Daughter of Egypt Read online

  Daughter of Egypt

  Constance O’Banyon

  Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Did you ever guess how wonderful you are in my eyes, my son, Jason Bryant Gee, or why I always smile when you walk into a room, or how much I have been touched by your kindness, strength and wisdom?

  Did you ever guess that the day you were born I not only had a daughter, but a best friend as well, Pamela Adele Monck?

  Did you ever guess, Rick Gee, how I watched in awe as you become exactly the kind of person every man should strive to be?

  Did you ever guess, Linda Kaye Henderson, how special you are to me? How many hours you sat with me at the computer editing a book? Little did I know when I married your brother I would be getting a family to treasure—you being one of the dearest treasures.

  Did you ever guess, Jo Ann McCormick, how much I have always admired you, and when I grow up, I want to be just like you? You are very dear to me.

  Did you ever guess, Mary Dot Pinto, how your e-mails brighten my days, even on those days when the sun does not shine? How long ago was it you volunteered to be my sis, since I had no sister of my own?

  Did you ever guess, Evan Marshall, how much I admire you as a person and treasure you as my agent? You stepped beyond what is expected of you and became a friend who is always just a phone call away.

  Did you ever guess, Alicia Condon, that you are the most amazing editor I have ever had? I feel fortunate that when my books leave me they fall under your sharp, creative care.

  Prologue

  Rome

  44 B.C.

  The night was dark, the shadows deep in the recesses of the catacomb. A ragged urchin stumbled in that direction, head hung low with weariness, footsteps faltering in the driving rain. Darker than the night was the gaping entrance on the lower course of the Tiber River. To the child, the mouth of the cave yawned like the looming jaws of a monster ready to devour anyone who stepped inside. Were not the streets of Rome an even greater threat than those that waited in the darkness?

  Each night the frail urchin waited until Brace and his gang of thieves were asleep before sneaking inside. One of the child’s worst fears was of oversleeping and being discovered hiding behind the huge boulder at the mouth of the cave.

  Rain pelted the small child, who cautiously crept forward, eventually gathering the courage to enter the black void. Once inside, the child paused, hoping to remain undetected in the shadows.

  “You there, brat,” a harsh voice cut through the darkness. “Didn’t I tell you to find another place to sleep? If you won’t work for me like the rest of the lads here, you can’t enjoy my protection. Get out now unless you want another beating!”

  Brace was no more than fourteen, but he was a person to be feared. As leader, he’d trained his pack of thieves to prey on the marketplace crowd and even sneak into the houses of unsuspecting citizens. Brace often boasted of killing three men in a fight, and also an old woman who caught him slipping into her home one night.

  “I’m not a thief! I take only what I need,” the urchin said, taking a quick step backward, “while you take all you can get.”

  “Shut your mouth!” Brace bellowed, looming out of the shadows, stalking toward the child. “You scrawny little brat, you’ll feel the weight of my rod if you don’t get out of here now.”

  “I just want a dry place to sleep. It’s raining.” The child’s eyes were bright with hope. “Let me stay, and I won’t tell anyone who you are, or where to find you.”

  “You dare threaten me?” Brace raised his rod, and the child cringed, waiting for him to strike. But the blow did not fall. Instead, Brace aimed a hard kick, and the child fell to the ground, moaning in pain.

  “That’ll be your last warning, boy,” Brace snarled. “If I ever see you again, I’ll beat you senseless and throw your carcass to the dogs.”

  The urchin rose, trembling with fear and pain, then, after taking a deep breath, managed to hobble out into the night. At least Brace had not yet discovered the secret she guarded so carefully. Thalia had learned early on that young girls didn’t live long on the streets of Rome—they were taken either for slaves or for some darker purpose.

  The rain stung her face as she stumbled down the hill. Shivering with cold, Thalia huddled behind a thornbush, and tried not to think about how painfully her ribs ached. She rested her head on her folded arms, her tears mingling with the rain. She was weary of the daily threats that shadowed her every step. There was always Brace and his gang to contend with, as well as the guards at the marketplace. Then there was her most relentless pursuer, the man with a patch over one eye. Thalia did not know who he was or what he wanted with her. She trembled with fear and weariness. How would she ever manage to avoid him with sore ribs?

  It was as if they were playing a game of wits that she had to win. On the days he lay in wait for her, it was only her small frame and speed that helped her escape. Even her disguise as a lad had not fooled him for long. Some days she did not see him at all, and those were her good days. But when he did appear, it took all her skills to lose him in the twists and turns of the brick streets.

  Although it had stopped raining, Thalia shivered on the damp ground. Turning onto her back, she stared at the opening in the clouds where she could see the stars.

  Who was she—where did she come from?

  Latin was not her original language, because she’d had to learn to speak it after she came to Rome. She was beginning to forget the language she’d once spoken, and when she tried to remember her past, it was like looking through a veil. She had distant memories of living in a house outside Rome where an old woman had taken care of her. Then one morning she’d found the old woman dead.

