“Is that all?” Dinem’s curiosity possessed the air of unaccustomed restlessness that nestled harshly against him, making Assou think he could hear her heartbeat. A clear, steady throbbing that he couldn’t help but feel.

“What you feel for me, I cannot return,” he finally replied to her. With a step forward, he disengaged himself from her proximity. “My heart already belongs to another.”

He didn’t look over his shoulder, nor did he take the liberty to wait. Whatever she was going to do, he wanted to leave her alone with it rather than have to deal with a broken heart. Lowering his eyelids, the tjati got out on the other side of the bath. Neither did he dry himself, nor did he let the rush shine through in his action. Instead, he put on his clothes and slipped back into the corridors of the palace; free of Dinem. She hadn’t uttered a word in any of his fleeing breaths. Probably she had tried to hold her head high and not let on that his response wasn’t what she had hoped for. Her heart stood at the gates of impossibility and she had realised it too late.

Barely noticeable, Assou shook his head. You could have anything if you focused your entire existence on just that one thing. He had to believe in that. And maybe one day Dinem, too, would get what her heart desired. Not his love, but the affection of a man of good status who would be kind to her.

His thoughts circled. Nothing wanted to hold him, and yet there were too many things that demanded his attention. He was left with only a few options that looked like they would bring peace. Everything hit him like a cold storm and yet, when he caught sight of the silvery fur of a cat, all the worries that threatened to build up disappeared.

Without further ado, Assou stopped to look at the creature sitting peacefully, gazing at him out of sharp, yellow eyes.

“Kuss...” He hadn’t seen the tom in ages. These creatures were as free-spirited as the birds that flocked in the sky, and yet Amenti had been so affectionate lately that it seemed strange to see Kuss and Ammon so rarely.

The cat’s mewing scratched harshly across the walls and, though Assou knew he couldn’t have a conversation with him, he crouched down to hold out his hand. “Are you looking for something to eat?”

With gentle paws, Kuss approached him to nuzzle his fingers and pick up cuddles that usually only one of the Great Royal Queens gave him. Assou welcomed the distraction, the purr, and the calm that gently settled over his nerves. Bastet had sent wonderful beings into this world. Hearty souls that soothed confusion and chased away worry. The vizier took the minutes to stroke Kuss for as long as the tomcat would allow. It wasn’t an eternity, and yet it was longer than expected. Immediately after, Kuss leapt ahead a few feet and, though Assou knew the tom could disappear into the shadows at any moment, he followed.

Flickering outlines followed the walls in tiny patches, making the palace seem more alive than it usually was at this time of night.

“Where are we going?” Unintentionally, yet completely automatically, the vizier directed his question at the tom, who glanced only briefly over his shoulder. Perhaps Kuss understood what he was saying and asking. Or perhaps he only turned around because he perceived Assou’s questions in the background as a simple, unexpected noise.

Outside the door to his study, Kuss paused and sat down.

“So you just wanted to give me a safe path through the corridors?” The tjati’s gentle smile couldn’t be suppressed. Even the journey back passed within a few breaths at this cat’s side. “Thank you.”

The tom seemed to nod at him before rising and sauntering away in elegant strides. Assou watched him go, only a moment before he turned and entered his study.

The atmosphere within those walls was the same that always accompanied him as he stared at the papyrus, hoping the work would take care of itself. But nothing moved. No sound reached him. The silence swallowed him completely and Assou gave himself over to the dizzying feeling of detached solitude. His legs carried him behind the table, where he settled on his seat cushion as usual, watching a bit of dust swirl up. Then he turned his attention to work. He had to make preparations to collect the taxes. The messengers would report soon. Things would start moving and the feast, in honour of Meritamen, was approaching.

Little things that absorbed him, swallowed him up and wouldn’t let him go. Sometimes he was overcome by darkness, which he knew how to subdue with a little fire. Now and then, however, the flames consumed him and exposed him to icy dreams. Food came and went, as did the messengers and slaves who cast glances at him as if they were worried about him. His legs tingled during some hours when he changed sitting position or got up to put away some notes.

The world passed in a rush.

And yet, after four days, it stopped completely when Assou inhaled and the rush slipped from his hand. His eyes burned, his skin was greasy and the weight of a pyramid weighed on his body.

With imbalance, Assou gathered to his feet to drag himself a few steps ahead to the door, where no one was waiting for him. His soles shuffled as he struggled into the small washroom, where he cleaned his face and hair before rinsing his body. The weight on his shoulders didn’t lessen for a moment, and even under his eyes hung a heaviness that refused to leave. His muscles were tired. Just as exhausted as his head, which grasped every thought only through cotton wool.

