his neck and
swallowed hard. Everything we own will be auctioned off to
pay my obligations. I owe Shefu for the five boats I purchased
last year, among other things...
My father looked me straight in the eye for the first time in
years. This is the only way. To protect your mother, and Jumo,
from being sold as well. I have no choice.
A blur of colors and a torrent of swirling sounds met my
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senses. I staggered backward, shaking my head, blinking away

the cloud of confusion that threatened my sight.
My hip knocked into a marble-topped shrine table near the
doorway, causing a large cow-headed carving of Hathor to tip.
She fell, clanking into another idol, which toppled into another,
which in turn knocked a golden image of Ra onto the stone
floor, his sun-crowned head splitting from his body and his
hooked scepter scattering into pieces. The other statues followed suit, until not one god stood intact. Shards and splinters
littered the tiles.
I turned from the tragedy, meaning to run, but the truth
crashed over me like a wave, and my knees gave way. Arms
over my head, I called for my mother, over and over, through
choking sobs.
But it was Salima, my handmaid, who lifted me from the
floor, her dark eyes pooling with tears, and led me back to my
own room by the hand.
She removed my wig, soaked through with sweat from our
excursion to the market that morning. Then she washed my
face and head with cool water she had retrieved from the Nile
long before I had awakened.
After she dressed me in a shift woven from fine linen but
simple in design, and reapplied my kohl, Salima placed her
warm brown hands on either side of my face.
Since my seventh year, Salima had bathed me, groomed me,
applied kohl to my eyes, and dressed me in gowns and wigs.
Although only a few years older than me, shed endured my
childish impatience and fits of temper without a shadow of
bitterness ever crossing her face. And now, for the first time
since my father had gifted her to me, she stared directly into
my eyes with her luminous dark ones.
At times, I had glimpsed a depth of wisdom in those eyes
that made me wonder what her life might have been before
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she became my handmaid. But I had never asked. Why had I

never asked?
Salima leaned her forehead against mine and whispered
something in a language I did not recognize. But the music of
it washed over me, leaving behind an impossible calm and a
surprising clarity.
My father had sold me.
There was no choice but to go with Shefu and serve him.
What that meant I could not begin to guess. He seemed benign,
but was he as good to his servants as he was to his peers? I had
seen slaves in other homes, cowed and skittish, some with obvious bruises on their faces and arms. Was that to be my lot?
It did not matter. I could not let my mother and my disabled
brother be separated. Jumo would not be safe anywhere but
with the woman who had fought for his life from his first breath.
I straightened my back. Salima, where is my mother?
She looked down. I do not know. I think your father sent
her and your brother away before we left for the market.
Do you have the gifts I purchased this morning? The ivory
combs and the dyes and brushes for Jumo?
She gestured to the reed basket at the foot of my bed.
Please make sure they receive those. If nothing else, I could
at least leave a token of my love for them.
She dipped her chin at this, my last request.
I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply, as if I could breathe in the
serenity that clung to Salima along with her customary sweetalmond fragrance.
An image from earlier this morning surged into my mind
sweat sparkling on Salimas dark forehead and across her closely
trimmed scalp as she shifted the heavy basket full of my purchases from one shoulder to the other.
The burn of shame welled in my eyes. I cannot begin to
tell you how...
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She placed her fingers on my lips and shook her head, her
expression full of mercy. No need, mistress.
The address jarred me. I was no longer her mistress. Salima
would be sold as well, to feed the same yawning chasm of debt,
another offering at the altar of my fathers excess. I grasped
her hand with the urgency of a lifeline. Call me Kiya. Please.
Salima dropped her eyes to speak my name. Kiya.
Abandoned on my vanity table next to us was the elegant
wrap I had purchased earlier. I picked it up, allowing the silken
fabric to flow across my skin like water. My practiced eye had
ensured that not one flaw marred its surface as I dickered with
the cloth vendor.
I folded the linen piece and pressed it into Salimas hands,
insisting that it was my gift to her. To my surprise she accepted
it with grace, grasping it to her chest in wordless gratitude.
She handed me a small woven basket and attempted a sad
smile. Master Shefu will be waiting.
With a nod, I turned and walked away from the room in
which I had slept every night of my life, and every comfort
contained therein. I followed a silent and stoic Shefu out of
the white villa that had been my home since birth and into the
violent sunlight, with the incomprehensible realization that my
handmaid and I were now on the same footing.

