Whether she realizes it or not, her questions have given her away. “Yes, why, sister? Why would you offer me some chance at freedom if you need nothing from me?”
Candra’s form floats to the stone railing. She peers out over the harbor. “There are many levels of freedom.” She glances at me. “I want the highest. The freedom of the gods—to live forever, a true immortal—with no threat of Octavian ending my life if I do not please him.”
Squinting, I cautiously sidle closer to her. “That’s blasphemy.” The terrace shudders, and I grip the railing. The slash on my arm explodes with pain. “Order them to stop. I’ll not converse with you further until the attack on the palace ceases.”
Sighing, she lowers her head and chants into the aether. Across the harbor, one by one, the white lights blink out. “Satisfied?”
“Now explain yourself. Quickly.” With the palace no longer under attack, Xarion will search me out. I don’t want him anywhere near Candra.
She turns toward me, and the intense glow of her eyes is startling. “Your creator can take your life at any moment. You know this.” I raise my eyebrows as I dress my wound with the torn hem of my shift, unsure of her point. It’s common Egyptian knowledge that the sorcerers have always held our lives in their hands. “And you’re fine with that—living in constant fear that at any moment an order from your masters can wipe out your existence.”
Beneath my loyalty to Xarion, a nagging voice rears. No. I’m not fine with Fadil having control over whether I live or die—today or a century from now. But I’ll not reveal that to her. “I’ve made my choice to serve the Ptolemies. I’ve been granted a nearly immortal life, longer than any human will walk this earth. So I’m content in my choice. It’s far better than living a short life as a sheep herder or courtesan.” I back up my statement with a hard glare, determined to convince her.
A lilting laugh escapes her lips. “Your choice?” She matches my stare, a smile twitching at her lips. “You’re in love,” she says. “I understand. How pathetically sad.”
My stomach drops. I part my mouth to deny her claim, but she shakes her head, mocking.
Moving to the center of the balcony, Candra flutters her hands, straining to hold her place. I can feel her battle, the spirit realm trying to close the window. I wonder how difficult it is for her to fight the barrier to stay here. “You’ll serve him till he’s an old man, withering and dying,” she says. “He’ll never take you as his other half, probably not even as a mistress into his bed.”
“And aligning myself with you . . . would do what for me? I trade one master for another? A strong and compassionate king for a murdering tyrant?”
Her lips thin, her eyes slit. “We do not bow to Octavian. I only want his power over my life removed. If I hand Caesarion over to the Roman, he’ll give me the was scepter. A Kythan Guardian cannot simply take the relic, or else I’d have simply killed the weak sorcerer and have been done with this. The amulet has to be given to them. The sorcerers made sure the scepter was well guarded from any kind of revolt.” She lifts her chin. “Octavian is many, horrible things. I’ll admit to that. But he’s a Roman of his word. He only wants power over the world.” She chuckles. “Once he’s eradicated the threat of Caesarion stealing his throne, he will impart the was scepter to me. He’s a greedy fool with no knowledge of its true power. Oh, but he can have his Rome, his little world. I’ll be truly free—from even the gods. I’ll be a god myself.”
There’s a manic gleam in her eyes. It swirls amid the glowing silvery white, fierce and frightening. There’s little most people would fight for. Would die for. But being born of Egypt, having observed slavery—having lived it—I know freedom is the one thing all would kill for.
“And just how would handing Caesarion over to Octavian free me and all Kythan? Besides the fact the was scepter is dormant, what would stop you from becoming even more power hungry and destroying us?”
“Dormant does not mean powerless. It means sleeping. The sorcerer is but a relic himself. He may have lost the use of ancient magics in his decrepitude, but I can summon them. I can awaken the was scepter.” Lifting her chin, she holds my stare, unwavering. “I desire for no Kythan to live in slavery, Star. Upon the death of the last pharaoh of Egypt, all Kythan shall be set free of their binds. I swear it.”
