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"The inundation has begun, and the Iteru is flooding already! How could you wait so long to dig the canals and trenches? I told you a moon cycle ago they needed to be done!" Imi waved a hand to indicate the fields of lettuces and celery, wilted and lanky in Akhet's heat. Nearby, balsam trees edged the land, and beyond them, the great river burbled.
Imi dropped her hands and glared at Namrut, the gardener's son. He was a little older than herself, with a face that some might find attractive, but that Imi found hateful right now.
She tried to calm her tone. Perhaps he just didn't fully understand. "You do realize without the floods, there will be no silt to nourish the soil for next year? The lettuce will grow poorly, and there won’t be enough lettuce seeds to press for oil. That's one of the base ingredients for my incenses and perfumes, so it is most necessary. Any remaining oil should be traded for the most important scents, like cinnamon and myrrh. Without them, I can't make my most popular perfumes.”
Namrut gave her a condescending smile. "I know how it works. I'll get it done."
"Your father would have had it done by now. He always prepared the fields well in advance in case the Iteru flooded early." Imi dug her hands into her hair before remembering Betrest had styled it so nicely. Damn. She'd probably just ruined all that hard work. As if to prove her right, a coil of hair sprung out and poked her in the eye. She winced and shoved it away.
Namrut wrinkled his long, straight nose. "My father was overly cautious. I grew up watching him and working in these fields. I know what I'm doing. Better than any woman. This isn't your job, it's mine."
"Then do it!" Imi stomped her foot on the ground. "Or there will be no oil to trade for grain, and nothing to pay you and the workers with."
He shrugged one broad shoulder. "It'll get it done. I'll do it on my own time."
Imi stabbed a finger in his direction. "Your own time better be soon," she waved to indicate the fields and missing canals, "or I’ll make sure you won’t get the chance again next year."
“If you get control of your fields by then.” His hateful eyes were filled with malicious glee.
“Don’t you worry about that. I’ll get my inheritance, and then you will do things on my time, or you’ll be out on your ear.”
He glared at her. Imi glared right back, crossing her arms.
"Are we done?" he sneered.
"For now."
"Right then." He turned and loped off through the fields. He looked like a capable worker. Imi would give him that. He was sun-bronzed, broad-shouldered, and muscled from a life of labouring outdoors. But he was lazier than a sloth in the heat of the day, and clearly had no respect for women. She cursed her misfortune that his father – the head gardener – had taken ill and she now had to rely on his son. An arrogant, stubborn ox of a man.
She kicked at a dying lettuce stalk. But gently, so as not to really damage it. Even though it was wilting and had been stripped of almost all its leaves already, she hated to damage anything living – well, anything that wasn't human. She'd happily punch Namrut in the belly if it made him dig those ditches any faster.
Imi set off through the fields, the sun halfway down to the horizon at her back. Her fields were on the west side of the river, near the southern edge of town. There was quite a walk back to Betrest's, but Imi wasn't ready to return. When she reached the row of towering balsam and palm trees growing along the edge of the property she hunkered down near the river's edge.
She rested her back against a thick, twisting balsam trunk, its bark warm from the day's heat. Low, leafy branches formed a shady umbrella over her head. The balsams were especially important to her livelihood. Like the lettuce, the balsam seeds were pressed for oil. The gum from the bark was collected and used to thicken perfumes and ointments, and the fruit fermented and made into liquor to give the workers as payment, along with the lettuce leaves and the leftover pulp from the mashed seeds, which was used as fodder for their livestock.
Already, Imi could see the water levels had risen since her last visit two weeks ago. If Namrut didn't hire labourers to dig the gutters soon, the trees wouldn't get the water and nutrient rich silt they needed.
Imi tossed a rock into the water and watched it ripple. Like the ripples her father's death had caused in her life. His will left her no choice. Betrest was right. She must find a husband so she could gain control of her fields.
Eyes closed, she tilted her head back against the tree trunk. Somehow, despite the refreshing fragrance of mingled balsam, moist earth, and the river, her body managed to conjure Nehesy's scent. The way he'd smelled when he'd stopped her in Betrest's hallway yesterday, and leaned in close, invading her senses.
Neither of us are children anymore.
Her body tingled with awareness now, as it had then. He'd been about to kiss her. She was certain of it.
But what did that mean?
Of course she’d have let him. How could she not? She’d always wanted him to be her first kiss. Apparently, that hadn’t changed.
