“My mother is no whore,” Xarion growls. “And they’re not traitors. They were commanded by their master to hide me. They had no choice.”
“Ah,” Octavian says, lifting a finger. “That reminds me. Where are my manners?” A smile stretches his smooth face, and he turns toward Candra. “I believe your payment is due. The agreed upon relic for the king of Egypt.”
Candra glides forward, her arms and eyes incandescent. “Thank you, Octavian. It’s been an honor to aid you.” But she does not bow.
My hands slicks with sweat. My heart thrums in my ears. Now. This is the moment—
“One request first,” Octavian says, holding the was scepter just out of Candra’s reach.
Candra’s form stiffens. “Yes?”
“I believe it would be rude not to include the queen, don’t you?” His eyebrows rise into his blond waves. “Since she is the last reigning pharaoh, it would be tragic for her not to witness the freeing of her most devoted slaves.”
A slow smile slides across Candra’s face. “Agreed.”
Octavian snaps his fingers. The side entrance of the temple opens. Though I’m relieved to have the chance to look upon Cleopatra—to know she’s all right—I’d rather not have another Ptolemy contending for my protection. I pray Phoenix can get her out safely while I focus on Xarion.
First, two soldiers cross into the room, and then behind them, a death table is wheeled into the temple. The queen lies on her back, arms crossed over her chest.
Xarion’s cry echoes off the temple walls. The anguish in his voice rips my soul. I bow my head, trying to control the rage simmering in my veins, to focus on my purpose. But I can’t rein in the tremble of my limbs. Anger grips me so violently I squeeze my eyes closed, veiling the sight of my departed queen.
“You bastard!” Xarion shouts. He lunges forward, the chains rattling in protest.
“Me? I did not do this, Caesarion. Your mother took her own life.” He sighs. “With an asp, of all things. Not only a painful way to die, but cowardly.”
Fighting to break free of his captors, Xarion strains against his manacles and leaps toward Octavian again, but he’s yanked back. “I’ll have my revenge. I swear it.”
Ignoring Xarion’s threat, Octavian turns to Candra and extends the was scepter. “I grow tired of this affair, guardian. Let’s press forward. I have a whole country to annex.”
Candra nods once and steps forward to accept the amulet. “As vowed, I prepare to free the Narcolym and loyal Shythe”—she glances at me—“before my ascent.”
My brow furrows. Other than it’s a joy to disturb her moment, I could never keep from speaking out. I’m not much of a guardian, I suppose. But oh, how I will be once she begins her ritual. “Free them? Aren’t the Narcos already free?”
Her shoulders go rigid. The beads in her hair clank as her attention is snapped to me. I get more pleasure out of irritating her than I should.
Bringing the scepter to her chest, as if it’s her child, she says, “Seems you, my sister, should not only choose your friendships wiser, but you should also never underestimate anyone.”
She’s mocking me. Using my own words against me. “Fine, Candra. Your point is made. Who are you speaking of?”
“The sorcerer is not a completely useless relic like I once thought.”
Fadil. He’s proved us fools. I may not have trusted him, but I surely didn’t think him capable of magics this great—to be able to free an entire race of Kythan.
“But,” Candra continues. “He’s still not capable of the true old magics. The spell was only a temporary unbinding to release the Narcolym for battle.”
And as if on cue, the doors grind open. My head jerks around as the Narcolym fill the entranceway—so many that most linger on the steps and in the street. They’re here to witness Candra’s performance. To make sure she delivers on her promise to them.
My whole being pulses with fury at seeing the traitorous race. I tamp down my Charge as it curls in snapping ribbons around my fingers. Almost time.
“I aim to keep my promises.” Candra holds the scepter above her head. “And I aim to be done with this mortal realm.”
As Candra begins to chant, her lilted words soft and breathy, Octavian creeps toward the back wall. I’m sure he doesn’t want to be near the powerful magics—magics not seen in hundreds of years. It’s amusing to watch one who thinks himself so mighty cower before true power.