Bile rises from my churning stomach, coating the back of my throat. Before I can call out her false claim, she continues. “Octavian will end the pharaoh Cleopatra, and then Xarion will be the last. Bring him to me, and the centuries of slavery under the pharaohs will end. But if you do not, then you become my enemy. I will have that scepter. I’m only offering you the chance to join me. You deserve your freedom, sister.”
I reach for my sword, wishing I could cut Candra down and silence her venom. “Leave. And don’t ever return.”
“Think about what I offer you.” Candra smiles. “When the news comes of your queen’s defeat, when plans are hastily being made to hide Caesarion away, know that Octavian will burn Alexandria to get to him. Know that we await him on the other side of the walls. And question whether or not you’re willing to sacrifice your life for one already doomed.”
“I don’t have to question it. I would.”
Another laugh tinkles from her mouth. “And I thought I was young.” She shakes her head. “I want my immortality now. I hate that Octavian holds my life over my head every day that I do not deliver the boy. Find me when you’re ready to do what’s right.”
Before I can rebuke her offer again, she vanishes into the aether, her Ka whispering lies.
After the royal children are safely tucked away in their beds, and I’ve convinced Xarion to stay in his room for the night, I slip away to the garden.
I need time to process Candra’s words. I’m not questioning my devotion, but rather allowing myself a moment to think and feel away from Xarion’s hold over me.
The calming scent of jasmine soothes my anxiety. And I’m able to rationalize what Candra told me as lies. There was no truth there. Cleopatra has not been defeated in Actium. If that were true, we’d have been given word by now. She’d have sent a message to the Council in preparation. Candra is desperate to end Octavian’s threat over her life. That is why she came here tonight. If she didn’t fear that our queen would defeat her creator, she wouldn’t be trying to persuade me to align with her so desperately.
That is a small, comforting thought. I just have to hold strong and keep Xarion hidden behind the city walls and barrier until his mother’s return. Then she’ll bring the rest of the Kythan army and we’ll annihilate the Leymak, ridding the threat against Xarion and Egypt.
But a whisper of doubt settles in my core. Why did Candra come to me? If she’s so confident in my feelings for the pharaoh, why not seek out a more likely ally? As much as I loathe the thought, a Narcolym would be a more willing ally to her over me.
I’d never sacrifice Xarion for anything—anyone. If Candra is so desperate for the scepter, she’ll have to kill me to get to Xarion. More than my binds urging me to protect the pharaoh, my heart demands it. I can’t live in a world that would steal him away.
And suddenly, I realize that is why.
Xarion trusts me. Above all his guardians, I am the one he listens to, doesn’t often command. I am the one who would question any other guardian trying to lead him past the safety of the barrier. I’m hindering Candra’s mission.
The other guardians are unable to commit treason against their master—but I am not. As Candra revealed, I’m a trusted slave. The one close enough to the pharaoh to betray him.
“Star?”
Turning to meet the person that goes with that seductive voice, I face Xarion. “I asked for time alone.”
“I know.” He’s draped in a thin linen tunic, his bare arms crossed over his chest. His face scrubbed clean of the ceremonial paint. “But your silence is driving me mad. We’ve always been able to discuss anything. I need to be assured that you’re all right.”
“I am. My wounds are nearly healed.”
“I’m concerned with more than your physical wellness.” His sandaled feet swallow the distance between us in three strides. He touches my wrapped arm, then his hand moves to my back, his fingers tracing the soft flesh of the recently healed cut on my shoulder blade. “Though I am relieved of that.” His mouth presses into a hard line. “I’m ordering the army to march on the Leymak tomorrow. I thought you should know.”
My mouth parts. “I think we should wait. At least for the full army to return before going into battle again.”
“I’ll not allow Octavian to intimidate me. I won’t hide behind walls, trapped like—”
“Xarion,” I say his name low, and his hard features relax slightly. “No one thinks you’re weak, or hiding. There is nothing to prove to your people, other than being smart and choosing the right course of action.” I reach out and touch his clenched fist. “You’ll do them no good by rushing headstrong into battle.”
