Twenty-eight
Jonathan’s head felt like it floated above his body as he and Evangeline packed their belongings.
She heard him last night. She loved him too.
Everything he had longed for these past few years was in his grasp, and it would be destroyed the moment her uncle saw him.
Nausea built at the back of his throat. He swallowed against it and forced himself to breathe.
Perhaps not judging them to be threats, they were allowed to walk together.
And truthfully, with three warriors walking ahead on the narrow path and three behind, Jonathan and Evangeline were at their mercy.
The half-hour journey was silent. When they stopped on a ridge, the camp was spread out across the valley.
Tents, fires, and warriors were everywhere.
They must have numbered a hundred at least.
“Heavens,” Evangeline muttered.
The leader grabbed a shepherd’s hook that was stuck in the ground. A piece of colorful cloth was tied to the end as a makeshift flag, and he waved it overhead. An answering deep-throated ba-lu came from a horn Jonathan couldn’t identify.
They followed the hunting party down a steep rocky path. Jonathan held Evangeline’s hand tightly for fear of losing her over the edge. As they reached the valley, a troop of soldiers approached. They exchanged words with the hunting party’s leader and he turned to Evangeline.
“You and husband go see Khevan-resh.”
“Khevan-resh?”
“Chief speak with you.”
Evangeline took a cleansing breath and followed the soldiers. Men, women, and children stopped to stare as they walked the dusty path leading to a larger tent at the center of the camp.
Jonathan scanned each tent as they passed, searching for Charles Wedmore, but there was no sign of him. His fingers tightened into fists at his sides. Every sound made him jump. They had been lured here by the hope of finding Evangeline’s uncle.
Compliant prisoners.
Now he was even less optimistic about them making it out alive.
Evangeline was led into the tent first, while two soldiers with short swords stepped in front of him.
“No!”
Men pounced on him—one from behind and one on each side. He struggled to break free, but they were too strong.
The hunting party leader must have followed because he filled Jonathan’s vision. “Wife safe,” he said. “You wait.”
Sweat dripped down Jonathan’s forehead; his breathing was ragged.
“Wife safe,” the man repeated and clapped a strong hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “She meet Khevan-resh wife. This the way.”
Jonathan held his gaze. When he nodded that he understood, the man spoke to the guards, and they released him.
“What is your name?” Jonathan asked.
“Menar.”
Jonathan’s eyes teared up, and he swiped them away with his fist. “Th-thank you, Menar.”
“I have wife. I love too.”
Jonathan waited as ordered, and no one laid another hand on him. When the tent flaps opened, the guards stepped aside.
“You go now,” Menar said.
Jonathan blinked to focus as he entered the shady tent.
Evangeline was seated on a plush pillow across a table from a distinguished older woman with graying hair and a flawless complexion. The woman turned toward him.
“Come, drummer. Join us for a coffee. Your wife has been telling me how talented you are. I hope you will grace us with a performance this evening.”
Her English was impeccable. What else did she speak? French? Spanish? Greek? Clearly, she was well educated, much like her husband must be. Negotiating in different languages would be vital to the mercenary life.
“A celebratory feast is being prepared,” Nekara said.
Celebratory?
Evangeline smiled at him. “It’s the Semkari's Festival of Fire. This is why they brought us here. Uncle Charles is resting nearby.”
He glanced around the tent, noting Evangeline’s discarded boots at the entrance. He removed his and walked across richly dyed carpets in red and yellow to join them at the low table. The patterns reminded him of a kaleidoscope—very fitting given the many facets to the Semkari.
“May I present my husband, First Matron?” Evangeline asked.
“It is Nekara, and please introduce us.”
As Evangeline made the introductions, the regal woman’s assessing gaze slid over him. “You have the build of a fighter.”
He flinched. “Me?”
“You are lean and strong.”
“It’s mostly from dancing,” Evangeline said. “Do you enjoy dance, Nekara?”
The woman blinked several times and redirected her attention. “I am a spectator by nature. I look forward to this evening’s performance.”
When one of the men entered the tent, Nekara met his gaze, and he inclined his head. “Your quarters are ready, Mrs. Hackberry,” she said.
Jonathan stood, offering Evangeline a hand up. He held on even after she had gained her balance. Nekara’s sharp gaze softened. “How long have you been married?”
“Only a few weeks,” Evangeline said. “We are newlyweds.”
“It is good that you travel together. Your bond will grow stronger.”
