Page 1 of The Immortal’s Trick (Bound to the Immortals)

Hot wind cuts against my skin like a scouring brush, dragging sand across my cheeks and into the folds of my linen scarf.

The scent of sweat, spices, and roasted meat clings to the breeze from the city, carried all the way from Alexandria’s bustling heart.

It reaches even the edge of the farmland where I walk, barefoot now, sandals in hand. The straps bit into my feet hours ago.

My arms ache with the weight of the goods pressed to my chest, the rough sack digging into my ribs with every step.

I ignore the discomfort and keep moving, passing by the same fields I’ve known since childhood—fields now thin with laborers, the sun beating down on their backs as they bend to gather the season’s ripened wheat.

Our few remaining workers lift their heads at my passing, offering tired smiles and raised hands. I manage a nod, avoiding their eyes. I don't want to see the pity there.

I round the dusty path’s last bend, and my family home appears at last: a squat, tan structure. It’s not grand, but it’s ours.

Cool air greets me—thin and dry, but merciful after the heat of the morning sun.

“Eshe? Is that you?” My sister’s voice drifts from the kitchen.

“It’s me!” I pull off my scarf and shake it out, sand hissing as it scatters across the floor, then follow Nebet’s voice.

My elder sister stands at the washbasin, sleeves rolled, dark curls frizzed around her sweat-slicked brow. She scrubs a clay bowl as if it had insulted her in another life.

“You left early this morning,” she says without looking up.

“I wanted to beat the heat,” I reply with a grunt as I set the goods I purchased on the table.

“You forgot, then.”

I freeze, then lift my gaze. Nebet’s beautiful ebony eyes crinkle with remorse. “We’re meant to deliver our crops today. Remember?”

I groan, my head falling forward, and rub my tired eyes. “I forgot.”

Father fired our deliveryman last week. And since he’s bedridden once again, that leaves the work to me and Nebet.

She glances over, eyes soft. “I didn’t hear you get up, or I would’ve stopped you.”

Of course she didn’t hear me. I’d tiptoed around the room like a thief, careful not to wake her. She carries too much already—cooking, cleaning, watching over our younger brothers and father. Letting her rest felt like the least I could do.

“It’s not a problem,” I say, though I’m trying to convince myself just as much as her. I hate the city, especially at this hour—but the delivery needs to be made. We can’t afford not to get that coin.

“At least you get to see Ani,” she teases, trying to lighten the moment.

I wave her off and start re-lacing my sandals, ignoring the heat rising to my cheeks. She smiles but doesn’t press—though I know she isn’t fooled.

Ani. The son of one of Alexandria’s merchants. He’s Nebet’s age, but he’s treated both of us like younger sisters our entire lives. Until last year… when his lingering gaze filled with something that could be described as longing.

I shake his warm brown eyes and boyish grin from my thoughts. “Are you willing to go now? If we hurry, we may miss the worst of the crowds.”

Nebet nods and disappears to gather her things. I lean against the wall and close my eyes for a breath, and Ani’s warm brown eyes fill my mind once more.

I hide my feelings from others, but it’s impossible to hide them from myself.

I’ve had feelings for Ani long before I suspect he’s had them for me. The memory still clings to me, vivid as ever.

I was just a girl, skipping toward Ani’s house to share the news of Father’s successful harvest. Theshan even gave me a few coins to spend—a rare generosity from the greedy man.

I’d been daydreaming about buying Nebet something for her upcoming thirteenth birthday. That’s when the older boys appeared. I didn’t even hear anything before one of them pushed me down.

I remember clenching my eyes shut, bracing for pain or worse.

Then Ani arrived.

My childhood friend struck one of the boys in the jaw with a strength I didn’t know the teenager possessed, scaring the others off when they recognized him.

Then, he’d gathered me in his arms as I cried, humiliated and shaken, but I’d never been so relieved. Something inside me changed that day. Something young and tender bloomed and never really went away.

But life has stopped it from growing into anything else.

“Ready?” Nebet’s voice draws me back.

I open my eyes and see her securing a midnight blue scarf over her head.

I nod. “Ready.”

“Should we tell Father we’re leaving? See if he can help load the cart?”

“No.” Hopefully, Theshan is asleep. Even if he isn’t, his weakened lungs won’t let him do much. Or so he claims.

With help from nearby field hands, we’re on the loaded cart quickly. I take the reins and steer our gray, spackled mare down the road, toward the heart of Alexandria.

The breeze is mercifully mild today. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nebet tip her face toward the sun. Her smile gleams like polished brass—no wonder people say she’s the beauty of the region.

The city thickens around us like a knot of heat and dust. The closer we draw to the market, the more suffocating it becomes. Noise spills from every alley: bartering, shouting, the bray of donkeys, the clang of metal against stone. I thread us through the chaos, heart quickening.