As if she needed this distraction now, anyway. Why couldn't he have wanted her years ago, when they'd been engaged, and everything was simple?
"Imi?" a woman's voice came from behind her.
Imi looked over her shoulder around the tree trunk, shielding her eyes to see a woman silhouetted by the sun.
"It's me, Hattie." The woman came closer, and Imi recognized Namrut's sister, Hat-Hor-Se, Hattie for short. About Imi's age, they'd known one another all their lives, but had never been playmates. Imi had visited the fields often, but it was mostly for her father to teach her about how they utilized the things they grew. She'd never been involved in the harvesting and processing the way Namrut and Hattie had been.
Hattie was short, like Imi, but sturdier, fuller-figured, and sun-kissed a deep brown from working in the fields. Her head, shaved smooth, was also evenly tanned. She possessed kind eyes, and a pleasant, round face.
"Hi, Hattie. How are you?" Imi wasn't keen on company, but she liked Hattie and couldn't be rude to her.
"Can I join you?" Hattie gestured to the ground beside Imi.
"Sure."
The other woman sat, drew up her legs and wrapped her arms about her knees. "I'm sorry about my brother. I wasn't listening in," she hurried to explain, "but I saw you talking, and guessed what you were talking about. I don't know what's gotten into him, but he's adamant that we can't dig the canals right now."
"But we have to." Thank the gods Hattie understood, at least. Why didn't her brother?
"I know." Hattie sighed. "Father is so ill, but even he asked if it had been done yet. I lied because it would upset him too much otherwise. He always took such pride in working for your father, and even for you, you know. He thinks you're wonderfully talented, and I do, too. I use your cinnamon oil soap in my bath as a treat sometimes."
Tears pricked Imi's eyes, and she blinked rapidly against them. Their confidence in her meant a great deal. It was also a good reminder of her own upbringing. There was once a time when her father hadn't been able to afford the pricier cinnamon to use in their fragrances. Both her parents had come from families like Hattie's. They'd laboured on someone else's fields. But Imi's father had ingratiated himself with his parents' employer, and the man had bestowed a plot of land on him. In the evenings, her parents had crafted the fragrances that her mother then sold at local markets. Until they'd built a reputation for quality perfumes and incense and gained distinguished customers.
If Imi lost control of her fields, she'd be failing her parents. All their hard work would be for nothing. Imi mumbled something incoherent, stupidly, to Hattie about how she hoped the woman's father recovered soon, because she didn't know what to say.
Thankfully, Hattie gave her a half-smile of understanding and went back to looking at the water. The sun filtered through the long branches of the leafy balsam trees, sending rays of light sparkling over the river's surface.
It was a comfort to sit next to another woman who was fine with silence. Well, silence, and the absent tapping of the balls of Imi's feet on the sandy ground. Because it really was difficult to just sit still when there was so much to think about.
Imi said, "If I could, I'd dig the trenches myself. At night, when your brother is sleeping, if I had to. But it's too much. I don't even know how many workers I'd need, or how long it would take."
"Ten labourers, four days," Hattie answered, looking as glum as Imi felt.
Imi looked sideways at her. Hattie lifted one shoulder. "That's what we've always done."
Feeling adrift, like a leaf swirling along the river, Imi said, "Huh. I guess Namrut would notice if I tried it on my own, then.” It would take her more than a full moon cycle of nights.
Hattie’s eyes narrowed, her mouth tightened. "My brother will be away for a night. In five days' time, he's going to visit our cousin in the next village. He goes once every few months, to go drinking and whoring and such. What?” she feigned an innocent expression when Imi cut her a sharp look. “Yes, I know these things. I see what state he's in when he returns. I have to shoulder the work for a couple of days afterwards, while he lays about in bed."
A glimmer of hope had Imi sitting up straight. "So there will be one whole night, and possibly a morning, too, when he'll be gone."
"And the afternoon. He usually leaves before dark. He dislikes travelling on the river at night. A friend of his was eaten by a crocodile one night, years ago, when his boat capsized."
Imi could see it now. Dozens of workers, shoveling by moonlight. "We'd need... what, maybe forty men?"
Hattie raised her brows, but Imi saw the reflection of her own hope on the other woman's face. Still, Hattie lifted a finger. "There's another problem."
"Mmm?" Imi was only half-listening now. She could hire men, she knew a few who might do it. And Hattie could give her the names of other workers, surely.
"Payment," Hattie's voice cut through Imi's thoughts. "We need to be able to pay them."
