As Sure as the Dawn by Francine Rivers Page B

his cheek. Closing her eyes, she breathed in deeply the scent of him. Sweet innocence. New beginnings.
    “What are you doing in here?”
    The hard deep voice startled her. Glancing back, she rose, facing Atretes in the doorway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed in this chamber.”
    Atretes entered the room and looked at her shawl still lying on the floor beside the shiny urn. “Do as you like.”
    She retrieved her shawl and shook it, draping it over her other shoulder, out of the way of Caleb. She smiled at him in appeal. “What I would like is to take Caleb for a walk in the hills.”
    “No,” he said, angry that he was struck again by her beauty.
    “Under guard?”
    “No.” He came toward her and stopped a few feet away. His eyes narrowed. “And you will not stand out on the balcony where you can be seen again either.”
    She glanced toward the balcony with a frown. “Where were you that you could see me?”
    Atretes stepped by her and went out into the sunlight. “You can be sure Sertes’ spy saw you.”
    “Spy? Where?”
    He leaned against the balcony wall and nodded toward the road. “He’s sitting under that tree down there.”
    “They look like travelers.”
    “I recognized him from the ludus.”
    “Oh.” She let out her breath softly. “Perhaps he’ll assume I’m a servant cleaning the upstairs chambers.”
    “Standing idle and gazing out into the hills?”
    She blushed. “Are you sure he’s the one spying on me?”
    Atretes pushed away from the wall and walked back inside. “Yes, I have you watched. I know exactly where you are and what you’re doing every minute of the day.” He stopped in front of her. “And night.”
    She forced a smile, her heart drumming. “I’m thankful to know Caleb is so well guarded.”
    A muscle jerked in Atretes’ cheek. His gaze flickered over her. He stepped past her again. She felt as though she was being circled by a hungry lion.
    “This was once my room,” he said without inflection.
    “Pilia told me.”
    He came around the other side of her, his eyes hard. “Did Pilia tell you anything else?”
    “She said you don’t like to come in here.” She glanced around, admiring the marble walls and muraled floor. “It’s a lovely room, full of sunlight.”
    “The largest and best in the house,” he said, his tone acrid.
    Troubled, she glanced up at him. Questions flooded her mind, but she held her silence.
    He cast a cursory glance around the empty room, his face hard. “A bedchamber fit for a queen.”
    “I apologize for intruding where I shouldn’t have. I won’t come in here again.” Excusing herself, she left the chamber, breathing a sigh of relief when she was in the outer corridor and out from under that cold, blue stare.
    Rizpah spent the rest of the afternoon in the atrium. She held Caleb on the edge of the pond and let him kick his feet in the water. When he became hungry, she adjourned to an alcove and nursed him.
    When Caleb was replete, she went to the kitchen and asked for something to eat. The cook put bread, fruit, and thin slices of meat on a platter. He carried it, along with a small pitcher of wine, into a room with a long table where the slaves ate. Setting the meal down, he left her. Sitting at the bench, Rizpah gave thanks to God and ate alone. The silence was oppressive.
    Pilia came in with baskets of bread. Rizpah smiled and greeted her, but the girl plunked a basket down and walked quickly away from the table. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and when she glanced back at Rizpah, her expression was one of unveiled resentment. Frowning in confusion, Rizpah watched her set the remaining baskets of bread on the table and leave.
    Sighing, Rizpah rose. When she went out into the corridor, she saw the girl coming back with a tray of fruit. Pilia marched past her, pointedly ignoring her. Annoyed, Rizpah followed her into the small hall. “What’s wrong, Pilia?”
    “Nothing.”
    “You appear very