Page 8 of The Immortal’s Trick (Bound to the Immortals)

Two days have passed since the night of the play. I spend each one drifting between tasks, daydreaming, reliving every moment at the theater.

I replay the performance repeatedly in my mind—the rhythm of the actors’ voices, the tragic unraveling of the heroine’s fate, the aching beauty of the final scene.

I’ve invented entire backstories for characters who barely spoke and whispered new lines into their mouths while scrubbing the same dish clean three times over.

But the memory that haunts me most isn’t the drama on the stage.

It’s Lome.

His eyes. The intensity of them. How they seemed to pull truths from me I hadn’t known I carried. How, in a single evening, he saw me—not as a daughter, sister, or young woman struggling with responsibilities—but as someone more.

Someone worth looking at.

I tried to temper my emotions by telling myself Nebet is likely the one he wanted—if either of us.

She’s older and prettier. She understands men, how to smile at the right moments, and how to soften her voice so that people lean in to listen.

But when I’d voiced that to her, she only scoffed.

“You are na?ve,” Nebet says, brushing oil through her hair in front of the vanity in our shared bedroom. “Lome barely let a minute pass without looking at you. He sees no one else.”

I shake my head, unwilling to believe it. “He doesn’t know me. It isn’t possible.”

Nebet’s expression flickers with disapproval. “Don’t insult yourself. You’re lovely, Eshe, and you should be honored that such a man gives you his attention. It is not every day a girl is so lucky.”

Her words sting with truth. I don’t want to hear them. Not when I know—when we both know—what her future might hold.

“Even if what you say is true,” I twist the string from my frayed blanket around my finger, “nothing will come of it. Lome is a visitor to Alexandria. In time, he will leave and return to his home. He will forget us. Forget me.”

Nebet’s knowing eyes read every emotion and thought I try to conceal.

Whatever she sees makes the corner of her mouth rise ever so slightly. “I would not be so sure.”

“Ani!” My brothers’ simultaneous shouts pull me out of the memory.

I put down the plate I’m washing and dry my hands on a cloth before walking toward the home’s main entrance.

Sure enough, my childhood friend stands outside the front door with Ruia and Sab circling him like wild dogs.

“Do you want to play jacks?” Sab questions.

Ruia bounces on his toes. “Or how about marbles?”

I step over the threshold and hold up my palms. “Enough,” I tell my brothers. Both immediately cease their jumping. “Ani may not be here to entertain you.”

I look up at him and smile. “Hello, Ani.”

He smiles back, but it’s weak. Fleeting. “Eshe.”

“Would you like to come inside? Have a glass of wine?”

“Thank you, but no.” Ani’s smile promptly falls. “I’m actually here to speak with you. May we talk outside?”

Ruia and Sab erupt in teasing laughter and smacking noises behind me. I push the boys gently back into the house and close the door, leading Ani to the shaded bench near the edge of the dead olive grove.

He doesn’t sit right away. He’s pacing, fingers tangled in his dark hair.

“Ani,” I say gently, lowering myself onto the bench. “Please sit down.”

He sits beside me, his knee bouncing.

I place a hand on his thigh.

He stills.

“Ani?” I dip my head and force him to meet my eye. “What’s happened?”

“The crops are gone.”

The world stops.

Gone?

“ What ?” I choke out.

Shame clouds his face. “They’re gone, Eshe. All of them.”

I hear nothing. Not the birdsong. Not the wind. Not even my heartbeat. Only the echo of his words.

Gone .

Ani continues, but the words are muffled, like I’m submerged underwater.

“I arranged a buyer,” he says. “But when I went to the storeroom to inventory the crops, it was empty. The lock had been smashed.”

No .

No, no, no.

Our wheat. Our barley. Everything we stored, counted, and planned to live off.

Gone .

My body feels as if it’s sinking into the earth. I can’t breathe.

Ani leans forward. “Eshe—please say something.”

But there are no words—only terror.

I see the future now, sharp as shattered pottery. Father collapsing from a fever. Nebet, soul crushed, forced to accept Benipe’s offer.

No.

I won’t let that happen.

I’ll need to work. Nebet, too.

Ruia and Sab are too young, but perhaps they can take over caring for Father while Nebet and I find employment.

I can tutor. I’ll teach children to read and speak Greek.

My family will survive this.

We will.

Even if I have to work day and night and sacrifice the dreams I barely allowed myself to entertain, I will protect this family. I will not let us break.

Not now.

Not ever .