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1
1st Day of Akhet
Season of Inundation
1447 BC

he sound of my knock on the wooden chamber door

echoed in the pit of my stomach. Shira opened the door,
but the Hebrew girl refused to meet my eyes. Two streaks
of fur, one black and one gray, fled the roomeven the cats
knew enough to escape.
Is that Kiya? My mistresss sharp voice raised the hair on
the back of my neck. It had better be.
Tightening my grip on the water jug I carriedmy only
shieldI drew a deep breath as I stepped past Shira and over
the threshold.
Tekurah crossed her bedroom in four swift strides to tower
over me. Where have you been? You held up this entire household all morning.
What an exaggeration. I abandoned the temptation to try and
explain the throng of people, animals, and merchant booths
clogging the city today. Pushing my way through the crowds
during festival preparations had proved almost impossible,
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especially carrying a jar full of water from the canal. Besides,

Tekurah was never at a loss for reasons to reprimand me.
With practiced obedience I mumbled, Forgive me, mistress.
My show of humility did nothing to placate her. She thrust
the ebony handle of a fan toward my face while accusing me
of deliberate delay. I flinched. She might actually strike me this
time.
She threw her hands in the air. Why do I have to put up
with such a worthless slave? She growled like one of her cats
and then continued her tirade. I didnt bother to listen. I had
heard all of this before and doubtless would again.
Jaw locked and mind numb, I waited for the end of her diatribe. Instead I focused on the intricacies of the painted mural
on the wall. The lush scene depicted the glorious paradise of
the afterlife, where gods and men traveled together in gilded
boats on the sparkling blue waters of the eternal Nile. The
vivid colors were striking, but they were nothing compared to
my brother Jumos masterful artwork.
Shiras posture snagged my attention. The Hebrew girl stood
in front of the open window, wrapped in sunlight, head down
and eyes closedsubmissive as usual. Were her lips moving?
And if you keep me waiting againTekurah pointed
the fan an inch from my noseI will hit you. Even the gods
wouldnt fault me.
Bitter retorts bubbled up inside me, threatening to burst free.
Silently, I prayed to Ra, Isis, and any other god who would
listen, for the strength to keep my mouth shut. Sweat trickled
in rivulets down my spine.
Tekurah drew a long breath through her nose, black eyes
flashing. With another growl, she hurled the ebony fan toward
the enormous bed in the center of the room, but it tangled in
the sheer linen canopy and clattered to the floor. She stared at
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it, blinking, and then exhaled through gritted teeth. Hands on

hips, she turned and stalked to her bathing chamber.
As Shira retrieved the fan, I breathed quiet thanks to the gods
for such a brief scolding today. My sliding grip on the heavy
earthen jug would not have held much longer.
Tekurahs bathing room was tiled floor to ceiling in whitewashed stone and decorated with lush palms and splendid
scenes from the Nilehippos, crocodiles, and ibises. My skin
prickled at the chill in the room. I placed the jug on the floor
next to the long stone bathing bench in the center of the room
and flexed my relieved fingers. Shira added a few drops of rose
oil from an alabaster bottle to the water as I uncovered the
drain that emptied into the gardens. A little blue-headed agama
lizard startled me when I moved the stone, and then scurried
back out to the safety of the courtyard. If only I could follow.
Every Egyptian woman labored to appear youthfulTekurah
more than most. The many face creams, balms, and ointments
she insisted upon complicated an already arduous process. We
spent hours tending her body, fetching potions, purchasing
magic cures, and delivering offerings to Hathor, the goddess
of beauty.
After Shira and I undressed her, Tekurah perched on the
bathing slab, lips pursed and pointed chin high. Shira scrubbed
our mistresss head with natron soda paste. Then together we
sponged her body with rose-scented water and massaged sweet
balms into her skin, head to toe. At least I would enjoy soft
hands for a few hours. This dry season sucked the moisture
from my skin. I savored the heady aroma of the imported oils.
The exotic spices, pungent balsam, and sweet myrrh reminded
me of Salima.
A full cycle of seasons had passed since Salima had lugged
cumbersome pitchers from the river for my own baths and applied perfumed oils to my body. Now I served a mistress of my
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own, fetching water and bowing to her every demand. Coveting

her luxuries made my labors all the more torturous.
Shira brought in Tekurahs new gown, the delicate weave
almost translucent. I ached for the sumptuous glide of fine
cloth over my skin. My own abrasive, unflattering tunic provoked my vanity.
I struggled to pull the dress over Tekurahs head, but she
jerked away. Let Shira do it. She is worth three of you.
Slipping her dark braid over her shoulder, Shira reddened
and reached up to adjust the mangled neckline before tying a
beaded belt around Tekurahs narrow waist, adding some curve
to her otherwise willowy body.
Tekurah spoke the truth. Shiras skills exceeded mine. It had
surprised me, when Id first entered servitude, that a Hebrew
girl held such a trusted position as body-servant to the mistress.
It did not take long to see why, though. She was nimble, efficient, and hardworking. Never speaking out of turn, she served
Tekurah with utter, inexplicable politeness.
I worked to emulate her in all our tasks, but sixteen years
of soft living had rendered me all but useless as a servant. My
strength had grown over the last year, my once-pampered muscles now sinewy, but Tekurah still insisted Shira redo almost
everything I attempted.
Mistress, which jewelry today? Shiras voice barely broke
a whisper.
The usekh gifted by Pharaoh. Tekurah glanced at me out
of the corner of her eye.
Shira bowed, eyes downcast. I will fetch it from the treasury
while Kiya attends to your wig. This was one task I performed
with minimal clumsiness.
Tekurah sank onto a low stool by a mahogany vanity, her
narrow face reflected in the polished silver mirror. Make it
quick. Dont forget bangles and earrings.
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Shira padded out of the room, head down.

