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  Praise for

  The Pharaoh’s Daughter

  “A story I have waited for, The Pharaoh’s Daughter throws light on one of the Old Testament’s most enigmatic—and least lauded—figures. With gorgeous prose and painstaking research, ancient Egypt comes alive. This poignant story is a fascinating look into the early life of Moses and the time of King Tut. Poetic and fiercely compelling, this is Andrews’s finest yet.”

  —TOSCA LEE, New York Times best-selling author of Iscariot

  “What a delight! I loved sinking into the treasures of Egypt, with all the lush and fascinating detail that Andrews skillfully brings to life, in this behind-the-scenes imagining of a familiar tale.”

  —TRACY HIGLEY, author of Pyramid of Secrets

  “Inspired by the scriptures, Mesu Andrews brings the ancient world to glowing life!”

  —R. J. LARSON, author of Prophet

  BOOKS BY MESU ANDREWS

  In the Shadow of Jezebel

  Love in a Broken Vessel

  Love’s Sacred Song

  Love Amid the Ashes

  THE PHARAOH’S DAUGHTER

  PUBLISHED BY WATERBROOK PRESS

  12265 Oracle Boulevard, Suite 200

  Colorado Springs, Colorado 80921

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com.

  This book is a work of historical fiction based closely on real people and real events. Details that cannot be historically verified are purely products of the author’s imagination.

  Trade Paperback ISBN 978-1-60142-599-7

  eBook ISBN 978-1-60142-600-0

  Copyright © 2015 by Mesu Andrews

  Cover design by Kristopher K. Orr; cover photography by Kelly L. Howard

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House LLC, New York, a Penguin Random House Company.

  WATERBROOK and its deer colophon are registered trademarks of Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Andrews, Mesu, 1963–

  The pharaoh’s daughter : a treasures of the nile novel / Mesu Andrews.

  pages cm

  ISBN 978-1-60142-599-7 (softcover)—ISBN 978-1-60142-600-0 (ebook) 1. Bible. Old Testament—History of Biblical events—Fiction. 2. Egypt—Kings and rulers—Fiction. 3. Moses (Biblical leader)—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3601.N55274P48 2015

  813′.6—dc23

  2014043266

  v3.1

  To my daughters, Trina and Emily. You are my heroes.

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Family Tree

  Map

  Note to Reader

  Prologue

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Part 2

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Part 3

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Author’s Note

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks to my agent, Karen Ball, who guided me through a new contract process, and to the great folks at WaterBrook Multnomah—you are amazing. To Shannon Marchese, my senior editor: The Pharaoh’s Daughter is richer, fuller, and more complete because you saw Anippe’s soul before I did. To Amy Haddock, my marketing director: from our very first meeting, your energy and commitment to trying new things inspired me. (And you make the best chocolate-chip cookies EVER!) Thanks to the design team for the fabulous cover—more than I could have asked or imagined. Publicity and Sales teams, you are my hands and feet, and … WOW, you cover a lot of territory. “Thank you” isn’t enough for all you do to get my book into readers’ hands. A special thanks to Stuart McGuiggan, who was instrumental in bringing me to WaterBrook Multnomah. I owe you a cup of coffee, sir!

  Our gracious God has surrounded me with a tribe of generous people, who gave of their time, talents, and resources to help me complete this book. Thanks go to Suzanne Smith, research librarian at Multnomah University, for trimming my research time in half by collecting books and articles on topics I requested. I’m so grateful to Phil and Pam Long for the use of their mountain cabin for those writing retreats in God’s glorious creation. And to my three critique partners—Meg Wilson, Velynn Brown, and Michele Nordquist—I couldn’t do this writing thing without your love, encouragement, and fantastic editing.

  Finally, to both my spiritual and earthly families—thank you. My prayer team, BFF Team, my parents, and our kids—you pray for and encourage me through every panicked e-mail and plot roadblock. My incredible husband endures not only the ups and downs of my writing journey but also edits the full manuscript at least three times in its various forms. He’s my rock, my hero, my biggest fan. I love you, Roy Andrews.

  NOTE TO READER

  Ancient Egypt is a fascinating and challenging world to describe. Writing about it is sort of like drinking water from a fire hose. Information is everywhere! Some accurate, some simply ridiculous. Lists of pharaohs differ. Legend contradicts legend. And their gods—even ancient Egyptians disagreed about their gods.

  How does one write a historically accurate story with such divergent information?

  I began with the unalterable Truth of God’s Word. The Author’s Note details my process for making historical choices for the story, and the rest is plausible fiction—a story of what might have happened to Pharaoh’s daughter. If at any point the story deviates from Scripture, it’s unintentional—and I ask your grace and forgiveness.

  The names and themes of this book are complex—as Egypt itself is complex—but stick with it, dear reader. Let the story unfold within your heart and mind. Walk with me among the bulrushes of the Nile and into the unsuspecting life of Pharaoh’s daughter.

  PROLOGUE

  [The angel of the Lord] replied, “Why do you ask my name? It is beyond understanding.”