Imi’s hopes crashed like the shattered bottles of perfume that Nehesy had knocked to the dock the other night. "If I had my perfumes, incenses, and soaps... I could sell them. But my stock is all at my father's house and I can't get to it." There was no chance Ludim would just let her walk in and pack them up. She wouldn't even put it past him to hold her hostage. Or worse.
If she had supplies, she could make more stock to sell, too. But most of her ingredients had been smashed when she and Nehesy had tussled on the docks.
Hattie gnawed on her bottom lip. "I could take grain from the storage house to pay workers, but when my brother returns, he'd find out. He's already threatened to kick me out for going against him. I don't have any choice but to listen to him. I'd rather not be homeless."
"Ahhh." Imi slumped and put her forehead to her knees, muttering, "I am homeless right now. I have nothing to pay workers with either. My father's will has everything tied up."
"I know. My brother told me all about it. I'm sorry."
Imi poked at a rock on the ground, rolling it to create a track in the sand. "I'm trying to find a way to break my father's will. Or get married. Either way, I'm going to get control of my fields again. I have to. And when I do, I want you in charge, not your brother."
Hattie gave Imi a grateful, yet sceptical smile. "That's nice of you to say."
Imi sat back and rested her head on the balsam trunk, watching the water. If she looked long enough, it almost seemed she could see the level rising. Creeping closer and closer to her fields. These trees and this land had made her father's fortune – and hers. If she couldn't somehow save that, she'd have proved that she was unworthy, and the provisions he placed in his will were necessary. Even if those very provisions were what made her situation so impossible.
"Enough," Imi muttered, shaking her head. She was never good with deep thinking. She needed to be doing and moving.
Imi stood, shaking out her dress and smoothing down her hair. Hattie stood with her, a confusion wrinkling her forehead. "What are you doing?"
"Do you know some workers?" Imi asked.
Hattie shook her head. "No. Yes. But I don't know that I can trust them not to tell my brother."
Imi covered her mouth with her hand, cursing silently on an exhale. Then she lifted her chin. "I'll find a way. I have to. Be ready that night, when your brother is out of town."
Hattie's eyes widened, and she asked cautiously, "Are you certain?"
"Yes." I think. I hope. "Absolutely." One way or another, Imi would dig those trenches.
***
IMI WAS JUST turning down a narrow lane on her way back to Betrest's when a hand came down on her shoulder. She twisted, swinging her arm around in defence. Her hand whistled through the air. The man ducked, narrowly avoiding a whack to the head.
"Woah there." He caught her wrist so she couldn't lash out again.
Nehesy. Thank the gods. It wasn't her stepbrother, Ludim, or someone else with nefarious intent.
Still, Imi snapped, "You shouldn't sneak up on someone like that!"
He grinned, flashing white teeth and a perfect smile, and her heart stuttered.
He said, "I called out to you three times, but maybe there's something wrong with your ears? Should I check them for you?" Nehesy released her wrist, only to tug at one of her earlobes, swiveling his head around to peer inside.
She clicked her tongue and ducked, smacking his hand away. He laughed.
"Stop it. You'll ruin my hair, and your sister worked so hard on it."
Nehesy's features settled into amusement. "Too late, I think." He waggled his fingers about his head in a silly gesture.
Imi swore, reaching up to pat at her hair, feeling the thick, curling tendrils that had somehow popped out around her face and down her back. "How in the...? I didn't even do anything."
Chuckling, Nehesy said, "It looks better down anyway. Are you on your way to my sister's? I'll walk with you." He took up her hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow before she could stop him. "Where are you coming from?"
Imi contemplated telling Nehesy the truth. Her pride wouldn't allow her to ask for assistance paying the workers. It hurt to admit that her father didn't trust her to manage on her own. If she got desperate, she'd let her pride go. For now, she'd keep the details to herself.
So, she said vaguely, "Just checking on my fields. What about you?"
"Checking on my ship. Watch out, Sprout!" He stopped abruptly, pulling her back a step. "You almost stepped on a scarab." He pointed down at their feet.
"It's Imi now," she muttered, but she was distracted by the big, shiny beetle lumbering across their path.
"Do you remember..." Nehesy began.
"The funeral?"
Nehesy laughed. "And how you made us sing a dirge for it?"
