Time Anomaly: A Time Travel Romance (Echo Trilogy, #2)

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  I looked away, watching a pair of women who appeared to be in their mid-thirties chat in front of a two-story building. Clearing my throat, I swiped my cheeks with one hand. I refused to let Heru see the devastating effect he could have on me. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—understand the reason why.

  Out of my peripheral vision, I watched him retrace his steps until he was standing in front of me. He raised his hand and gently touched my shoulder. “That was unduly harsh. I apologize.”

  I swallowed and cleared my throat again, but I said nothing as I continued to watch the women. They were arguing in hushed tones. About what? Their children, maybe? Or possibly some gossip gone bad?

  Heru slid his hand down the length of my arm to my hand. He held my fingers, not entwining them with his own as I was used to, but just held them. I choked back a convulsive sob. I miss you so much.

  “You are alone and far from your home,” he said softly. “For whatever reason, you have abandoned your former life to come here and be with the Great Father.” He sighed and ran his free hand over the closely shaved black hair on his scalp. “Secrets surround you, and Nuin has chosen to confide in Set rather than in me. That is what is bothering me, not you.”

  I finally looked at him.

  “You appear surprised.”

  I bit my lip, unsure how much I could safely tell him, and averted my gaze. The two women had abandoned their argument and were now watching us. I met Heru’s golden tiger eyes once again.

  “Why do so many secrets surround you?” he asked.

  “I cannot tell you that,” I said softly. “And even if I could, you would not believe me.”

  “You do not know that, Hat—” When I flinched at the near use of my misnomer, he amended what he’d been about to say. “Alexandra. You do not know what I will and will not believe.” But I did, because I knew him. I knew this man as well as I knew myself.

  A tear snuck out of the corner of my eye before I could blink it away. I hated it . . . all of the crying . . . the lying . . . the pretending. “Please just trust me when I say that I cannot tell you,” I implored, my eyes pleading.

  Heru raised his hand, almost like he intended to wipe away that rogue tear, but stopped himself halfway and lowered it back to his side. “This morning, when I asked you about Ankhesenpepi and how you had made an enemy of her so quickly, why did you say that it was because of me?”

  I squinted up at the clear afternoon sky. The sun was still blazing high overhead. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  “Yes,” he said, the single word a cross between a growl and a hiss.

  I inhaled slowly, considering how to tell him. “She threatened me last night.” I lowered my gaze, leveling it on him. “She cornered me during the feast, berated me for ‘stealing’ her power, and told me that she knew about our conversation in Nuin’s chambers—when we were alone together—and that if I did not stay away from you, she would tell everyone that we had been”—I cleared my throat—“intimate.”

  Heru’s face darkened.

  “So, you are really only part of the issue,” I said, offering him an apologetic smile. “She thinks I want to take her power from her, but honestly, I do not.”

  Heru returned my smile, his warm and familiar in a way that ignited so many intense feelings within me. “Because of what you are and who you are wife to, in time, you will have more power than any other woman who has ever lived.”

  An unexpected, slightly hysterical laugh bubbled up from my chest, and I wrapped my arms around my middle. “I never wanted any of this—being Netjer-At, having a life that could span eons, being married to a man who is the ruler of his people . . .” . . . absorbing a foreign power, having to abandon my love, living four thousand years before my mom was born . . . “I just wanted to live my life and—” I shrugged and shook my head. “I just wanted to live my life.”

  Much to my surprise, Heru chuckled. “Now that is something I can relate to.” I had no idea what he was talking about. Marcus loved being Netjer-At and thrived when he was in control; power was his bread and butter. “I will speak with Khessie, tell her to cease this cat crawl.”

  “Cat crawl?”

  Heru stepped closer and placed a hand on the small of my back, urging me to resume walking with the faintest pressure. “You are unfamiliar with the expression?”

  I nodded and smiled, letting him lead me.

  He retracted his hand, his fingertips skimming along my lower back before they were gone completely. It wasn’t intentional, I told myself. It didn’t mean anything. But my racing heartbeat and electrified nerves weren’t overly receptive to logic.