If Candra believes she can selectively release the Kythan of their slavery binds, she’s wrong. We’re all linked. What is done to one race is done to the other. It’s how we were designed, and I wonder why Fadil didn’t explain this to her. Maybe he was only intent on seeing the blasphemous Ptolemies and their gods defeated. I’m sure he loathes the fact that he can no longer employ the old magics, envious of Candra for being the one to do what he lost long ago. I wonder if he’s sneering right now, mocking Candra, as he envisions this outcome. It’s as if the sly sorcerer was the mastermind behind this whole affair, and believes he’ll be the one to gain in the end.
But as cunning as Fadil is, he’s not the master of misdirection. Our great, now-departed queen was.
I look at Xarion. Hold his gaze—the stormy emerald eyes I’ve gazed into my whole life—and mouth, “Be ready.”
The ink on my neck begins to shift. A burning sensation crawls beneath my skin as the swirls around the mark of the Kythan transform. Beside me, Phoenix hisses through his teeth and slaps a hand over his power source. I nudge him, trying to silently warn him from gaining Candra’s attention.
But when I look back at the Leymak working the old magics, the scepter still raised toward the heavens, she’s lost in the power, her eyes blazing a pure white. She may have ascended from the depths of the Primeval Waters with ancient knowledge trickling from her essence, but she’s not yet lived long enough on this plane to garner common sense. She doesn’t believe any human could wield the old magics. And again, that is only her pride betraying her.
Candra’s arms tremble, the bangles on her wrists clinking. She gasps as power surges through her. “I command it so!”
I can’t prevent the scream that tears from my throat as my neck emblazes with light—a mystic fire wrapping me in white lashing coils. The temple vibrates with the cries of the Narcos suffering the same pain. I reach out and latch on to Phoenix’s hand for comfort, and he grips mine back.
When the pain finally begins to subside, I fall forward on my hands and take deep breaths. I don’t feel any different—not yet—but I know everything has changed. My Ba is awakening to a new law. It can sense it.
The guardians will never be commanded by another pharaoh of Egypt. The millennia of slavery under the pharaohs have ended—but the Kythan are far from free. Cleopatra ensured that if Candra ever captured her son, if she ever evoked the power of the was scepter, the Kythan would be cursed.
The last reigning pharaoh of Egypt did not bow out of this world unavenged.
“This is wrong—something is wrong,” a Narco just feet from me utters. “What have you done, sorceress?”
Candra’s body is drenched with sweat, her thin layers of linen clinging to her heaving chest. The smile on her face falls when she opens her eyes and takes in the surly Narcolym. “I don’t understand—” She breaks off and glances at the amulet in her shaky hands.
Rising onto my feet with some difficulty, I shout, “She’s betrayed us! We’ve been cursed!” The Narcolym mutter foul curses. I spot Octavian slinking closer to the back exit. “We’ve not been freed—she’s enslaved us to all humans!”
A ruckus breaks out as the Narcos shout, argue, shove—and start for Candra.
I savor the loathe look she sends me right before they swarm her, and attack.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Xarion!”
It’s my voice that rises over the pandemonium as I desperately fight through the fray.
Phoenix, a true warrior, growls and lobs Narcos aside, clearing our path. I fla
re my Charge, creating a field of crackling blue, sending my fists into any body that gets in my way to Xarion. I continually sweep my eyes, looking for Candra.
She has not been taken down. Not when she can vanish into the aether in a blink. I have to get Xarion out of Octavian’s clutches before she reemerges. Though I doubt she’ll reappear in the midst of enraged Narcos seeking to rip her apart, I can’t chance it.
Octavian’s hands wave frantically above his head. He orders his soldiers to retreat with Xarion through the back door.
With a cry, I barrel into the massive Narco blocking the dais. My body ricochets off his brick wall of a chest, and I stumble backward. He raises his muscled arms toward me, and Phoenix leaps onto the Narco’s back. I rush past just as the Narco hurls Phoenix over his shoulder.
I drop low and crawl onto the dais, then sprint for the back temple door. It’s closing, and the Romans will block it off if I don’t make it. Always faster, Phoenix rushes past me and wedges himself in the crack of darkness before the door slams shut.
