Page 43

DIN

T he private section of Cairo International Airport was a world away from the chaos of the main terminals.

Din stood on the tarmac, watching as the ground crew prepared Kalugal's jet for departure.

The morning sun was already fierce, promising another scorching day, but he barely noticed the heat.

His attention was fixed on Esag and his companions as they carefully unloaded wooden crates that contained a treasure trove of figurines from the van.

"No, no," Esag said when one of the ground crew reached for a crate. "We'll handle these ourselves." Or something to that effect. Din understood more from the tone and hand gestures than from the language itself.

Davuh and Roven flanked their friend, each carrying a wooden crate with the reverence usually reserved for religious artifacts. Which, Din supposed, they were in a way. Five thousand years of memories were carved in stone, preserving the faces of a lost civilization of gods and immortals.

One of the two pilots walked over to the redhead. "We need to ensure proper weight distribution in the cargo hold. It's critical for flight safety. If cargo shifts during flight, it can affect the aircraft's center of gravity. In extreme cases, it could cause the aircraft to crash."

Din felt his stomach tighten at the implications. The more he learned about aviation, the less he trusted it. Statistics be damned—he'd experienced firsthand how easily things could go wrong.

"Show us where you want them and we'll help you secure them properly." Roven's tone brooked no argument.

The pilot nodded, recognizing a battle he had no chance of winning.

As the pilot and Esag's group got busy securing crates in the plane's cargo hold, Din remembered the packages he still had in the van.

His lamp was too large and awkward for the cabin, so it would have to go in the cargo space as well, but the rest of his purchases could go into the overhead compartments.

As he retrieved it, he tried to fix the paper wrapping around the brass tentacles that was becoming undone. Well, they weren't really tentacles so much as artistically shaped arms, but that was what Fenella called them, and it had stuck.

"I can't believe you are taking this with you," Max said. "I'm sure you can find better stuff in L.A. It's not an antique, right?"

"It's not, but it has character," Din defended, though he was starting to question the purchase himself. Unlike all the mass-produced stuff from China, this was one of a kind.

"I'll take your word for it," Max said.

They joined the others at the cargo hold, where the pilots were demonstrating the proper securing technique to Esag's group. Specialized compartments with padding and adjustable straps would keep the crates immobile during flight.

Din handed over his lamp to one of the pilots. "I hope you have room for this."

"We'll find room," the guy said.

As he watched them secure it in one of the compartments, his mind churned with all the things that could go wrong. Shifted cargo affecting the plane's balance. Turbulence severe enough to break even these restraints. Mechanical failures, bird strikes, human error...

"Stop it." Fenella slipped her hand into his.

He glanced down at her. "Stop what?"

"Calculating all the ways we could die." She squeezed his fingers. "I know the face you make when you do that. Your jaw gets tight, and you get this little crease between your eyebrows."

"I'm not—" He stopped, realizing she was right. "Yeah, I do. I just can't help it. Ever since the water landing, I find it difficult to trust these flying death traps."

"I understand." Her eyes got clouded. "Once trust is lost, it is nearly impossible to recover."

Din felt shamed by her quiet admission. Compared to what she'd gone through, his brush with death was nothing.

With Fenella's exuberance and zest for life, it was easy to forget the nightmare she'd lived through. There were the occasional nightmares, but other than that, she never talked about it, and he didn't ask because he figured she'd tell him when she was ready.

He squeezed her hand. "You are much braver than I am."

Once everything was loaded and secured, the cargo hold was closed and locked, the ground crew moved on to final pre-flight preparations, and the passengers of Kalugal's luxury airline headed toward the stairs.

As Kalugal's men took everyone's carry-on luggage and packages to put in the cabin, Din contemplated never boarding another plane again, but given that his mother was in Scotland, and she still hadn't met Fenella, that wasn't an option.

Besides, he had to take care of things at the university, and not everything could be done remotely.

"Are you still calculating?" Fenella asked as they paused at the foot of the stairs, letting Jacki navigate them first with Darius in her arms.

"Now I'm thinking about sea voyages. How do you feel about ships?"

"I've never been on a cruise, if that's what you're asking. Are you planning our honeymoon?"

Was that a hint? Should he be planning their honeymoon already?

"I hate flying," he admitted. "If I could, I'd never leave the ground again. But I promised to take you to Scotland to meet my mother and visit all the places you grew up in." He gestured vaguely westward. "A ship is an option. Slower, but safer."

Fenella laughed. "A sea voyage from Los Angeles to Scotland? That would take weeks! Even months. They would have to go through the Panama Canal, or around South America, then across the Atlantic..." She shook her head. "That's assuming we could even find a passenger ship doing that route."

She was right, but the idea of weeks at sea seemed preferable to hours in the air. "Ships don't fall from the sky."

"No, they just sink," she pointed out. "Or catch fire. Or get hijacked by pirates."

"Modern piracy is actually quite rare?—"

"Din." She stepped closer, placing both hands on his chest. "Life is scary. Bad things happen. But we can't avoid everything that's unsafe. That's not living—that's just existing, paralyzed by fear."

He covered her hands with his. "As I said, you are much braver than I am."

