Page 20 of Dark Shaman: The Lost Treasure (The Children Of The Gods #98)

TAMIRA

T he inner garden was Tamira's favorite place in the harem, and as she sat at her favorite bench by the fountain with a book in her hands, she positioned herself so she had a clear view of the balconies.

Elias had been moved to the second level earlier that day, and the news had spread through the harem's invisible network with typical efficiency, whispered between servants and confirmed by Areana's announcement at breakfast.

Tamira couldn't contain her curiosity about the man who was supposedly a shaman, but she couldn't simply knock on his door. That wasn't how a lady operated, although she could see Tula doing just that.

Well, she wasn't Tula, and she valued the art of subtlety, of letting things unfold naturally or at least to appear to. So, she waited, turning the pages of her book and occasionally lifting her eyes to check the balconies.

The book in her lap wasn't a prop, though. She'd gotten it in the latest delivery a few days ago and had been reading it ever since. The Power of Intention: Manifesting Your Heart's Desires was an interesting read .

The fountain's steady cascade provided a modicum of privacy, its white noise potentially masking conversation from listening devices. She knew better than to trust it completely, of course.

In the harem, privacy was an illusion.

Even with the fountain obscuring sounds, cameras could capture lip movements, and anyone who'd lived long enough could read lips, provided they knew the language being spoken.

She didn't know where the cameras were hidden, but she assumed the tropical foliage camouflaged them.

Her room and the rooms of the other ladies were free of such devices, allowing them some privacy, but the public areas were a different story.

Tula claimed that Tony's room was also bugged, so Tamira assumed that Elias's room was bugged as well, but that wasn't something she was worried about at this point.

She wondered what languages Elias spoke.

Over the endless years of her captivity, she'd collected languages like other women collected pearls.

Each new tongue mastered was another small victory against the monotony, another way to fill the centuries.

Her accents might not be accurate because she'd learned most of them from books and hadn't heard them spoken, but her vocabulary in many of them was extensive.

These days, learning was easier than ever with books on tablets that could translate words with the press of a finger.

When she'd been a girl in Sumer, only the gods had possessed such miraculous devices.

Now, everyone used them, but the harem's tablets were regrettably connected only to an internal server.

Lord Navuh didn't allow the harem to be connected to the internet, which she'd read about and seen in movies.

Their window to the outside world was narrow and carefully monitored—a vast library of approved books and films—but it was what it was, and she did her best with what was available to her.

The book grew warm in her lap as the afternoon progressed. Tamira had not chosen this title because she wanted to impress the newcomer with her reading material, but she hoped that a shaman would have opinions on manifestation and spiritual desire.

She closed her eyes and tried to practice what the book preached.

Come out , she willed, picturing Elias appearing on his balcony.

Be curious. Come down to the garden. The author claimed that focused intention could reshape reality, that believing strongly enough in an outcome could make it manifest. It sounded like New Age nonsense, the kind of philosophy that flourishes among humans who have decades to fill with meaning, not millennia. But what harm could it do to try?

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 this chance encounter 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, the numbers 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."