The road stretched on in silence, only the sand crunching under our feet. Cleopatra walked beside me with an easy step, yet in her eyes I could see the questions she hadn't voiced. I knew I couldn't stay silent any longer.
"Cleopatra," I said, "one of the names I mentioned to you won't leave my mind."
She looked at me quickly, as if she already guessed. "Djedhor."
I nodded. "Yes. I don't have proof, but I have a reason not to trust him."
Her gaze narrowed. "What reason?"
"Some time ago, Pharaoh ordered me to inspect the royal treasury. A dull task that no one wants—counting gold bars, vessels, gems, gifts from foreign rulers. But when I compared the records with the actual stock, something didn't add up. Some items were missing. Not much, just enough that an ordinary eye wouldn't notice. But I did."
Cleopatra slowed her pace, her steps losing their lightness. "Missing? You mean… someone is stealing from Pharaoh himself?"
"Yes," I said. "And if you ask who has access to the treasury, the list is short. Pharaoh, the chief steward, and the vizier Djedhor. The steward would never dare touch a single coin; his fear would kill him before he tried. And Pharaoh has no reason. That leaves Djedhor."
She stopped for a moment, staring at me as if she couldn't believe it. "Him? Djedhor? The one who smiles at my father's side as if he were the most loyal friend?"
"That's what makes it frightening," I replied. "No one would expect it from him. But ever since I noticed those discrepancies, I've paid attention. He's always there when new gifts arrive. He's the first to examine them, the first to record them. On the surface, it looks like he's just doing his duty. But when I look at him, I see something in his eyes that won't let me trust him."
Cleopatra shook her head slowly. "If that's true… then he isn't just stealing gold. He's stealing my father's trust. And that's a greater betrayal than all the coins combined."
I said nothing more. We kept walking. She could see that I had already told her everything I could.
---
Amenemhet's inner monologue:
I saw the change in her eyes. It wasn't just curiosity anymore. It was wonder mixed with unease. I had opened a door for her into a world she hadn't known existed—a world where smiles can mean lies, and even the closest hands might be thieves.
There was no way back. Once you realize that even those who stand at Pharaoh's side can betray him, you can never blindly trust anyone again. And I knew I had just shown her that truth.
Part of me regretted laying that burden on her shoulders. But another part knew I had to. Because if she was ever to wear the crown, she needed to understand: even the closest hands may one day hold a knife
"Why have you never told my father about this?" she asked directly. Her voice was calm, but there was unease in her eyes. "If you believe the vizier is stealing, why don't you warn him?"
I drew a breath and considered my words. "Because suspicion isn't enough," I said at last. "If I stood before Pharaoh with empty hands, it would be as if I admitted my own weakness. And worse—Djedhor would know I was the one who spoke. He is not a man who forgives such things."
Cleopatra narrowed her eyes. "You mean he would take revenge?"
"I'm certain of it," I replied. "Not openly, not immediately. But in ways I might not even recognize until it was too late. Men like him don't shout when they strike. They whisper."
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment she just looked at me. Then she said quietly: "So instead, you stay silent."
"I prefer to say I wait," I corrected her. "Silence is only a weapon. Waiting is strategy. Without proof, my words would be nothing more than wind. And wind does not convince Pharaoh."
Her expression softened, though her face remained serious. "I understand. But it's terrible to live knowing that a man who stands at my father's side may be his enemy."
"Yes," I admitted. "But worse still is to trust that same man blindly, with your eyes closed. So watch, Cleopatra. Don't speak, don't judge. Just watch. One day the truth will show itself. And when that day comes, we must be ready."
Cleopatra slowly nodded. She asked no further questions, but I could see on her face that my words would remain with her far longer than the desert wind.
"Why didn't you teach me these things earlier?" she asked. "When I was younger… why didn't you ever tell me that the world is full of lies and intrigue?"
I stopped and looked straight into her eyes. "Because you were a child. And a child should know stories, songs, and games—not the shadow of betrayal. It would have been like placing a weight on your shoulders that would have broken you before you could even stand firmly."
Cleopatra frowned. "And now?"
"Now you walk beside me," I replied calmly. "And the gods have decided you must know these things too. Not to frighten you, but so you understand that trust and treachery are two sides of the same coin. If you are to lead one day, you must know how to tell them apart."
She looked at me for a long moment, then sighed. "Perhaps you're right. But still… I wish you had told me sooner. Maybe I would have been more prepared."
"You will be prepared when the time comes," I said. "Not sooner, not later. That is the path the gods set for us."
A faint smile touched her lips, but it quickly faded as the land before us changed. The desert split open into a deep ravine, its walls rising like colossal gates. The stone was black, carved with ancient symbols—some like human figures, others like birds with outstretched wings, and still others like eyes that seemed to watch us as we approached.
A gust of wind blew through, carrying with it a strange scent—not of sand, nor of incense. It was the smell of an old tomb, mingled with the waters of the Nile.
I stopped and bowed my head. "We are here," I said softly. "The Valley of Shadows. The place where Osiris once walked. And where our next trial awaits us."
Cleopatra stepped forward, her eyes wide. "It looks… as if we've crossed the boundary of the world."
"Perhaps we have," I answered. "Here, life and death meet. And here it will be decided whether we are worthy of the gifts we have been given."
"Mehet," she whispered. "Be careful. This doesn't look like your stories. Not even the ones you told me about Osiris. In them there was always light, always justice. But here… here it feels different."
I looked at her. Her eyes glistened, not with tears, but with tension. She was no longer the girl who laughed at my tales before sleep. She was a woman facing something unlike anything found in books or bedtime stories.
"You're right," I answered quietly. "Stories are only images. But this… this is the truth. The gods show us that their world is not only just, but dangerous as well. And that no gift ever comes without a price."
"Promise me you'll be careful," she urged. "Even if it means retreating."
I gave her a bitter smile. "I promise I'll be wise. Caution alone may not be enough. But wisdom—that may save us."
Cleopatra held onto me for a moment longer, as if afraid I might slip away. Then she slowly released my arm and nodded.
We walked deeper into the ravine. A chill met us—unnatural, like stepping into the heart of a tomb, though the sky still stretched above us. The air was heavy, filled with the scent of old offerings and blood long dried.
Ahead of us the path opened into a wide space. Carved into the stone was a vast circle, bordered with ancient symbols. The center was empty, covered only by a thin veil of sand, as if waiting for something—or someone.
I stopped and turned to Cleopatra. "It begins," I said.