This afternoon, when she’d snapped back a mischievous retort about the broken limb, the icy shell around my heart had cracked, gushing out five years’ worth of dammed-up longing, the playful tease in her voice invoking more hope in me than any breathless declaration ever could. And although she still had yet to explain what happened in Laish and her connection to the man she’d been seen with, by law she and I were still betrothed.
However, I’d simply have to wait until she trusted me enough to explain all her reasons for leaving Kedesh and until she was ready to reveal her true self. From the tantalizing glimpses I’d gotten over the past weeks, I was eager to uncover more, to separate fact from my own inventions. I’d been enthralled with a girl of beauty and intelligence as a boy, but the woman who stood before me now, who’d endured five years of trial with the backbone of a warrior, was well worth the wait.
Rivkah came nearer to me with the small razor in her hand and I glanced at it, remembering the last time I’d trusted her with such a tool. “It’s well sharpened,” she said. “It won’t pull.”
I adjusted myself on the stool, eyeing her with feigned trepidation. “Perhaps I should find a barber . . . or do it myself.”
She poked me in the shoulder with a quiet laugh. “Hold still, or you might have cause to worry.”
Another surge of hope pressed upward. She seemed almost completely at ease now, as if no debris littered the long and jagged road behind us. Perhaps my wait would be shorter than I’d anticipated.
“How much shall I cut?” she asked as she combed her fingers down the length of my hair.
I repressed a groan of pleasure at the contact of her skillful fingers and pushed against the hot stone that seemed lodged in my throat. “Whatever you think looks best.” I clamped my mouth shut as she worked a wooden wide-tooth comb through my tangles, determined to keep my mind on anything other than her nearness or how I wanted to wrap my arms around her waist and pull her even closer. But I refused to make assumptions or force her hand ever again.
Ana and Amit had fallen asleep, the boy’s head tucked into the young woman’s chest and their soft breaths rising and falling in tandem. Shadows dodged between the flickers of the oil lamps, lending an intimacy to the silent room, making me even more aware of the sweet almond fragrance of her skin and every inadvertent caress as she wielded the razor with the deftness of an experienced barber. Testing the length of the portion at the back of my neck, her palm tracked from the crown of my head downward, her skin meeting mine for a brief moment that caused me to brace against a shiver. I closed my eyes and measured my breaths.
“Thank you for the balm,” I said, keeping my voice low to not wake the others. “I cannot believe how much the pain has lessened since I began using it every day.” The sharp tearing that had been such a constant since the chariot plowed over me had become a dull ache, even after a long day working on the villa. If the healing continued, Baz’s insistence that I could revive my deftness with a sword might well be realized. And since working as a carpenter had forced me to rely more on my left hand, it too had become much more dexterous, which would be an advantage in battle instead of a hardship.
“When you need more, let me know. I have a direct connection to a man who raises the balsam trees from which the ointment originates.”
“What did you trade?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You have no wages, Rivkah. What did you trade for that balm?”
She shrugged. “Nothing of consequence. I only agreed to take on some extra work for a few months.”
“Don’t you have enough to do?” My response was too loud, and Amit shifted on the pallet restlessly, so I lowered my voice. “Every time I see you, your head is bent over a sheet of papyrus, or a clay tablet, or a shard of pottery. Samil works you too hard as it is.”
She waited until the boy had settled back into stillness before she continued. “I am fine, Malakhi. It’s nothing that I cannot handle. Besides, it is worth it to hear that you’ve gotten some relief.” Had she truly come to care for me? Or was her concern simply born from regret?
“Why, Rivkah?” Emotion swelled in my throat, causing my words to come out on a harsh rasp. “Why would you do that for me?”
She breathed deeply, her gaze traveling over her child, her friend, and then touring the room in a slow sweep before coming back to me. “Because you were hurting. I didn’t . . . I hated seeing you in pain.”
“I was a soldier,” I said. “Injury was inevitable, especially with my father’s unit, which seeks out danger. And carpentry is no safe occupation either.” And losing you hurt worse than the injuries anyhow, I wanted to say.
“You were struggling, Malakhi, and I wanted to help alleviate your pain.” She gently placed her palm on my wounded shoulder, and the warmth of her hand did nearly as much to soothe the ache as did the ointment. If only she would continue touching me, allow us to forge something new together from the broken pieces of our past. Her willing presence in my life would be far more healing than any balm.
“What of your eye?” she asked.
“Not much has changed. It is still blurry at the edge of my vision. But working here has forced me to rely so much on the other one, as well as my other senses, that it’s become more of a mild nuisance than an impediment.”
“I am glad to hear that.” She brushed the remnants of her trimming from my shoulders and then my neck. Did I imagine that her fingers lingered there for longer than was necessary? Could I dare hope that my infatuation was no longer one-sided? Our eyes met and held briefly before she snatched her hand away and set herself to sweeping up the hair on the ground with a straw hand broom.
I stifled a smile. This haircut had taken much longer than any I’d ever received from my mother or sisters. But I’d gladly be shorn bald like Eitan had years ago after his nazarite vow if it meant she’d keep her hands on me.