When Evangeline gazed up at him, her cheeks were flushed. He drew her closer.
“May I see my uncle now, First Matron?”
Nekara spoke to the guard, then smiled at Evangeline. “Menar will escort you.”
Jonathan’s muscles tensed. The leader of the hunting party understood English. Nekara was testing them.
Evangeline bowed to show her respect. “Thank you, First Matron.”
“Nekara.”
“Yes, thank you, Nekara.”
As Jonathan and Evangeline reached the tent flap, Nekara asked, “What brings English subjects to the Ottoman Empire? It is an unusual choice.”
Evangeline squeezed his hand and turned back toward the chief’s wife. “Jonathan’s father was an antiquarian. He brought his family here years ago, and Jonathan has always wanted to return.”
“And you became performers?”
“It’s a temporary arrangement. Jonathan wants to follow in his father's footsteps, but we need the means to fund a dig.”
Nekara’s face darkened. “Are you a grave robber?”
“Never,” Jonathan said firmly. “Sacred ground should not be disturbed. I’m interested in the daily lives and ceremonies of forgotten civilizations.”
She raised one sculpted eyebrow. “I expect you will show what you have learned about ceremonies this evening. I am curious about your performance.”
Jonathan bowed. “Performing for you is a great honor.”
Menar was waiting outside. He squinted as midday sunlight thrust through the clouds. His mouth was firm, his face as still as if he were carved from teak wood. “Follow,” he said, then turned on his heel.
Evangeline hurried to keep up, two of her shorter strides equaling one of Menar’s. Jonathan stayed by her side. He studied their surroundings and memorized the path as best as he could as Menar led them through the maze of tents.
“Will we meet the chief this evening?” Evangeline asked, sounding winded.
Menar slowed his pace and glanced over his shoulder. “You met her. The Vashren is away.”
They turned a corner, and Menar stopped in front of a tent. The only thing that set it apart from the others was the hulking guard blocking the entrance. Their guide spoke to the man, and he moved aside. Jonathan’s chest tightened. Their cover story could be ruined as soon as they walked inside.
Evangeline walked in first and gasped. “Uncle Charles!”
Jonathan entered as she rushed toward Wedmore’s slumped figure. His mouth was slack, his eyes wide. The sour scent of old sweat hung in the air.
Menar pushed in behind Jonathan.
Evangeline dropped to the ground and threw her arms around her uncle’s thin body. He couldn’t hug her in return because his hands were tied behind his back.
“Uncle Charles, I told you to travel with us. Why do you never listen? You never should have left early for the wedding.” Evangeline spoke rapidly before her uncle could. “We’ve been asked to perform for the Semkari tonight. My husband is playing the drums and dancing.”
Wedmore met Jonathan’s gaze. His jaw twitched. Jonathan signed Safe and Rescue before Wedmore could say something to place them in danger. Wedmore blinked, focusing on Evangeline.
“I’m an old man, Vanna. I do what I want.”
“Vanna.” She snorted and rolled her eyes, though Jonathan noted the small shake in her voice. “You haven’t called me that in years. Just look at you. Have you been eating? You look like a child playing dress up in men’s clothing.”
Menar chuckled under his breath.
Evangeline was smart, painting a picture of her uncle as harmless. She looked up at Menar. “May I untie him? He is too weak to go anywhere.”
“He would be fool,” Menar said. He unsheathed the dagger at his waist and kneeled behind Wedmore to cut the ropes.
The warrior loomed over Evangeline and her uncle, not allowing them any privacy. Evangeline kept the conversation light, asking again about what he had been eating and scolding him for not eating more.
“He is fed,” Menar said.
“Thank you, sir. That’s a relief. His transformation is shocking.”
“How long you not see?”
“A month,” Wedmore answered, then smiled at Evangeline, “but it feels longer.”
“He insisted on traveling to Arachova much earlier to train. He likes to find local fighters for his demonstrations.” Evangeline addressed her uncle. “I told them about your Wing Chun performances. I don’t think the First Matron believed anyone would pay to watch a fight.”
“Not for him,” Menar said, his stance relaxing. “He fight like child.”
Evangeline wrinkled her nose. “Like he said, he is old.”
The warrior told Evangeline to say goodbye. She hugged her uncle and kissed his cheek. “Will my uncle be allowed to attend the feast tonight?”
Menar remained stone-faced. “Follow.”
Jonathan held her hand and flashed a quick sign to Wedmore. Protect.
“Follow,” Menar snapped.