City of the Dead by T. L. Higley

If you both would … betray me.”
    I said nothing, shocked into silence by his brutal honesty.
    Khufu walked toward the harbor, as if to escape the horror inside the temple. I followed.
    He spoke without taking his eyes from the water. “When the years went by, and still she stayed, I would sometimes tell myself that things had changed.” He glanced at me. “But then one look at the two of you, when you thought no one was watching, and I knew that I was a fool.”
    I felt the weight of his silence, knew I should speak. “I am so sorry, Khufu. We never—”
    “I know. I watched. You were both always loyal. To Egypt and to me.”
    We reached the harbor’s edge and Khufu dropped to his knees, as though his strength had finally failed. “Sometimes I think I made you my vizier simply to test you both,” he said. “To see if you could remain near to one another, yet still faithful.”
    I looked down on the king in his sorrow. “I loved her, my friend. You know that. But we both loved you as well.” I joined Khufu on my knees.
    Pharaoh sobbed again, covering his face with his hands. “I do not know how to rule without her, Hemi. She knew more of what it means to be a god than either of us ever will.”
    Khufu’s grief quieted and we sat in silence for awhile, studying the play of starlight on water.
    And then slowly, the king lifted a handful of dirt from beside him and looked at me.
    I knew his intent, the age-old ritual of grief.
    I repeated Khufu’s actions and filled my own hand with dirt. I held my fist closed and bent my head toward Khufu. I waited through his hesitation. Then the king opened his hand over my head and let the dirt tumble over me. My tears fell to the ground at my knees and mixed with the falling dirt. I did the same for Khufu, pouring the soil over his bent head. We then embraced, and in our grief we were joined, as though we buried each other beside the harbor where Merit had died.
    * * *
    I slept with thoughts of Merit biting at me like vicious ants. I roused myself well past daybreak, accomplished each of my morning rituals and kneeled before my shrine of the goddess Ma’at to pray and light incense, begging the goddess’s favor. Then I left my residence for the Great House, staff in hand.
    I had only one thing in mind: to obtain Pharaoh’s official sanction on my efforts to bring Merit’s killer to justice.
    Khufu had sent me home in the early morning hours, borne in the king’s own litter by twelve slaves. I was too exhausted to argue, and Khufu wanted to be alone with his wife.
    The Great Hall of Pillars had been cleared of last night’s celebration already and was empty, save one, when I entered.
    Khufu sat on his throne, head in hands. The red-and-whitestriped nemes had fallen forward around his face, shrouding him from any who happened by. He still wore a white dressing robe loosely around his shoulders, and I suspected he had neither bathed nor offered sacrifices this morning.
    I strode across the hall, letting my footfalls rouse the king.
    Khufu looked up briefly, then let his head fall again.
    “I’ve sent them all away, Hemi.”
    “Who?”
    “The treasurer. The superintendent of clothing. The overseer of the storehouses. All the others who want my attention. I have nothing for any of them.”
    “Pharaoh is grieving. They must understand.”
    “Do they? How can they understand when I do not?”
    I looked to the high-backed chair beside Khufu’s throne, often occupied by Merit, and said nothing.
    “You must finish her pyramid, Hemi.”
    “Yes, my king. Your people will devote themselves to making it ready. It will be done in time.”
    Khufu’s eyes found mine. “It cannot delay the building of my own, however.”
    Of course not.
    I ran my fingers over the length of my staff.
    “Hemi, you must promise me that the deaths of Mentu and Merit will do nothing to cause the project to falter.”
    “The work continues,” I said, my voice tight. “But I believe that