  —JUDGES 13:18

  The royal linen closet is a dark hiding place, but I’m a big girl—almost five inundations old—so I’m trying not to be afraid.

  I wonder … is it dark in the underworld? Was Ummi Kiya afraid when she and the baby inside her crossed over this morning?

  The priest ordered me and my l
ittle sister to the birthing chamber. Ankhe is only three. She wouldn’t go.

  The priest was angry, so he came to our chamber and grabbed Ankhe’s hand. “You must see the beauty of Tawaret—goddess of childbirth!”

  Instead, we saw Ummi Kiya’s blood poured out on the straw under her birthing stool. Her light-brown skin was white as milk. The midwives pulled out a baby boy, but he was as gray as granite.

  The angry priest wasn’t angry anymore. He knelt before Ankhe and me. “Anubis, god of the underworld, has stolen their breath. I’m sorry.”

  I ran from the birthing chamber, screaming, before Anubis could steal my breath too.

  I’ve been hiding a long time because Anubis might still be hunting. He knows my name, Meryetaten-tasherit. It’s hard to understand, but I’m called a decoy—named after Queen Nefertiti’s daughter Meryetaten to confuse Anubis should he prowl the palace grounds. If I stay in this linen wardrobe all day and night, perhaps the dark god will take the Great Wife’s daughter instead.

  Nefertiti, the Great Wife, hates me because Abbi Akhenaten loved my mother. Ummi Kiya was his Beloved Wife, and she gave him a son—my brother, Tutankhamun.

  Pharaohs like sons, but Abbi Akhenaten doesn’t like daughters. He frowns when my sister Ankhe and I enter the throne room. Maybe it’s because of Ankhe’s tantrums.

  Ummi Kiya said Ankhe’s ka is troubled like Abbi’s. He throws tantrums too, but because he’s pharaoh, he doesn’t get in trouble.

  My legs hurt, and my tummy’s rumbling. I don’t want to stay in this dark closet anymore. But the linen robes hanging around me smell like Ummi Kiya—lotus blossoms and honey. Who will love me now that she’s gone?

  My brother Tut will. He’s only six, but he protects me. He checks my bed for scorpions at night and makes his tutors teach me the same lessons he’s learning. We learn about Hittites and Nubia, and we try to write hieroglyphs.

  Ankhe is too little for lessons, and she doesn’t know about love either. Will she ever love? Or will she be like Abbi Akhenaten and live forever with a broken ka?

  I hear footsteps. Someone is coming. My heart feels like horses racing in my chest.

  “Mery?”

  Someone’s calling me. I think I know that voice.

  “Mery, habiba, I know you’re in there.”

  A little light shines in, and I peek through the robes at a kind woman’s face. Her cheeks are plump and round, her smile warm like the setting sun.

  “You know my ummi,” I say.

  “Yes, I was Kiya’s friend. Do you remember my name, Mery?”

  She offers her hand, but I scoot behind the robes into the corner of my wooden shelter. Her smile dies, and I wonder if she’ll unleash Anubis now that I’ve been found. I hear a sound like a wounded dog—it’s me! I must stop crying!

  “Mery, I’m sure your ummi Kiya’s heart measured lighter than a feather on Anubis’s scale of justice. She is waiting for us both in the afterlife, but she would want you to trust me now.”

  I can’t stop shaking, can’t speak. I can only stare at this woman whose smile is gone and whose eyes are now filling with tears. Is she angry? I don’t remember her name, but I know she’s the big general’s wife. Will she call the army to kill me?

  “Your abbi Akhenaten has given you to General Horemheb and me. You are our daughter now.”

  She reaches for me again, but I slap her hand away. “No! I want Tut!” I bury my face in my hands and pray for Anubis to find me. Take me to Ummi Kiya!

  “Mery. Mery!” The general’s wife is kneeling and bent into the closet, shaking my shoulders. “Tut will stay with you. We’re all staying here at the Memphis Palace together. Your brother, you, me, and General Horemheb. You will be with Tut as you’ve always been.” She strokes my hair and doesn’t seem angry that I yelled.

  Slowly, I look at her. “Did Abbi give Tut away too?”

  “No, little habiba. Tut is prince regent. He will always be Akhenaten’s son, but all Kiya’s children will remain under General Horemheb’s protection in Memphis. Because the general and I have no children, Pharaoh gave you as a precious gift. You are now our daughter. I hope this pleases you.”

  She cups my cheek and looks at me the way Ummi did. Maybe she could love me a little. “What is your name, lady?” I ask.

  “I am Amenia. Would you like to know the new name General Horemheb has chosen for you?”

  I suck in a quick breath and scoot to the edge of the wardrobe, surprising my new ummi. “I get a new name? Anubis will never find me if I have a new name!”

  Chuckling, Amenia stands and helps me to my feet. “You will be called Anippe, daughter of the Nile. Do you like it?” Without waiting for a reply, she pulls me into her squishy, round tummy for a hug.

