What the River Knows (Secrets of the Nile, #1)

“Well, I didn’t know at the time, but now I think it might have been the ring he sent you. Your father said he also tasted the magic, but he never said it was roses.”

I thought hard, trying to connect all the pieces in my cluttered mind. I remembered what I’d overheard the night I had snuck aboard the Elephantine. “Did my uncle know about Papá?”

Whit paused. “He did.”

I opened my mouth, but Whit held up his hand. “No more questions. It’s late, and we have more to explore. I don’t fancy having your uncle find us down here.”

I blinked. I’d completely forgotten about the world above, and the people who slept unaware of what we were doing dozens of feet underground. The knowing of it sent a delicious thrill to my fingers. Is this how every archaeologist felt?

Whit dug his hands into his pockets. “Well? Anything?”

But I still had one more question. “Does my uncle believe he’s found Cleopatra’s tomb?”

Whit hesitated, his brows puckering. Every muscle along his jawline jumped. I waited, but he remained stubbornly silent, his moral compass refusing to point anywhere but due north.

Except for when it was inconvenient for him.

“You can’t answer, can you?”

He smiled ruefully. “I can’t talk about any of your uncle’s excavations. Do you feel anything in this room?”

Trust didn’t come easy, but I sensed that we’d circle around each other, getting nowhere, if one of us didn’t bend a little. I could do this on my own, come back while he slept, but I was tired of carrying the foreign magic on my own. It was too big, too powerful of a notion to shoulder on my own. Aid was within reach; I only needed to ask for it. I pointed to the left side, and gave him one truth. “Yes, and I’m sorry to say that my uncle is looking in the wrong spot. There’s something on the other side of this wall. That’s where he ought to excavate.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded.

Whit grinned approvingly. “Good work, Olivera.”

*

I stared up at the tarp gently rustling against the ruined stone walls of my makeshift bedroom. Everything confirmed my suspicions about my uncle’s bizarre behavior: they were incredibly close to finding Cleopatra’s final resting place.

My mind reeled. Such a find would rock the Cairo community, and scores of foreigners would travel to Egypt wanting a piece of history. The Antiquities Service would hasten to Philae and take over the excavation, the last thing my uncle would want. What I still didn’t know was what his discovery had to do with my parents. Could he have deliberately led them out into the desert?

Maybe he had brought them to a temple with that particular gate, left them to die.

I sat up in the bedroll, the mosquito net surrounding me like a bridal veil. Hot tears pricked my eyes and I angrily wiped them away. Part of me wished I’d never come to Egypt. Then I would never have discovered such a horrifying betrayal. I would never have known how families could turn on one another with deliberate cruelty.

I had been na?ve and stubborn.

But I was here, and I knew the truth.

What I needed was a plan. I’d have to conduct thorough searches of his cabin on the dahabeeyah and his room here in the camp. He might have taken his most important valuables off the boat, so I’d start with the easiest target first. Getting inside his room ought to be no problem. I knew how my uncle worked. He liked to get his hands dirty, and he wouldn’t lounge while the others worked. Which gave me plenty of opportunity to search his room, thanks to my job sketching and painting the ruins.

But I’d made a foolish mistake tonight.

I’d revealed far too much to Whit and I wasn’t certain that he wouldn’t tell Tío Ricardo of what we’d done tonight the first chance he had. I couldn’t allow him to do that.

With a sigh, I shoved away the netting and stood.

The curtains weren’t thick, and moonlight poured into the small space through the loose weave. I pulled them open and crept outside. Cool air settled around me, teasing loose strands from my braid. The stretch of makeshift rooms stood before me. Whit had ducked into the room next to mine after we’d walked back from Trajan’s Kiosk. I stood in front of his room, suddenly seized with the full awareness of what I was about to do.

I’d never, in my whole life, spent so much time with a man without the presence of a family member. But since arriving in Egypt, I’d spent an incredible amount of time with Whit. I’d had more freedom than I’d ever been allowed. It was the first few sips of delicious, cold water and I found that I was thirsty for more.

But sneaking into a man’s room in the dead of night?

I’d gone to bed wearing the loose Turkish trousers and oversized cotton shirt that buttoned up to my chin. I was covered from head to foot but it still didn’t matter. This was a definite boundary I’d never have dreamed of crossing.

It had to be done.

I couldn’t allow Whit to tell my uncle what I’d discovered. It might secure my stay for the time being, but it also meant my uncle would be aware that I knew about all of his lying. I needed more time. One more day to conduct my searches.

With a steadying breath, I swept aside the curtain and walked inside Whit’s room. Darkness enclosed the narrow space—

A strong hand clapped hard against my mouth. I squirmed against the brute strength, but I might as well have been grappling against one of the pyramids. The arm around my waist tightened and then I was flipped, landing on my back against the bedroll. My breath whooshed out of me in a fast current. A heavy weight settled at an angle over my chest. Warm breath brushed across my face.

“Who are you?” someone snarled in my ear. With a start, I realized it was Whit. His voice sounded rough and gravelly, nothing like his usual drawling charm.

“It’s me,” I whispered. “Inez.”

He stiffened.

A long torturous beat stretched between us, neither of us moving, hardly daring to breathe. It might have only been the two of us alone on Philae. His arms bracketed my head, the long line of his chest pinning me down. Innocent terror overwhelmed me. Not of him, but of the intimacy flaring between us. I’d never been this close to a man before. His furious breaths brushed against my face. Whit pushed up and sprang backward. The curtain remained open and moonbeams flooded his room. He kneeled on the ground beside the bedroll, his face twisted in fury. Silently, he went to an upended crate and struck a match. Without ceremony he lit a candle, and the flame illuminated his room.

It was neatly arranged, far tidier than mine. He didn’t have many worldly possessions: a few tins of tooth powder, one comb and razor, and a small square of mint-hued soap near the wash basin. A leather journal rested atop a stack of books, the gold foil on the spines revealing each title: Elemental Manual of Chemistry, Lessons in Elemental Chemistry: Inorganic and Organic, and Handbook of Chemistry.

Isabel Ibañez's books