Page 6 of The Immortal's Trick
And I won’t let Nebet pay the price of my father’s mistakes and misfortunes.
I glance at her now. She’s staring at her lap, lips pressed in a line.
I catch her gaze and hold it.
Do not worry,I promise her without speaking.I will not let this happen.
Her eyes soften and shine, just slightly.
I know, she answers with her silence.
Now, I just need to figure outhow.
3
The streambehind our house is narrow, but it flows steadily and clean beneath the drooping branches of sycamore and palm. This spot—shaded, hushed—is my sanctuary. Far from Alexandria’s chaos. Far from Father’s coughing. Far from the eyes of those who think they know what’s best for me.
I kneel at the bank, sleeves rolled, knuckles raw from scrubbing linen over a worn stone slab. The chilled water numbs my hands, and I welcome the sting. It gives my mind something to cling to.
I didn’t sleep last night. Not after the talk at dinner. Not after Father dared to speak Benipe’s name like it meant salvation and not my sister’s ultimate sacrifice.
I slam the tunic down harder and scrub.
The creek gurgles and trickles. Birds call in the trees. And then?—
A snap.
A footstep.
Too close.
I whirl before I think, heart spiking. My hand flies to the knife strapped at my waist—the small curved dagger Ani gave me years ago, the day after he pulled me out of the dirt afterthose boys attacked me. I draw the weapon, metal catching the dappled light.
Light-skinned hands appear first, held up in peace as their owner fully steps forward from the brush. My stomach drops.
It’shim.
The Greek.
The one from the market. The one with dawnstone eyes.
What is he doing here?
I tighten my grip on the dagger. I’ve heard enough stories to know a man approaching a woman in isolation is risky, to say the least.
The man’s arms go higher, demonstrating he’s unarmed. “I am not here to hurt you.”
I blink. His words are perfect Coptic.
“What do you want?” I ask in flawless Greek.
“You speak Greek?” he replies in the language, looking nothing short of pleased.
“Clearly.” My mother insisted that all her children learn the language of so many tradesmen.
“You never know when you may need the knowledge,”she used to say when I questioned the usefulness of the language.“You may marry a merchant and be expected to host business partners from the great nation.”
I frown at the memory. It seems my parents spent more time thinking about my future husband than I realized.
