Nakia Meets The King

Discomfort made its way into Nakia's consciousness. At first, she thought it was just the cold marble floor that she slept on, and tried stay sleep but eventually, she recognized it as the need to relieve herself and allowed herself to awaken fully. She started to move, but froze. How long had it been since she'd used the chamber pot without the princess' permission? Two years? Three? Judging by the snores coming from the hammock above her, Ahmose was asleep.

After a minute, Nakia decided it was either use the chamber pot or burst all over the floor, and she'd be punished for either. She crawled carefully out from under the hammock. Awakening Ahmose would mean punishment, too. Hunger clawed at Nakia's ribs, but she was so used to ignoring it that she barely noticed.

She made her way over to the chamber pot and when she re-emerged from behind the screen a moment later, Ahmose was still asleep. Ahmose seemed to live to monitor and punish Nakia, so it was a little surprising that the princess hadn’t stirred. 

The lattice window high in the wall caught the pale glow and broke it into thin patterns that fell across the floor. The marble gleamed softly where the light touched it, as if a shallow pool of water had spread across the room while she slept. Between those bands of silver, the shadows were deep and blue.

Ahmose’s hammock hung above the floor like a drifting cloud of linen. The fabric stirred faintly with the princess’s breathing, the cords creaking almost too softly to hear. In the shifting light, the tassels along its edges swayed like quiet pendulums. Ahmose lay inside it—one arm draped over the edge, dark hair spilling downward, her mouth slightly open as she snored.

Nakia was so accustomed to seeing Ahmose towering above her in a righteous rage, that it was easy to forget that she was barely more than a child, only a few years older than Nakia. Almost embarrassed at the thought, Nakia looked away.

The painted walls looked different at night. During the day the lotus flowers and papyrus reeds were bright and cheerful, but now they seemed to float in the dimness, pale blossoms rising from dark water. A painted falcon near the ceiling stretched its wings across the plaster, its eye catching a glimmer of moonlight so that it appeared to watch the room.

The air smelled faintly of lotus oil and burned incense from earlier in the evening. Beneath it lingered the cooler scent of stone and linen.

A low table stood near the hammock, scattered with the princess’s things: a comb carved from ivory, a small jar of perfume, bracelets coiled like sleeping snakes. The moonlight touched their polished surfaces and turned them into tiny sparks of light. Beside the table sat a painted chest where Ahmose kept her dresses, its lid closed tight, guarding treasures Nakia would never be allowed touch.

Everything was still.

The palace beyond the walls breathed faintly—somewhere far away a door thudded softly, and she thought she heard the distant trickle of water from the garden fountains.

She knew that she should climb back under the hammock before Ahmose awoke and accused her of plotting her death or something. But -- from the moment Ahmose had adopted Nakia as her servant, Nakia hadn't had a single moment to herself. She wasn't allowed to fall asleep before Ahmose, and certainly not allowed to sleep later than the princess. And all of her waking thoughts were consumed by the princess; feeding her, clothing her, enduring her rages. When the princess was calm, Nakia just dreaded the next storm.

But now, she was awake and Ahmose was asleep. And Ahmose had never made a rule that this couldn't happen. 

Ahmose continued to snore. 

Without really allowing herself to think about what she was doing, Nakia edged toward door. She lifted it slightly — the pivoted cedar whispered faintly against its sockets. She held her breath, listening. She wasn't so far from the chamber pot that she couldn't lie if Ahmose woke up and asked Nakia what she was doing. 

Slowly, she slipped into the corridor. The further she moved away from the princess' room, the less convincing her excuses would be. But the night beckoned her. 

The corridor twisted, and the faint scent of lotus drifted to her. A soft whistle from a guard in the distance made her jump. But it wasn't Ahmose's screech, so Nakia kept moving. 

Finally, she reached the outer corridor that led to the garden. Moonlight revealed the packed sand paths, the raised beds of lotus and hibiscus, and the towering silhouettes of date palms. A fountain tinkled somewhere beyond, its sound delicate and surreal in the still night.

Even if Ahmose slept through the night and never missed Nakia, there was a second danger. If any other servant saw her and reported back -- especially any of Ahmose's favorites who also hated Nakia -- Nakia couldn't allow herself to imagine the consequences.

She paused at the edge of a lotus pond, watching the petals float on still water, letting her pulse slow slightly. And then, at the far edge of the garden, near a low stone bench, she saw a man seated cross-legged, ivory pieces arranged carefully on a carved game board. The board gleamed dark and polished, falcon heads carved into its ends, eyes glittering faintly. The edges were inlaid with faint gold and small stones and atop it were ivory pieces shaped like cats, birds, and stick figures.Beside him was a small tray with figs and a piece of flatbread, faintly scented with honey. 

She tried to retreat but her movement caught his gaze. 

He leaned forward. Moonlight touched his face. He was old — not bent and weathered, but grown. His narrow face was smooth, except for a short, dark beard. Beneath his striped linen headdress, his hair was combed perfectly. A thin golden band glinted at its center.

Even in his simple linen robe, tied lightly at the waist and falling loosely over his shoulders, he seemed impossible to touch. Around his neck, a broad collar of bright stones flashed in the moonlight. A bracelet shaped like a bird’s wing caught her eye again, and faintly, he smelled of sweet oils and something sharper.

