Counted With the Stars Read Online Free

now I had escaped being beaten by her, but this very well could be the day I experienced a cane against my back.
    I grabbed Sefora’s hand, dragging her with me against the crush of the crowd. I would not lose a second child today.
    Every noisy beat of my heart drummed new fears into my mind. Why had I let go of Liat’s hand? Why did I pick up that flower? How long had he been missing? Would he go back to the villa? Did Tekurah already know?
    I pushed harder against the mob and received many angry glances and a few curses in response. The baker. Might Liat have gone to find him?
    Nearly empty of customers, the market lay ahead, a sea of colorful linen-covered stalls. Most of the revelers had followed the procession down to the canal to watch the launch of Ra’s boat into the Nile. Perhaps Liat had followed the priests passing out treats to the crowd.
    I stopped, torn. Should I go back the other way?
    â€œThere he is!” Sefora pointed across the market.
    Relief coursed through me. Liat was perched on a stool in the shade of a merchant’s stall.
    Still not releasing Sefora’s hand, I hurried across the market. Before I even reached the boy, I yelled, “Where have you been?”
    Liat offered only a lopsided grin and a shrug.
    A dark-haired man behind the booth turned on his stool. He wore a simple sleeveless brown tunic, not a kilt like most other male slaves. He must be foreign. No Egyptian would let his beard grow in such a barbarous way.
    His eyes narrowed as I approached. “Is this your child?”
    Musical instruments littered the table in front of him. He held a large, hollowed-out cut of wood between his knees: thebeginnings of a drum, perhaps. Tiny flecks of wood from the project he was sanding dusted his disheveled hair.
    Something about the way he spoke—accusing and with a heavy accent—aggravated me. My response was equally terse as I gripped the boy to my side, my heart contracting with gratitude that he was safe. “No. But he is with me.”
    Liat held up a lyre. “Look, Kiya! Eben let me play this. Even taught me some notes. Want to see?”
    â€œNo, we must go.” I took the lyre from him, ready to place it back on the table, when a memory washed over me from the last morning before my father sold me. This instrument, carved with intricate markings, was similar to the one I had nearly purchased before Yuny found me and summoned me back to the villa.
    Although that lyre had been carved with roses, this one was decorated with swallows, their wings lifted in swift flight against the backdrop of the sun, as if they were declaring its arrival. My finger traced their progress up the smooth rosewood.
    â€œDo you play?” The instrument maker, Eben, had stopped working to look at me.
    I blinked, startled by the mixture of curiosity and disdain in the man’s question, as well as the intensity of the green-gray eyes that scrutinized me.
    â€œNo.” I slid my thumb across the tight gut strings, but not hard enough to elicit music from their tension. I had always wanted to learn to play the lyre. Its haunting, sweet tone reminded me of lullabies sung by my mother long ago. Now I would never have the chance to do so; every minute of my life was dictated by Tekurah.
    Unlike the swallows, whose quick split-tailed flight scorned captivity, my cage was securely latched. Perhaps, like my ancestors, my soul might one day ascend on unfettered wings, becoming one with the imperishable stars, as the legends promised.
    Battling the desire to strum the lyre and enjoy a moment of pleasure from its melodic vibration, I moved to place the instrument back on the table while avoiding the weight of Eben’s gaze.
    A large Egyptian, wiping his beefy hands on a soiled cloth, emerged from the shop behind the stall. I recognized him as the vendor I had spoken with last year regarding the rose lyre.
    â€œAh. I see you have chosen a beautiful instrument. There is no