The next day, work at the bathhouse started early and turned into a whirlwind. Gil and Aban chopped wood. I paid our workers their back pay and some extra to show our gratitude and fulfill Michali’s promise to them. Little Sebastie played on rugs and took a nap in the washroom while his mother scrubbed and hung out the laundry. We found no sign of mice, which was a relief. But Gil’s ears were sharp—he’d heard something. Maybe just a bird. Or maybe it had been a mouse, but it had decided not to stay.
In between greeting patrons—some of them long-winded after my unexpected absence—I started working through the ledger. Michali had kept the bathhouse running, but he was right: the ledger was a disaster. He’d marked who had come each day and noted payment for those who had been just passing through instead of regulars, but he hadn’t connected husbands and wives to the same account, nor their children. We’d been gone a long time, so it was a lot to sort through.
Toward the end of the day, Gil came inside to help with the accounts. He normally sent the reckonings to the patrons, but he would have a hard time doing it when the ledger he worked from was still in disarray.
After a few hours, he put his spectacles down and squeezed his eyes shut. He rubbed the spot of skin between his eyebrows and sighed. “This is going to take a while, I think.”
“None of our patrons will complain if their statements are delayed another day or two.”
Gil glanced at the window. “Maybe, but I should use the light while it lasts.”
“You might not have seen it, Gil, but a few moments ago, your wife looked in on us. She’s freshly bathed, and she smiled at you.” I glanced at Sebastie, who sat on a rug, playing with a carved wooden horse. “And your son looks sleepy. I think you should go home.”
Gil leaned back on the stool. “You make a convincing case, Rasheed. I will follow your advice.” He stood and put his hand on my shoulder. “As long as you promise not to stay too late worrying about the ledger. Remember, none of the patrons will mind a bit of a delay.” He winked as he repeated my own advice back to me. “And don’t forget you’re supposed to be taking it easy still.”
I nodded and wished the family a good night. Gil was right—there was no need to finish sorting through the ledger all in one day, but our coffers were low because we’d paid Michali and Antonina and the others but hadn’t billed or received the normal payments from our regular patrons. We had our savings, but after hearing that Sultan Bayezid had his eyes on Greece—among other prizes—I wanted to keep those funds available should Thebes suddenly stop being a good home for us. Often, when Christians or Muslims conquered each other, they allowed the other religion to practice their faith with few restraints—as long as they paid an extra tax. But the Turks didn’t just tax a person by their hearth. Rumor was, they also taxed children. I would rather leave than see Gil and Eudocia lose their son to the sultan’s service.
Aban came in through the apodyterium. “Everyone picked up their clothing, and the fires are out. There’s space for more wood in some of the storerooms, but Gil and I cut enough to last a week or more.”
“Good.” I put my finger on the ledger to mark my spot.
“Are you staying late?” He glanced at the ledger spread before me.
I nodded. “The sooner this is sorted, the sooner we can send out reckonings to our regulars. The sooner that happens, the sooner they’ll pay us.”
“Do you mind if I leave now?” He glanced at the floor as if embarrassed. “Maria asked me to help fix something at the house, and I told her I would. I didn’t quite catch what—my Greek isn’t that good yet.”
Maria and Aban. That was something I could be happy about. “Yes, go. Treat her well, Aban, for relationships with women are wondrous and complicated sorts of things.”
Aban smiled. It was a carefree smile, something I hadn’t seen from him at all since his arrival. “I will treat her with respect and awe.”
He was a fast learner. Good. “Enjoy your evening.”
He glanced at the paperwork. “I would tell you the same, but that doesn’t seem like a realistic wish. Peace be upon you.”
“And upon you.” Now that Aban had stopped fighting the friendship he’d been offered in Thebes, he would be wrapped up in it. Another friend. Another warrior to help when needed. Another brother, by blood, and now also by choice.
