Renifer was the envy of every girl she knew. Pankh was strong shouldered and brave. His skin, burnt so dark by the remorseless sun, was like black gold. He was the most handsome and the youngest supervisor of a royal wharf.

Eternal life was fine, and waiting on the princess was fine, but what Renifer cared about was having her own husband, her own house, and as soon as possible, her own children. She was fourteen and it was time.

The doorkeeper opened the big wooden entry set deep in the mud-brick wall. Inside, date palms kept the courtyard cool and shady. Father was reclining under the yellow-and-white-striped awning on the rooftop and Renifer went up the steep ladder to join him. Servants brought bread fresh from the oven and dates still hot from the lowering sun.

Soon the distant sand would turn red and purple with shadow and Pharaoh Himself would be praying for the sun's return in the morning. She would not repeat her own prayers in front of Father, who found religion amusing. Even the Pyramid meant little to Father, who just shook his head when he happened to notice it.

“You look especially lovely today,” said her father, “and I think it time to discuss your marriage.”

“Oh, yes, Father!” cried Renifer. “Pankh will be here soon. He's taking me to a concert on the wharf.”

The days were so hot and glaring that the best entertainments occurred after dark. She helped herself to olives, planning what to wear. She owned much gold jewelry, but neither Father nor Pankh liked her to wear it in public. Sometimes Renifer pouted over that rule.

“Perhaps,” said Father, “you should not marry Pankh after all. I can find a more prestigious match, now that you are in Princess Meresankh's favor.”

She said dizzily, “But Father! Pankh is ready to bring me home.”

Father shrugged. “Why settle for Pankh when you could do better? My grandsons could have noble blood.”

Renifer cared more about hot blood, and from what Pankh said and did when they were alone, he could give her all the sons she might want. She tried to dispel her father's hopes. “The princess barely noticed me. She picked me out of a row of girls. Any soprano would do.”

“No. The princess has requested you to attend her again next week. Furthermore, Daughter, the princess ordered you to meet her within the palace walls, not on the plaza where the musicians gather. You, my daughter, will be in the presence of Khufu, Lord of the Two Lands. The princess wishes you to sing for Him.”

Pharaoh Himself would hear her sing?

It was too great an honor. She was not good enough.