Page 119

“You can do that?” Ellie cut in, surprised.

Zeinab smiled wryly. “Our Muslim laws on the matter are less barbaric than your English ones. He refused, of course.” She paused, and a flash of old pain made her hard features vulnerable. “He would have been a very good father.”

Ellie’s heart twisted in unexpected sympathy. She hadn’t the least interest in children herself, but to have that choice taken away before you could make it for yourself seemed like a terrible burden. She found herself vividly imagining years of disappointed hopes, followed by the wrenching grief of realizing the truth—and the fear Zeinab must have felt as she bravely tried to offer her husband an honorable way out.

She was struck by an unexpected urge to reach out and take the other woman’s hand. Constance would have done it—but that sort of thing had never come naturally to Ellie. She settled for a few bracing words instead.

“Perhaps he would have been a good father—but he most certainlyisan excellent husband,” Ellie asserted firmly.

“Yes,” Zeinab agreed, and there was a softness in her voice that Ellie had not heard before. “He is.”

“I am certain that the two of you will sort this latest trouble out,” Ellie declared—and then hedged uncomfortably. “But have you any notionhow, by any chance?”

Zeinab arched an eyebrow, regarding Ellie thoughtfully.

“In a manner that will be messy, awkward, and imperfect,” she replied. “And yet it will work, nonetheless.”

“It will? But what does that even look like?”

Zeinab gave a dark laugh. “Perhaps I will let you know—when I find out.”

She rose in a fluid, graceful motion.

“The sheikh will loan us a guide and transportation to cross the desert,” she announced. “By traveling along the most direct route, we will cut thirty miles off our journey. That should allow us to arrive at Tell al-Amarna ahead of Mr. Forster-Mowbray—or near enough to it. We will leave before dawn. You should get some sleep.”

“Of course.” Ellie stood and brushed off her skirts. “And… thank you. I mean—I know you aren’t doing any of this for me. But I want you to know that I am grateful for your aid, all the same.”

Zeinab accepted her words with a careful nod, then walked away.

?

Sleeping turned out to be easier said than done, as the pre-wedding celebrations continued late into the evening. When Ellie slipped away from the nosy aunts and the never-ending piles of pastries for a breath of fresh air, she caught sight of two figures silhouetted against the twilight purple of the sky, near to where the scrub land gave way to desert.

She recognized the solid set of Sayyid’s shoulders and Zeinab’s noble bearing as the pair of them slowly walked together. Zeinab’s hands gestured strongly. Sayyid shook his head in response.

Then he stopped her, turning her to face him under the blanket of the emerging stars. He stilled her hands by catching them gently in his own, then leaned down to speak to her with a heartfelt intimacy that Ellie could feel even from where she stood in the shadows outside the tent.

Zeinab slipped her fingers from his grasp. She raised them to the sides of his bearded face with an aching tenderness—and Ellie quickly looked away, only to realize that Jemmahor had come to stand beside her.

“Good,” Jemmahor said softly, gazing out toward the couple. She turned to glance down at Ellie, her eyes damp but happy, and said the word again with even more feeling. “Good.”

The tall young apprentice hooked her arm through Ellie’s elbow, hauling her back to the lights and music of the tent. “Now let’s go find some cake.”

??

Twenty-Six

Night had fallen. Dawson was snoring… and Neil worked furiously to complete the translation of the clay tablet.

TheIsiswas sailing for Tell al-Amarna. By Neil’s admittedly inexpert estimation, they would reach the site of Akhenaten’s ruined capital by the following evening.

Of more immediate concern was the steady progress Dawson had been making with the Akkadian text. The professor owed his success more to the stack of books he had brought along with him to Egypt rather than any innate ability on Dawson’s part—of which there was very little, as far as Neil could tell.

At least Neil hadn’t actually needed to help him. Muttering the odd agreement and nodding along seemed to be sufficient evidence of his cooperation, at least so far as Dawson was concerned.

But it would not take Dawson much longer to reach the end of the tablet. Neil had to get there first. He had to know what was truly at stake—and then decide what to do about it.

When Dawson’s head dropped back, his jaw falling open as the pen slipped from his fingers, Neil had seized his chance, frantically putting his wretched grasp of the ancient language work to try to decipher the final lines.