Artifact by Gigi Pandian Page A

my impatience. I turned back to my own fish and chips.
    “This particular painting wasn’t well documented in general,” Lane said. “Remember, it’s not uncommon. Jahangir subsidized hundreds of artists during his reign. Some notes put together by a non-contemporary scholar suggested that the woman was Nur Mahal. I didn’t put it together right away. Not until I found the date attributed to the painting. 1611.”
    “I don’t get it. What’s special about that year?”
    “Nur Mahal didn’t become Nur Jahan until 1616.”
    “Of course,” I murmured. “He changed her name.”
    “You know how their names worked.”
    “None of these names were their birth names. Jahangir means Great Conqueror of the World. His real name was something like Selim, right? What about Nur Mahal?”
    “I had to look it up to find the details,” Lane said. “When they got married, Jahangir named her Nur Mahal, meaning Light of the Palace. As their love—and her power—grew, he renamed her Nur Jahan: Light of the World.”
    “Those dates also explain why she wasn’t featured more prominently in that painting you found.”
    “What’s especially interesting,” Lane said, “is that once she was married, and featured more prominently in paintings where she’s identified, I couldn’t find a single instance where she was wearing your rubies.”
    “We already know they disappeared.”
    “I wonder,” Lane said, “how your ex found it.”
    “Same as you, I suppose,” I said. “An archaeologist could get access to the reading rooms.”
    Lane pushed his plate away and lowered his voice. “He didn’t.”
    “How could you possibly know that?”
    “The materials I requested,” Lane said. “None of them had been checked out in over a year. Whatever your ex was up to, it wasn’t scholarly Mughal research in the hallowed halls of the British Library.”
     

Chapter 17

     
    “You realize we can’t go back to the library,” Lane said.
    I couldn’t meet his gaze. “I know. Whoever is following us now knows to look for us there. I’m sorry you’ll be in danger if you try to finish your article.”
    “Jaya—”
    “You’ll probably be able to go back soon. This was always only my first stop. I’m getting out of here tomorrow. It’s me they want, right?”
    “You can’t—”
    “Can’t what?”
    “You’re going to the Scottish dig by yourself ?”
    “I know it’s hard to believe,” I said, “but archaeologists attend digs unchaperoned all the time. They’re no braver than historians. If they can do it, I can too.”
    “You can drop the sarcasm,” Lane said. “Murders don’t happen at the average dig.”
    “Then what do you propose?”
    “I can’t go back to the library any more than you can,” Lane said. “I could go with you to Scotland.”
    “You want to come with me?”
    “Based on what’s going on, it makes the most sense. We should stick together.”
    “In that case,” I said, “I have a plan. You’re my rich new boyfriend, who dabbles in archaeology. I’m bringing you to the dig to rub Rupert’s nose in it.”
    “You are something,” he said, his lip curling in amusement. “You already thought this through. You want me to be your cover for showing up at the dig.”
    “You’re the one who said you wanted to tag along.”
    “It’s a good idea,” Lane said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “What was your story going to be on your own? Surely you weren’t going to walk in and say Rupert sent you a note saying one of them was going to murder him.”
    “You’re the one who said you thought he sent me the bracelet to get back together with me. Who’s to say I wouldn’t follow him across the world to get back together?”
    “Would his friend at the dig believe you’d do that?”
    “Our plan is more believable.”

     
    We walked back to the hotel in silence, glancing around nervously whenever the bushes rustled. As soon as we entered the hotel, I was suddenly so