She was much more energetic than he was. She had more determination than he had ever possessed. The gods had made her into a woman who could drive a man. A wondrous blossom who knew how to take charge of her life while the others mindlessly went about their daily routine.

Her watchful eyes checked every stone, glided over every alley. The vizier himself barely managed to take his eyes off her and although he tried, the lives of the others simply passed him by. Finally, he stopped. The breath rushed across his lips faster than he had noticed before, and the throbbing in his chest rushed pinpricks through his lungs. His throat was dry, his perception wavered, and he had to brace himself on his knees for a moment to rebalance the world.

“Vizier Assou, are you all right?” Fatrada appeared in front of him barely a blink later and raising his head only brought the differences between them into focus. She wasn’t out of breath, nor was she exhausted from the search that was settling into him, much like a burn.

“I’m fine,” he returned before hanging his head. Not only was he showing weakness to her, his legs felt as if they didn’t want to take one more step.

The sun was already setting, touching the far distance with careful rays. Not much longer and the sky would be shrouded in darkness. The search was taking more time than he had planned.

“You look like you need a drink,” Fatrada continued, and Assou couldn’t disagree. Every word rasped in his throat, and the effort not to cough required strength that brought sweat to his brow.

“Perhaps,” he ultimately uttered. It was but a small admission and yet Fatrada turned on the spot. Her hasty footsteps disappeared into the distance, and it took little more than a few silent breaths for her to return. In her hands, a cup of water.

All too quickly, the tjati accepted the vessel and emptied it, allowing some of his spirits to return. Straightened up and almost regaining his strength, he opened his mouth to thank her and yet found no words. Fatrada instead took the freedom to take the cup from him.

“You should thank the family over there.” As if she had read his mind, she pointed to an old man and his wife sitting at the door of their house, waving joyfully. The weather had scarred their skin, making them visibly wrinkled and tired. Still, they both had a smile left, which he could hardly return.

Fatrada brought the cup back to them and took her leave with so much vigour that she seemed out of place in the desert. Her energy was on a completely different level. She was used to this life, and he was sure her legs and feet didn’t hurt. Her body knew these roads. Her muscles were used to the wide paths while he squatted in the palace all day staring holes in the air.

He sighed. Outside the palace, there were too many things to overwhelm him and yet somehow they all lived in peace – yet they could have changed Egypt in their own way. These people were stronger than anyone in the palace and only the king’s soldiers seemed like worthy opponents in the face of conventional citizens.

“I think we have now searched almost the entire town.” Sauntering, Fatrada came back to him. She was at her wits’ end.

“I don’t think we’ll find him again...” confirmed Assou. “I don’t see how a messenger boy could escape such watchful eyes. But I thank you, Fatrada.”

For the first time, he seemed to call her by name during her presence and, to his own amazement, it carried less sound on his tongue than he had hoped. It didn’t possess the same soft touch as Dinem, nor any high-level strength like Maathorneferure. It didn’t even come close to the alien sound of Sauškanu. It was a name that could be forgotten if one didn’t listen carefully and yet it suited her perfectly; because she was a woman of the people. A folk that was easily forgotten and yet possessed its very own personality if one paid a bit more attention.

For a moment, he was glad that he had looked at her more closely; that he had noticed how beautiful she was and how headstrong her character shimmered. She was a free spirit, just as the gods had made her.

“There’s no need to thank me.” She bowed her head. “We couldn’t achieve a thing.”

“And yet you helped me as best you could. I am grateful for that,” Assou added before bowing slightly to her. It was the least he could do. A thank you from the heart because she had stayed with him, even though he had probably been nothing more than a burden the whole time.

“I’d do it again any time,” Fatrada replied before wiping her hands on her kalasiris. The heat had reached her too, and yet it shone barely noticeably on her skin. “How will you proceed now?”

He shook his head. “To be honest, I don’t know. The boy could be anywhere and I am forced to assume the worst. It was... a private matter, so it is very difficult to receive official help.”

“Pharaoh’s power wasn’t made for the common people, I suppose.” Fatrada’s shoulders slumped. “May Horus’ watchful eye see the boy safely home.”