"I'm not," she said. "I'm a survivor. When shit happens and you manage to get out alive, it's a cause for celebration, for thanking Fate by embracing life instead of letting fear and despair bury you.

That being said, I'm not looking for danger.

I wouldn't have kept running for half a century and getting in trouble if I knew of a place like the village where I could be safe. I would have gladly stayed there."

"Not true. Until not too long ago, you were plotting ways to escape the village. You felt trapped, and you wanted your freedom back."

A smirk lifted one side of her mouth. "Busted. I was just so used to roving that staying put in one place became difficult. It felt unsafe. Letting people in and planning a future terrified me."

"But it no longer does, right?"

She pouted. "It still does a little, but I know it's going to be okay because you are with me."

"I love you." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him, pressing a kiss to her mouth.

"Move along, lovebirds!" Max called from the top of the stairs. "You're the last ones."

Fenella made a hand gesture toward Max that spoke louder than words, and kissed Din back. When she was done, she turned to Max with a triumphant smile on her face and only then led Din up the stairs.

The cabin was already filled with their companions.

It was a little more crowded on the way back than it had been on the way here, but there were enough seats for everyone.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the pilot's voice came over the intercom. "We're expecting a smooth flight to Los Angeles today, with a brief refueling stop in Paris. Flight time will be approximately eighteen hours. Please ensure your seatbelts are fastened for takeoff."

Eighteen hours, with two takeoffs and two landings. Din settled back in his seat and closed his eyes.

"Stop it." Fenella put her hand over his.

"I'm not doing anything."

"You're catastrophizing." She interlaced their fingers. "Tell me about your castle in Scotland."

It was a transparent distraction technique, but he let her get away with it. "There's a loch near the castle, surrounded by pines. In the early morning, mist rises from the water like something out of a legend. Sometimes red deer come to drink at the shore."

"That sounds lovely."

"I used to fish there, though my friends and I rarely caught anything. I think we were too loud, scaring everything away. Or maybe the fish just sensed us."

The engines roared to life, and Din's grip on Fenella's hand tightened involuntarily. She squeezed back, continuing to ask questions about the clan's home in Scotland as the plane began to taxi.

He continued, "In winter, the whole landscape transforms into something from a fairy tale. Though fairy tales in our homeland tend to involve more murders and fewer happy endings than the Disney versions."

She laughed. "Naturally. Can't have too much happiness in Scottish folklore."

The plane turned onto the runway, engines spinning up to full power.

He focused on Fenella's profile, the way the morning light caught the subtle highlights in her dark hair.

"Another adventure ending," she murmured as the plane began its acceleration. "And a new one beginning."

"Oh?"

She turned to face him, her eyes soft with emotion. "This one is more important than all the others. Our life together. Building a home, creating new memories, and figuring out how to be us without constant danger nipping at our heels."

Lately, the only danger that had nipped at Din's heels had been overeager students and overly competitive professors, but he chose not to point it out.

"I like the sound of that, though knowing you, you'll find trouble even in the clan's serene village."

"Probably," she agreed. "But at least I'll have your ugly lamp to defend myself with. One look at those brass tentacles and any unwanted guests will flee in horror."

He smiled at her attempt at humor. "It's not that bad."

"Din, it's an octopus. Made of brass. With eyes that seem to follow you around the room."

"It's not an actual octopus, and those are decorative gemstones, not eyes."

"Creepy gemstones," she corrected.

"Are they really arguing about that kitschy lamp again?" Max's voice carried clearly from somewhere behind them.

"It's not kitschy!" Din protested, twisting to look back. "It's?—"

"Unique?" Kyra suggested sweetly. "Distinctive? A conversation piece?"

"An abomination," Jasmine added her opinion. "Though I'm sure it will look lovely in your home."

"It'll look perfect," Fenella said loyally, then spoiled it by adding in an undertone, "in the garage."

Din turned back to her with mock outrage. "The garage? The homes in the village don't have garages. Everyone parks in the underground structure."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot. A closet, then. Somewhere that guests won't accidentally see it and run away screaming."

Instead of answering, he responded with a kiss, ignoring the immediate chorus of whistles and catcalls from their companions.

"Children, please." Kalugal's voice rose above the silliness. "You are upsetting Darius."

"Sorry," Fenella called back, but she was still smiling.

The plane reached cruising altitude, and outside the windows, the desert gave way to the Mediterranean, a sheet of blue stretching to the horizon.

Fenella rested her head on his arm. "Maybe we should keep the lamp in the bedroom."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really? Suddenly it's no longer scary?"

"It is, which is why it could be an effective deterrent to intruders."

There were no intruders in the village, but he could understand Fenella's need to have something to defend herself with.

"So, it's a security measure?"

"Exactly."

"You're mocking my lamp again."

"I'm finding creative uses for it," she corrected. "There's a difference."

He couldn't argue with that logic, mainly because he was too busy being grateful. Grateful they'd found each other and gotten a chance at a future neither of them had dared hope for.

"I love you," he said quietly.

"I love you too," she replied, then added with a mischievous grin, "ugly lamp and all."

"It's not ugly, it's?—"

"If you say 'artistic,' I'm moving to a different seat," she warned.

"I was going to say 'misunderstood and unappreciated.'"