Etched in Stone
Tiy looked at her in surprise, then laughed. "Save your innocence for
him. He can't suspect a thing."
Then Jayna saw him: a glimpse of the pale-blue linen head-covering,
struck through with alternate lines of white, above a sturdy, supple, red-brown chest. The crowd
was thick, affording her little view, but here he was, King Amony in his
heyday, walking among his people. Excitement rose to strangle in the back
of her throat. It's him! It's him! She hurried forward to get a better glimpse. He was
still some forty yards away when he looked to his
right, allowing her a full, frontal view of him.
She smiled.
He was handsome--handsome beyond the evidence of his tomb. The
artists who'd turned their hands to Amony's countenance hadn't been
flatterers, but realists. Realists, yet humans, she thought as her hungry
gaze drank in his high cheekbones and strong, rectangular face. Only so
much could be done with stone and with gold. Only so much could be done
with paint. Art couldn't capture the essence of the man, and this man, in
particular--powerful, vital, and infinitely beautiful--had eluded art.
Jayna moved forward, determined to see him closer still. The people who blocked her shifted and stepped aside as she worked her way steadily onward.
She paused at a break that allowed her another clear look, and watched in
awe as he passed through the crowd. His gaze moved with leisure over the
various people. They were absorbing, deep-brown
eyes set above a full-lipped mouth that stretched in a natural,
comfortable smile. Amony was at ease with himself and his flock.
Jayna edged nearer. She was no more than twenty yards away when his
expression changed suddenly, and for no apparent reason. She started to
glance away, to find the source of his--displeasure? His smile had
faded and he looked almost as if he were bracing himself. Then his gaze
lifted and his eyes met hers.
Jayna's breath left her chest and her legs turned to air beneath her.
Her skin tingled, almost a reminder to her stalled heart, for it leapt
back into action a moment later, thudding harder and heavier with every
passing second that their gazes held. They might have been back in the
tomb again, just her and Amony, one on one, intimate and alone.
He knew her. He knew....
The dark, compelling gaze didn't leave her as he bent his head to the
side and spoke to the man nearest him. The fellow--his black hair cropped
short--nodded, then detached himself and shoved through the crowd, heading
directly for her.
Amony finally turned away.
Jayna drew in a deep, much-needed breath.
Twining her fingers tightly together, she fought to clamp down her
anticipation as the courtier neared.
The man stopped before her and bowed low. "Your Highness. The Great
Pharaoh Amony sends word that he wishes to receive you in his private
chambers."
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