Counted With the Stars by Connilyn Cossette Page B

felt myself drawn to the planes of his face, his narrow nose, a small scar at the top of one high cheekbone, the line of his lips pressed together in aggravation.
    â€œPerhaps you ought to look around yourself sometime. You people only care about yourselves and your own comfort.”
    I startled at the venom in his tone. “You people?”
    â€œYes, you Egyptians. With your self-centered prancing about.” He twirled his hand in the air.
    â€œYou don’t know me. You have no idea about my life and who, or what, I care about.” My own fists clenched tight, fingernails slicing my palms.
    â€œI know enough. I’ve had my fill of this country and her people. Egypt deserves what’s coming.” He folded his arms with a haughty jerk of his chin.
    â€œAnd that is . . . ?” I stepped forward in challenge.
    He mirrored my movement. “Vengeance.”
    â€œBy whom? An army of slaves?”
    â€œAided by Yahweh.”
    For some reason, I shrank back when Eben pronounced this name. My pulse raced, and my breath shallowed. Surprise flashed across his face at my reaction.
    When the strange emotion released its grip on my throat, I sputtered out, “Who is that?”
    His curious gaze swept over my face. “Our God.”
    â€œShira said your god has no name.”
    â€œAn elder from Goshen arrived this week to tell us what has transpired there—since all we have heard was rumors. Yahweh gave Mosheh his name as a sign, among others.” Pride leaked into his voice, and he stood taller. “The name in our tongue means that he always has been and always will be the Almighty God.”
    â€œHow mighty is a god who cannot deliver his people from slavery?”
    He folded his arms across his chest and shifted his stance. “He will.”
    â€œSo the last two hundred years your god was, what, asleep?” A caustic laugh slipped past my lips.
    â€œYahweh does things in his own time. He is preparing us.”
    Shira’s odd statement, that her god might be preparing me for something, brushed through my thoughts. “For what?”
    Standing at eye level with a man was strange to me, especially in such close proximity. I was taller than Shira, but all the men I knew—my father, Shefu, Akhum, even Jumo—towered over me. Eben’s ability to stare straight into my eyes unnerved me.
    Defiance hardened his features as he brought his face closer to mine. “We will soon be ready to take back what has been stolen: our freedom, our wealth, our pride. Egypt will pay.”
    His fierce words tore into my heart. My galloping pulse, caused by Eben’s proximity, was drowned out by their echo. When he looked at me, he saw only an enemy.
    â€œYou forget you are not the only one who has lost such things.” I turned my back on him to conceal the insistent tears that stung my eyes, snatched my jug, and rushed up the path.

    Entering Tekurah’s room carrying a large water pot on my hip, without making noise, was no easy feat. I had cracked another vessel once in this same doorway in the past. I nudged the door open with my elbow, willing the leather hinges not to squeak and breathing freely again when they did not.
    My stealth went unrewarded. Tekurah was awake.
    She perched, head down, on the edge of her bed, with one hand on each of the cats sprawled on either side of her. Theblack and gray cats basked in the golden sunlight spilling across the white linen spread.
    â€œI’ve been sitting here, without my head handmaid, for the last half of an hour.”
    My stomach twisted. “I apologize, mistress.”
    She still did not look at me. “That is all you have to say? You are sorry?”
    I racked my brain for a suitable excuse, fear shredding through my veins at her strange response. “There were many other servants at the canal this morning. I was forced to wait my turn.”
    She flew off her bed, dislodging the cats, to tower