The sound of the battle reaching the shore drifts to my ears. Shouts. The ring of weapons striking weapons and shields. A guttural cry rents the air, and a chill works its way through my body.
The boom of hundreds of feet stomping the earth in rhythm competes with the drumming of my heart. “Hold,” I say, my voice low, steadying the anxious, fidgeting bodies around me. I pull Xarion’s hood forward to cover his face as the first of the Roman legions enter the streets.
They run, breaking formation. Their war cries pierce the tense hum in the air. We back farther into the alcove, the shadows masking us, as the guardians and soldiers clash in a loud disharmony of roars and clanks.
I’m tempted to peek around the awning and search for the dark hovering forms. But I keep my gaze on the battle, waiting. Candra’s presence is still making itself known, but she remains silent. Why hasn’t she spoken or appeared? Why isn’t she gloating and slinging threats?
Phoenix’s forearms illume red as his gaze trails the fighting. I touch his shoulder, and his head snaps around. Glancing at the pulsing Flame snaking up from his hands, he grimaces. His features contort as he reins in his power, extinguishing his Flame.
I know how difficult it is to control the urge to strike out at the Roman soldiers. It’s instilled in us; visceral as guardians to fight. I have to consciously discourage my instinct as the battle rages before us. Even Xarion clutches the hilt of his sword. Raised to be a king, he’s prepared to defend his people and country. I latch on to his arm and give him a knowing look before returning my gaze to the streets.
The Shythe cast a glowing blue-white net of Charge over our enemies. It crackles as it drops on top the soldiers, entangling them in a biting electrical snare. My brow creases. Only the Shythe are present in this scrimmage. Where are the Narcolym Guardians?
Searching the battle, I try to glimpse the Narcos. It’s possible they’re holding back another legion of soldiers at the gates or the harbor. But an annoying twinge of doubt eats a hole through my reasoning. A brush of hot air warms my cheek, and I turn toward the source.
A blazing stream of fire lashes down on the boulevard. The light of the Pharos attacks, setting the Shythe Guardians aflame. My mind numbs. All logic flees.
The horn sounds.
I stand in mute shock as the guardians burn—their screams ripping a deafening hole through the chaos.
“Move!” Phoenix shouts.
I can’t.
The cries bleed into the night as the blaze engulfs those trying to escape, and I can’t take my eyes off the carnage. The destruction. The betrayal unfolding around me.
Before I realize my actions, I’m raising my khopesh and charging toward the battle. My gaze lands on a Narco rounding the boulevard, his Flame aimed at a Shythe—at Kale. Calling forth my Charge, I emblaze my hand and unleash a bolt. It careens toward its target. The Narco blocks my blow with an ignited raised arm, deflecting it to the street.
A cry rips from my throat. I hammer my sword against his shield, driving his arm down. His glowing red eyes meet mine a moment before my blade strikes his chest, carving a deep gash.
He stumbles and drops to his knees. I lift my sword to finish him, and strong arms encircle my waist. Xarion shouts near my ear, but I can’t latch on to the meaning of his hurried words as he hauls me toward the Library.
My mind returns in a single moment of clarity.
Xarion.
My purpose replaces the rage roiling inside me as I focus on him and the horn calling through the chaos. The Leymak are within the city. I have to get him to the tunnel.
Wiping the blood from my brow, I turn and look into his eyes. “I’m here,” I assure him. He nods, his face twisted with strain. “I’m here with you.”
Taking his hand, I push through the double doors. But before we disappear into the darkness of the stacks, I glace one last time over my shoulder—
—at the ruin and betrayal and death.
Narcos roll a large copper machine down the street. Steam billows from a pneumatic tube on the apparatus as it pumps. With a high whir it builds momentum, then unleashes dozens of arrows. They soar through the air, arc, and rain down on the army of Shythe. I bow my head.
Then we’re gone.
