Tiy and the Prince of Egypt Read Online Free PDF Page A

life. You will attend to her needs before you attend to mine.”
    Another gasp rumbled through th e gathering crowd. Tiy’s brow creased in confusion. There was nothing wrong with her. What needs did she have? And then she realized how badly she shook, her small frame quivering enough to rattle her teeth. She looked down and sucked in a sharp breath. Every scrape and raw surface of her skin screamed for attention. Her eyes blurred until she saw nothing but red—red, raw skin that bled just as badly as Prince Amenhotep’s, if not worse. She licked her dry, cracked lips. Lightheaded and out of breath, she swayed on her feet.
    Before she could take note of any other discomforts, a pair of strong arms snatched her off her feet and held her close to a leather-protected chest. She wondered if she had worn leather instead of linen, if she would have fared better in the storm. But her musings fell away as she succumbed to darkness.

Chapter 5. Unwilling Preparation
     
    Tiy awoke to her mother’s face hovering over her, worry etched into her brow. Neither she nor her father appeared as angry as Tiy thought they would be. Either their anger had worn off while she slept, or they were too shocked to discover she had been the one to save Pharaoh’s son. Tiy didn’t care which it was; she was just relieved to be greeted by expressions filled with love rather than disappointment.
    “Oh look! She’s awake,” her mother said. “Yuya, she’s awake!” She nudged her father.
    “Yes, I am aware,” her father said, somewhat annoyed. He never had much patience with her mother.
    Tiy glanced around at her unexpected surroundings. A large tent stretched above her with lush white fabric hanging from the ceiling and swooping to the sides. Flourishes of gold wrapped around the drapery and hung to the floor. Two female servants stood at the entrance with their heads bowed and their hands clasped in front of them, bangles of gold adorning their wrists. A plush rug protected the wooden furniture that, to her, seemed too delicate and fine for a traveling tent.
    “How are you doing ?” her mother asked.
    Raising her head, Tiy peered at her body. Bandages of fine linen covered her from head to toe. She had no idea how she was doing—she couldn’t see any portion of her skin, nor could she feel it.
    “ Fine, I think,” Tiy said, but it came more as a croak than actual words. She cleared her throat. “My throat is a little scratchy.”
    Her mother grabbed a nearby goblet and brought it to Tiy’s lips, lifting her head off the pillow with one arm. “Here, drink this. It’ll help.”
    I t did help. Warm cinnamon liquid slid down her throat and soothed the raw burning.
    “Thank you,” Tiy said with a much clearer voice.
    Her mother patted Tiy’s forehead and brushed her hand across her hairline, tucking the stray strands of hair behind her ears.
    “ You lost your wig,” her mother said.
    “Did I?” Tiy reached up to touch her head, but her hands were covered in so many layers of wrappings that she couldn’t feel anything.
    “It doesn’t matter . I’ll let you have one of mine.”
    Her mother had more wigs than anyone could ever count. She had short, round wigs for strolling along the garden paths, curled wigs for special occasions, jeweled wigs for excursions into town, and several others stuffed behind all the newer ones. Her mother kept her head shaved like all the other Egyptian women, a practice Tiy never understood. They were convinced a bare head helped them stay clean and cool in the hot desert, but Tiy wasn’t so sure. She doubted having her head shaved would make her feel any more comfortable, no matter the weather.
    But Tiy was too tired to care about her wig. Maybe she could wear a shawl over her head on the way home. Not that a shawl would keep people from staring at her. With all the time she spent following the boys, her face and arms would be covered with freckles by the time she healed. Unlike her mother, Tiy made