Daughter of Egypt

by Constance O'Banyon

  King Melik nodded at the man who had suddenly appeared out of the shadows. “My good Count Ashtyn, you have come at last.” The old man’s eyes narrowed as he stared at his most trusted warrior. “Did I not summon you days ago? Did my messenger not inform you my need was urgent?”

  Count Ashtyn was a mere shadow as he bowed to his sovereign. “I was three days away with our patrols on the eastern border when your messenger found me. My men had just located a rebel camp and although we were outnumbered, surprise was on our side. We wiped them out to a man. I stand before you with the dust of the road still clinging to my armor and blood on my sword.”

  The king waved the explanation aside. “What I need of you is far more important than a few dead rebels. I have a grave situation that requires your attention. My agent in Egypt sent a message that he has located my granddaughter.” He sighed wearily, as if the years rested heavily upon his frail shoulders. “It seems the man disappeared after sending the message.”

  “Then we can assume he died in your service,” Count Ashtyn said matter-of-factly.

  “Aye, else he would have brought my granddaughter to me by now.” A deep cough racked the old man’s thin frame, and it took a moment for him to catch his breath. “I feel mortality shadowing my steps—my burdens are heavy, and I cannot keep death at bay for much longer. I would see my country free of civil war before I die.”

  Count Ashtyn was sympathetic, but he feared the king would be devastated if the young woman in Egypt was not his granddaughter. “Majesty, years have passed since the princess was last seen. She has grown into a woman, and we have to question how she could be in Egypt, when she was living on the streets of Rome eight years ago.”

  “It is my granddaughter, I feel it in my heart.” The king seemed to shrink as he leaned forward and hung his head. “It must be her.”

  Count Ashtyn had other concerns. “Sire, you must consider that even if this person is the princess, she may not be … capable of ruling.”

  The old man stared at the lamp, the harsh light reflecting in his faded blue eyes. “That is of little matter; she is my heir and must take her place.”

  “Many will die if you bring her home. Sevilin will see to that.”

  King Melik’s voice had a hard bite to it when he said, “No price is too heavy to pay when so many have already died in this war. The one fear that robs my sleep is what will become of my people if Sevilin finds her first. She will become his pawn. Bring Thalia to me so I may see her for myself. Never doubt I shall know flesh of my flesh when I see her.”

  Tension mounted between the two men. “Surely you are not sending me to Egypt. I have a war to fight. I cannot just leave!”

  The king raised his head, urgency driving his words. “You must! If we can show the people that I have a living heir, she will be the steadying force that reunites Bal Forea. The people will rally behind her because she is of the true blood—not a usurper like Lord Sevilin, who sets my people against each other and proclaims himself their deliverer.”

  “The people have been without hope for so long. How can this young girl bring peace to our land?”

  “Maybe she cannot. But I don’t need to remind you what will happen if she is captured by my dead son’s stepson. Sevilin would proclaim her queen, and himself king!”

  Count Ashtyn nodded in resignation.

  The king’s blue-veined hand trembled as he clutched the arm of his chair. “Find her for me—keep her safe, no matter what the cost. Bring her to me with all haste.” The king raised his wavering gaze to the only man he trusted to complete this mission. “Should something happen to me, you must make certain she is crowned queen. Thalia has been your responsibility since the pledge you made to me and your father before his death. She is yours to keep from harm.”

  Count Ashtyn gazed steadily into the king’s watery eyes. “Majesty, I was but a lad when you and my father had me betrothed to the princess.”

  “Nevertheless, you gave your word, and I hold you to it. When you bring Thalia home, she will need a strong man beside her—that man will be you.”

  Count Ashtyn swept into a bow. “I have not forgotten my pledge. If she is in Egypt, I shall find her and do what is expected of me.”

  The aged king shifted his weight and groaned in pain as he reached out and grabbed Count Ashtyn’s arm. “Over the years your father was my loyal mainstay. I depended heavily on his wisdom and strength. Now that he’s gone, I place my hopes in your hands. To this day you have not disappointed me in any task I have set you.” His gaze hardened. “Do not fail me now.”

  “In all things, I serve you.”

  “Fly with the wings of haste. Use your cunning—do whatever you must to capture her.” The king eased his grip on Ashtyn’s arm, and his hand dropped away. “One thing more—if I die before you return, you must kill Sevilin.” He met the young man’s eyes. “That is another pledge I expect from you. Then you will do all that is necessary to help the true queen.”

  “I will guide her in any way I am able.”

  “Aye. You will guide her as her husband. You will sit at her side.”

  Count Ashtyn jerked his head toward the king, wanting to declare his aversion to being wed to a woman who had grown up on the streets. He shunned the thought of what she’d been forced to do to stay alive. He said instead, “I have never chosen to stand near the throne—I was given no choice at all.”

  “If you love me as your king, as soon as we know the young woman is of my blood, you will take her as your wife and consummate the marriage.” The king suddenly dropped his head, as if it was too heavy to hold upright. “I know you are not as reluctant as you seem. It is said that you sometimes go into the fountain room and stare at the statue of Thalia’s mother. Do you envision Thalia to look like her?”