  Thalia rubbed her teary eyes with grimy fists and tried to think beyond the dark shroud covering her past. There was an elusive memory of a fire, and a beautiful woman who had made her feel safe, but nothing that could answer her questions.

  She lay awake until the first ray of sunlight struck the Tiber River, turning it to a silver ribbon that meandered to the sea. With weary steps she made her way down the embankment and cupped her hands, taking a deep drink. Reaching into her belt, she retrieved a crumbling honey cake and took small bites so it would last. When she licked the crumbs from her hands, her stomach still rumbled with hunger.

  Today would be just like the one before and the one before that. Each step she took was rife with danger. There was no one in the world she could depend on but herself.

  Placing her tattered cap on her head, she pushed her hair be
neath it to disguise the fact that she was a girl. Thalia reached down to tie her worn sandals, thinking her first task after eating would be to steal some new clothes—hers were so ragged they were falling down her waist and off her shoulders. She stood, gazing downstream, knowing the exact street where she would find clothing hanging to dry.

  Pain shot through her side each time she took a step, and slowly, Thalia made her way toward Rome.

  At Trajan Marketplace, she slipped through the crowd virtually unseen. As always, Thalia was on the lookout for the man with the eye patch, but thankfully he was not here today—at least not yet.

  Meandering toward a cart where date cakes and fruit were displayed, Thalia clasped her hands behind her and pretended to study the sky when the merchant looked at her suspiciously. Shortly thereafter, the merchant turned her attention to a woman who was inquiring about the fruit. It was Thalia’s chance—she quickly snatched one of the cakes and tucked it into her sash. She saw her mistake immediately: she’d been watching the merchant and had overlooked the guard.

  Fear gave wings to her feet as her pursuer was joined by two companions.

  “Stop, thief!” the merchant called, which only made Thalia run faster. Darting around a corner, she attempted to outrun the men, but the pain in her side forced her to slow her pace.

  Running past the fountain, she saw a beautiful young noblewoman watching her. As she slid behind the woman, Thalia begged for help.

  To Thalia’s relief, the stranger hid her until the men had disappeared around a corner. Thalia was not accustomed to kindness, and she was suspicious when the woman invited her to accompany her. She reluctantly agreed.

  From that day forward Thalia’s life changed forever. She never had to worry about finding enough food to survive or a safe place to sleep at night. At last she had a home.

  Her savior was Lady Adhaniá, who was from a high-ranking Egyptian family with close ties to Queen Cleopatra. During the dark day of Julius Caesar’s assassination, it was Thalia’s courage and daring that saved her benefactress, and when Lady Adhaniá left Rome, she took Thalia with her.

  When they reached Egypt, Adhaniá’s family welcomed Thalia. It was the happiest day of Thalia’s life when Adhaniá’s mother, Lady Larania, adopted Thalia, making her a sister to Adhaniá. She even had a brother, Lord Ramtat, Queen Cleopatra’s most trusted general, who doted upon her.

  But there were still nights when Thalia woke up in fear.

  Would the one-eyed man still come for her?

  Thalia chided herself for allowing her thoughts to return to her childhood fear. Her old nemesis would never find her in Egypt …

  Chapter One

  The Island Kingdom of Bal Forea

  36 B.C.

  The afternoon sun fell across the island, sending shards of light reflecting off aqua-colored water. Although the practice field was crowded with men honing their skills with sword and bow, not one of them noticed the huge man who slipped through a side door of the fortress and entered a seldom-used passage.

  Turk’s shoulders were so wide they scraped against the narrow tunnel on both sides, and he was glad when he emerged at the other end into a small windowless chamber that was the designated meeting place for the leaders of the rebel forces. The room was large and sparsely furnished. Maps of the island dominated one wall, pinpointing the areas held by the rebels.

  The big man made his way across the cracked mosaic floors toward the lone occupant. Lord Sevilin, the leader of the rebellion, watched with narrowed eyes as Turk came toward him.

  “I was surprised when I was informed you had arrived … alone. Where is the girl?”

  Turk looked uncertainly at his lord. “Did no one inform you that I have located her?” He thought Lord Sevilin would be pleased with the information, but the frown that marred the young man’s handsome face suggested otherwise.

  The rebels had rallied to Lord Sevilin’s call to reunite the country and move away from the bitter civil war that had divided Bal Forea for over a decade. Lord Sevilin was popular with the young people, who were easily swayed by his golden hair and deep blue eyes. Handsome of face, the young lord ignited loyalty in those with a rebellious spirit. All he lacked to gain the rule of the island was a royal bloodline, which he did not have. It was his stepfather, not his father, who had been the king’s son.

  “Are you certain the woman you saw is my cousin?”

  Turk knew that even though Lord Sevilin claimed the young lady as his own kin, there was no blood tie between them. “There is no mistake. She is the very one I’ve been tracking for years. Although I haven’t seen her since she was a child, I know it is Princess Thalia. She is as still as slippery as ever. One moment she was standing alone in the marketplace, but before I could approach her, she disappeared.”

