“Greetings, Tbubui,” he said coolly. “I took your advice and opened the false wall in the tomb yesterday. Today I come to tell you what transpired.”
Her smile widened. “Wonderful! But you look drawn, Prince. Are you in pain? Would you like wine? I do not suggest the garden today. It is too hot. Let us retire to my suite where there is a comfortable chair and some cushions.”
Hori’s rebellious moment melted away. He followed her awkwardly into the rear passage and turned right, away from Harmin’s quarters. Presently she entered a room and held the door for him. A female servant rose from the corner and bowed.
“Your Highness should take the chain by the couch,” Tbubui said. “I can testify to its comfort for I spent much time in it when my foot was injured. You!” She addressed the servant. “Bring a footstool and cushions and a jar of wine.” The girl inclined her head and turned away. Are all the servants here forbidden to open their mouths? Hori wondered, taking the chair. I have not heard one of them speak.
The footstool was brought and piled with cushions. The quiet girl lifted his leg with the lightest of touches and settled it on the softness, then went away, came back with wine, poured and was dismissed. Tbubui sat on the edge of the couch. Out of the corner of his eye Hori noticed a tiring chest with lid flung back and a scarlet sheath spilling over its side. A vanity table covered in neatly aligned pots and jars stood next to the chest, and on the floor, as though flung there, was a scarlet ostrich fan.
“It is so wonderfully cool in here,” ‘he said slowly, picking up the silver wine cup. “To you, Tbubui. Life, Prosperity, and Happiness!”
“Thank you, Prince,” she smiled. “An old wish and a very welcome one. Now please tell me what happened to you yesterday. And what did Khaemwaset say when you told him what you had done?”
The couch behind her was neatly made, the shine of the linen subdued by the half-light. An ivory headrest stood beneath it. She was looking at him expectantly, leaning forward, her mouth slightly parted, her small teeth glimpsed within. It would be so easy to sully that perfectly made couch, Hori thought. One lunge and I would have her on her back, out of breath, disarmed by surprise. Would she cry out? I do not think so. Gasp? Perhaps. In either case I could have my lips against hers before she could recover her aplomb. The savagery and vividness of the scene that had burst into his mind horrified him and he forced a deep breath. “Father was very angry,” he said with an effort, “but he concealed it well. Today he inspected what I had done but made no comment.”
She nodded, and he went on describing the events of the previous day—his tension, his feelings of trepidation and excitement. She listened attentively but, when Hori began to talk of the tunnel, he sensed an increasing agitation, though she did not stir. She seemed all eyes, intent and alert. But how mysterious!” she interrupted him. “Did you explore this place?”
“Yes,” he said triumphantly. “I did. And I found this.” He extracted the earring from the pouch at his belt and handed it to her. “That is what tore my knee, but it was worthwhile, do you not think so? Such lovely old turquoise and such fine goldwork to hold it.” It lay on her hennaed palm like a drop of limpid Nile water, blue and green, and Hori, eagerly searching her face for approval, saw a most peculiar expression flit across it. Greed, satisfaction, anger, he could not decide which. “Put it on,” he offered, and she smiled very slowly.
“Will I not enrage the ka of the lady who once owned it?” she asked with a trace of mockery, and Hori smiled back.
“That lady’s ka must know that I intend to put it back in the tomb unharmed,” he stated, “and besides, how could she be offended to see her precious thing adorning so much beauty?”
For answer she pushed a braid behind her ear and screwed the earring into her lobe. It swung gracefully to and fro beside the long sweep of her neck and did indeed look as though it had been made for her. “Hori, fetch me a mirror,” she asked, then she laughed. “I was forgetting about your poor knee. I will get it myself.” Sliding off the couch she swayed to her vanity table, and to Hori there was something dreamlike about her motion, something private, as though for a moment she believed herself alone.
Grasping the copper mirror lying face down on the table she held it up like a votive candle in both hands, chin raised, eyes half closed, back arched, tilting her glossy head this way and that and murmuring gently. Hori could not catch what she was saying. Then she returned the mirror with a snap and came back to him. “I wonder what happened to its mate?” she said. “Perhaps thieves made off with it, as you have surmised. A pity.” She regained the couch, this time sliding back on it languidly. One foot remained on the floor, the white sheath parting at the slit to reveal the long, brown strength of thigh and calf. “Would I be permitted to wear it for a little while?” she asked, and at her tone of pretty submission Hori’s heart once more began to thud. He nodded, not trusting his voice.