The new wig. Tekurah snapped her fingers at me. Now.
The large closet overflowed with chests, baskets of gowns,
countless pairs of sandals, and wooden stands laden with all
styles and varieties of wigs. For all the seeming lack of affection
between Tekurah and Shefu, he certainly allotted her a generous
share of clothing, jewels, and accessories. The Queen herself
might covet such a vast assortment.
A new rosewood wig chest was tucked behind a basket. I
carried it to the vanity and opened the lid, choking back a
sneeze. Spiced to mask the odor of wool and human hair, the
box reeked of cinnamon with such potency my eyes watered.
An exquisite hairpiece lay inside, interlaced with gold and
red faience beads and braided with the elaborate plaits made
popular by the First Wife of Pharaoh. I centered the wig on
Tekurahs bald head. Bodies, candles, and lamps would elevate
the temperature of the hall during the banquet, and the weight
and heat of such an intricate headdress was staggering. Tekurah
would thank the gods for her shaved head tonight.
The one mercy in my downfall was release from wearing
wigs. Allowing my hair to grow freely, I escaped the burden and
irritation caused by the uncomfortable fashion. I had always
abhorred shaving my head, but Salima usually convinced me
to at least trim it short during the blaze of the hottest months.
My straight black hair brushed past my shoulders now, and I
rejoiced to simply pull it back with a leather tie each morning.
By the time I adjusted the wig to Tekurahs satisfaction,
Shira had returned with the jewels. Fashioned from beads of
pure gold, multicolored glass, and brilliant blue lapis lazuli,
the usekh collar was indeed extraordinary. A large gold amulet
embossed with etchings of ibises in full flight sat suspended in
the center. The neckpiece extended just past the edges of her
wide shoulders. Enhanced by Tekurahs height and long neck,
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the collar did not overpower her as it would most other women.
It galled me to admit such a thing, but Pharaoh himself would
take pride in the impressive display of his gift.
Shira applied kohl to our mistresss eyesthe art still eluded
me. After a few failed attempts and dangerous near misses,
Tekurah forbade me to even approach her cosmetics chest. The
newest trendgreen malachite on the upper lids and gray galena
belowaccented and widened her black eyes. I loathed the
almond-ash-and-water concoction I was allotted to beautify
and protect my own eyes. However, after a year, I could finally
apply it without stabbing myself in the eye each morning.
Tekurah did not turn, but her gaze pierced me from the distorted reflection of the silver mirror. You will not embarrass
me tonight. Clumsiness will not be tolerated.
My skin flashed cold.
The Festival of the New Year, birth day of Ra, would be the
first celebration I attended as a servant, instead of one being
served. Standing behind Tekurahs chair and at her mercy, my
humiliation would be on full display for all the guestsmany
of whom I was well acquainted with.
Tekurahs cruel mouth curved into a smile.

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very surface in the main hall bloomed with vibrant

blossoms in anticipation of the lavish banquet tonight.
I wilted at the reminder that a year ago I had attended this
annual celebration as a guest, enjoying the splendor of Shefus
hospitality. Now the pungent jumble of fragrances overpowered
my senses, evoking queasiness instead of awe.
Tekurah had commanded that we help prepare, so Shira approached another slave to ask for direction. The tall Egyptian
girl was dressed like me in a roughly woven garment, but instead
of bare feet, she wore sandals with fine leather bindings. She
threw a dark glance at me and then jerked her chin toward the
baskets in the corner.
Decorate tables. She dismissed us with a turn of her back
and continued wrapping a garland of roses and jasmine around
one of the painted cedar columns.
Shira rummaged through the baskets overflowing with lilies,
henna blooms, and other exotic flowers. She selected a few blue
lotus blossoms and arranged them in the center of a table with
smaller flowers encircling them. She then tucked two alabaster
oil lamps into the centerpiece, where they would flicker and
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sparkle amongst the vibrant color of the flowers. I marveled at

her ability to choose flowers with complementing scents. Their
careful placement would cast lovely shadows on the faces of
the ladies seated around the tables.
I handed her another lotus. Why are you a handmaid?
Excuse me? Surprise flashed across her face. I rarely spoke
to her.
You should manage an entire household. Where did you
learn these skills?
Her curious expression transformed into shock as she looked
over my shoulder. She dropped her eyes and bowed low. Master.
I spun, scattering my armful of flowers across the floor as I
collided with Master Shefu. My cheeks flamed.
A word please, Kiya. He eyed the mess on the floor. Shira
will tend the flowers.
Yes, master. I bowed and followed him into the empty
corridor. Already dressed for the banquet, he wore a pleated
white kilt and belted tunic, paired with simple gold cuffs and
a short, tightly braided but unadorned wig. Shefu lavished his
wife with finery but wore little jewelry himself.
Tekurah and I will not attend the processional today. We
must prepare for this evening. The twins are pouting. A tinge of
a smile colored his voice. I would like you to take them down
to the parade route so they can have a little bit of excitement.
Will you do that for me?
Of course, master. I dipped my head, not daring to look
into his face.
For a long moment he stood silent. Then he put his hand
under my chin, lifting my face to meet his eyes. I wish things
were different, Kiya. You know that. Dont you?
My heart pounded a confused rhythm. Shefus gentle question and familiar manner baffled me, but his deep brown eyes
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held nothing but kindness. I tried to conjure an answer, but no

words formed. He sighed and released my chin, his shoulders
seeming to droop. Sefora and Liat are waiting for you in their
quarters.
I backed away to collect the children, my mind hazy and
flooded with questions.