Of course she remembered. It was one of her earliest clear memories. One of the best and the saddest. She'd been five and had found a scarab beetle on the ground, its hard shell crushed, wings splayed, legs askew. When her brother Altakhsas told her it was probably squashed by an elephant or hippopotamus, she was inconsolable. Nehesy tried to make her laugh, but when that didn't stop her tears, he suggested they give the beetle a proper burial. All the boys got into it, Nehesy, Imi's brother, and their friend, Nedjer.
The boys wanted to practice mummification, but Imi insisted they would ruin the little scarab trying to pull its brains out. Especially since it had no nose that they could see.
Ultimately, her brother and Nehesy and Nedjer helped prepare the bug for burial. They didn’t have proper funeral fixings. Instead, Nedjer ripped up his head scarf to use as mummy wrappings, and Nehesy stole one of Betrest’s make-up containers to use as a coffin. Then Nehesy held Imi's hand while her brother and Nedjer sang a dirge and Imi cried like a paid mourner. Except her tears had been real.
She'd always hated to see a creature in pain, and imagining the bug’s demise had devastated her.
Imi smiled up at Nehesy now, her hand still tucked in the crook of his arm. "I was terribly annoying, wasn't I? It must have driven you all mad to have me chasing after you all the time."
Nehesy put his free hand over hers, drawing her a little closer, until the side of her breast brushed his arm, sending a jolt of sensation through her body. "Sometimes. But that's the way with any friends. In truth, you still drive me a little mad. But it's different now, isn't it?"
Before she could speculate on the meaning of that, a deep rumble sounded nearby, and the earth shook beneath their feet. Dust puffed up around their sandal-shod toes.
“What the –?” They both looked down the lane in the direction they’d come from, but there was nothing there.
A piercing shriek split the air, followed by a cacophony of high-pitched sounds and deep grunting noises.
"Look out!" a thin voice shouted. A donkey came galloping towards them from the far end of the lane. A small boy perched atop the beast, hanging on to its neck with locked arms and wide eyes. An army of naked children chased after them, bare feet slapping the hard-packed, sandy earth.
The lane was narrow, not enough room for everyone. Imi backed up until she hit the side of a house. Nehesy covered her body with his, his hands against the wall, arms a protective cage about her head. Imi was forced to turn her head to the side, her cheek pressed to Nehesy's naked chest. She couldn't see beyond him, but hooves and feet thundered past. Dust swirled around them. Imi squeezed her eyes shut to avoid the grit.
"Go, go, go!" the boys urged the donkey rider. Or perhaps the donkey itself. "Wooo hooo! Look at 'im ride! Go, Ramses, go!" The feet and dust faded off as the boys broke out of the lane.
Nehesy's smooth pectorals rose and fell beneath Imi's cheek. Her senses were assailed by his nearness. Her mouth watered, her body hummed. Her hands moved to his chest of their own accord, and not to push him away. They just rested there, her fingers curling over the smooth, warm muscles. She was afraid to look up at his face, to do anything to disturb this moment. This might be the closest she'd ever get to... well, anything with him.
After a moment, he eased back, and her hands slid down over the lovely planes of his chest before she regretfully put them at her sides. But he kept his palms against the wall on either side of her head, and she remained encircled by his arms.
"Do you remember-?" he began, mischief dancing in his eyes.
"When I stole our neighbour's donkey because you dared Altakhsas and he wouldn't, but I said I would, and I hopped on before you could stop me?"
"And we had to chase after you-"
"And I fell off-"
"And broke your arm."
"And your cook made me a batch of my favourite sweets and you and I and Altakhsas ate them all at once and made ourselves sick."
"Exactly." His head was tipped towards hers, their faces not far apart.
Imi looked up into Nehesy's eyes and saw laughter and heat and honest desire there. This is it, she realized with shock. The moment she'd dreamed about as a girl, and then thought would never actually happen. Nehesy was going to kiss her. And it was going to be wonderful because they were both smiling and her body was bowing up towards him because this, this was what it had always wanted.
It made perfect sense, and yet was still so shocking, when their mouths met.
His lips moved over hers, coaxing with gentle motions until she realized she'd been pursing her mouth and not responding. She softened, trying to replicate the motions and follow his lead. Don't stop, her mind cried. Please, please, don't stop. His mouth smiled against hers and she felt like an idiot. Did he know she hadn't been properly kissed before? Probably. It would be obvious, wouldn't it? She had no idea what she was doing.