The palace and its slaves faded into vague awareness as he strolled down the corridor back to his room and ran straight into the arms of his messenger. The boy could barely hold his weight before the tjati staggered back a little and sorted his thoughts.

“Vizier, are you all right? You look ill.” The child’s concern made Assou tighten his shoulders and nod.

“All is well,” he raised his hand, “though I must confess I have lost sight of the doings of the palace.”

“Perhaps I can assist you with that,” the boy offered, and he accepted with faint gratitude before opening the door to his study and settling down.

The dizziness and fading perception cleared only sluggishly as he emptied a cup of stale wine and eyed the boy for a moment longer than necessary. He slid back and forth on his legs steadily, a smirk on his features, and though the vizier wasn’t drawn to any of this, a part of him inside was scratching at strange hope he couldn’t gauge. Listening was the least he could do. “What do you have to report?”

“Not much, but still a few important things,” the boy replied. “Fatrada, the woman I was supposed to watch, goes for a walk in the field every day when the sun has set. I meant to let you know earlier, but you were so engrossed in your work that I couldn’t reach you.”

The boy’s words woke Assou. Fatrada. He hadn’t seen her for four days as well, and though her absence hadn’t been noticeable in that time, his insides stirred wildly in those seconds. It tingled, fluttered and ate at him. Her smile would erase even the greatest weakness in his body and plant a little sunshine in his mind, of that he was sure. Still, he refrained from jumping up and setting off at once. The sun hadn’t set yet, though the sky was turning a shallow red.

“You hinted you could tell me something about the affairs of the palace. What is it?” With difficulty, Assou distracted himself with the rest of the conversation.

“That isn’t much either, Vizier. But I heard that the beautiful Queen Maathorneferure hasn’t come out of her chambers for several days. Some slaves at first thought she was ill, but most could confirm that she is enjoying good health. Physically, at least.” He lowered his voice as if to announce a conspiracy. “They say she looks at the same spot all the time and only leaves her chambers when she has to. It runs like a rumour through the slaves, but they say she is filled with hatred because the Great Royal Queen Meritamen is expecting a child, while the beautiful Queen Maathorneferure hasn’t been blessed.”

Assou couldn’t control the twitching of the corners of his mouth. If Maathorneferure had fallen so low as to feel jealousy towards another queen, the victory of this unnecessary argument with her became clearer. Then again, he knew that all these were nothing more than rumours floating around the palace – a few of far too many, as he had noticed over the past few years. There were no trustworthy sources and yet it was a pleasant relief to think that not everything went as Maathorneferure had hoped.

“I’d say it’s definitely entertaining.” Casually, Assou dug out four gold coins and slid them towards the boy. “Thank you for your efforts. I hope to continue working with you.”

Eyes widening, the boy stared at the coins. He had probably never seen so much gold before and even if it wasn’t the most valuable material on the market, it left an impression.

“Vizier, I cannot accept this.” Hastily, the child looked up at him and Assou couldn’t help but tilt his head and put on a smile. This boy was one of the best messengers he had come across in a long time and even if four gold pieces were clearly too much, he deserved it.

“Take them by all means. They are yours,” he clarified. Still, the messenger didn’t move for a moment before he collected the money with nimble fingers and looked at him with wide eyes. Mouth open, the words failed him on the tongue.

“You are dismissed for now. Enjoy your free time, but stick around in case I need you.” Serenely, the tjati gestured to the door. “You are free to go.”

Instantly, the boy jumped to his feet before bowing low and scurrying out of the room that welcomed Assou into solitude. The cotton in his head had subsided and with each successive breath, it became easier to focus on the actual obstacles. Maathorneferure wouldn’t be a problem for a while, which meant he could focus solely on Fatrada.

His gaze fell outside, where the fresh air clung heatedly to his mind and the sun was slowly disappearing behind the horizon. Not long now and Fatrada would be on her way. He had to prepare himself.

Instantly, Assou picked himself up and patted the clothes on his body. He might please her better if his clothes were simpler than the others’. Not too flashy and yet good enough to prove that he could be whatever he wanted. So that he didn’t seem like someone who focused on the precious things. Fatrada needed to be the centre of attention.

His feet floated across the floor as he fled his study and headed straight outside. Most were selling their wares late into the darkness. Clothes adorned the nearby stalls. Going home and rummaging through his own fabrics wouldn’t help him. All he owned were neatly chosen garments that flattered him as a vizier. His parents had taught him from an early age that it was important to pay attention to how the Pharaoh saw him. He had never changed that.

This one small step was for Fatrada alone.