heart leapt. Could this be why she’d felt such a strong connection? ‘But the Nessarah royal family have always been buried in the same place, the Mountain of the Kings, since time immemorial.’
‘The only way to confirm her lineage would be to gain access to the records in the royal palace...’
‘The royal palace!’
Her voice was a squeak. Christopher eyed her quizzically. ‘Where else would the history of its inhabitants be held? These murals here,’ he said, peering closely at the wall where the colours were brightest, ‘don’t depict the current palace of course, but they do show a very sumptuous building. And this symbol of a mythical bird—I’ve seen it on the insignia of the royal guards. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is the tomb of a princess of the royal blood. I wonder—by all the stars in the heavens!’
‘What is it?’ Thoughts whirling, Tahira crossed the small room to join him.
But Christopher seemed quite dumbfounded, his gaze locked on one of the murals, and could only point mutely. The scene depicted the young princess—for Tahira knew in her bones it was a princess—painted in life this time, seated cross-legged in a courtyard surrounded by trees bearing impossibly large lemons and pomegranates. Paint flaked from the image, in places only the outline remaining of the fountain, a cushion, but the image of the young woman was almost perfectly preserved. Ink-black hair. Vermilion lips. Huge brown eyes outlined with kohl. A rich dress of the same blue which Tahira had worn to Juwan’s dinner only last night. And around her neck...
‘It’s your amulet.’ Tahira almost dropped her lantern.
Christopher turned to her, his face alight, a smile which on anyone else she would have called serene, and which gave her goose bumps. Reverently, he touched the mural, his eyes drifting closed. ‘Finally, my quest is at an end.’
* * *
Tahira had reluctantly departed some time ago, much later than her customary hour. She had begged him not to linger too long and risk discovery by the miners, so earnestly that he’d been forced to lie to her for the first time. Now Christopher’s lantern was burning dangerously low, the shadows cast on the walls of the tomb distorted, but still he remained, gazing at the image of the young princess wearing his amulet.
It was his amulet, no doubt stolen by the same looters who had dropped the silver pot and the serpent bangle. He could not resist taking it from its pouch and comparing it one last time, the fingers of one hand tracing the mural image, the other the real thing. Diamonds and turquoise and gold. And at the centre, not a precious stone after all, but another image. A golden cat, quite clearly and distinctively a sand cat, with turquoise for eyes. Turquoise which Christopher was now certain must have been mined here. Not that it mattered any longer. He had all the proof he needed, though it would have been satisfying to complete the final link in the chain.
It was over. Nine months after that fateful discovery, six long months of searching, and it was finally over. He could put his past behind him, forget all about that dreadful day, claim the future he had been planning for so long. Clutching the symbol of his suffering to his chest, Christopher waited for relief to flood over him, but the emotion he felt was distinctly different.
It was over. His time here in Nessarah was over. Tonight was a beginning, but it was also an ending. A farewell to the past, but soon, very soon, a farewell to Tahira. His heart gave another lurch. He had known this day would come, of course he had, but because he had been too frightened—yes, he could admit to fear now that he was safe—to consider the possibility that his quest would not be successfully concluded, he hadn’t dared contemplate the conclusion of these nights spent with Tahira.
But it was not over quite yet. Before he faced up to that prospect, there were still some loose ends to be tied up. Such as how best to engineer the return of the amulet to its rightful owner, who was presumably King Haydar. And what about the tomb? They’d need to seal it up again as a matter of urgency. Any day now, the mine would be in production, which meant a night guard would be posted. They couldn’t risk this sacred place being discovered, for the sake of the tomb’s ancient inhabitant, as much as for their own sakes.
He and Tahira both had far too much to lose. Now that he was on the cusp of his new beginning, the very last thing Christopher wanted was to be called to account by some over-zealous Nessarian official, hauled over the coals for trespass, perhaps even temporarily detained on the orders of Prince Ghutrif himself. His various official papers would ensure his eventual release, his trusty scimitar would ensure his eventual escape if need be, but he would be a fool, a complete and utter idiot, to expose himself to such unnecessary peril.
Christopher tucked his amulet safe back into its pouch, and took a last, lingering look at the large stone sarcophagus. Sixteen, not quite a child but definitely not a woman. Buried at exactly the same age as that other woman-child. At least she had been given an official burial in the family vault—or so he must suppose. At least that other young woman had been spared an eternity spent alone, with only guardian cats for company.
He really must go, but still he lingered with his thoughts. Tahira would be married very soon. If she was discovered here, what would happen to her? Nothing worse than the fate she faced, she had told him once, dismissively, but now he pondered the question properly, he feared for her. Her vindictive brother would not tolerate disobedience, but would his desire to punish her be stronger than his desire to have her married?
Though it made his heart sink, Christopher knew he had to put an end to their encounters. Their work was done. His quest was all but over. They could not justify the level of risk any longer. Picking up his lantern as it flickered dangerously, he made his way back out of the tomb. Dawn was already breaking. There was no time to cover their tracks, he would have to pray that their luck would hold for one more night. Just one, was that all there would be? It felt wrong that their precious time together should end with the sealing of a tomb.
As he crept with stealthy speed towards his camel, he racked his brains for a more fitting ending. Gathering up the reins, hauling his ship of the desert into something resembling a trot, it came to him. Changing direction and heading for the city, he passed a group of miners heading in the other direction. Cursing, Christopher checked that his headdress was pulled over his face. He could have come from anywhere, but there was no denying the mine was the most obvious place. He could not afford to arouse curiosity.
Despite the fact that his dress was unremarkable, this camel a workaday beast, the miners stopped to stare. Was it his lethal scimitar which caught their attention? Whatever it was that made him stand out, Christopher cursed it, turned his head away, and continued on. Tonight, they would have no choice but to close up the tomb. The last grain of sand had just dropped through the hourglass.
The euphoria of unlocking the secrets of the tomb had given way to harsh reality by the time Tahira returned to the palace. She had rid herself of the worst of the sandy dust which clung to her by washing in the trough where Farah’s camel was stabled—or she thought she had. One brief glance in her own mirror told her otherwise, forcing her to make a more thorough toilette when what she really wanted to do was collapse, exhausted, on to her divan. Naturally, as soon as she did so, she was once again wide awake, her mind churning.
It was over, was her primary, most melancholy thought. Christopher had solved the mystery of his amulet’s origins. As Sayeed curled up on the divan beside her, she was reminded of the jewelled sand cat depicted in the centre of the amulet, and of the princess who had worn it. Who was she and what had happened to make an outcast of her? An outcast is what Tahira had told Christopher would be her fate, if she stubbornly refused to marry, but she had envisioned a solitary life, not a lonely death. She shivered again, recalling the strength of the pull she had felt when she touched the sarcophagus. It had been the same when she had first held the amulet. The connection couldn’t be denied.
If the amulet belonged to a princess, then Christopher would be desperate to restore it to the princess’s descendants. In a panic,