  “Aye. Sometimes I do,” the count confessed.

  The king sighed heavily and handed Ashtyn a scroll. “This describes the young woman in Egypt, and if the description is true, she is very like her mother.”

  Ashtyn read the scroll several times. “Then she is of great beauty,” he admitted.

  “Go. Bring her to me.”

  With hardly a sound, Count Ashtyn faded into the shadows and was gone.

  The old king bowed his head, his heart heavy. He lamented the harshness with which he’d dealt with his daughter when she had proclaimed her love for the captain of his guard and refused to marry the nobleman of his choosing. His anger had caused his beautiful Jiesa to go into hiding. He could hardly bear to think of her tragic death, and not a day passed that he did not mourn her. But the gods had been merciful: his daughter had borne a child. If she was not found, his house would die with him, and his kingdom would fall to a lesser man.

  Chapter Two

  Tausrat Villa

  Outside Alexandria, Egypt

  Lady Larania of the house of Tausrat glanced across the room at her adopted daughter and smiled. Even from a distance, Thalia’s golden hair and blue eyes stood out among all the dark-haired beauties. As usual, she was surrounded by young lords who vied eagerly for a place beside her.

  There was something about Thalia that Lady Larania could not put into words, an aura that drew people to her. Lady Larania frowned as she watched one of the young gentlemen hold a sugared date out to Thalia, who took the fruit in her mouth, leaving the man blushing and stammering. She turned to speak to her son Ramtat, who stood at her side, smiling at his sister’s antics. Her son was her pride: he was tall, as his father had been, with the same dark eyes, and just as handsome of face. Her attention briefly turned back to her daughter, who was laughing at something one of the men had said.

  “I must speak to Thalia about her behavior: what I permitted her to do when she was a child is no longer acceptable. She will be known as a flirt if she continues to tease those young gentlemen.”

  Ramtat glanced at his mother and smiled with amused tolerance. Her black hair was peppered with white, and her high cheekbones gave evidence of her Bedouin heritage. S
oft lines fanned out from her eyes and mouth, but she looked ten years younger than her true age and was still a handsome woman.

  “I see no harm in my sister’s actions. I have taken notice that she is careful not to be alone with any of the men. Thalia is young and a favorite with everyone—she does not seek them out, they find her.” He glanced at the young woman who was lurking near his sister—Marsada was considered a renowned beauty, and Ramtat noticed the hatred and envy reflected in the young woman’s dark eyes. “Perhaps not everyone loves her,” he amended, nodding at the woman whose intended husband was lavishing attention on Thalia. “Soon we must find a suitable husband for Thalia, lest all the men in Egypt attach themselves to her. Until then, allow her to have fun before she settles into the duties of a wife.”

  Lady Larania’s expression softened. “Thalia has been a joy to me from the moment she entered this house. She made me laugh at her antics as a child, and she warms my heart with her kindness. It will be difficult when the time comes for her to wed and leave me.”

  “When I look at her now, I don’t know how she survived the cutthroat streets of Rome at such an early age.”

  “She seems carefree enough now, even though it grieves her that she has no past. There is strength in her and a tenacious will.”

  Ramtat noticed how pale his mother was, and he feared her health was failing. “Do not fret, Mother. We cannot give Thalia back her past, but we have given her a future. Has she shown marked attention to any young man in particular?”

  “Not in the least. She is content to entertain them all but does not favor one above another.”

  “It will take a man of strength and patience to conquer our Thalia’s resistance.” Ramtat surveyed the room. “All I see here are those she would dominate without even trying.”

  Lady Larania sighed. “Will you be leaving us in the morning?”

  “Nay, I leave tonight. Our Badari will begin their migration within weeks, and I must be there to greet each chief as they arrive.” His heart ached because this would probably be the last time his mother would join the desert tribes. She was much too thin, and he could tell it was an effort for her to remain standing, so he led her to a stool and made her comfortable.

  Lady Larania’s trembling hand rested on her son’s strong arm. “Thalia and I shall be joining you in ten days’ time.”

  “The Badari are always happy to welcome home their princess.”

  Thalia hardly had room to breathe. To her way of thinking, the men who surrounded her only talked nonsense when they were with a female, most probably because they thought a woman did not possess enough knowledge to have an intelligent conversation. Did they think she really cared that they compared her hair to spun gold or argued over which were more perfect, her lips or her eyes?

  Untangling her fingers from one of the men who had dared touch her, she shook her head at him, moving away when he tried to recapture her hand. Rising amidst the protests of her would-be suitors, she hurried out of the banquet room and into the corridor.

  Jamal, the guard, nodded to her—he would stop any gentleman who tried to follow her.

  The gatherings were always the same—the women her age snubbed her, and the men persistently annoyed her by following her wherever she went. She never invited them to join her—they just seemed to attach themselves to her.

  Thalia moved quickly through the marble corridor until she came to her bedchamber. Badaza, the housekeeper who ruled the villa and the other servants, was placing fresh linens in a trunk at the foot of Thalia’s bed.

  Heaving her heavy bulk around the bed and plumping a pillow, Badaza stared at the young mistress. “Was the party not to your liking?”