I bolted the door behind him when he left. Then I lit a lamp, sat behind the desk, propped my leg up on a stool, and went to work. I could go home and save the distraction of finishing the project for another night when I didn’t want to pine for Cecilia, but we needed to send out reckonings, and I didn’t want to be lonely tonight. Better to stay busy than to return to the place where I’d played my last game of zatrikion with Sebastie, where my mind would wander to the loss of a friend and all the things that hadn’t happened with the woman I’d been chained to for three terrifying and wonderful days. The choice was work or regret and disappointment, so staying was easy. I wasn’t sure why God had guided my heart to Cecilia, but maybe, with time, His purpose would be clear and the heartache would ease. In the meantime, I would trust Him and hold out hope that the pain would fade.
I finished a page and glanced at the window. Only a bit of light shone through. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment to give them a break from staring at Michali’s cramped handwriting. A hint of myrrh and hyssop met my nose. The scent of perfume often lingered in the bathhouse, especially after the women bathed, but I hadn’t smelled it when I’d fetched the lamp. It reminded me of Cecilia. I suspected that a lot of things would for a long time to come.
I eased my foot off the stool, thinking to fetch a candle or another lamp, and turned. Cecilia stood in the doorway between the anteroom and the apodyterium. She looked much as she had the day we’d met, with her Western-style gown and her hair braided and partially covered by a small hat. She watched me.
The quill I’d been using dropped from my fingers to the floor. I didn’t bother to pick it up.
She was in Thebes. That had to mean something.
“How long have you been standing there?” I asked.
“I came in when I saw Aban leave.”
“That was some time ago.” I willed my heart to beat at a more normal pace, but it seemed determined to gallop along with a reckless hope that might very well prove false.
She motioned to the surface of the desk. “It looked like you were doing something important. I’ve been in Thebes for five days. Another hour didn’t seem to matter.” She rested a hand on the arch of the doorway. “I almost said something earlier. I knew I had to see you again, but after . . . after this, everything will be decided. Finality can be frightening.”
Had she come to say goodbye? Or come to stay? She was right, finality was terrifying. I glanced at the door. Still bolted. She must have come through the back. “I suppose you know all the secrets of the bathhouse, and that’s how you got in?”
Her beautiful mouth pulled together, then relaxed. “I didn’t mean to spy on you or your bathhouse. It’s just the way my mind works—buildings are less of a mystery than people are, at least to me.” She glanced away. “I came yesterday, but it sounded as if you were not in a position to entertain a female guest.”
“You were wandering around the bathhouse last night while we were bathing?” Maybe that explained Gil’s suspected mouse.
Pink touched her cheeks. “I heard you, but I didn’t see you. I meant to follow you home, but I’m not very good at following people. I picked Messer Marinelarena out because he’s so tall, but the crowd blocked my view of the rest of you, and I ended up following him beyond wherever you split up. I still don’t know where you live, but I had to talk to you, and I wanted to do it alone.”
I stood and walked closer, until I was right in front of her. Those gray eyes of hers followed my every move. Uncertainty swirled in their depths but not sorrow, and that gave me hope.
Her hands moved with small, worried motions. “Rasheed, I . . . I didn’t want to leave you in Neopatras.”
“But you did, and not for the first time.” I kept my voice a whisper. Hope was strong, but so was past hurt.
She nibbled on her lip. “I kept hoping you would wake up, because I wanted to tell you everything, and I wanted your advice, but you had lost so much blood, and then the fever set in, and then Captain Aner offered me a job, and I got scared.”
Given her skills, I wasn’t surprised that he’d wanted her help. “Micer Aner’s not scary.”
“Anyone who commands an army that can take a city and then an acropolis is someone to be wary of. I wasn’t sure what would happen if I refused him.” Her fingers clutched at the ends of her sleeves. “I didn’t know how dangerous I could be, not until Neopatras. My father made using my talent something exciting, a way to protect Venice and challenge my mind. I suppose the danger was always there, but he somehow shielded me from it. Uncle Giacomo tried even more to protect me, wanted me to leave it behind entirely. I don’t think he realized that Querini was interested in more than my dowry, not until we left Vostitza.”
“Your skills could attract danger—or cause it. A Turkish pirate ship is looking for you, and the Florentines, and I suppose a few people from Venice too.”