Chapter Sixteen
Lunia sparks a dome of Charge in her palm and touches a copper coil held in a vinegar-filled vase. With a snap, a direct current travels up the wire to illuminate a glass bulb, brightening the dank underground tunnel.
The Narcos’ power may be more sought after by the scientists for their automata and machinery, but when it comes to darkness—utter and complete—the Shythe chase it away like no other.
Dropping my head in my palms, I try to gather my thoughts. The scene of the Pharos attacking our city replays in my mind, and a shiver runs over my skin as another, similar image takes its place.
The vision Candra sent me that day on the barge.
“Star.” Xarion kneels before me, takes my hands from my face. “Let’s get this off of you,” he says low, then begins to wipe the smeared blood from my face with the hem of his robe.
His touch is soft and comforting. And his shadowed green eyes say more than words as they hold mine. There is no coming back to Alexandria. He must be struggling not to storm from our hidden tunnel, to go and defend his family against the traitors—his once-devoted guardians.
I should have prevented this.
It’s the one thought that shines clearest in the darkness.
“Xarion,” I say, cupping his hands in mine. “I’m sorry—this is my fault. I could have—”
“No, it’s not.” He presses his lips together hard. “I should have handed myself over to Octavian months ago. All that he wants is the throne.”
I’m about to argue when Phoenix says, “We can dispute faults and martyring later.” His bright gaze drops to the spot where Xarion’s hand holds mine. “We need to keep moving.”
Anger flares, slithering up the walls of my chest like a trapped viper. I bolt up and whirl on him. “You had to have known about this, Phoenix,” I snarl. “How could you not?”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. He pulls his back straight, towering over me. “I don’t think you want to pass judgment at this time, Star”—he glances at Xarion—“as it seems we’ve all got secrets to unearth.”
I glower at him, at his threat. I’m not so stupid to think my friends wouldn’t discover my feelings for Xarion. But the rage in his fiery eyes conveys the loathing he feels toward those feelings.
I nod. “Understood. But tell me how the Narcos were able to disobey a command? How they can attack their home.” I fist my hands.
Phoenix’s features soften, and he sighs. “I don’t know.”
I open my mouth to demand again, but halt. He must be as upset as I am about the Narcos turning on our master. Even more so—they’re his kindred. “I’m sorry, Phoenix.”
He waves off my apology. “It’s forgotten.”
Lunia steps between us. “Try it,” she says, inclining her head toward Xarion. “Let the pharaoh give you a command.”
My head whips around as Xarion stands. “I command you to wave your hand again, Phoenix.”
It’s a weak command, but one that the Narco before me shouldn’t be able to ignore—yet, his hands, glowing with the bright red of his power, remain at his sides.
Lunia’s eyes widen, and my mouth parts. I glance at Nuri, fear creeping over me. “Nuri?” I say.
He steps forward and again, Xarion commands him to wave. He does not.
“Hades,” I curse. “Command me.” And when Xarion asks the same of me, without thought, I wave.
Phoenix blows a breath through his tense lips. “We’ll figure this out once we’re clear of the war.” Sheathing his sword, he nods to Lunia.
She turns a mirror hanging along the rock wall outward. It catches the light of the glass bulb, sending a beam high above our heads. It reflects off another mirror, then another. They’re positioned accordingly to ref
ract the light and brighten the stretch of tunnel.
Our path shows a long, straight trek through the underbelly of the city.
Pushing my fears of the two Narcos who cannot be commanded to the back of my mind, I remind myself that Phoenix is one of my best friends. That the war above does not affect us the same way. Once we’re safely at the Red Sea’s port, we can figure out how Octavian was able to break the Narcos’ binds and turn them against their masters—but we must get there first.
“All right,” I say, running my blood-stained blade over the bottom of my shift. “We are all in this together”—I eye Nuri—“and from here, we are Pharaoh Caesarion’s guardians. We get him to that port.”
My friends nod their heads and anchor their swords in their sashes. Then we embark on our journey.
Maybe our last journey from the great city of Alexandria.