Sefora and Liat were full of nine-year-old boundless energy.

Thankfully, they did not echo their mothers disdain for me.
Cheering and clapping greeted me when I entered the room.
Kiya, can we go now? Please? Sefora pulled on my hand,
her kohl-rimmed eyes gleaming with excitement. I dont want
to miss the dancers and acrobats.
Or the sweeties. Liat grinned and licked his lips.
Against my better judgment, anticipation swelled in my chest
as we left the house and walked through the villa gatea faint
echo of my own eagerness as a child on festival days. Glad for
the preoccupation, I pressed away the dread of tonight.
The city of Iunu bustled with activity. Servants scurried here
and there, baskets on heads, bundles in hand. A baker with
crates stacked three high on his head wound his way through the
city, drawing a procession of children tantalized by the aroma
of fresh bread.
I grasped Sefora and Liats hands. Stay close. I do not want
to get separated in all the confusion.
Liat eyed the bakers parade with longing but trudged along
next to me.
Shefus magnificent home stood at the heart of the city, nearly
adjacent to the Temple of the Sun. The Temple gleamed like a
polished white diamond in the late-morning glow. Banners of
red and purple draped from every freshly painted column and
marked the processional route. Priests in brilliant white tunics,
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leopard-skin robes, and flashing gold jewelry streamed through

the pylons and up and down the entry ramp. Merchants snaked
through the mob with baskets of flower garlands, bouquets,
sweet breads, and fruits. Their rhythmic invitations to buy goods
harmonized with the laughter and chatter of the crowd.
My mother plied wares here, among the other merchants
and tradesmen. Jumos exquisite artwork drew attention to her
stall and piqued interest in the rest of the goods. Id searched
for her earlier this morning as I returned from the canal with
Tekurahs bathwater, but my quest was fruitless. Too much
confusion and chaos reigned in the city on festival days. My
delay yielded only the tongue-lashing from Tekurah.
The Festival of the New Year drew unparalleled crowds. As
soon as Sopdet, the brightest star in the heavens, rose from her
grave below the horizon, we knew Inundation would soon be
upon us. People from all over the region streamed into Iunu,
anxious for the celebration.
All classes of people mixed together in the melee. Powerful
priests with flowing robes, wealthy merchants, pampered wives,
and even common household slaves pressed in on one another
intoxicated by the arousing sights, sounds, and smells of this
festival day. The children and I made our way through the crowd
to catch a glimpse of the procession.
Sefora hopped around on tiptoe. I cant see!
Relieved Sefora had asked first, I lifted her onto my hip to
watch the dancers, just as my nursemaid had done for me as a
child. Although tall for her age, her willowy body was as light
as a reed. Liats love for sweets made lifting him a bit more
complicated. For now, he directed his attention to the treats
being passed into the crowd by the priests attendants.
The dancers, clad in little more than beaded linen girdles
tied about their hips, preceded the barge. Most were Syrians or
Kushites, enslaved by conquests of the great Pharaoh. Their dark
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bodies gyrated to the wild pulse of the timbrels and sistrums

played by temple musicians.
Ras golden barge sparkled with jewels: brilliant blue lapis
lazuli, scarlet carnelian, dark green malachite, and deepest obsidian. At the center stood the god himself. Once again the
wonder of beholding the beautiful statue struck me. Seated
on a golden throne, his human-shaped body and falcon head
had been polished to gleaming, and his onyx eyes glittered like
black fire.
Fifty priests bore the barge through the flower-strewn streets,
their heads, brows, and faces shaved clean in the ancient tradition and pristine linen kilts shining in the sun. A troupe of
acrobats followed, flipping, flying, and performing mystifying
feats of contortion.
Cloying incense tainted the air. The pungent odor wafted
from the robes of the priests and the rich fabric adorning the
barge. Spying a lotus blossom on the ground, I put Sefora down
and snatched up the flower, desperate to camouflage the smell.
I buried my nose in its petals, but even so, a headache throbbed
in my temples. I always did my best to steer clear of the Sun
Temple during times of sacrifice. The sickly sweet odor poured
out of the entrance during the daily offerings, and the stench
permeated the courtyard day and night. Sometimes, when the
breeze carried the stink through the windows of the villa, my
head would pound and my eyes would swim for hours.
When the priests and their burden had passed, Sefora tugged
at my hand. Can we go down to the canal? I want to see the
decorated boats.
All right. I would take full advantage of my semi-freedom
today. But stay back from the water. There are too many people
down there. Lets go, Liat.
I looked around when the boy did not answer. Sefora, where
is your brother?
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She shrugged and pushed out her bottom lip.