  I’m trying not to cry. Pharaoh’s daughters don’t cry, but her soft, warm arms make me feel so safe. Maybe Amenia could be my new hiding place instead of the dark linen closet.

  My tummy is growling again.

  “You must be hungry after being in that wardrobe all day.” Amenia kisses the top of my head and gives me a little squeeze before letting go. “We must present you to your abbi Horemheb before our evening meal.”

  “What about Ankhe? Will she come with us to meet our new abbi?”

  Amenia loses her smile. She holds my shoulders hard. “Anippe, do you trust Abbi Horemheb and me to do what’s best?” Her voice makes me shiver.

  “Where is Ankhe?”

  “Ankhe is safe, and she will always be your little sister, but she will not meet General Horemheb.”

  After another kiss on my forehead, Amenia smiles, and we start walking through the tiled hallway to meet my new abbi.

  I try to stop at Ummi Kiya’s chamber, but Amenia pushes me past. So I keep walking and don’t look back. Like the waters of the Nile, I will flow.

  These are the names of the sons of Israel who went to Egypt with Jacob, each with his family: Reuben, Simeon, Levi and Judah; Issachar, Zebulun and Benjamin; Dan and Naphtali; Gad and Asher. The descendants of Jacob numbered seventy in all; Joseph was already in Egypt.

  Now Joseph and all his brothers and all that generation died, but the Israelites were exceedingly fruitful; they multiplied greatly, increased in numbers and became so numerous that the land was filled with them.

  —EXODUS 1:1–7

  1

  Then a new king, to whom Joseph meant nothing, came to power in Egypt.

  —EXODUS 1:8

  FOUR YEARS LATER

  Anippe dipped her sharpened reed in the small water jar and swirled it in the palette of black powder. Her scroll had only one stray drop of ink—one less drop than Tut’s—and she was determined to best her big brother. She drew a second water symbol, adding it to bread, water, basin, box, and owl, to finish her brother’s name: T-t-n-k-h-m-n. Leaning to her left, she peeked at Tut’s progress. Her letters were much clearer, and he now had three stray ink drops.

  “Very good, Anippe.” The tutor peered over her shoulder, his breath reeking of garlic and onions. “Your writing is almost as precise as the divine son’s.”

  Tut smirked, and Anippe rolled her eyes. “Thank you, revered and wise teacher.” Maybe his vision was blurred by the cloud of his stinky breath.

  “My letters are just as good!” Ankhe shouted from across the cramped classroom. She slammed her reed on the small, square table and began tearing her scroll into pieces. “You spend all your time with Tut and Anippe.”

  The tutor grabbed his willow switch, and Ankhe turned her back in time to save her face from the lashing. “If I spend more time with you, Ankhe-Senpaaten-tasherit, you will likely be whipped more often. Is that what you wish? You will show me respect in this classroom, and you will act like the daughter of a god.”

  Tears stung Anippe’s eyes, but she blinked them away. Daughters of gods didn’t cry. The tutor had never used his switch on her, but she didn’t wish to test him. She reached for Tut’s hand under the table, silently begging him to intervene. The divine son was n
ever punished.

  “Oh wise and knowing teacher, let us resume our lesson.” Tut raised one eyebrow, seeming much older than his ten years. “If I am to rule Egypt someday, I must understand why some vassal nations have betrayed Pharaoh Akhenaten and pledged allegiance to Hittite dogs. Our eastern border is at risk if I can’t control buffer nations between us and our greatest threat.”

  Anippe gaped at her brother. He remembered nations and territories as if they were written inside his eyelids.

  The tutor issued a final glare at Ankhe before returning to a stool beside his favored pupil. “Very astute questions, son of the good god Akhenaten, who is king of Two Lands and lord of all. The Hittites are indeed our greatest eastern threat, a military machine with iron weapons, but we must also beware the Nubians in the south. They pose as loyal servants to Egypt’s king, his officials, and our military, but you must never trust a people not your own.”

  Anippe slipped away from the table, certain the tutor was lost in his topic, and slid onto the bench beside Ankhe. Her little sister was still whimpering, head down. When Anippe tried to smooth her braided wig, Ankhe shoved her hand away.

  Like always.

  Ankhe hated discipline, but she didn’t like to be loved either. Soon after Ummi Kiya’s death, Tut told the grownups that all Pharaoh Akhenaten’s children should be tutored, and he tried to have Ankhe at the same table—between her older brother and sister. But as she grew, her tantrums became worse. Sometimes even the switch wouldn’t stop her. So the tutor moved her to a separate table.

  Separate. That was what Ankhe would always be, no matter what her siblings tried.

  Anippe saw welts rising on Ankhe’s back under her sheer linen sheath, marks from the tutor’s switch. “I’ll ask Ummi Amenia for some honey to put on your back.”

  “She’s not my ummi.” Ankhe picked up her reed and dipped it in water and pigment. “They didn’t adopt me.”

  “But Amenia still cares for you, Ankhe.” Anippe wanted to hug her, but she’d tried that before. Ankhe hated hugs. She hated to be touched at all.