His fingers twine with mine, and he releases a heavy breath. Looking at our interlocked hands, he says, “You were right before.”
Curious, I raise my eyebrows.
“About me. About being scared to become King. I am, but I want you to understand that my fear has nothing to do with how I feel about you.” His gaze captures mine as the breeze pushes his dark bangs over his forehead. “I was so angry earlier tonight—and so much has happened since.” He tightens his hold on my hands, not knowing how true his statement is. “I wasn’t able to finish explaining. There’s another option, Star. I’ve discovered a way for us to be free and remain here—together.”
My chest tightens. Those words should make everything better—should shut out the rest of the world, leaving only Xarion and me. But so much talk of freedom and war and Xarion’s imminent demise . . . it’s like a blast of Charge to my heart.
“Fadil’s was scepter can reverse the sorcerers’ doing. It can make you human. Fadil can’t work the magics, but I won’t stop delving deeper until I can. I’ll prove that even though yes, I fear my role as Pharaoh, I’m not trying to shirk my duties by wanting to be with you. I plan to go before the Council and declare my feelings. It’s my choice who I love, and who is slave and who is free. Hades. It doesn’t matter, because if they still do not accept us after you’re human—”
“I can’t hear this,” I say, and step out of his comforting touch. “Not right now.”
His eyes darken. They sharpen as he stares at me, then his head shakes. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.” His features glaze over in humiliation. “You don’t feel the same.” He turns toward a statue of Isis, his gaze unseeing. “I’ve been pouring my heart out, confessing my feelings for you—and I’m so blind.”
“That’s not it,” I say quickly.
He shakes his head again and starts toward the walkway. “I’m a fool.”
My heart skitters to a stop, my mind searching for a way to make him understand. As much as I care for him, this situation is bigger than us. Octavian might accept the king of Egypt fleeing, leaving him the throne. Or the Council might accept me as Xarion’s equal, and grant us permission to be together. But the Leymak will accept none of the options Xarion presents. If Candra is denied the was scepter—her chance at immortality—not even the deserts will hide us away. The Leymak will search for Xarion, and we’ll run forever. Like Sinuhe—only we will never find a safe haven.
I can’t simply choose to become human and give up my power when he needs my protection now more than ever. Not until the Leymak and Octavian are defeated, and the threat against Xarion’s life is gone, can I ever think of myself.
It’s not the way I was raised. And it’s so much more than the ink engraved on my skin.
“Xarion,” I say, desperation leaking into my voice, halting his quick march away from me. “Trust me when I say my feelings for you”—I pause, battling a war within myself between what I want to say and what I need to say—“I have never loved another.”
I stop short of admitting aloud that I love him. He must know, he has to, but if I have any hope of convincing him of what needs to be done, I can’t voice the full extent of my emotions.
Hope crests in his eyes, clear and bright, and I loathe myself for my next admission. “But we can’t—I cannot allow you to dishonor your birthright. Nor can I live with the knowledge that if anything happens to you, it will be my fault. Please, don’t ask me to bear that.”
A solemn, defeated look washes over his face, and with a jerky nod, he says, “I will honor your request.” Then he turns to go.
His clipped response to my plea ices my heart, and I breathe shallowly through the pain. But what did I expect? For the king of Egypt to thank me for my lovely words when their ending result is rejection?
My gaze lingers on him as he walks out of the garden—away from us.
Chapter Ten
A month has passed, and still no word comes from Actium.
The Council has sent messages by ship across the Mediterranean, trying to make contact with Cleopatra. But they either come back unanswered or they don’t come back at all.
Candra’s taunt that Octavian has claimed victory over our queen haunts my every thought. I’m conflicted over whether I should lock Xarion in the palace until his mother’s return, or trust the gods to ensure his safety.
I fear the pressure mounting on the pharaoh to act in his mother’s stead, coupled with our falling out may drive him to desperate measures. I worry that he’ll consider becoming a martyr to save his family and city. Walk right out to the Leymak and surrender. Every time I see his face contort when the Council confronts him with a new problem, I feel as if I’m losing the man I love—slowly and irreplaceably—as he disappears into himself.