My heart galloped like a team of Pharaohs stallions. I had
lost Tekurahs son! Until now I had escaped being beaten by
her, but this very well could be the day I experienced a cane
against my back.
I grabbed Seforas hand, dragging her with me against the
crush of the crowd. I would not lose a second child today.
Every noisy beat of my heart drummed new fears into my
mind. Why had I let go of Liats hand? Why did I pick up that
flower? How long had he been missing? Would he go back to
the villa? Did Tekurah already know?
I pushed harder against the mob and received many angry
glances and a few curses in response. The baker. Might Liat
have gone to find him?
Nearly empty of customers, the market lay ahead, a sea of
colorful linen-covered stalls. Most of the revelers had followed
the procession down to the canal to watch the launch of Ras
boat into the Nile. Perhaps Liat had followed the priests passing
out treats to the crowd.
I stopped, torn. Should I go back the other way?
There he is! Sefora pointed across the market.
Relief coursed through me. Liat was perched on a stool in
the shade of a merchants stall.
Still not releasing Seforas hand, I hurried across the market.
Before I even reached the boy, I yelled, Where have you been?
Liat offered only a lopsided grin and a shrug.
A dark-haired man behind the booth turned on his stool.
He wore a simple sleeveless brown tunic, not a kilt like most
other male slaves. He must be foreign. No Egyptian would let
his beard grow in such a barbarous way.
His eyes narrowed as I approached. Is this your child?
Musical instruments littered the table in front of him. He
held a large, hollowed-out cut of wood between his knees: the
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beginnings of a drum, perhaps. Tiny flecks of wood from the

project he was sanding dusted his disheveled hair.
Something about the way he spokeaccusing and with a
heavy accentaggravated me. My response was equally terse
as I gripped the boy to my side, my heart contracting with
gratitude that he was safe. No. But he is with me.
Liat held up a lyre. Look, Kiya! Eben let me play this. Even
taught me some notes. Want to see?
No, we must go. I took the lyre from him, ready to place
it back on the table, when a memory washed over me from
the last morning before my father sold me. This instrument,
carved with intricate markings, was similar to the one I had
nearly purchased before Yuny found me and summoned me
back to the villa.
Although that lyre had been carved with roses, this one was
decorated with swallows, their wings lifted in swift flight against
the backdrop of the sun, as if they were declaring its arrival.
My finger traced their progress up the smooth rosewood.
Do you play? The instrument maker, Eben, had stopped
working to look at me.
I blinked, startled by the mixture of curiosity and disdain in
the mans question, as well as the intensity of the green-gray
eyes that scrutinized me.
No. I slid my thumb across the tight gut strings, but not
hard enough to elicit music from their tension. I had always
wanted to learn to play the lyre. Its haunting, sweet tone reminded me of lullabies sung by my mother long ago. Now I
would never have the chance to do so; every minute of my life
was dictated by Tekurah.
Unlike the swallows, whose quick split-tailed flight scorned
captivity, my cage was securely latched. Perhaps, like my ancestors, my soul might one day ascend on unfettered wings, becoming one with the imperishable stars, as the legends promised.
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Battling the desire to strum the lyre and enjoy a moment of

pleasure from its melodic vibration, I moved to place the instrument back on the table while avoiding the weight of Ebens gaze.
A large Egyptian, wiping his beefy hands on a soiled cloth,
emerged from the shop behind the stall. I recognized him as
the vendor I had spoken with last year regarding the rose lyre.
Ah. I see you have chosen a beautiful instrument. There is
no craftsman more skilled. He clapped Eben on the shoulder. I would not trade Eben for all the artisans in Pharaohs
workshop.
Eben shifted in his seat and returned to sanding the drum
with long, swift strokes. Had he also created the rose lyre that
had caught my eye last year? I did not remember seeing him at
that time, but then again, I had barely regarded Salima with
more than a passing glance when I was her mistress.
A rush of longing for her quiet presence by my side seized
me. Salima had been the only steadfast companion in my life
not driven by greed. The look in her dark eyes as she bade me
farewell that day had told me shed considered me more than
a mistress. She had loved me, in spite of my selfishness.
Will you be purchasing today? The shop owners thick
brows shot skyward in anticipation of a sale. Perhaps for the
young master?
Liats round eyes pleaded with me. If only I could purchase
such a treasurefor him, or for myself.
Thank you, no. We must return to the villa. I placed the
instrument back on the table, and my hands immediately missed
its weight.
The shop owner shrugged and turned away, all friendliness
erased in the absence of a profitable transaction.
At my urging, Liat hopped off his stool and waved. That
was fun, Eben.
The man winked at Liat, and a corner of his full mouth
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turned up the tiniest bit. I nodded at him in thanks, but he