I’m unsure how many hours have passed, but we must be nearing the end of the tunnel. The mirrors stopped a while ago, and the air is less dense.
Our party has kept all thoughts of what transpired in the city to themselves, silently mulling it over in their minds. I refuse to take on the blame fully. Now that the adrenaline has left my body, and my mind can rationalize clearly, there was no sure way for me to know of—or stop—the Narcos’ uprising.
I have no connection to the Narcolym other than that we’re all guardians. It’s not as if I could question their knowledge of Candra’s scheme, not without alerting them to it in the first place. Aggravated, I yank my tangled snarls of hair into a bun and pin it back.
And, I have to admit, with as close as Phoenix is to Xarion, the Narcos wouldn’t have included him in their rebellion. He couldn’t have known.
We have to move forward. We guard the last hope to the Egyptian throne. The future of the Ptolemies. I don’t see Octavian ending the queen, but he will take her power. He wants her alive to suffer humility once he sacks the city. I can’t say the same for her husband, though, but I try to assure Xarion, in a delicate way, that Octavian will spare his mother and siblings.
“I know this,” Xarion says. “It was never about punishing Antonius for leaving Octavia for my mother. It’s always been about ending the threat my life means to him.” He sighs. “My mother’s strong. Once she’s able to get word to me, she’ll have a plan.”
I touch his shoulder. “I believe this, too.” And I do. Cleopatra is renowned for her smarts and cunning in both leadership and warfare. Octavian will not rule over Egypt for long.
After hours of travel, we finally glimpse light ahead. The moon.
“Let’s make camp here,” Phoenix says, shrugging off his sack.
Besides the fact that it’s a bad idea to walk the desert by day, I’m annoyed Phoenix has taken up the role of leader. “You know that’s not wise,” I say. “We need to travel at night. Not only will we be better hidden, but the heat is too insufferable during the day.”
“Do you really think that matters to the Leymak? They travel through the aether.” He flaps out his bedroll. “Light or dark, day or night, it makes no difference to them. And, I’m tired.”
Glancing around at the exhausted faces, I give in and jerk off my bag. “Only a few hours,” I say, before Phoenix thinks he can make all the decisions from here on. “We leave at least two hours before the sun rises.”
Grunting, he throws himself down on his roll and turns his back to me. Lunia rolls her eyes. It’s such a Lunia thing to do that I can’t help smiling. Even though our world has been changed, possibly forever, it’s comforting to know we’re still us. Phoenix is still a stubborn ass, and Lunia is still carefree. Even though she must be distraught over leaving Seb behind, she’s strong. She’s always been able to control her emotions. The exact opposite of Phoenix.
Watching Xarion arrange his sleeping area, I can’t imagine how Lunia can leave Seb. There’s nothing that could persuade me away from him. But then, he’s my duty. Raised and trained to one day be his guardian, I’ve always protected him in some form throughout the years.
I’ve never considered any other option.
Lunia settles down on her roll, her fate decided. She’s taken up her obligation to guard her master, and though her heart’s with Seb, this is her place. With me. I reach over and squeeze her hand, and she grips it back.
I unroll my blankets and stretch out, wondering how I’ll sleep when Candra is undoubtedly searching for Xarion right now. A shiver crawls up my spine, and I shake off the unease.
Pale light reaches into the entrance of the tunnel. I stretch my hand toward the beam, let it bathe my skin, and Xarion’s hand slips into mine. Our fingers lock on to each other.
Then I shut my eyes and try to block out the cries haunting my dreams.
Chapter Seventeen
We’re making good time, and soon we’ll be passing Canopus. We keep to the outside borders of towns, trekking through the baking sands. The high sun beats down on us, its rays bouncing off the golden grains and reflecting into our eyes, its heat clinging to us like steam in a bathhouse.
Octavian’s soldiers are still stationed in every major city and port, and dodging them is our main goal.