She glanced over at the pallet and then spoke in an even quieter tone. “I caught Estebaal watching Ana. I am concerned for her.”
“I’ve seen the same thing.” For as keenly aware of his surroundings as the bodyguard was at all times, whenever Ana chanced by, an army could invade and Estebaal would see only her. I knew the feeling well.
“I spoke to him about it. He vows he has no intentions of approaching her, and although I no longer believe he means her harm, I’ve seen too much to be completely at ease.”
I could only imagine what she’d seen since she walked out of the gates at Kedesh. Laish had been a pit of wickedness, and Edrei, though Hebrew at its core, was not much better. Levites walked in the market with tzitzit at the corners of their garments discussing points of the Torah while passing stalls offering idols and amulets that broke those same laws. And Samil was not the only Hebrew with a heathen sanctuary on his property. The holy alongside the profane—this city was the epitome of everything Mosheh had warned against.
“And yet again . . .” She dropped the hair trimmings she’d collected into a refuse pot near the door. “Something he said makes me wonder whether he is more trustworthy than I’d first guessed.”
“What is that?”
“He said nothing on this earth would ever make him deserving of her.”
“And why does that make you think he won’t go near her?”
“Because Samil has asked him to do things . . . heinous things . . . to protect his wealth and instill fear in the people of Edrei. The elders may be officially in charge of this city, but my master owns it, and much of that is due to orders Estebaal has carried out. I’d always thought those terrible duties were meted out with cool callousness, but he carries a heavy weight of shame. Feels like there is nothing but blackness at the core of his soul and that nothing can wash away the stain of it. He does not want to taint our sweet Ana with such wickedness.”
“I can understand such a feeling.”
“You have done nothing for which you should feel ashamed, Malakhi. You have been honorable in all things.”
Her eyes flared wide. “You did nothing of the sort. He was alone when that serpent bit him.”
“Exactly. And if I’d been with Gidal that day, instead of off sulking, I would have been there. Whenever he was deep in thought or focused on his work, he paid little attention to his surroundings. I would have seen it. I could have killed that snake before it sank its fangs into his hand.”
Her eyes shimmered. “I blamed myself too,” she whispered. “That day I wielded my sharp tongue against him, for some reason that I cannot even remember, and he left early to go tend his trees instead of putting up with me. If I’d been a better wife . . .” Tears tracked down her cheeks. “He was so kind, Malakhi, so patient with me. He was my friend, and I did not treat him with anything resembling love because I was so incredibly selfish. And he died because of it.”
Forcing myself to stay firmly seated on the stool, I reached for her hand, and to my surprised delight she allowed me to wrap my fingers around hers. Her admission made me see my own in a different light. “It seems as though both of us have been convicting ourselves of a crime we did not commit. Gidal made the choice to go to the grove that day by himself. He could have asked someone else to go, even if I was avoiding him. And he could have stayed with you that morning and worked to reconcile instead. Perhaps no matter what choices you and I had made, that snake would still have found its way to him. Who are we to question the ways of Yahweh anyhow?”
“I thought all of you blamed me for Gidal’s death. Especially your sisters.”
Reluctantly, I released her hand. “None of my family blamed you for an accident, Rivkah. Chana least of all.”
“I can only imagine what Abra thought of me . . . after I ran from you.”
Although tempted to sidestep the issue, I did not want any more untruths between us. At some point she would have to deal with Abra. She might as well be prepared.
“Abra has been the one pushing me to marry most of all,” I said. “Although I never shared all of my reasons for going through with the levirate marriage, she’s my twin. She knew.”
“And she hates me for leaving.”
“I don’t think she hates you, Rivkah. But the . . . aftermath of your flight was likely hard for her to watch. There was a reason I threw myself into training with such fervor. Spying on the enemy or engaging in combat kept my mind off other things . . . off you. When I came home wounded, it only sharpened her anger.”
“I wish . . .” Her words trickled off.
“What?” I prodded.
She lifted her eyes to mine on a small sigh. “I wish I’d known that you . . . cared for me in such a way.”
“I wish I’d been brave enough to tell you.”
“I’d likely still have thought you were too young and did not know your mind.”
“I’ve known my own mind since I was fourteen and spied on you under that terebinth tree, Rivkah.”
Her breath caught.
“I heard you sing, and it dragged me over a cliff that I did not even know existed.”
Her response was breathless. “All that time?”
“Apparently even your father knew. He thought I’d grown out of it by the time he proposed marriage between you and Gidal.”
“He did?”
“It’s why he sent me here.”
She clutched her hands together in the center of her chest as if to hide an ache that lived there. “Is he . . . is he well?” This was the first time she’d asked me about her father in all these weeks. I’d thought it strange at first, but just as I had plunged into war to keep the loss of Rivkah at bay, I guessed she’d likely focused all her energies on her duties and her son to keep her own pain at arm’s length.
