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“One thing at a time.” I clapped him on the back, earning an annoyed snort from Ox-Head. “Deal with Darius first and then you can find some pretty girl to make you all the heirs you want.”

“Speaking of which,” Alexander said, his expression turning suddenly sly, “I won’t pretend to understand it, but I’ve seen the way you look at Darius’ youngest daughter, homely though she is. That day in the throne room you looked ready to devour her. She’s a far cry from the beauties you usually bed, but shall I make you a gift of her?”

I looked askance at him, grim-faced. “I’d never forgive you if you did.”

He laughed and spurred Bucephalus with his heels. Moments later we were racing over Persia’s drab winter plains like we had so many times as boys after escaping from Aristotle’s droning lessons, no greater care in the world than the wind in our ears. Alexander leaned over Bucephalus’ reins while the rest of the Companions hollered after us and struggled to catch up.

That was the last golden day before everything went to Hades.

•   •   •

P
ersepolis, the richest city under the sun, sent its letter of surrender to Alexander before we even reached the city, and the Persians threw open the grand Gate of All Nations with its massive sculpted
lamassus
—winged bulls with the heads of bearded men—to allow Alexander entrance into its stunning palace. I’d dreamed of walking the halls of Darius’ famed Apadana palace with its eagle-headed columns and porticoes embossed with exquisite carvings of the famed Immortals, whom I found I enjoyed seeing chiseled in stone far more than their screaming flesh-and-blood inspirations on the battlefield. I watched in awe as the entire court bowed to Alexander in a wave of perfumed silk, kissing their fingers as if they were greeting Ahura Mazda himself. The
satrap
in his flat-crowned blue hat surrendered 120,000 talents of gold bullion, priceless lapis lazuli plaques, and countless cedar chests of gemstones, so massive a treasure that it would take fifteen thousand beasts of burden to carry away the city’s vast riches. Yet Alexander didn’t even acknowledge the spoils, only marched farther into the palace with a face like one of the many exquisite marble statues being carted away.

I followed him into the Hall of Xerxes with its throngs of aristocrats waiting to catch a glimpse of their new ruler, but I ignored all the overdressed peacocks, running an appreciative hand over the priceless frescoes showing the famed king stabbing lion-headed demons. A hammered golden plaque bore chiseled inscriptions praising the first Darius’ expeditions against Greece in the three tongues of Babylon, Persia, and Elam. Still, Alexander took no notice of the art or the aristocrats waiting to fawn over him, skirting the audience hall’s hundred towering pillars and gesturing toward the treasury.

“There’s more bullion inside,” he told a regiment of Macedonian infantry, many of them slack-jawed at the opulence of Darius’ ancient palace. “I want every single last coin melted down to send home to Aigai.”

Alexander had an army to pay and feed, but that didn’t mean that I was going to forgo the opportunity to stare at one of the great wonders of Darius’ empire. I managed to shut my maw, but wandered into the throne room and whistled in reverence at the winged-lion statue rearing up over the dais, its mouth frozen midroar and massive golden paws ready to strike.

“You should build a palace like this in Alexandria,” I mused aloud to Alexander. “Or perhaps even in Aigai.”

But Alexander was gone, presumably knee-deep in gold bullion in the treasury.

Someone shouted and there came a series of thumps like bodies hitting the ground. On instinct, I drew my sword and the hairs on the back of my neck prickled as they did before battle.

I sniffed the air and panic seized my throat like a Titan’s fist.

The acrid smell of smoke made my mouth go numb and every nerve in my body screamed in barely restrained panic.

Four Companions burst then from the Hall of Xerxes, leering in triumph and lugging one of Darius’ many golden thrones between them, this one studded with lapis lazuli and emeralds arranged into a stunning
simurgh
raptor. Behind them, tendrils of gray smoke emerged from the hall, curling like claws to rasp at the walls and the ceiling.

Alexander emerged from the treasury, fists on his hips and watching with satisfaction as the smoke grew. The flames crackled with glee as they devoured the frescoes of Xerxes battling demons, their wall of heat searing my very lungs.

“Raze and plunder Persepolis, the most hated city in all of Asia!” Alexander cried, and lifted his hand in the signal to the waiting regiments armed with torches and swords. They streamed like starving locusts from every door of the throne room, headed toward the city’s graceful columned terraces and splendid avenues. Statues of Persia’s ancient history crashed to the ground—stone wings smashed from sphinxes and crowns obliterated from the heads of kings long since dead. Noblewomen screamed as they watched their husbands, brothers, and fathers being slaughtered, then screamed again as they were claimed by our soldiers as further spoils of war. All the while, more men streamed down the stairs, carrying bolts of shimmering silk and chests of gleaming silver, crates of bullion and armloads of golden bangles and necklaces.

“What in the name of the twelve gods are you doing?” I yelled, grabbing Alexander by the front of his leather cuirass, but he shook me off.