When he looked at her, his eyes were sharp and dark. He'd been frowning, but as he examined her, his face relaxed into a faintly quizzical smile.

He was obviously important, maybe a guest of the king? Nakia wasn't allowed to leave Ahmose's room, so she didn't know what any of the guests looked like, but the palace was always hosting some dignitary or another. 

“Ah,” the man said softly, still smiling. “You’ve found my game.”

Nakia was torn between responding to his smile and running back to her spot under Ahmose's hammock. She was very aware of the thinness of her shift. The roughness, the patches. It had been too big on her when she'd come to the palace three years ago, but Ahmose had never replaced it, so now it was too small. Her arms and legs were decorated in rainbows of bruises in various stages of healing. After particularly brutal punishments, her shift would become sticky and then stiff with blood that was only allowed to be washed out once a month. And, Ahmose often told her, her face was hideous, twisted and terrifying. Nakia believed it and had no desire for a mirror. 

The man did not seem repulsed by her, though, merely curious. And slightly amused by her silence. “Do you know how to play senet?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Then allow me to teach you,” he said, leaning back slightly. He gestured her nearer, and when she moved toward him, he bent over the board and ran a finger along the polished edge, tracing the carved falcon heads at either end.

“This is the board,” he said. “Thirty squares, in three rows of ten. Each square has a purpose, though you may not see it yet.” He tapped a square with a slender finger. “Some are safe. Some bring trouble.”

Nakia knelt beside him, the stone wall still warm from the day's sunshine. The ivory pieces gleamed in the moonlight, carved into cats, birds, and little people.

“These,” he said, lifting one carefully, “are the pieces. Each player has… well, your mind does not need the names. Just know they belong to you. You move them forward along the squares, one step at a time, unless the game allows otherwise.”

He set the piece back down and nudged another. “See how it fits in the square? You must be careful. Only one piece may occupy a square at a time.”

She leaned closer, tracing the edges. The smoothness of the ivory felt impossible in her hands, like something too precious to touch.

“The board, the pieces, the path,” he murmured, watching her. “Learn them first. Then you may play.”

He picked up a fig from the tray beside him and tore it in half. Her stomach growled at he smell and she almost didn't believe it when he handed one half and ate the other. The sweetness, the warm, honeyed smell of it, made her eyes water. 

Nakia took the tiniest nibble, hoping that she could squirrel away the rest for when she was truly hungry, but he didn't take his eyes off of her until she had chewed and swallowed her final bite. Then, almost carelessly, he handed her a whole fig, and returned his gaze to the board.

Suddenly, the night made sense. The perfectly cool breeze, the warm stone, the delicious fruit -- the freedom. She was dreaming. There was no use in saving a dream fig, so she nibbled on it and turned her attention to the board, as well.

She was soon absorbed in learning, being guided and teased by him. She'd forgotten how to be teased as much as she'd forgotten how to play. At one point, she slid her cat piece forward—not toward her own safe square, but between two of his pieces.

He froze, frowning at the board, before looking at her. 

Nakia looked up at him. She'd been proud of that one, but now she was confused. "Was that wrong?" she asked, worried.

He watched her for another moment before his frown relaxed. "No, that was good," he murmured, returning his gaze to the board. "Just unexpected."

She felt a thrill at having surprised him, and just a touch of fear. For a moment, the way he'd frowned had reminded her of Ahmose just before an explosion. But after a few minutes of monitoring his mood, she relaxed and the moment was soon forgotten.

She could have played all night, but all too soon, he handed her the last piece of flatbread and started to pack up the board. "The board is tired for the night." He lifted each ivory figure with snow, deliberate fingers, and tucked them into a small cloth-lined box. He stretched luxuriously and waved her away with careless fingers. "Off with you, now," he said.

Nakia had never felt such devastation in her entire life. For a while, night had felt like day, like their own sun had hovered above their heads, making the world build only for them, warm and bright. With his dismissal, the night returned, darker and colder than ever before.

She stared at him for a moment, feeling only rejection. Not a dream, after all. The pain from her bruises, fatigue from the day all came rushing back, worse than if they'd been there the whole time.

And then, gratefulness flooded her body. She had never had, nor deserved a dream so good. She bowed and thanked him. In that moment, it didn't matter that he wasn't a king. He was her king, her god. She dare'nt show these blasphemous thoughts in her face, though, so she turned and fled back to Ahmose's room.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been gone, hours at least, but Ahmose was still draped in her hammock, still snoring peacefully. Still not quite believing this wasn't a particularly vivid dream, Nakia slid onto the floor and into her spot beneath Ahmose. One of the four carved posts holding Ahmose’s hammock had a small hollow near the base, just above the floor. Nakia folded the flatbread and slipped it inside. She was still hungry, but fuller than she had felt in a long time, and she couldn't justify eating when she knew that there were days of starvation ahead of her. Besides, if it was still there tomorrow, then tonight had definitely happened.

She lay on her back, her head against the marble floor, digesting the dates and the surprising freedom that the night had offered. It was dangerously addictive. All she had to do was refrain from using the chamber pot before falling asleep and nature would awaken her, like it had tonight. What would she do tomorrow night? It was unlikely that the stranger would still be here, and even more unlikely that he'd want to pass another night in her company. But she could stroll the gardens, or just find a comfy spot and watch the stars dance. And think.