He turned around. It would help if he started looking, too. It was better than sitting in the palace, adding up numbers to record them later with the bulrush on papyrus. None of this had any urgency. With a little more vigour, the tjati turned his attention to the town where his messenger had been lost. The glorious hustle and bustle and the smells crashed down on him as if he had been pushing them away all along. This time they took the freedom to settle into his clothes, bathing the bright, lacklustre fabrics, which simultaneously proved expensive workmanship, in a mixture of joy and life.

Assou followed the scents, drifting with the crowd and gliding ahead, hoping to see in some corner the boy who had simply not dared to return without finding anything worth mentioning. But instead of encountering a missing child, Dinem met him with a basket of fruit. Her dark eyes and elegant stride captivated him for a moment before he raised his brows to speak up – long after she had noticed him.

Part of him expected advice, combined with a charming attempt to sweet-talk him. But she didn’t even take a step towards him. Instead, she averted her eyes and didn’t pause even when she was within reach. Their shadows passed each other as if there wasn’t enough room on the walls and Assou let the silence Dinem left in his mind linger a little longer.

It wasn’t unpleasant. Having her at a distance possessed detached freedom that brought Fatrada to the fore. Dinem had understood his rejection, and she didn’t force herself on him – not as many other women often dared to do when they couldn’t get what they craved. In her eyes, there was no value in chasing someone when there were plenty of other high-ranking men whose heads she could turn.

She was no threat.

Snorting, he shook his head. She had never been a danger, no matter how he looked at it. Some days she was a little more pushy than others, but ultimately she had always helped him. Maybe if she got over the rejection, they could become friends. Then there would be someone else besides Amenti who was on his side.

His thoughts detached from the slave girl. She faded into the background as he watched the hustle and bustle of the crowd. Everyone had a clear mission and yet some seemed to be taking the day at a slower pace. The wheat stall, which had to be nearby, was missing. Fatrada was probably taking a walk in the field, or visiting Nagib. Either was a possibility, and both drove Assou to want to follow her. If both of them were in the field, then his messenger had to be nearby. And so was the boy who was looking for him.

His legs carried him on, along the heat, through shadows, out into the open expanse where only a few poor people roamed, going about their daily chores. This time Assou paid no attention to them, dragging himself forward instead, while his breath rolled unevenly over his lips. Walking such a distance by day differed completely from doing it by night. Re burned him down, armed with a wry smile because perhaps he didn’t want to and yet he couldn’t help it. The ground beneath his feet was soft, sandy, swallowing his footsteps and making him soundless whenever he stepped. It bathed every movement in effort and it was only when the ground became harder by the fields that the tjati thought he was making faster progress.

In the distance, the workers could be seen and Assou allowed himself a break as he shielded his eyes and looked at the figures in the distance. Most of them wore a short shendyt that just covered the bare necessities, while the rest shone naked under the sun. Women brought food, guards eyed isolated men, and the rest were knee-deep at work. It seemed like they did nothing else every day, and even if it was just that, Assou could hardly believe that anyone could work under the burning sun. He himself wouldn’t have lasted more than a few breaths.

“I see you are taking a break from your labours.” The soft words of a woman made him whirl around until Fatrada came into view. “Are you planning to help in the field?”

Without further ado, Assou looked down at himself. His clothes were too good to be soiled by the field and, in fact, it occurred to him at that moment that he had better things to do than admire the men at work.

“No,” he replied slowly. “I am looking for one of my messengers. He was supposed to report to me and yet he didn’t come back.” He bowed his head. “I had hopes of finding him here.”

“A messenger from the palace?” Fatrada’s brows lifted.

“No, a messenger on personal business.” His gaze remained hard. With luck, she wouldn’t notice. “A messenger boy, to be exact.”

“Ah... One of those you can find in the upper area near the palace.” She nodded as if to grasp the understanding. “And probably the reason you knew when I was taking my walks.”

She was smarter than he would have liked, and yet Assou didn’t hesitate to wave it off. “I have to disappoint you there. He was to bring me information on certain matters best learned in secret.”