“Go!” he shouts.
I duck under his arms and pump my legs, my sandaled feet slapping the hard stone. The retreating Romans aren’t far ahead. Phoenix’s footfalls sound close behind.
My vision adjusts quickly to the dark corridor. Low-burning torches light the expanse, revealing our foes and my pharaoh. I call forth Charge, chasing the darkness farther away, and send a bolt down the stretch. It hits its mark—Octavian’s shoulder—and he spills to the ground.
The soldiers raise their spathas, but when they see my fierce snarl, my canines bared and blue eyes ablaze, they retreat. A wave of relief washes over me. I only want to get Xarion away from here. I’m sick of fighting—sick of death. I want to live a life with him.
Politics be damned.
Xarion reaches his shackled arms out to me and I run into them. “Oh gods. Oh gods.” Prayers tumble from my lips as I enclose my arms around him, breathe in his scent. Revel in the feel of his strong embrace.
His hands smooth my hair, and he presses his lips to my forehead. “I’ll never leave you.”
Tears well in my eyes, and I blink them away.
“Get up, you sack of pig shit.” Phoenix’s enraged voice cuts into our suspended moment, and I crane my head to see him yanking Octavian up by his cape.
“Phoenix,” I say, my breaths labored. “End him quickly. We must go.” The sounds of the riot grow closer. It won’t be long until the Narcos enter the corridor, seeking vengeance on not only Candra, but the general they won a war for only to be deceived.
I look into Xarion eyes and say, “Together. Forever.”
His cheeks dimple as his beautiful lips stretch into a pained smile. “And I’ll always find you.”
My brow furrows, but Phoenix steals my attention with a shout before I can question Xarion’s response.
Xarion and I both turn our heads as Phoenix positions his Flame-engulfed fist to deliver a killing blow to a recoiling Octavian—but a white beam of light drives Phoenix and the Roman apart as it hits Phoenix in the chest. He flies back.
“Phoenix!” I lurch toward his prone body but then halt, torn between helping him and guarding Xarion. My hand stays sealed on Xarion’s arm.
Octavian scrambles to the stone wall, bracing his hands against it to push himself onto his feet.
Panic pouring through my body, I whip around and force Xarion behind me. “Run, Xarion—” My effort is too little as a blow strikes my head. Blinding light blacks out my vision. My legs crumple beneath me and I hit the ground hard.
As I slowly stagger to my hands and knees, my vision clearing, my gaze locks on to my foe standing before me. Gods, I’m going to tear her silver eyes from her skull.
Candra sends another beam at me and I roll. It hits the stone near my head. I curse and bound to my feet—and my breath is knocked from my lungs. My chest wracked in a vise. Candra has Xarion before her on his knees, her illuminated hands clutching his shoulders.
Xarion’s eyes plead with me as he struggles to make the slightest movement, his body unresponsive under her power. My mind flashes to the desert, to the moment when Candra stole Xarion into the aether, and it’s even more painful reliving it now.
My hands curl into fists by my thighs. “It’s done, Candra. And it’s not long before the Narcos find you. Run. Go enjoy your life of servitude. Because if you harm him, I won’t stop until I see you dead.”
She no longer wears her mask of superiority. Her features are hard and twisted as she glares at me. “You knew the scepter was cursed. I deemed to free our kind, and you chose a human over your own kindred. You think me a rogue. But it is you who are the rogue. You’re a betrayer of your own family, Star.”
I hold my breath and debate my next move. Farther down the corridor, Phoenix stirs, his arms pushing him onto his knees. If I can distract her, maybe—
“Kill him!” Octavian enters my peripheral as he strides toward Candra. He stops a safe distance from her. “Don’t forget who can end your life—Finish it!”
Baring her sharp teeth, Candra sneers at him. Then her eyes snap back to me as the doors of the corridor burst open from both ends. The shouts of infuriated Narcos fill the dank air, and I chance a move during the diversion.
I lunge at Candra.
In a second she’s gone, taking Xarion into the aether. My knees and palms scrape against the coarse stone as I try to slow my fall. Jerking my head around, I search for her black wispy tentacles. They appear farther away from me as Candra and Xarion rematerialize.