“I will not lie, mourning you has changed him. These years of not knowing what happened or where you were grieved him deeply. But he has never stopped looking for you with whatever means he could. When he called for me to let me know you’d written, it was as if the grief had melted away like snow beneath the sun. He’s waiting for you.”
Her chin trembled and her voice dropped low. “If I could return, I would. I’d be a slave in his house if it meant I could repay him for the hurt I’ve caused.”
“You will return. And when that day comes, I’ll be with you.”
“But Ayala . . . you must go back now. I appreciate that you want to watch over Amit, but he is safe here with me, and you cannot make her wait any longer.”
“There was never an understanding between us. And I asked Hakim to relay where I stand. She is a lovely girl and will make someone a fine wife. But she isn’t you.”
She clamped a palm over her mouth, her golden eyes teary. Her startled reaction poured fuel on my once-smoldering hopes, making them burst into a bright flame. I stood, retrieved my pack, and withdrew the parcel I’d carried from Kedesh—a gift wrapped in the papyrus roll I’d kept tucked between the wall and my bed for the last five years. One I’d waged a battle with myself over bringing in the first place.
Chin dropped as if in defeat, she accepted my offering with a trembling hand but did not look up. I thanked her for the haircut, pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and then left her with the reminder that long ago I had chosen her.
I prayed this time she would choose me.
CHAPTER
thirty-two
With my head full of Rivkah and whether she’d understood the meaning of my gift, I turned the corner toward my miserable room back at the inn. At the same moment, a well-muscled arm slipped around my neck and yanked me backward against a barrel chest. I grabbed the wrist that threatened to cut off my air, but my assailant’s strength was beyond mine, and I could not budge the chokehold.
“Perhaps you should be more aware of your surroundings” came a growl in my ear. “Rivkah’s master will not be pleased to hear that you are coming out of her quarters well after dark.”
“I was not alone with her. Anataliah was there,” I replied. “Which you must know since you’ve obviously been waiting here for the past hour to waylay me.”
“Someone needs to watch you, boy. You are out of practice. I taught you to always be on your guard. Too bad that woman has always been your weakness.” Baz let up his grip on me and I slipped away, but not before jabbing a retaliatory elbow into his gut.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“Your father sent me with a message.”
“I can’t return, Baz. Rivkah and Amit need me here. Her master is ruthless, and I won’t leave them alone to finish her indenture. I’ve worked my way into Samil’s good graces so I can watch over them.”
“The message isn’t for you—although you definitely need to know what is happening. It’s for the elders of Edrei.” Foreboding snaked its way up my spine. Even in the dark I could see the deep frown on his face as he said, “The Arameans are on their way.”
“Here?”
He nodded. “Darek and his men returned with news of movement by Kushan’s forces, but it seemed as though they were headed westward, possibly with a destination of Laish. But then they abruptly turned southward, sending an advance force that can move faster than the bulk of the army. Edrei is directly in their path.”
“How long?”
“Two weeks at the outside. I’ll be meeting with the elders in the morning. Defensive measures must be taken and the people outside the walls given notice of what is coming.”
With fortifications that hailed back to King Og—thick walls, sturdy gates, large cisterns, and the well that reached all the way down to the spring beneath the city—Edrei could certainly withstand a short siege, but unless the tribes of Israel banded together to defend their brothers, eventually this city would fall.
“Are reinforcements on the way to defend Manasseh’s territory?”
“Your father is working to drum up support among Naftali,” he said. “And messengers have been sent to all the rest of the tribes. But it’s doubtful that we’ll be able to u
nify successfully, especially after what happened with the Danites.”
I thought back to the conversation in the foundry so many weeks ago, when my father warned of discontent within the sons of Dan. “Did they stir up war with neighboring tribes?”
“You haven’t heard?”
“I’ve been busy building an addition to Rivkah’s master’s villa. There’s not much opportunity to focus on other things when I am responsible for seventeen men.”
Baz raised his eyebrows. “You are in charge?”
“Of the carpenters, for the most part,” I said, noting the pride with which he asked the question. “Although the overseer recently asked that I direct the bricklayers as well.”
His smile was as wide as the Jordan River. “See now? I told you leadership was in your blood.”
I brushed off his praise with a shrug. “It suits my purposes in watching over Rivkah and Amit. Now, tell me about the Danites.”
His pleased expression turned solemn. “They’ve taken Laish.”
“Laish? But their allotted territory is far to the south!”
“It is, but you know they’ve never been able to get a firm hold there,” he said, frustration evident in the way he pawed at his thick beard. “The enemy cities on the coast are well fortified, so the cowards gave up. But somehow, and we aren’t even sure how they accomplished it beneath our noses, Laish fell effortlessly. They’ve already reestablished their clans throughout the foothills of Har Hermon and along the headwaters of the Jordan.”
“It is a fertile area; I can see why they chose it. But our elders must be furious.”
Baz nodded in agreement. “It’s been contentious, without a doubt, although those fools have no rock to stand on. Laish should have always been our territory; then Dan would not have even considered such a brazen move. The elders of Naftali left it vulnerable by allowing the Canaanites to remain, a decision that your father was firmly against, if you remember.”
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