diverted his green-gray eyes back to his task and ignored my
gesture with an air of dismissal.
Hopefully Tekurah would never have need of a musical instrument. Id be glad to not have to deal with such a rude man
againno matter that the lyre hed crafted was one of the most
beautiful things I had ever held in my hands. Yet somehow, with
or without the uncivilized beard, there was something about
his face and his stormy eyes that intrigued me.
Wrapping both childrens hands in my iron grip, I quickly
walked toward the villa.
Liat tugged the other way, begging, Cant we go down to
the canal first? Please?
And lose you again? No. There are thousands of people
down there.
Sefora added to the pleading. We promise to stay right next
to you. I swear by the sun and moon and all the stars.
I looked back and forth between the two of them, hesitating. Letting out a noisy breath, I dropped my shoulders. Oh,
all right. Only I cut off their loud rejoicing. Only if you
both keep what happened today quiet. Your mother will not be
pleased with me. We must keep it secret. Understand?
They nodded with wide eyes, and I prayed to the gods that
the children would hold to their promise. Tekurah needed little
provocation to berate me.
I jogged the trade road with the children, hoping that the
pleasures of the day would overtake their memory of the few
breathless minutes Liat had been lost.
Hundreds of papyrus boats glutted the wide canal. We stood
at the back of the crowd but found a high spot where we could
see Ra being loaded onto a huge cedar boat. The vessel sparkled
with gold and shining white electrum. A hundred soldiers in
full regalia stood at attention upon each shore of the canal,
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ready to heave the enormous boat and its precious cargo down
to the Nile by rope. Children splashed in the water, laughing
and wrestling, wading through the masses of floating lotuses
and lilies thrown by revelers.
When the barge finally floated around a curve on the canal
and toward the main body of the Nile, I told the children we
must return to the villa.
Liat dragged his feet and pouted. I wish Mother and Father
were not having this banquet tonight.
Do you not enjoy the feasts? I squeezed his hand.
I dont like going to bed while everyone is still having fun.
And I hate wigs. Mother always makes me wear a wig when we
have guests. He scratched his head at the memory. A smudge of
kohl streaked up to his hairline. It would need to be reapplied
when we returned. When Id been Liats age, Salima had to all
but tie me down for my daily cosmetic regimen.
I laughed. Well, Master Liat, in a few years you will be old
enough to stay awake until the early hours of the morning as
well. I know the wigs are irritatingbelieve me, I had my share
of wearing them for parties, and I do not miss them, butI
winked and tugged on his forelock braidjust think of all
the lovely leftover treats for tomorrow!
A grin lit Liats round little face.
I adore banquets. Seforas brown eyes twinkled. All the
ladies with their beautiful gowns, the flowers, the wonderful
food, the music, the dancers... She swung her arms back and
forth, tripping out a little dance on her toes. Besidesshe
clapped her handstonight I get to wear the gown Father
bought in Thebes. I cannot wait!
My afternoon with the children had seduced me into feeling
normal, as if I retained the same footing as they did. In spite of
their positionand their motherthey were sweet children.
They seemed, thanks be to the gods, to take after their father,
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Shefu. An attentive and affectionate parent, he lavished upon

them their hearts every desire.
Tekurah, on the other hand, was more concerned with raising
her standing in society than in raising her children. She spent her
days shopping for luxuries and gossiping with well-connected
friends, gleaning information useful for climbing the social ladder. The children were an afterthoughta commodity to be
trotted out at parties to impress the guests with their beauty,
talents, and fashion.
In only a few years, Sefora would be given to the wealthiest
and most powerful man Tekurah could manage. Liat would
marry the daughter of someone whose power and status his
mother coveted.
The two older children, Kemah and Talet, were already married. Kemah, only a year older than myself, had been given to
the son of a powerful priest. Talet, the oldest son, had married
the daughter of a steward in the house of Pharaoh, which gave
Tekurah endless pleasureand a direct line to court gossip.

By the time we returned to the villa, Sefora and Liat were

whining for food. I reminded them to protect our secret and
then led the children to the kitchen to beg for a few sweet rolls.
We took their treats to the main courtyard and sat by one of
the pools in the shade of the regal date palms. The children
devoured the apricot and raisin bread, licking the honey off
their fingers. My mouth watered at the memory of the sweet
taste, and I looked away.
With a fresh coat of limestone whitewash, Shefus sprawling
villa gleamed. My familys home had been grand, but Shefus
put it to shame. Servants carrying pillows, mats, oil lamps,
and flowers climbed the outer staircases, preparing the roof for
guests needing an escape from the oppressive heat of the main
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hall. Many would sleep off the nights drinking there, enjoying
what little breeze might stir up from the river in the early hours.
Shefu employed the most talented master gardeners in the
city. A vast array of colors flooded the garden. Lilies floated in
the courtyard pools, and the walls dripped with many varieties
of grapevines and climbing roses. I entertained a fleeting notion of lingering here in the dappled shade of the palms with
the children, breathing the sweet air and soaking in the divinity
that inhabited the fragrances of the lovely flowersbut Tekurah
waited. I slipped into the house again and fetched a pitcher of
water to wash the childrens hands and feet.
As I knelt to untie Seforas sandals and rinse her feet of the
days grime, she asked, Kiya, why do you wash our feet?
I laughed and tweaked her big toe. Because they are dirty.
No, I mean, your family came to the festival last year, and
the servants tended you then.
I looked up into her wide eyes, smaller versions of Shefus
kind ones. My familys misfortune, the shame of losing our
position, our wealth, and our worth, the jealousy Tekurah held
for my motherI bit it all back. Instead, I offered the part
of the truth she would understand. Because the gods turned
from me.
They had abandoned me. Abandoned my whole family.
The gods had ignored my mother when she begged for Jumos
healing, disregarding daily offerings to Isis and Thoth. Yamm,
the god of the seas, had not prevented the waves from swallowing my fathers magnificent ships. And no matter my allegiance
to all the gods, slavery became my lot.
What curse had been cast upon me? Why had such black
luck fallen on my path? I did not know.
I owned nothing now except the clothes on my back, a small
brass mirror, and a little box of cheap cosmetics. How could
I earn Ras mercy when I could not provide the tributes he
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demanded? I had nothing to offerno goat, no bull, not even

