Her Pirate Master by Tula Neal Page A

known world, and the old woman in Velia had said the goddess’s hold was strong on the island, but Imi hadn’t expected such a well–appointed compound.
    She gazed at the singer, a tall, statuesque woman with hair the color of fire. The woman was facing away from the worshippers, toward the inner sanctum. As she sang, she slowly climbed the steps. It was the ritual of the closing of the seal when the statue of Isis held in the dark recesses of the temple would be anointed with oil and garlanded. The sanctum, already spotless, would be swept clean, and then the doors would be shut for the night. At dawn, the whole ritual would be repeated and the doors to the sanctum opened.
    Imi watched the worshippers, her heart thundering in her chest. She debated whether she should make herself known but decided against it. Who knew which way the wind blew with this temple? Its priests and priestesses could be Cleopatra supporters.
    Imi’s gaze roved over the temple. It was modest compared to the magnificent one at Ephesus but very similar to the one in Rome. Small buildings to the side probably housed the priestess and her attendants. Imi edged around trying to see what, if anything, lay behind the temple. More small buildings but these were ruder; the walls not as smooth, though the roofs were well constructed. The granaries, she supposed, and the storehouses. Her back to a wall, she crept closer.
    The temple complex was bigger than she had at first thought and bigger than the outside suggested. There was wealth here and powerful patronage. Imi realized now that her instincts had been right about not introducing herself. The priestesses and priests of Isis in each country and city were independent, but they still formed a loose network, and, though there was no hierarchy, all deferred to those in Egypt who were felt to be closest to the gods, for the United Lands was their beloved country. Imi was not sure how this tied in with what the old woman at Velia had said. If the gods supported Arsinoe’s cause, then surely their servitors should as well, but priests and priestesses were political creatures with one eye on the court. Arsinoe had often said she did not blame them for this failing, but it meant that the help of any temple could not be relied upon.
    Imi well knew with what doubts the rightful queen of Egypt had fled to Ephesus. Arsinoe had not been confident of her reception despite the assurances of the secret emissary sent to her by the high priest and priestess. Even now, more than a year after her arrival at Ephesus, Arsinoe remained wary while maintaining a façade of self–assurance. Only Imi and a few other close confidantes and supporters knew she distrusted her hosts, suspicious of the city that had greeted her with open arms but that might yet turn against her. Her wariness had rubbed off on Imi, which was a good thing. Priests at a temple as clearly well–off as the one at Delos would have strong connections with their counterparts in Egypt. And while there were factions of the priesthood there who supported Arsinoe, they were powerless. It was Cleopatra’s supporters who held key positions in the largest and most powerful temples.
    Imi edged around another corner and ducked quickly back. Two men stood talking in the shadows of a nearby building to her right. They leaned in to one another, one man’s hands moving in front of him, giving life to his words. Their presence there puzzled her. Everyone within a temple’s walls was expected to take part in its rituals. She frowned. Something about one of the men niggled at her. She pushed her head around the corner for another look just as the man turned in her direction. Imi threw herself back against the wall, her heart pounding. Sahman! But what was he doing here? Had he seen her? Her throat dried as her thoughts careened wildly, bouncing from one alarming suspicion to another. She had to get out without him seeing her, if he hadn’t already. Even if his presence