  “So you came back to me empty-handed.”

  “Nay, lord. I watched the marketplace for seven days—she did not return. I need more men to help me in my search.”

  “Fool!” Lord Sevilin said, shaking his head in disgust. “Why did you leave Egypt if you knew she was there? She is the throne princess, and he who holds her rules Bal Forea. For now, I control all the young men who rebel against the old king, but the day will come when not even I can control them. I need her at my side to legitimize my claim. Those that follow me already know my grandfather is an inept king who has let bitterness and guilt rule his life and wreck his kingdom. I am the only one who can save the people and stop this war. But to do so, I must have the princess.”

  “If I could have taken her, I would have.”

  “So you keep telling me,” Lord Sevilin said in disgust.

  Turk bowed, but his eyes showed anger at being criticized. “You should be advised that there was another man searching for the princess—I managed to dispose of him, but I fear he’d already sent word to the king before I ended his miserable life.”

  “You should have remained in Egypt.”

  With an irritable frown, Turk said, “I left my best man behind to keep watch. I thought it was more important to inform you that she is in Egypt.”

  Lord Sevilin steepled his long, shapely fingers. “It is fortunate that my mother had great foresight and sent you after Princess Thalia years before the war began. However, the princess managed to elude you then, as she still does. Perhaps I should find someone else to bring her home.”

  Turk gritted his teeth and replied with a grimace, “I know Princess Thalia better than anyone, and I know her habits. Who but me understands how important she is to your cause? If she reappears at the marketplace while I am here, my men will follow her to her destination. It is but a matter of time before I have her.”

  “You would not be so sure of yourself if you knew the identity of the man that the king summoned to the palace this very day.” Lord Sevilin’s eyelids flickered the merest bit. “You are aware of the general they call the Destroyer?”

  Turk’s jaw tightened. “You speak of Count Ashtyn. Although we have never met, I know of him. His father was ruthless, and I’m told the son is much the same.”

  “My mother has placed one of our own in the king’s household, and the spy overheard a conversation between two guards. The king means to send Count Ashtyn to Egypt to find my cousin. It is said the Destroyer uses his charm as well as his sword to gain his will.” Lord Sevilin stared at Turk, thinking he had no charm at all, but he could be merciless, and he was still useful. “Be wary of him at all times. If you can, eliminate him.”

  “That is a deed I would relish,” Turk replied, thinking about the pleasure he’d derive from slaying the king’s most trusted general. “His death would devastate the Royal Army and deal them a blow from which they might not recover.”

  “Take care,” Lord Sevilin warned. “Count Ashtyn is not so easy to kill, or the deed would already be done.” Lord Sevilin’s eyes narrowed. “He stands at the right hand of my grandfather. Thus he stands between me and the throne.”

  “I will sweep him out of your way.”


  “Don’t boast of what you will do—just do it!” Lord Sevilin waved Turk away. “Board a ship for Egypt at first light.”

  As Turk left, the curtain behind Sevilin stirred and his mother, Lady Vistah, emerged. She had once been a handsome woman, but gluttony had thickened her waist and plumped her features. “I do not think you should have sent that man after the princess. He has tried and failed for years.”

  “He is the only one who knows her on sight. We are running out of time, Mother.”

  Her clawlike hand curled around his shoulder, and when Sevilin brushed it away, she shrugged and moved to a chair beside him. “You already know the need to marry the girl and get her with child as soon as she is brought to you.”

  “Aye. Not a pleasant thought. Living on the streets of Rome will have hardened her. Now, if she lives on the streets of Egypt, who knows what she has become?”

  “What can that matter? She has the royal blood—you do not. But if you have a child by her, the child will be royal and will need its father to act as regent, which will be the same as sitting on the throne.”

  Lord Sevilin’s eyes narrowed. “You are saying the princess will only be necessary to me until she gives birth?” He eased back in his chair, his gaze fixed on his mother’s face. “Are you prepared to become grandmother to the next king or queen of Bal Forea?”

  A ripple of excitement coursed through Lady Vistah’s body, and her eyes flared with expectation. Uncurling her fingers from the arm of the chair, anticipation threaded her words. “We shall have her, and all will be ours!” She reached for a platter of date cakes and took a bite. Although her cheeks bulged with the cake, she reached for another and popped it into her mouth. “You do not need the princess after the child is born,” she mumbled. Lady Vistah sunk back against her chair. She was a jealous mother and had no intention of sharing her son with any other woman.

  He looked at her sardonically. “Aye, Mother. I do. With Princess Thalia, I will start a dynasty.”

  Dark shadows flickered across chipped marble walls. A sudden gust of wind burst through an open window, causing an oil lamp to flicker and almost go out before it flamed to life with renewed brightness. The old man sat hunched on a chair, staring at a scroll spread before him, his gnarled fingers stained with ink. He was king of a war-torn country, and he’d spent the last ten years trying to reunite his divided land.