The Pharaoh’s Favorite novel Chapter 26

The Festival of Khoiak preparations have begun, but my thoughts are consumed by a lingering dream. Crimson Nile waters, bloodstained shores, the Temple of Isis. A voice spoke to me, deep and rich like honey spiced with venom. “You may resist your fate, but you cannot escape it.”

In every free moment, I attempt to decipher its meaning, but the festival whirlwind leaves no time for introspection. The Golden House buzzes with silk, incense, and golden adornments as we craft Osiris figurines from sacred Nile clay.

We sit in the grand chamber, hands coated in cool earth, molding the god’s divine form. Our offerings will be placed in the temple during the great procession. The scent of burning myrrh fills the space as soft squelches of clay mix with hushed whispers.

Heket sits across from me, her sharp gaze lingers; her fingers mold her figurine with precision. I pretend not to notice and focus on shaping Osiris’s serene features. But my mind drifts and I press too hard—a crack runs along the figurine’s surface.

A bad omen.

My heart pounds.

Quickly smoothing the crack, unease lingers despite my steady breath. Soon, we’re ushered into the dance chambers for the ritual dance of Osiris—a sacred reenactment performed before Pharaoh and his court. The instructors are unyielding as they drill the steps into us.

“Again,” calls the instructor, pacing like a watchful jackal.