Queen of Ashes Read Online Free PDF Page B

but the water hasn’t even come to the first step. By now it should be on the fifth step.
    Laila looks up and sees Brehan and Muti, his overseer, striding toward her, Brehan tall and perfectly formed, Muti barrel-chested and bandy-legged. Muti peels off toward the river while Brehan stands at the edge of the holding tank, arms crossed and flashing her an impudent grin.
    â€œMuti is going to open the pipes to this pool. Better hop out or you’ll get plenty wet.”
    â€œOh, I think I wouldn’t mind cooling off for a bit,” she says, smiling back at him. “It’s hot out here. I’m not used to all this sun. It must be spoiling my complexion.”
    â€œI frankly think you look better with a bit of a glow. And as for a swim, mind if I join you?”
    Without actually waiting for an answer, he climbs down the ladder set against the wall and stands beside her. She hears the water before she sees it, a rushing, gurgling sound in the earth. Then it pours out of the two circular openings at the top of the pool, white-foamed and whooshing toward them.
    â€œPerfect!” Brehan says, clapping his hands. “A good strong flow. As I hoped, the river is so narrow at the cliffs that the current is strong even without flood. We’ll check for leaks every day from now on, but it shouldn’t give us much trouble.”
    Laila’s gaze lingers on his chiseled features, the brilliant blue of his eyes, as the tickling water inches up over her ankles. Several times, over the past months, she has wondered what it would feel like if he put his strong arms around her and pulled her against him. But the answer is always the same. This wanderer—even if he is a healer of wounds—isn’t good enough for her. He’s not royal. He’s not wealthy. He’s not Amosis, whose riches can keep Sharuna safe, who will probably be coming soon to claim her as his wife.
    And Brehan has told her almost nothing about himself. Sometimes when she asks about his past, he expertly shifts the conversation to farming, politics or warfare. Other times he reminisces about his travels to the land of long-haired Celts in endless, cool green forests, to the wild Scythians on their horses in the vast seas of grass, to the rich lands of Hind, where men dye their long beards green and ride elephants the size of houses. It seems he can talk expertly about any subject except himself. He cannot be much older than she is, by the look of him, and yet he has experienced so much of the world, it amazes her. She cannot understand why someone who has seen so much would agree to stay here in Sharuna and work for her—but she cannot bring herself to question his loyalty, or to challenge it. She doesn’t want to risk losing it. Losing him.
    But then there are times when she fears she
will
lose him, when he doesn’t talk at all. For days at a time he keeps away from her except for official meetings, working in the fields, eating alone in his rooms. When they do speak, he is cool, aloof, professional. She has found herself going over every word of their last conversation to see if she had offended him in some way. Then, without a word of explanation about his withdrawal, he bounces back again, full of friendship, good cheer and plans for Sharuna.
    She slides her gaze back to the water rushing in from the pipes.
    â€œAre you pleased with your new minister of agriculture?” he asks, tilting his head. “Now, that was an honor I never expected.”
    â€œYou deserve it, though, and I couldn’t be more pleased,” she admits. “Water is more precious to me than jewels. Thank you.”
    He shoots her a straight white smile, revealing that adorable dimple, and she feels her stomach do a little somersault. “The worst thing, when a plague comes, is not having sufficient nourishment for the sick,” he says, kicking at the water.
    â€œPlague is coming?” she asks. Osiris, no, not that