Every day that passes I’m getting closer to giving in; asking Xarion to do whatever it is that will free me of my binds, and accepting his offer to run away together. I could even ask Fadil to help us. For him to search the scrolls of the ancients to produce a spell that will mask us from the Leymak.
Then when Octavian comes, there will be no pharaoh to crucify.
Only my distrust of the sorcerer and my sense of duty keep me from fully considering it. I know Xarion better than he knows himself. He will regret leaving his family behind to war with Octavian—a war that falls solely on his shoulders because of who his father is.
I can’t allow us to begin a life together knowing that in time, guilt over his actions will destroy any love between us. He has to face his trials. And I have to face them by his side, as his guardian.
His protector.
I long to confide the many worries pressing on me to someone. To vent and cry and punch to get them out of my system, if only for a moment, so my head will empty and I can reason clearly again. And though I believe my friends would listen without passing judgment, I’m hesitant to ask this of them. They seem to have their own private battles.
Phoenix has been strange ever since the Leymak attack on the palace. He continues to keep a close watch over his charges, but he’s stern and short-tempered where—even for a Narco—he’s usually light-hearted and patient with them.
Lunia is the opposite. She’s taken to guarding little Delphus as if he were her own. He’s never out of her sight for more than a moment, and she’s even excused the royal eunuch, placing herself in charge of food tasting for the young prince.
The attack has changed life at the palace. I fear we’re entering the eye of the storm—waiting for the other side of the storm wall to make landfall. It feels like only a matter of time before the brewing tension within Alexandria erupts.
And things between Xarion and me couldn’t be more wrong. Since the night he accepted my plea as rejection, he’s become even more distant. He doesn’t wait for me to escort him to council meetings or processions. He doesn’t ask for my advice. There are no more sly, seductive smiles, or secret handholding. There are no more passionate touches or simple, warm embraces, and I ache to be near him.
/> Instead, he’s accepted his position as Pharaoh. He treats me as I requested: a guardian. Dictating even the most mundane commitments to be carried out. And it’s cost him his once-spontaneity—that spark of mischief that used to infuse the palace and all those within it with joy.
His stubbornness used to be endearing. Now it’s off-putting. There’s a bitter edge to his addresses and commands. The Kythan, though they don’t—nor would they ever—voice a complaint, scowl behind his back. If Xarion doesn’t return to his former majesty, he’ll evoke a hatred of their servitude, like King Ptolemy did before Cleopatra took the throne.
I don’t want to see that happen to him.
To get away from the pressure building under the palace roof, I’ve stolen a day for myself and come back to my home. I get few of them, and I’ve never actually ignored my duties for an entire day, but my mind desperately needs distraction. Hopefully Xarion will listen to me just this once and stay near Phoenix while I’m on leave.
Rhakotis swarms with hunters of cheap sewing materials, fresh caught fish, and merchants to trade their valuables with. Children run barefoot, weaving through merchant stands, splashing in the watering fountains for the horses and camels. Their lighthearted laughter tugs at my heart as I stroll through the quarter’s small marketplace. For a time, Xarion and I could’ve been one of them. Innocent, carefree. Happy.
I peer over an awning-covered stand and pick up a scarab beetle amulet inlaid with lapis lazuli. It’s a rare find here in the poorer district. The pads of my fingers brush over the blue stone. “How much?”
The Jewish man scratches his bearded chin as his eyes rake me over. He’s debating how much I have to spend. I’m dressed in my royal guardian attire. His eyes widen as he spies my golden armbands.
“Never mind,” I say, dropping the amulet back to the table. “I’m not that interested.” Though I know Xarion would appreciate the sentiment behind the gift, as the beetle is given to offer protection, I can’t possibly give him a replica. My pride won’t allow it. He has access to the finest jewelry in Egypt, and though this artisan is very talented in his trade, I can tell the lazuli has been faked by its texture.
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