  “It is when two cats circle one another slowly, clearly antagonistic, but neither attacking.”

  “Oh, I see.” Again, I nodded. “That makes sense.”

  We rounded a corner, and the paved street gave way to sandy, hard-packed dirt, crowded with people. The buildings ahead were far less sprawling and grandiose than the villas and temples of the previous lane. These, if I was interpreting them correctly, were the conjoined, two-story townhouses common to the majority of the Egyptian populace during this era. They were akin to the mud-brick brethren of San Francisco’s famous terraced homes, minus the intricate moldings, glass windows, and bright paints.

  “How is the kitten?” Heru asked. “What are you calling him?”

  “Horus—I mean, Rus,” I said, half-expecting him to shout, “Ah-ha! You named him after me!” Which was silly. The name Horus hadn’t been used for the god Heru until the Ptolemaic period, when the Greeks ruled Egypt. “He seems to be enjoying his new home.” I glanced at Heru. “Where did he come from?”

  “He is from the latest litter of my local wife’s favorite cat.”

  I choked on my own saliva as he spoke. “Your local wife?” And here I’d thought knowing he had some sort of a relationship with Ankhesenpepi would be the extent of the torture I would have to endure in this time. I should have known better.

  At his curious expression, I offered him a pathetic attempt for a smile. “Pardon me, please. I—” I frowned and shook my head. “What with your relationship with Ankhesenpepi . . . I suppose I did not consider that you would have other wives, as well.”

  Heru’s expression hardened. “Khessie is not one of my wives, and she never will be.”

  “But you—you—she . . . why not?”

  Heru looked affronted. “Why would I ever take her as a wife? Khessie is Netjer-At—what would be the purpose of such a union, other than to increase her power and standing? There would be no benefit to me.”

  I almost couldn’t believe the words I was hearing pour out of his mouth. “And your wife—”

  “Wives. I have three.” Heru focused on the way ahead, and I had the impression that he was avoiding looking at me.

  My eyes widened. “Your wives . . . you married them because doing so benefits you in some way.” I blushed. “Other than the obvious . . .”

  Heru chuckled, but it sounded forced. “Children, of course . . . and affection.”

  I felt a sick sort of curiosity and couldn’t help myself. I asked, “What are they like—your wives?” Because the only two women I’d met who he’d been involved with—Ankhesenpepi and a human woman from my time, Sarah—were pretty despicable examples of my gender, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to think too much about what that said about me.

  “Meryet is the only one who resides in Men-nefer,” Heru said. “She is where Rus came from.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut in a protracted blink. What is it with the Netjer-At men and their need for multiple wives? It wasn’t like polygamy was widely practiced in ancient Egypt; that was only a misperception held by many people in my time. “And there are two more . . . ?”

  “Yes . . .” Heru sounded hesitant. “You speak of them like such a thing is strange. Is it not a common practice among the male Netjer-Ats of your homeland to take multiple wives?”

  I imagined Marcus politely requesting permission to take a human wife. �
��No, it is definitely not.” I cleared my throat for what seemed like the dozenth time in only a few minutes. “And, I suppose, considering I now have my own sister-wives, I would like to learn more about how it works between a man and his wives.” After I replayed my words in my mind, my cheeks burned again. “I did not mean how it works; I know that, but, um . . .”

  Heru chuckled, and the sound set me aflame—soul, heart, and libido alike. I hoped, desperately, that he wouldn’t sense my reaction.

  I swallowed. “Please, forget I said anything about it.”

  He ignored my request. “I maintain my wives’ accommodations, and they provide potential new Netjer-Ats. Meryet resides in Men-nefer permanently, along with our three surviving children.” He continued, but the one word—surviving—resounded in my head, drowning out whatever else he was saying. Heru and Meryet had buried at least one child. Heru had buried children, his own children. I’d known that; I’d known he’d watched countless of his descendants be born, grow to adulthood, and eventually die. I just hadn’t thought . . .