a dove.
I dried Seforas feet with a soft linen towel. When I glanced
up, her whole face had crumpled into a frown.
Now, Mistress SeforaI patted the top of her footdont
be sad today. My luck is gone, but yours is not. Remember your
new gown.
Her little face brightened. I wonder if Hattai has it ready!
She skipped off toward her bedchamber, my misery forgotten.

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he slate cooled my bare feet as I scurried down the

hallway, a welcome respite from the blazing limestone
pathway in the courtyard. The few slaves I encountered
averted their eyes as they passed. A reaction I was used to, but
still, I bristled at the slight.
I pressed open the door to Tekurahs chamber, wincing at
the squeak of the bronze hinges. Shira was slathering coconut
balm over Tekurahs arms and legs.
Where have you been? Tekurah pushed a glossy black cat
from her lap. He strutted off with a quick backward glance, as
if annoyed with my tardiness as well.
Tekurahs host of cats ruled this house, second only to their
mistress. Sleeping on the hard floor while a pampered feline
sprawled on a goose-down cushion, and eating scraps as the
cats enjoyed choice morsels from Tekurahs plate, infuriated me.
Tekurah had long ago selected the cat-headed goddess Bastet as
her patron divinity. She treated her pets as if they were the goddess herselfto ensure prompt acknowledgment of her prayers.
The master asked that I take the children to the processional
to keep them out of the way, I said.
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Obligated to do whatever Shefu asked of me, even ahead

of Tekurahs wishes, I needed no further excuse. She gaped at
me for a moment before a slow, malevolent smirk stole across
her face.
No matter. She dismissed me with a flick of her wrist.
The guests will arrive soon. I must be in the main hall to greet
them. She stood and swept from the room. Shira and I glanced
at each other in confusion before running to follow, both of us
skittering along to keep up with her long stride.
House slaves washed the feet of the early arrivals and placed
perfumed wax cones on their heads. They would melt all evening, dripping and cooling, adding to the intoxicating mixture
of fragrances from the abundance of flowers.
Tekurah ordered us to wait behind the head table. Turning
obedient eyes to the floor, Shira and I became fixtures in the
room along with the tall candle stands gracing the large, columned hall. My stomach twisted. Who would be here tonight,
gawking at me?
As more guests arrived and the noise level in the room rose,
I forced my breath to slow, blocked out the voices around me,
and let my mind wander into a memory.
Knee-deep in the canal... cool mud squishing between my
toes... breathing deeply and savoring the swirl of the water
around my legs... the rush of the gentle current curling through
my outspread fingers... birds in full song... cicadas thrumming in the whispering rushes... the suns delicious rays on
my upturned face, breathing Ras life into my weary bones.
Still. At rest. Free.
A sharp laugh startled me, yanking me out of my daydream.
At least forty people sat at low tables or on cushions scattered
around the room, with servants at attention behind them or
lurking in the shadows near the walls.
Ushered in by their nursemaids, Liat and Sefora entered the
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room. I stifled a giggle at the sight of Liats wig, perched askew

on his head. He would be scratching at it all evening. His eyes
grew as large as plates as he surveyed the luscious food. Sefora
stood next to her father, leaning against him as he talked with
another man, but she scanned the room. When she caught my
glance, her eyebrows arched with excitement. I tipped my head
down, and my heart sank.
I could not be a friend tonight.