It was the simplest lie he could have come up with and yet he brought it upon himself with such certainty he almost believed it himself. Fatrada, too, preferred to let his words trail off as she drew her brows together and took a breath. “Do you need help, Vizier Assou? Letting a boy disappear isn’t something to be watched. I may not be much, but I know every nook and cranny of this town.”

Her determination was reflected in her eyes – fire that Assou wanted to cling to. Her conviction stole his words and for a breath, the messenger boy was forgotten. He no longer mattered in this tiny constellation, when what he wanted was right in front of him.

Even before he could rebuke himself, he heard his own voice in the soft sound of the brooding heat. “I love you.”

“And perhaps you will get the chance of that love in another life.” Lips pursed, Fatrada braced her hands on her hips. “I’m sure your messenger boy is more important than a declaration of love. Or are you indeed as indecisive and fickle as you pretend to be?”

Hastily, Assou raised his hands. He wasn’t fickle and yet he couldn’t deny that ever since he knew Fatrada, all his motivations were jumping from one act to the next. Almost as if nothing else mattered, as long as he could have what he desired. It was akin to a sickness that had overtaken him and yet was nothing more than the gentle breath of love that made his heart beat faster whenever he saw her. The empty swept senses were the price he paid, and it probably wasn’t a good one. But a pact was rarely good and love had provoked more than one foolhardy war.

“I’m sorry,” he finally put in. “I’ve ... been off my game lately, but I can assure you I still want to find my messenger boy.” This child deserved better than to be cornered by someone because of him. “So if you want to help me, I would be indebted to you.”

Fatrada’s tension eased. Her posture loosened, and the thin smile settled like a balm around his body. Her mood, her way of treating him, they were little things with which the world seemed to stand or fall. Together with her, he might succeed in his search and simultaneously he could get closer to her. Giving up was out of the question. Even if it remained reprehensible to think of little else but Fatrada. She wasn’t supposed to be the focus of this quest, and yet she eclipsed everything bad.

He was pathetic. Lost in the presence of a woman when there were more important things than her presence. However, everything else wasn’t important enough. Seeing Egypt fall might have been bad enough to forget her for a moment. So would the death of the king. Really serious things would certainly have thrown him off course. But this was a messenger boy whose name he didn’t even know, and the only advantage he perceived in all this was a piece of information that could help him.

Without further ado, Assou turned away from Fatrada. She showed him his ugliest sides and, although he wanted to be better than the hideous thoughts in the back of his mind, they overwhelmed him. She was probably the most beautiful poison that had ever enchanted him, and it was definitely not the first time he had been blinded by something. The position of vizier was too tempting some days for that. The slaves had messed with his head in the very beginning. Being at Ramesses’ side was laced with arrogance, and it had taken years to understand that all these things didn’t improve anything about him. He hadn’t become a different person. He still wanted to reap the pride of his parents, even if they were no longer a part of his life. And to make them proud, he had had to discard the greedy idiosyncrasies.

His mother had always rebuked the behaviour of most of them as arrogance. And Assou didn’t want to be like that. He was no less an honest worker than the others. Life’s goals were set. The gods had laid their hands protectively over him, and yet – Hathor poisoned him.

Or it was a test.

Did he want to win the game?

The stone slab moved to the forefront of his thoughts, clinging to his conscience and simultaneously answering none of his questions. He didn’t even know what game was meant. Whoever had left him that tablet, the gods had sent him on a mission.

“Vizier Assou?” Fatrada brought him back to the present. Hands clasped behind her back, she had leaned down beside him as if to explain to a small boy that they had things to do and that there was no time to play.

He knew. He knew it better than anyone. They had to find the messenger. They had to shed light on the matter without nurturing ulterior motives, and yet the circumstances ate through his senses as if they had been made solely for that reason.

“Are we searching together?” With difficulty, Assou disentangled himself from his doubts. Then he turned to Fatrada, who gave him a meaningful nod, though there was nothing of significance.

Still, they started moving and Assou gave Fatrada the lead. Her hurried steps chased across the dry ground, taking her between dilapidated houses that were already crumbling in places. She circled some of them, glancing inside, talking to people, looking sincerely for the messenger boy, while Assou stood helplessly off to the side and watched.