Ani’s family’s shop sits on a narrower street, quieter than the central plaza. I spot him before he sees us, lifting a crate with one arm, muscles taut beneath his tunic, still smiling at a customer.

“Ahem,” Nebet says.

I glance at her. She’s grinning like a jackal. “Yes?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Her smug tone says otherwise, but I stay silent.

Ani glances up, sees us, and his face breaks into that smile, so open and warm. “Eshe! Nebet!”

Nebet chuckles. “You’d think it’s been years since he’s seen us.”

I nod in response, trying not to notice the flutter in my stomach.

I swallow and hop down from the cart before Ani can reach me. He’s at my side anyway, helping Nebet with unnecessary gallantry.

“How’s your father?” he asks her, but his eyes are on me.

“No worse,” she replies. “We count our blessings.”

He nods, then turns to me. “And you, Eshe? How are you doing?”

I shrug, keeping my voice steady. “As good as I can expect.”

Before he can press further, I ask, “Where do you want the crates?”

He gestures inside the shop, and we begin unloading. Nebet and Ani chat easily as they work. I only speak when necessary. I’ve never been good at small talk.

“Would you mind if we left the cart for a bit?” Nebet asks when we finish. “I want to visit a shop before we return home.”

I blink. This is the first I’m hearing of it.

“Not at all,” Ani says. “I’d come with you, but Father left me in charge today.”

“Such a shame,” Nebet says. She elbows me when I don’t speak.

“Yes,” I force out. “You’ll be missed.”

Ani beams, clearly pleased. Guilt knots in my stomach.

I don’t mean to be distant. But things with Ani are too fragile now. We’re not children anymore, and if I acknowledge what he feels, what I feel, everything could change. And not necessarily for the better.

After a long goodbye, Nebet and I make our way through Alexandria’s maze of stalls and vendors. She keeps pace with me, despite her longer stride.

“I don’t understand why you keep Ani at a distance,” she eventually says.

I keep my eyes forward. “Because Ani’s affection won’t last. And I’d rather not lose a friend when he comes to his senses.”

“You can’t believe that,” she says. “You should see how he looks at you.”

“Stop,” I whisper. “Please.”

I don’t want hope. Hope is dangerous. I’ve seen it destroy lives—my mother’s most of all.

To her credit, Nebet says nothing else.

We’re nearly at the shop when I feel it—a shift in the air, subtle but distinct. A ripple in the noise. As if the crowd itself senses something and moves unconsciously to make way.

Two men emerge from the throng, walking with an ease that doesn’t match the noise and press of the street. Their clothing is strange—bright blues and crisp whites, too clean for the dust of Alexandria. Fine silk tunics cling to broad shoulders, the fabric whispering with each step.

Greeks.

Even from a distance, it’s obvious. Pale skin, sun-touched but unweathered. One man’s curls are slicked back in a careful style. They are clean in a way no farmer ever is. Clean in a way my family has never been.

But it’s not their clothes that stop me.

It’s one of their faces.

His jawline is sharp, cheekbones high, eyes set deep beneath bold brows. His features should be harsh, but they’re not. They’re captivating. Arresting. His lips are full, but not soft. And his eyes?—

Gods.

His eyes are the color of desert stone at dawn. Pale brown, ringed with gold, glinting with something ancient and unreadable. I don’t realize I’ve stopped walking until Nebet bumps into my side.

“What is it?”

I can’t answer. The man is looking at me now.

No— into me.

A thrill crawls down my spine. My body tenses. My heart forgets its rhythm. I try to look away, but I’m locked—caught in his gaze as surely as if he reached out and seized me by the wrist.

It’s a mistake to keep looking.

But I can’t stop.

His gaze holds mine for one beat, then two, then a third loaded moment that stretches long enough to tighten my throat. Then, he smiles. Slow. As if he knows something I don’t. As if he’s amused I haven’t run.

And he begins to walk toward me.

No.

No.

I finally tear my gaze away, the world rushing back with a noise like shattering glass. I grab Nebet’s arm and whirl around, dragging her toward a busier side street.

“Eshe!” she exclaims, stumbling to keep up. “What are you?—?”

“We’re leaving.”

“I wanted to?—”

“We’re leaving.”

I don’t stop until the weight of the Greek’s stare fades, until I can no longer feel the pull of it on my skin. Only then do I breathe.

Nebet looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “They were just?—”

“They’re Greek.” My voice comes out harder than I mean.

But I don’t regret it. Greeks can’t be trusted.

Nebet opens her mouth, then closes it.

I don’t stop moving until the noise of the market dulls behind us. My pulse hammers.

My mother believed a Greek merchant’s promises. She abandoned her family, leaving us hollow, only returning when he left her.

I still remember how she looked, weeping in the street, a ghost of the woman she’d been.

My father took her back. I never understood how. I certainly never forgave her. Not even after she died from her broken heart less than a year later.

She made her choice. She chose a stranger over her family.

And I won’t let some beautiful stranger untether me. I will never be like her .