“That’s why I had to leave.” She leaned forward, as in a plea. “The Catalans found you once, and so did my uncle, and if everyone knew I was with you, they’d be able to find me. The Turks were already looking, and Captain Aner knew not only what I could do but also my name. I was afraid someone would use me against Venice or keep me from ever following my heart and being free.”
I folded my arms across my chest, which had felt hollow since Neopatras, with a throbbing pain that eased only when I distracted myself. “Couldn’t you have told my friends?”
“Captain Aner’s priest had just given them an adorable baby boy—and they were extremely grateful to him. I wasn’t sure I could trust them.”
I sighed, trying to picture it from her point of view, worrying as she watched Gil and Eudocia dote on their new son. “They would have kept your secret, even from him, but I can understand why you were scared.” I relaxed my arms and studied her face. “What of your uncle?”
“He has my dowry, and he has the Sea Maiden. It should be enough to support the family.”
“And your loyalty to Venice?”
Her teeth worked their way over her bottom lip again. “I will always be a Venetian, and I will always want to help when there is a need. But my uncle has all my father’s drawings and all mine. I think I’ve given Venice what it needs. Querini spoke of destroying me rather than letting my talent fall into the wrong hands. I don’t want to be destroyed, but I can disappear. Soon a rumor will reach Venice that I died of fever. It’s better that way, I think. Easier for my uncle to get the money he needs to keep the Sea Maiden, less likely that someone will try to find me and use me.”
“You faked your own death?” I was glad the rumor hadn’t reached me before she had. News like that would have struck me harder than an arrow.
“I burned all my bridges except one.” She laid a hand on my arm. “You. I want to be happy, Rasheed. And I’ve come to realize that I’ll never be happy without you. I know there’s a risk to both of us if I stay here in Thebes, but you once told me you loved me, and I will forever be in love with you. If you’ll still take me, I’ll never leave you again.”
Warmth from her hand traveled through my arm and burned in my chest. Her words had healed the wound there, had banished the pain I’d thought would haunt me for years. “I still love you, Cecilia.” I lifted a hand to caress her cheeks, letting all the tenderness I felt for her come through my fingers.
She looked up at me, her face full of trust and free of worry for the first time since I’d met her. Her cheeks were flushed, the color visible even in the imperfect light. As I ran a finger over her lips, she closed her eyes and trembled, just a little.
My fingers slid over her jaw and along her neck, and then I leaned in to kiss her mouth. Her lips were warm and supple and eager, and the kiss was sweetness and bliss and fire. Love was powerful, across distance and across time. And when love was returned, when it was cradled in one’s arms, it became exquisite.
After I explored every bit of her lips, I moved my mouth to the skin just below her left ear. “If you’re planning to hide out in Thebes, a change of name might be wise. What would you think about going from Signorina Bertaldo to Madonna ibn Musa? I know it’s a step down from Signora Querini, but—”
Cecilia lifted a hand to put a finger over my lips. “It’s not a step down. I would like nothing better than to be your wife. You’re the man who rode after me when a score of Turkish raiders had me. You listened to me and remembered what I said. You saved me over and over again—from danger and from being trapped in something I didn’t fully understand. I love you.”
“And I adore you.”
She studied my face and ran a finger softly along my scar, then around my lips. Her breath came at a quick pace, as if she had been running, but her voice was quiet and level when she spoke. “Will you kiss me again?”
Her request was one I was eager to grant. “Every day. As often as you want.”
This time I held her a little closer and kissed her a little longer. Wonderful things happened in bathhouses: love and forgiveness, fresh starts, and joy powerful enough to banish past pain. With Cecilia’s lips next to mine, I felt something I hadn’t felt in sixteen years. Belonging. Deep, tangible, and exhilarating. Maybe belonging wasn’t so much about a place but was instead about a person. I belonged with Cecilia. Beautiful, clever, reserved Cecilia, though she didn’t seem so reserved now as her hands wandered over my neck and shoulders, stirring my emotions and healing something in my heart that had long been broken. I’d been wandering for years, looking for a new home. I’d made do, but now, with Cecilia in my arms, my search was over.