“Where are we going?” Jake asked.

“To Nefertiti’s rooms. If we hope to stop Kree’s plan, we will need her help.”

The old man guided them through an archway to a polished wooden door carved with hieroglyphics. He knocked softly. A sharp voice responded. The words were muffled, but the tone was all princess. A moment later the door creaked open, and a tiny face peered out. It was a young girl, barely eight, probably a handmaiden.

From inside, a harsh call swept out. “I do not wish to be disturbed.”

Shaduf patted the child on the head and pulled the door wider. “Hurry in,” he ordered.

Happy to escape the open hall, Jake led his friends inside. The main room was lavishly decorated with fine cloths and heavily cushioned furniture, all done in royal purples with splashes of gold. A peek through a side door revealed a bedroom.

Ahead, framed before an open balcony facing the setting sun, stood a familiar figure dressed in a white-pleated dress with a red sash. Nefertiti had her back to them, twisting the end of her sash as she stared at the bird’s-eye view of the city far below. Sensing their presence, she swung around.

“I told you I don’t want—”

Her words cut off as she recognized the invaders. Her face struggled to understand, but she showed no fear. Her eyes were puffy and red, her cheeks damp from tears. With her face scrubbed of paint, she looked fragile and real—but she still had a princess’s temper.

“Outlanders! How dare you trespass here?” She waved to her handmaiden. “Summon the guards!”

The child jumped to obey and collided with Shaduf’s legs. He caught her and held her gently. His eyes remained on Nefertiti. “Is that how you greet your uncle?”

Nefertiti wrinkled her nose in distaste at the sight of the old man. “My uncle is dead.”

He shrugged and stepped forward. “Not from lack of trying by Master Kree.”

She searched his face, ready to scoff again, but then her eyes widened in recognition. For once she showed true fear. A hand rose to her throat. Her eyes flicked to Jake.

“What manner of sorcery is this?”

Shaduf came forward, but Nefertiti backed toward the open balcony as if ready to hurl herself to her death. The old man held up his hand. “It is no sorcery. Believe me. Only the treachery of the Blood of Ka.”

She still looked unconvinced.

The old man sighed, sagging. “Child, I used to bounce you on my knee when your mother was still alive. I sang to you, and she played the flute. I taught you how to sharpen a spear and took you on your first hunt … against your father’s orders, as I recall. We both got a tongue-lashing after that.”

The fear slowly changed to a shining hope. “Uncle Shaduf …”

He held open his arms. After a moment’s hesitation, she rushed and hugged tightly to him, heavy beard and grime forgotten.