Imi's palms were pressed to the warm, sandy brick wall behind her. She tried to keep them there, frightened that if she moved, he'd stop. But then his hands were framing her face, cupping her jaw as he moved away from her mouth and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"Imi –" he began, speaking against her forehead and she heard the apology in his tone.
No. He was going to stop now because she'd just proved she was a child in at least one way. He would say something kind and that would be the end of it. She would die of regret if he didn't kiss her truly and properly because she'd been overthinking it.
She thrust her fingers into his hair to hold him in place. Pushing up on to her tiptoes, Imi pressed her mouth to his and kissed him. Really kissed him. Molding her body to his because he seemed to like that before, and then moving against him. If this was the one and only time she got to kiss Nehesy, she was going to do her damndest to make it memorable for both of them. She willed herself to stop thinking and put her entire self into that kiss. All the feelings she'd been holding in for all these years, all the longing and anger and frustration.
For a horrible moment, it seemed he might not kiss her back. Imi would have to slink away and die of shame instead of regret, curled up in a corner in his sister's house like the husk of a dried-out spider, all because she'd made a muck of her first real kiss with the man she’d wanted since she was a child.
Then his hands slid from her jaw to her waist, pulling her tighter against him, until they couldn't be any closer. Well, they could, but they'd have to be naked, first.
His tongue parted her lips and then she could taste him, sweet figs and wine.
And then she couldn't think anything anymore, because his palms cupped her bottom and his erection was grinding against her pelvis and her eyes might have rolled back in her head from the pleasure of it.
Because this was Nehesy, and hadn't she dreamt of this a thousand times in ways she'd been too inexperienced to fully visualize?
Her breasts grew heavy and aching, her body shivered inside in ways it never had before. The kiss went on and on. Their tongues touched, then tangled. Imi's knees weakened, and she might not have been breathing but it didn't matter because this was everything she'd ever wanted and so much more.
It went on and on, more intoxicating than the time she’d stolen her brother’s waterskin and accidentally drunk too much sweet liquor and was sick all night long. But in this case, Imi never wanted it to end.
“Stop! Thieves!” a man’s rough voice rang out.
Nehesy tore away and took three quick steps backwards, leaving Imi light-headed and unsteady. She leaned back against the side of the house behind her and dragged in air.
"You there!" A broad-chested man called from the far end of the lane, his fists resting on wide hips. "Did you see a group of ruffians and a donkey go by?"
"That way," Nehesy jerked his thumb in the direction the boys had gone.
"Little brats," the man muttered as he came bow-legged down the lane. "Stole my donkey again. I tell 'em every time I'm going to take it outta their hides, but it don't stop 'em. It's like a game to 'em now. Who can jump on and get away the fastest."
The man nodded to them as he passed by, continuing to grumble as he left the lane and disappeared.
Nehesy ran a hand through his short hair, then turned to Imi. Guilt and regret. That’s what she saw in his expression. Her heart plummeted. Of course he regretted it. It had been the most exquisite experience of her life, and he hadn’t wanted it to happen. Just like he hadn’t wanted her in the first place.
Why had she done this to herself? Why had she kissed him, knowing deep down that nothing would ever come of it? She was such an idiot when it came to Nehesy.
“Imi, I’m sorry,” he held up a hand. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
She forced a laugh, cutting off any more horrible, painful words. “What? That kiss? It was nothing. Forget about it. I already have.”
He frowned and shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s just – we’re friends. And I won’t be in Kemet long. Once we find your brother–”
“You have places to sail away to and I have – well, I have things to do. Which reminds me, I need to see someone about, ah – a thing – over this way.” She stuck her thumb over her shoulder, not caring which direction she was pointing so long as it wasn’t towards his sister’s. “So I’ll see you later.”
“Imi, wait – ”
But she was already hurrying away. Don't run. Don't look back.
“Go on without me,” she called over her shoulder, not looking back, “tell your sister I won’t be back for the evening meal. I’ll be back,” she waved a hand, “later sometime.”
She had no appetite now anyway. Her chest and belly had contracted into a small, shriveled ball of pain. It hurt to breathe.
If they were ‘friends’, she'd have talked to him about the trouble with her fields and her father's will. To commiserate, to ask for help, to find some workers or help sell her perfumes.
If they were friends. If he hadn't ended their engagement all those years ago. If she hadn't just kissed him like she was drowning and this was her last chance.
She shoved down her mortification. It didn't matter that her heart was shattering all over again. She had more important things to do. There were trenches to dig, and some man who was not Nehesy to marry.