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Ellie shifted her gaze to the wrinkled woman in the back row. “Munitions expert, did you say?” She felt a spark of excited interest at the notion of finding someone with whom she could discuss practical chemistry—and then caught herself. “But why does a ladies’ association need a munitions expert?”

“Pretty sure it’s because they’re revolutionaries,” Adam offered from beside her.

“Nobody notices the women,” Jemmahor explained eagerly, now that it appeared Zeinab had more or less let her off the leash with their secret. “But we are quiet, and we are clever. We can show the British that Egypt will not lie docile while they set their heels to our throats. Er… begging your pardon,” she added with an apologetic look at Ellie.

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Ellie assured her, still reeling from the revelations.

“How long?” Sayyid’s question came out in a desperate croak.

Zeinab met his eyes as she answered it. “Since before we were wed.”

“But why didn’t yousayanything?” he pleaded.

“It was better that you did not know,” Zeinab replied firmly. “It was safer that way.”

“Safer?!” Sayyid’s agitation snapped back up to the surface as he threw out his arms. “How is any of thissafe?!In the last two hours, I have been kidnapped, marched around at gunpoint, nearly stabbed, and then rescued by my wife waving her scalpel at one of the most terrifying men I have ever seen!” He caught himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as he fought to bring his emotions under control. “Did you think that I would stop you?”

“You could not.” Zeinab’s eyes flashed dangerously. “It is in our marriage contract.”

“Marriage contract?” Ellie felt a spark of intrigue at the unfamiliar term.

“When two parties are wed in our faith, they put their terms for the marriage into the contract, so that there can be no misunderstandings in the future.” Zeinab offered the explanation without looking at Ellie, keeping her gaze locked meaningfully on her husband.

Ellie’s suffragist instincts perked up with interest at her description. “Can you put anything you like in there?” she prompted. “And is it legally binding?”

“Half the time such contracts are written by fathers or brothers,” Jemmahor replied wryly. “And the judges are all men.”

“It is binding before Allah,” Zeinab replied fiercely. “And our contract states that my husband will not prohibit me from traveling where I will and associating with whom I choose while in pursuit of my professional endeavors or work of principle.”

“I didn’t know that meant you would be a revolutionary!” Sayyid protested.

“Would it have changed things between us if you had?” Zeinab snapped back.

Sayyid met his wife’s eyes with a look of quiet devastation. “Of course not,” he replied hoarsely.

An exquisite vulnerability flashed across Zeinab’s hard features. The revealing expression was there for only a moment before she drew it away, hiding it as though behind the cloak she had used to disguise herself in the temple.

“Didn’t you trust me?” Hurt and confusion were written plainly on Sayyid’s features.

“You are a scholar, my love.” Zeinab’s eyes softened. “Not a warrior.”

Sayyid closed his mouth, his eyes hollow.

With a deliberate effort, his wife straightened and put a calm authority back into her tone, fixing her attention on Ellie. “Were you able to read any of that tablet before it was taken?”

Ellie hesitated, instinctively glancing at Adam.

He read the question in her eyes as clearly as if she had spoken it aloud. “It seems to me that these ladies just saved our hides. For which we’re genuinely grateful.” He deliberately looked at Zeinab, who accepted his words with a regal nod. “I think we can trust them. And frankly, if we’re gonna get Constance, Fairfax, or that damned tablet back, we’ll need help.”

“They just said they meant to take the staff from us!” Ellie pushed back uncomfortably.

“We never wanted it,” Adam countered. “We just don’t want it going to the wrong people.”

The wrong people…

At Adam’s words, memory flooded back to Ellie.

A mirror like a great black eye waiting in the darkness. Visions of blood-splattered victory. A voice that whispered through her dreams.