Candra glances behind her—a decision to make.
Vanish now and live.
Or die. But punish me.
I emblaze my Charge and jump to my feet, dashing to close the distance between us. My gaze holds Xarion’s.
“Kill him now!” Octavian shouts.
I spot Phoenix racing toward Candra, the mob of Narcos closing in around him. His arms ignite and he sends a ball of Flame careening toward Candra—
Without looking behind her, Candra dodges the Flame. She latches on to Xarion’s head, her hands anchored below his jaw. Her eyes meet mine. “See you in the underworld, sister.”
A Narco seizes her from behind, but before she’s pulled into the mob’s clutches, she smiles.
And snaps Xarion’s neck.
The crack sounds through the corridor as his head is twisted around.
The world falls away.
Time all but stops as Xarion wilts, his limbs becoming limp, and he drops to the floor.
The Narcos take Candra down. Her body engulfs in flames.
Amid the chaos, Phoenix succeeds in dragging me away from Xarion, my hands reaching out—my cries burning my lungs.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The sky is fire red.
The seams under the swollen clouds are molten outlines against the ocean’s sunrise sky. I stare into its intensity, unblinking. I wish I could dive into that fiery place just between the ocean and sky and wisp out like a curl of smoke.
Or walk straight into the depths of the harbor.
And not resurface.
“Star?”
It’s Phoenix’s voice again. I can hear the caution in it, the worry. The fear that I’m lost.
But I’m not.
Turning my gaze toward the towering statue of my goddess, I look into her lioness eyes. I admire her strength, her proud posture. Her prowess. And I decide that just as Alexander was likened to a god and Cleopatra was Isis incarnate, Astarte is linked to Sekhmet. They are sisters to me, both Egyptian war goddesses, and I am a descendant—my name chosen for me by the gods.
I am Astarte.
I am wrath.
Whirling around, I change my course and march toward the barge.
“Star!”
I can’t answer him. I can’t. If I open my mouth, all the grief and pain and heart sickness will fall out. And I need it. I latch on to those dark emotions and shove them deeper into the pit of my belly, allowing it to fuel my quick gait
.
I suppose Phoenix decides that if I’ve lost my mind, it doesn’t matter. He follows me on to the barge. Finally, he’s quiet, and I’m pleased.
The barge drifts toward the palace.
Fury seethes through my soul. Candra took my love. And the Narcos stole my revenge. I can’t even hunt down Candra and inflict my anguish upon her. No. But I can punish those who are responsible for everything.
I jump off the side of the barge before it’s fully docked. Storm past the colonnades and sphinx, my hands and arms snapping white-blue currents. They reach toward the limestone, marring the stone with black, smoldering veins.
Bracing my light-pulsing hands against the doors, I blast out my power. They fly open and off their hinges and clatter to the ground. The boom sounds through the palace. I hope Fadil hears it. I hope he knows I’m coming.
I want him to quake with fear.
I run, darting through the corridors with my Charge fully open. Phoenix follows close behind, but is wise enough not to try and stop me. When I reach the sorcerer’s chamber, I push down the handle. Locked. Oh, you foolish little man. I launch my foot into the door and it splinters open.
My gaze latches on to Fadil.
He turns around to face me, the high window to his back. “Guardian Astarte.” He says my name like he’s surprised I’m here. Like there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be. Why he’s unrestrained and wanders freely while all Council and those close to the late ruler are imprisoned.
Words would be wasted on this leach of a man. I raise my hands and send a snaking current of Charge into his stomach. He cries out as the blow takes him to the ground, his white head cracking against the window.
“You’re mistaken!” he pleads. “Octavian only allows me to roam free because—”
“Quiet,” I order, low and deep. The bulbous knob in his throat bobs up as he swallows. “You’re more powerful than you’ve lead us to believe. It was you who conspired with Octavian to create the Leymak. You who deceived your queen and Egypt. And now, you’re going to hand your power over to me.”
Astarte's Wrath (Kythan Guardians) Page 16