Page 46 of Dark Shaman: The Lost Treasure
As the garden door's hinges squeaked, Tamira knew it was Elias, some instinct deeper than logic confirming what her intention had supposedly manifested. A smile bloomed on her face before she could stop it, an expression of delight that she immediately tried to temper.
She opened her eyes and saw him standing just outside the door, scanning the garden. When his gaze found her, she saw a flicker of recognition, but she knew it wasn't of her specifically, but of what she represented. One of the ladies. One of the untouchables who had suddenly become touchable.
A flutter of excitement started low in her belly, something she hadn't felt in a long time, but it wasn't only because she found Elias pleasant to the eye, although he was.
He was tall but not overly so, and his build spoke of natural strength rather than cultivated bulk. Broad shoulders tapered to a trim waist; his chestnut-brown hair was streaked with natural highlights that looked sun-kissed, even in their artificially illuminated environment, and his face was handsome in an understated way, with strong features softened by an expressive mouth.
Those lips, perfectly shaped and lifting now in a gentle smile, commanded her attention. This wasn't the smile of a boastful male who expected females to fall at his feet. Neither was it the timid expression of someone overwhelmed by his surroundings. He walked toward her with measured steps, maintaining eye contact without staring, his gait relaxed but purposeful.
As he drew closer, she caught his scent—soap and shampoo, the particular combination the harem provided that managed to smell both expensive and institutional. He'd showered recently, probably in preparation for dinner with the ladies.
He stopped at a proper distance and bowed, the gesture formal but not obsequious. "Good afternoon, my lady," he said in accented but fluent English. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Elias."
The language choice pleased her. He must have noticed that her book was written in English and made the correct assumption that she spoke the language.
She dipped her head in return, deliberately signaling that she regarded him as an equal. "My name is Tamira. Would you like to join me?" She placed her hand on the bench beside her, the gesture both an invitation and a boundary. Here, but no closer.
Not yet.
"I'd be delighted." He settled onto the bench at a respectable distance, close enough for conversation but far enough to maintain propriety. His eyes flicked to the book in her lap. "That's an interesting choice of reading material."
She smiled, letting a hint of mischief color her expression. "A coincidence, I assure you. I didn't expect to meet a shaman today who might have opinions about the topic."
It was only partially a lie. She'd intended to meet Elias, had orchestrated thischanceencounter with careful deliberation. However, the book's subject matter was truly unrelated, a happy accident that provided an easy opening for conversation.
"So, you know who I am." His tone held amusement rather than concern.
She nodded, seeing no point in pretense. "We don't get many newcomers in the harem, so it wasn't difficult to guess your identity. I'm surprised that you speak English so well, though. Tony didn't mention that you spoke to him in his native tongue when he sought relief from you for his headaches."
His smile transformed his face from merely handsome to something that made those butterflies in her stomach take flight. The expression reached his eyes, crinkling them at the corners in a way that suggested he smiled often. "Tony didn't leave me much choice since he speaks no other language with any fluency, but I could ask you the same question. I would never have guessed you were an English speaker if not for the book in your hands."
"I speak many languages," she said, running her fingers along the book's spine. "When you live as long as I have, you need to fill the years with something. I chose to learn languages."
"That's admirable." He shifted slightly, angling his body toward her. "How many languages do you speak?"
"Twenty-three fluently, perhaps a dozen more conversationally." She watched his eyes widen slightly. "Though I suspect some of my pronunciation is not accurate. Books can teach vocabulary and grammar, but they're poor substitutes for living conversation."
"Still, twenty-three languages." He shook his head in wonder. "That's several lifetimes' worth of study."
"Yes," she said softly. "It is."
The gravity of those lifetimes was almost physical for both of them. For a moment, she saw him processing the implications, adding up the years it would take to master so many tongues. His expression shifted, surprise giving way to something more complex—sympathy, perhaps, or understanding.
"I assume that Tony has told you about us," she said. It wasn't a question.
He nodded. "Earlier today. I had no idea. I'm still trying to process this. It's hard to believe."
"What's hard to believe? That we're immortal, or that we've been here so long?"
"Both," he admitted. "But mostly the time. Five thousand years is..." He trailed off, apparently unable to find words adequate to encompass such a span.
"It's just a number," Tamira said, surprised by the bitterness that crept into her voice. "Like twenty-three languages or seven underground levels or one lovely fountain. After a while, thenumbers cease to have meaning. They're just markers we use to pretend time is passing, that things are changing."
She hadn't meant to say so much, to reveal the hardship of her captivity so plainly, but something about him invited confidence, perhaps the same quality that made people seek him out for healing.
"It's still extraordinary," he said quietly. "I understand how the long years could become a burden, especially in an enclosed space like this, but it is still a marvel."
She nodded. "To me, this is just the way it is, but I realize how shocking it must seem to you."