“M-My M-Master!” Another’s voice mingled between them, and though Assou didn’t want to believe the first sound, he still thought he recognised the summons.

Instantly, the vizier turned, only to discover the small messenger boy, his pale face clearly different from the rest of his body. The dark skin gleamed with sweat, while he was losing some of his colour around the nose. His cheeks were sunken and his step swayed. Fatrada came towards him immediately. Her quick, leaping feet reached the boy before he could collapse. Assou did the same, coming towards the child, who by now was sitting on his knees, wheezing.

“Is that him?” Fatrada’s agitation chased in Assou’s direction, who merely gave a weak nod. Still, she barely acknowledged his words as she turned to the child again. “Do you need anything? Water? Something to eat?”

Slowly, the boy shook his black mop of hair before detaching a flattened piece of papyrus from the waistband of his shendyt and handing it to Fatrada. “I have a message for you.”

Assou’s brows lifted. Papyrus was expensive and only seen in the circles of the rich – usually in the palace. However, there was no one but himself who would ever send Fatrada a message, assuming she could read at all. There were some people in the kingdom who didn’t understand hieroglyphs. But Fatrada took the message so confidently that his fear faded and he simply watched her instead. She opened the papyrus, let her gaze glide over the neatly drawn pictures, and barely later pressed her lips together. Assou couldn’t see much more from his spot than that the drawings were more beautiful than anything he had ever managed. No blurred lines, no lines that didn’t match.

“Is this a joke?” Fatrada’s voice was like a whisper that Assou couldn’t help hearing. Her gaze was still glued to the papyrus and simultaneously her shoulders tightened a little. Only then did she lift her gaze, her eyes as big as jars. “Vizier Assou, are you joking with me?”

He had no idea what she was talking about. Her expression betrayed nothing, and before Assou could open his mouth, she turned the papyrus in her hands. She spoke it out at the same moment it caught his eyes.

“The message is from you.”

It made no sense. Not even in madness had he dared to compose lines for her. Surely it would have been too cocky. She wasn’t a woman interested in such things and until a few moments ago, he hadn’t even been able to say if she could read. All these factors had kept him at bay and yet in her hands was a message that was supposed to be from him.

“Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t write those words?” he tried slowly. He had to find a beginning, and yet he had no assurance that he wouldn’t perish in quicksand.

“You mean to tell me you’re not playing a game with me right now?” Her gaze darkened. “It’s hard to believe, considering the circumstances.”

“On the contrary,” Assou assured her. “I am not a man accustomed to the fields. Walking all over the city with you is an effort I would probably never have made in this way had I not been serious.”

She pursed her lips before taking another look at the papyrus. Assou, however, held his breath. She had to believe him, no matter how obvious the evidence against him looked. Whatever that message said, it had nothing to do with him.

Fatrada herself found no answer, so she turned to the messenger boy and gave him a friendly smile. The exhaustion had subsided a little and although he still looked like death itself, he was no longer panting.

“Who gave you that message?” she inquired. It was the easiest question in the world and probably the simplest way to find the culprit. But the boy merely took a breath and lowered his gaze.

“The vizier, mistress,” he replied, slow and heavy as stone. Then, as if his work was done, he bowed, turned and ran. Just like that. He was too fast for Assou to catch him by the shendyt or the arm, and Fatrada merely followed the scenario with a fixed gaze.

“I can assure you this boy didn’t speak the truth.” The throbbing in Assou’s chest drove sweat to his skin and the restlessness in his bones forced him to clench his hands into fists to keep from shaking too conspicuously. His body didn’t know if there was anger or irritation lurking inside him, but he knew there was something enveloping him and it weighed heavily on his senses.

“Suppose I were to believe you,” Fatrada began slowly, “who else would have written this message?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know. I don’t even know what anyone could want from you. What does the message say?” He took a step closer and Fatrada let him. Her gaze fastened once more on the hieroglyphics.

“It says you left a surprise for me at the entrance of my house. It seems to me like a message you would have preferred to give me if we had no longer been together.” She handed him the papyrus. “And you say that this message is not from you...”