Thoughts of Candra enter my mind often. I don’t understand everything about the aether, and wonder if the Leymak roam aimlessly through it, misting in and out between worlds, choosing at random where they appear. Or if they have some designed means of projection—that they can imagine a precise location down to the veins of a leaf. Is time a factor for them? Could they cover twice as much territory on their quest to discover us? A moment for them, days for us?
Shutting down my overtaxed brain, I breathe in the hot air, and place my attention on Xarion. The strain he’s under is starting to wear on him. He carries it in his slumped shoulders, his sunken eyes. He’s a king without a kingdom. His thoughts linger with his home and family. But he’s still beautiful, for it’s his strength and loyalty and all that he is that shines through the bleakness.
Every so often he looks at me, really sees me. Touches me with purposeful caresses, and hope breaks through the dark covering his eyes. This doesn’t have to be the end to his story, to ours. Once we regroup at our destination—wherever that may be—he can build an army and take back his home.
I scold myself for already thinking the war is lost. I should have more faith in my queen and the Shythe. Only the horrid scene I last saw—the devastation, treachery, loss—makes it difficult to picture a different outcome. We won’t know for sure until we find a safe haven and are able to speak with someone informed on the war.
I fear that not knowing is better than knowing.
We stop at a small stream, the dark water traveling from the Nile. There is nothing here other than this water and sparsely scattered palms and vegetation. And the sand. I dip my copper flask in and then submerge my arms, cleansing the grit from my skin.
“I think we should separate,” Xarion whispers as he kneels beside me.
I raise an eyebrow. “From who?”
“From everyone.” He sinks his own flask into the stream, his eyes focused on his task. “We could make better time if it were just you and me, and . . .” He trails off as he peeks over at Nuri.
“And you’re concerned about the Narcos.” I’ve tried to discount my rising concern over our Narcolym companions who are no longer subject to the commands of their master. But it’s a constant panic coursing just below the other worries of our situation.
“It’s not just that,” Xarion says. He presses his lips together as he eyes me. “There’s no reason for anyone else to be at risk. I’m the one who is being hunted. Let the others go back and help if there’s a chance, and we’ll go on.”
A small smile stretches my mouth. “Ah. But it’s no bother to you that I’ll be at risk.”
“Star, no—” His face crumples in frustration, and I laugh.
“I would not trade being here with you now, with the world hunting us down, for anything, Xarion.”
His hand meets mine ben
eath the water, the mix of cool and warmth sending a direct current to my heart.
“So then it’s a plan?” he asks.
I don’t have to consider for long. It’s best for Lunia to go back to Seb, to find happiness if possible. And Phoenix . . . He can find happiness anywhere. I have faith he’ll be all right, and he’s now free. What he longed for. It’s painful to say goodbye to my friends, but Xarion’s right. I don’t want them harmed. And we can manage better now that the war is behind us.
I nod. “Let’s run away together.”
A bright smile lights his face, his dimples present. “The words I’ve longed to hear.” Releasing my hand, he grasps my face between his damp palms and presses his lips to mine.
I don’t know what our future will be. What will happen when we finally find a safe place. Whether Xarion will want to build an army and attack Octavian, or if he’d rather advocate his throne and live the life of a commoner. But the one thing that makes all the uncertainty worth it is that we’ll face it together.
As I pull back and stare into his emerald eyes, I know he feels the same.
He voiced that all he wanted was a life with me. And now, we have the chance to make that happen.
His lips find mine again, and he deepens the kiss, no longer worried about who will catch us or breaking laws that no longer govern our lives. I imprint the feel of him on my body. I’ll recognize his touch forever.
A gust of wind sends grains of sand against our skin, prickling my cheek. Xarion ignores the slight irritation, a smile curving his lips as he keeps them anchored to mine. But when the loud flap of the palm branches hits my ears, my back stiffens.
I slowly pull away from him as a dark cloud moves overhead, casting a shadow on the small oasis. The breeze picks up, rippling the stream. Then a violent current sweeps over the water, spraying us with sharp needles of water.
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