Through lowered lashes, I surveyed the room for people I

knewand there were many. Old business partners, friends,
even some distant relatives of my mother and father were in attendance. None looked my way. Either they refused to acknowledge a common slave, or they mercifully ignored my existence
as they reveled in the privileges that I was now denied.
I was at Tekurahs mercy because of such decadencethe food,
the dresses, the jewels. My father had always hosted the most
extravagant of parties, our villa packed with people arrayed in
their finest. And when the time came to repay his debts, he sold my
freedom, not his own. Though Id once delighted in the parties,
the wigs, the cosmetics, the gold and silver, now the abundance
made me ill. All the vapid people who had once filled my world,
seemed to hang on my every word, now refused to meet my eye.
As the night wore on, snatches of conversation about my
family and our demise reached my ears. Each time the discussion
would steer that way Tekurah glanced back at me, brows high.
She took each opportunity to regale her guests with tales of my
incompetence. ... cant even figure out how to dress me...
about strangled me with my dress earlier... nearly poked my
eye out... They all laughed, some more heartily than others,
but none looked my way. I dug my nails deeper and deeper into
my palms. Cowards.
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My stomach snarled. My paltry ration of bread, a few vegetables, fish, and barley beer each day never satisfied. Rare bits
of beef or game were permitted at times, but two weeks had
passed since wed enjoyed such a treat. The abundant array of
roast duck, grilled beef, fish, and goose prepared with savory
spices caused my mouth to water. Shefus guests dined on the
finest succulent fruits, gathered from his orchards, and drank
wine from his own vineyards.
Shefus bountiful vines produced the sweetest vintages in all
of Lower Egypt. My fathers boats had carried their yield as
far away as Phoenicia. My tongue remembered the exquisite
wine and pined for a drop of it again.
A familiar laugh interrupted my covetous fantasy, and my
head snapped up to search for its source.
Now I understood Tekurahs demand that I attend tonight,
as well as her strange attitude and triumphal sneer. For there,
not fifteen paces from me, smiling, laughing, and unaware of
my presence, sat Akhum. Tekurah must have heard my intake
of breath. She turned in her seat, painted brows arched high.
Akhums regiment must have returned in the last couple of
days. I always kept diligent watch for his men about the city.
An army campaign had taken him north to Canaan well over a
year ago, before my downfall and only weeks before my fathers
boats surrendered to the waves.
My most ardent pursuer, Akhum had surpassed all other
suitors who had approached my father. Handsome, regal, and
from one of the wealthiest families in the city, he stood a head
taller than most others in his regiment. He had showered me
with jewelry, beautiful gowns, and the finest perfumes.
Head of his regiment and aspiring to a generalship like his
own father, he commanded avid admiration in his soldiers. My
father, of course, loved him, his power, and his influence. Akhum
paid more than the usual bride-price in his determination to
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secure my hand. My father accommodated him by permitting

the betrothal to extend until Akhum returned from the incursion in Canaan to deal with rebelling chieftains.
But when Akhum had returned from his long journey, his
intended bride was a slave, not fit to tie his sandals, let alone
to be his wife. The floor beneath me seemed to quake violently.
Did he know about my family? What had he heard? What did
he think of me now? Did he know I stood here?
He must have felt the weight of my stare, for after a few moments he turned his attention my way. At first no recognition lit
his eyes, but he held my gaze, perhaps curious about the audacity
of a slave gaping at him, until shock flashed across his face. My
legs trembled with such violence I fought to continue standing.
It took every ounce of will left in me to lock my feet in place.
A sharp command from Tekurah jolted me. Kiya, Shira,
fetch my cosmetic box and refresh my makeup, I am melting
in this heat. And bring a fan, I need some air.
By the time I plowed through the door of Tekurahs room,
tears blinded me. My own makeup would need to be reapplied.
I found myself kneeling on the floor, sobbing and moaning,
Shira hovering over me.
Kiya... oh no, Kiya, what is wrong? What can I do? The
Hebrew girl smoothed my hair and patted my back.
I shook my head, unable to speak. She knelt and put her arms
around my shoulders, rocking back and forth with me as I wept.
Fetching a box should not take so long. The last thing I
needed tonight was an upbraiding in front of the guestsone
in particular.
I shrugged off Shiras arms, avoiding her sympathetic gaze.
Safe in the knowledge that Tekurah was occupied at the banquet,
I used her makeup to outline my tear-swollen eyes. I replaced
the pink alabaster kohl pot in the ebony box and closed the
lid. The ivory inlay on top reminded me so much of a chest
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my mother had given me long ago that even in my anguish, I

thought of her.
My mothers honey-gold eyes looked back at me in the mirror. What would she do in this situation? I had watched her
in the marketplace, bartering with her old neighbors or their
servants. Many former acquaintances came to her stall, driven
by curiosity, or pity, or simply to revel in her downfall. My
mother, however, always held her head high. She did not look
at the ground. She did not hide. She plied her goods and smiled,
thanking them for their business. They left, unsatisfied in their
gloating.
Her blood flowed in my veins, and I would banish any thought
of what my life would have been, what it should be, and hold
my own head high. Tekurah would not prevail.
I picked up the cosmetic box, swallowing hard to steady my
voice. We need to go back.
Shouldnt we wait a few more minutes? Shira peered at
me, seeming to gauge whether I might cry again.
The last thing I need is Tekurah screaming at me tonight. I
lifted my chin and hastened toward the door. But before I could
cross the threshold, my foot slipped on a reed mat. I stumbled.
Tekurahs treasured cosmetic box flew out of my hand.
In horror, I tried to grab at it, but my fingers found only
empty air. The box cracked against the wall, and the lid broke
away. Both pieces crashed to the floor, and the inlay shattered.
Ivory shards and splintered ebony skidded across the tile.
What have I done?

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