  “I am so sorry about all those you have lost. I cannot imagine how hard that must be,” I told him, my words laden with sympathy. But not empathy—I’d never lost a child, and I never would. Nejerettes’ bodies—or rather, manifested Nejerettes’ bodies—rejected any fetuses almost immediately after fertilization due to our hyper-regenerative abilities. It was only reproduction through the males of our kind that we were able to carry on as a species at all.

  “I am grateful for those who have survived,” he said, and I caught his wayward glance; it was filled with pity, of all things. “I cannot imagine what it would be like to have never had any children at all.”

  I let out a breathy, bitter laugh. Even if I’d eventually wanted children, that avenue was permanently closed to me. “It is better to have loved them and lost them, than to never have loved them at all,” I said, quoting Tennyson in the original tongue as best I could.

  Squinting thoughtfully, Heru nodded. “I have not heard it phrased as such, but yes, I think you have captured my meaning.”

  “More than you know,” I said under my breath.

  Heru didn’t respond, so I pretended that he hadn’t heard me. He had, and we both knew it.

  15

  Supply & Demand

  Heru and I rounded a corner and walked into a throng wilder and louder than any farmers market I’d ever seen. A seemingly endless sea of people were hawking their wares under brightly dyed canopies, haggling relentlessly with their potential customers. And beyond the crowd stretched a glittering blue-gray mass sprinkled with a smattering of white specks. The Nile. The ancient, beautiful Nile, teeming with vessels. It was such a chaotic, wondrous scene that it was almost magical.

  I snagged Heru’s wrist, drawing him to a halt. “Give me a moment, please. I just need a moment to take it all in.”

  Heru barked something at our young porters, and they circled around us, creating a barrier between us and this wild, exotic marketplace.

  “Oh,” I said with a low laugh, “there is no way you are keeping me separated from this. You have no idea how long I have dreamed of . . . to see this with my own eyes . . . to experience it . . .” I tore my attention away from the miasma of commerce and pinned Heru with my gaze. “How does this work?” I raised my little box of turquoise beads. “How do I barter?”

  Heru glanced down, but his eyes quickly returned to my face, where they lingered. “I will guide you to the stalls of the merchants who are the fairest and have the best merchandise. You will tell me which items you favor, and I will barter for you.” He held out his hand, palm up. “Give me a few of your beads so I have something to show the vendors. Are they all turquoise, or are any of the quartz or gold or silver pieces in there?”

  I raised my eyebrows, wondering just how closely he’d examined my dress; knowing the man Heru would one day become, pretty damn closely.

  I started unlooping the leather cord securing the box, suddenly grateful for my ring of young, sturdy porters. I didn’t think waving money around was wise in any time period. “It’s just turquoise,” I said once I had the box open. I plucked out a few pieces to hand to Heru, then resecured the leather binding. “Is it of high enough quality? Will we be able to get everything we need?”

  “And then some,” Heru murmured. He scanned me from head to toe, then back up again, and his black-rimmed gold irises swallowed me. “Though I do miss the dress.”

  My heart skipped a beat, and the corner of my mouth quirked up. This Heru was as much my perfect match as mine was, there was no denying that . . . not for either of us. My mood sobered. Our compatibility just meant I had to be that much more careful around him. If we bonded . . .

  “You probably should not say things like that,” I told him.

  “Because of Nuin . . .”

  “Because of Ankhesenpepi,” I countered, and it was partially the truth.

  Heru’s eyes darkened. “You do not need to worry about Khessie. I told you I would speak with her.”

  I snorted. I was fairly certain that dear Khessie was a tenacious little Nejerette, and I didn’t think a scolding, especially not one from Heru, would do any good at all. “And I wish you the best of luck with that.” Before he could respond, I grabbed his forearm and yanked him out of our protective ring. “Where shall we start?”

