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Sinai Peninsula, 2976 B.C.E.
Tai has never defied her parents. Until now. The gods have brought her to the local coppersmith for a reason, and she intends to halt her betrothal to the Overseer of the Copper Mines to find out why. Even if it means banishment from the noble family and friends she cares for.
A commission from the Overseer could solidify Aimen's future as a renowned jeweller and coppersmith. But when Tai asks him to postpone making the Overseer's bracelet, Aimen finds it difficult to refuse. She is, after all, the woman he once fell in love with – and lost.
When disaster strikes, however, Tai and Aimen must decide just how much they're willing to sacrifice for love.
EXCERPT
Whoosh hsst,
Whoosh hsst,
Alone in the dusty lane lined with rock-built retaining walls and huts, Tai paused to rest her hands on her thighs and catch her breath. The edges of a linen scarf drooped about her face, not a whisper of a breeze passed to flutter them. Thank goodness her maid had suggested she take the strip of fabric, or she'd have no protection from the relentless afternoon sun. Or from the curious eyes of the people who lived on this side of the mining town of Biau.
As a child, Tai had never been allowed to run and climb or get messy like others. As a woman, she was expected to move with grace and dignity. Such women did not rush headlong through the heat of the afternoon only to lose themselves in a strange part of town, with sweat beading between their breasts and on their brow.
And yet here she was. Because if there was one thing the last year spent nursing her dying grandmother had taught her, it was that she refused to wait for people to tell her what to do with her life. Not anymore.
Especially if it meant marrying a stranger, simply because her father liked the man's title. She had to delay the betrothal long enough to change his mind. Hence her mad dash to the opposite side of town to find the jeweller commissioned with making her engagement gift.
Whoosh hsst.
Whoosh hsst
The strange sound continued up ahead. Rhythmic and soothing in its own way. Tai's fingers twitched. She could almost envision how her lyre would accompany the unusual hum. In her mind, she could see dancers moving sinuously by firelight to the melody, arms upwards in the air.
But now was not the time for whimsical thoughts. She drew herself up and scanned the huts lining the narrow lane, searching for the sound's source. The lane was lined with retaining walls, built of the same reddish-brown rocks as the huts. The homes were mostly obscured by the walls. But further down the lane, she spied a covered structure jutting out from a large house.
It must be the jeweller's workshop she sought. She'd stopped a dirty, naked boy a while back for directions and he'd sent her this way. Two lefts and three rights from where she'd crossed the wadi, the dried-out old riverbed. You'll know it when you see it, the boy had said.
Whoosh hsst.
Whoosh hsst.
Tai hurried toward the courtyard with the edifice, and the sound. She reached the end of the lane and peered through the open gate into the yard, one hand on the warm rock wall to steady herself.
A patchwork leather awning extended to cover much of the yard. Beneath, two great stone slabs served as tables that held a variety of implements and tools that Tai did not recognize, not being familiar with tradespeople in general. Beneath the covering, an enormous man in a knee-length linen wrap skirt and leather apron laboured. Like her, a linen scarf was draped about his head and held in place by a braided rope, shielding his face from view. He balanced each booted foot on an inclined, wooden plank with leather sides that seemed to be filled with air. He compressed each one in turn with slow, deliberate steps, leaning from side to side as he did so. They ballooned again each time he shifted his weight off.
Whoosh hsst.
Whoosh hsst.
So that's what the sound was. The foot operated contraptions stoked a fire burning in a rock pit, with a ceramic jar resting in the centre of the flames.
The man's thighs were larger than the trunks of the talha trees that grew along the shoreline. Her stepmother would say it was unbecoming of her, but Tai couldn't help but notice the thick, corded muscles of his bronzed legs. They glistened with a sheen of perspiration and bunched with each step he took.
Taller than most, Tai always appreciated a man who didn't make her feel like a giantess.
Here in Biau, she'd met only two men the size of this man. Tai's skin prickled. Surely it couldn't be one of them, could it?
Whoosh hsst.
She was afraid of interrupting him to confirm her suspicions. He seemed very focused and involved in something potentially dangerous.
After several more compressions, the man leaned towards a table near the fire, grabbed a pair of metal tongs, and stepped off the planks. Moving with admirable speed and efficiency, he used the tongs to lift the jar from the flames and poured what appeared to be molten lava over several bricks. The liquid mostly disappeared into the bricks, with only a little splashing over to quickly harden into copper-coloured drops.
They weren't bricks he poured the liquid into, then, but molds. Perhaps even now he was casting the bracelet that was to be Tai's wedding gift. She shuddered, her fingers digging into the wall's mortar. She stilled when the filling crumbled beneath her touch. Don't dirty your fingernails! her stepmother's voice echoed in her head.
Tai's gaze travelled upwards, to the man's wide back. Thick slabs of muscle rippled along his shoulders and down his spine. His biceps had to be larger than her thighs.
Her heart thudded hard enough she could hear it pulse in her ears. Aimenamun. It had to be him. She didn't think his brother was quite as bulky.
What bizarre twist of fate was this, that the gods had brought her here, to Aimen? She'd come seeking the town's jeweller. Instead, she'd found the man she'd spent the last year fantasizing about.
What were the odds that Aimen and the town's most famous jeweller were one and the same? Her and Aimen's interactions had been brief, they'd never had a chance to discuss their personal lives.
Or perhaps they'd both always known a world of difference lay between them and refused to speak of it.
Turning his back to her, Aimen set the tongs aside, ripped off the scarf, then lifted his apron over his head and tossed it on a stool. He reached down into a shallow pit and took out a jug. He tipped the jug and spilled water over the close-cropped black curls on his head, then splashed it on his shoulders, the rivulets pouring over the planes of his back. Using his free hand, he scrubbed his head and rubbed his shoulders and underarms. Then he tilted his head back and sipped from the jug.
Tai wondered if the salt of his skin would sting if she touched her tongue to him there, just along his neck and between his shoulder blades. She'd never kissed Aimen, never even touched him, though she'd wanted to.
She blinked against a wave of fatigue that speckled her vision. The fever-hot fire could be felt even at the gate where she stood, and the flames distorted her view of the house beyond as the heat drifted upwards into the already sweltering afternoon air.
The day had seemed surreal long before she'd arrived here. Now, with the man turning and walking towards her through the wavering heat, it couldn't be more dream-like.
"Well, well, well," he said, coming to stand before her in a wide-legged stance, arms crossed over his massive chest. "If it isn't the disappearing woman."