  “It wearied me,” Thalia said with a sigh, and then slipped out the arched doorway into the garden. She gazed up at the stars, wondering why she was so restless.

  And why none of the men of her acquaintance touched her heart.

  Chapter Three

  Night had fallen, but the garden was illuminated by hanging lanterns that cast a soft glow along the pathway. Kicking off her shoes and carrying them with her, Thalia felt tranquility flow around her as her bare feet sunk into the cool grass. She paused beneath an acacia tree, reveling in its sweet scent. In her heart, she could feel the stirring of the night as the pulsebeat of the land flowed through her very being.

  Egypt was her home, and she never wanted to leave it.

  Her footsteps didn’t slow until she reached the far end of the garden where she had often played as a child. The pond was filled with lotus blossoms, and several kinds of fish darted through the thick foliage. Thalia paused to pick up a fallen palm frond and fanned herself with the broad leaf. It was a lovely evening, with a full moon casting its glow upon the stone walls. Nuit, the ancient goddess of the sky, had sprinkled stars across the silken night. The sweet scent of lemon blossoms filled the air, and Thalia dropped her shoes and lowered herself onto a marble bench to bask in the beauty of the sounds and smells that surrounded her.

  Closing her eyes, she fanned herself while pondering her actions tonight. Thalia knew she would face a lecture from her mother for leaving the banquet early, but she could not have stood another moment of boredom. Lately, her mother had been pressing her to marry, and had paraded in front of her what seemed to Thalia like all of the eligible nobles in Egypt. Since the thought of spending an evening with any of them was so objectionable, how could she be expected to spend her life with one of them?

  With a sigh, she emptied her mind and let the night close in around her.

  “You seek solitude,” a heavily-accented voice said in perfect Egyptian.

  Thalia jumped to her feet, startled by the man who seemed to have appeared from the shadows. He was unknown to her, and his accent unfamiliar.

  When the stranger turned his head toward the house, moonlight crowned the obsidian hair that fell to his shoulders. His white tunic was of good quality, though not what a man of wealth would wear to one of her mother’s gatherings. She could not imagine this man living the superficial life of a courtier; strength clung to him like armor—perhaps he was a soldier.

  “Are you one of my brother’s friends?”

  “Lord Ramtat,” he said, as if testing the name.

  Thalia paused, trying to gather her thoughts. The stranger was staring at her so intently it made her uneasy. At last she said, “Ramtat is my brother, do you know him?”

  “I have heard much of him. Queen Cleopatra favors him.”

  Thalia was disappointed. He was a courtier, perhaps a visitor to Queen Cleopatra’s court.

  “I cannot quite place your accent, and yet it is somehow familiar to me,” she remarked, merely to have something to say to cover the long silence.

  “I am from an island far away. I think you may not have heard of it.”

  He stepped further into the light, and Thalia saw his shoulders were broad and muscular. She could not tell what color his eyes were, but they were sharp, and she doubted he missed anything that went on around him. At first glance he did not appear handsome, but on closer examination she reconsidered—his features were honed with stark planes and severe angles. His jaw was like granite. He must have realized she was studying him, because he was watching her just as closely.

  There was a hint of danger about the man.

  Never taking her gaze off his, she reached for her shoes with the intention of leaving. She saw coldness pour into his watchful eyes.

  “You need not fear me,” he told her.

  Thalia dropped her shoes and slid her feet into them, thinking she should return to the house. She took a step before he stalled her with a question.

  “Why did you leave the banquet?”

  She answered before she could think. “I was not enjoying it.”

  He nodded, his brow creased into a frown. “I have been observing you for some time and came to that same conclusion. There were many men who wished to catch your notice, yet you eluded them.”

  A touch of fear s
tirred in Thalia’s mind. Had her past come in search of her?

  Of course this man wasn’t from her past—he was too young, she reasoned. Besides, he had made no threatening move in her direction, though he admitted he’d been watching her.

  She was reluctant to leave him until she discovered who he was and what he was doing in her garden. “The party was too noisy,” she told him, “and I love it here in the garden this time of night.”

  “And why is that?” The stranger’s voice was soothing and somehow seductive.

  “It was on the very place you’re standing that my brother-in-law, Marcellus, asked my sister, Adhaniá, to become his wife.”

  “Ah, your sister who married a Roman officer.”

  Thalia pressed her lips together, wondering why she had talked about her sister to this stranger—what was there about him that encouraged trust when she didn’t know him? Even when the man said nothing at all, charm flowed from him and caused a breathless stirring within her.

  “Marcellus is a Roman general.”

  “I wager I can guess your name,” he said in a deep whispered tone, his gaze centered on the dimple in her chin.

  “That would be no great feat, since everyone at my mother’s party knows my name.” Suspicion crept up her spine, and she frowned. “Are you an invited guest?”

  “Nay, I am not. Yet I wager I know more about you than you can imagine. I could probably tell you things you don’t even know yourself, Thalia.”

  She should have trusted her first instinct! She had a hard time finding her voice past the tightness in her throat, so her words came out in a whisper. “Do not speak my name again until you tell me yours.”