  “You need clothing . . . additional clothing,” he said, briefly glancing down the length of my body. For once, he didn’t pull away from my touch, and we walked arm in arm past several stalls. “Kelain is the seamstress favored by Aset and Meryet, so let us begin here,” he said, stopping in front of a stall that wouldn’t seem out of place at an arts and crafts fair.

  Woven reed mats had been set out on the ground, creating a cleaner setting for the vendor’s goods. Which was important, considering that the baskets arranged around three sides of the stall were filled with piles and piles of pristine white linen. Above each basket, on something that reminded me of the old-fashioned coatrack in the entryway of Grandma Suse’s house, hung several garments. The vendor’s way of displaying what was in each basket, I supposed. Each was a dress of some sort, hem-lengths ranging from just below the knee to just above the ankle and with several variations on the two-strip bodice similar to that of the shift I was wearing.

  There were several women in the stall—two conversing, and one kneeling while she held up a thin ribbon of linen to various parts of another woman’s body—her nude body. I hastily looked away.

  One of the women deep in conversation noticed us, glanced our way briefly, and then did a double take. She touched the other woman on the shoulder, murmured something, and nodded, and the other woman slipped away with a polite smile for Heru and me.

  “Kelain,” Heru said as the remaining woman approached us. He said something to her in the common tongue.

  Kelain clasped her hands together in front of her and lowered her head in a slight bow, murmuring what I assumed was a polite response to Heru’s greeting. When she raised her head, her eyes slid to me. She scanned me slowly from the feet up, more of a mental measurement than the sizing-up I’d received from Ankhesenpepi. Her lips spread into a broad smile when she reached my face, and she said something I couldn’t understand.

  I caught Heru’s eye and raised my eyebrows in silent question.

  “She says she heard that Nuin took a divine wife, but she did not believe the rumors until now,” Heru translated.

  The dressmaker watched our exchange curiously, waiting until we fell silent to speak again.

  Heru responded to her incomprehensible words with a slight nod. “I am letting her know that I will be translating your exchange with her to ensure you get everything you need.”

  I leaned in closer to Heru and kept my voice low. “I have no idea what I need . . . just so you know.”

  Heru stared down at me, the corner of his mouth curving upward. Apparently I’d amused him. “I shall let her know that you need a full wardrobe.”

&nb
sp; I smiled. “Thank you.”

  Heru continued to stare down at me for another few seconds, his eyes turning troubled before he blinked and looked away. He passed the message on to Kelain, who promptly took my hand and guided me further into the alcove that made up her stall until we were standing near the other two women. She grasped the skirt of my shift on either side of my hips and began to raise it.

  I clasped her wrists, holding her hands and my dress in place. “What are you doing?” When she shook her head, I looked at Heru. “What is she doing?”

  “I believe she is attempting to unclothe you.”

  My eyes bulged, and I swung my head around to look at him. “Why is she trying to unclothe me?”

  Heru frowned. “So she can determine which garments fit you best.” His voice had taken on the I’m-talking-to-an-idiot tone I was growing used to.

  I pressed my lips together. Public nudity wasn’t nearly as taboo to these people as it was to those of my time. I’d known it prior to traveling back here, but looking around, it was an unavoidable fact. Many of the women were walking around only in skirts, breasts exposed, and some were wearing only skimpy linen loincloths.

  “I am not taking this dress off out in the open where everyone can see me,” I said.

  Heru raised one eyebrow. “Are you ashamed?”

  I opened my mouth, then closed it, unsure how to respond. “No, but . . . where I come from, being naked is a private matter.”

  He shrugged. “Very well.” He said something to Kelain, who frowned but released her hold on my dress. She turned away from me, speaking to Heru while she rummaged through her stock. She pulled a few garments from each basket, holding each item up against my body and tossing a few back into their original containers. The rest she placed in a tall, oval, woven reed basket.

  By the time she finished, I had several dozen new dresses, some as light and sheer as silk chiffon, which I was definitely relegating as sleepwear only, and some thick enough that they almost made up for my lack of bra or underwear. Going commando all the time was going to take more than a day to get used to.