“This city harbored Darius. Let this be a lesson that I shall destroy his empire, city by city and brick by brick if I have to, until he surrenders.” His eyes gleamed like one entranced and smoke seemed to roll from his skin. It scraped the back of my throat and dug into my eyes like grains of sand.

Fire. Zeus above, how I hated fire.

“Persepolis surrendered, Alexander,” I yelled, hoping my words would shame him even as sweat gathered at my temples and ran down my back. This was the singer Adurnarseh again, only magnified a thousandfold. “This is the act of a tyrant.”

Something flared deep in Alexander’s blue eyes. “This is an act of vengeance,” he said. “A repayment to Persia for their burning of Athens during the Great War and a clear message to Darius. I have finally done what my father set out to do: conquer Persia. Now it’s time that Persia learned their lesson so they never rise against us again.”

“The sacking of Athens occurred while your grandfathers were still shitting their swaddling clothes,” I growled. “This temper tantrum doesn’t befit a man who seeks immortality and claims to be a god.”

He whirled about, deadly silent as he leaned so close that I could feel the heat of his breath despite the growing flames. “I
am
a god, Hephaestion,” he finally said. “You cower there like a woman, ready to piss yourself in the face of a little fire and spilled blood, while I conquer the world.”

My fist hit his cheek and he staggered back, looking up at me for a moment like a wounded child. Never before had we traded blows, not even as children. Yet he was no longer a boy, but the most powerful man on earth.

“You’ve been granted many gifts by the gods,” I said, looking down on him from my superior height. “You are meant to build cities, not destroy them. Put out the flames, Alexander.”

“It is only because I love you that I don’t slay you where you stand,” he growled. And then Alexander, my lover and friend, brother and commander, shoved past me so hard that I stumbled back. “Your fear shames you,” he said, his voice echoing off the walls. “Run if you wish, away from the flames that so terrify you, but do not dare to speak to me again.”

With that, I turned and walked away, forcing my steps into measured paces as the gilded cedar rafters of the Hall of Xerxes crashed to the ground behind me.

CHAPTER 13

Bactria, Persia

Roxana

“And thus approaches our craven king,” Bessus murmured in my ear, his breath hot against my skin. His voluminous green robe was edged with black silk and embroidered with gold thread, his earlobes and every finger bedecked with jasper and onyx rings. The bronze dagger I’d watched him sharpen that morning was now tucked into his vast black
kamarband
.

I gave a sly smile and trailed my fingers down his arm. “All shall be as you wish it.”

And then all would be as
I
wished it.

Only days before, Bessus had used the promise of fresh troops to lure Darius to Bactria, for the King of Kings was in desperate need of men to march with him against Alexander. Cowardly Darius was a trusting fool and stumbled headlong into the trap, allowing himself to be imprisoned and taken hostage by Bessus’ officers. Now I watched the tense rendezvous from beneath an awning of golden silk, dressed in a new yellow silk gown and matching veil embroidered with tiny stars, calfskin slippers dyed to match, and my beautiful brother at my side. Parizad was resplendent in his own robe the color of freshly churned butter, which denoted his improved position as one of Bessus’ bodyguards, a position I’d procured after mastering several of Bessus’ favorite positions both in and out of bed. Arms crossed tight against my ribs, I rapped an impatient rhythm along my forearms at Darius’ approach, for I knew what was soon to come.

I’d expected Darius to be impressive, but the man who approached between the brandished spears of Bessus’ soldiers was haggard as a beggar, his wrists bearing heavy golden manacles instead of sumptuous bangles and his eyes dark and hollow beneath their smudged lines of
sormeh
powder. Only the king’s bedraggled purple-striped cloak and Persia’s eagle diadem at his brow hinted that he had once been the ruler of the greatest empire on earth. Several soldiers whispered and averted their eyes, their pity for the beaten king apparent in their drawn faces.

I had no pity. Darius’ sun had set and Bessus’ was rising, with mine alongside it.

“Dear cousin Bessus,” Darius said, his voice rasping. He was a tall man despite his bent back, but the chains at his wrists rattled as tremors shook his body. A king should be brave and courageous, but Darius’ eyes rolled in their sockets like an animal awaiting slaughter. “What is the meaning of this?” he managed to ask.

“I would have thought that was obvious, cousin.” Bessus bent to kiss his fingers in a
proskynesis
due to his king. “You have been tried and found wanting as king. Thus, I relieve you of your burden.”

I’d been half the instrument of my mother’s death, but I’d never seen a man killed until Bessus raised his dagger against the King of Kings. He hit home with practiced ease, the tip of the dagger neatly piercing the white silk of Darius’ robe to plunge between his ribs. Shock slackened the king’s face at the quick and underwhelming kill, but my stomach clenched as Bessus’ men joined the fray, stabbing Darius again and again, the sounds from a butcher’s block while the king brayed like a sacrificial ewe.

“By the gods,” Parizad breathed, white-faced. He moved to stop them as Bessus’ archers emerged with bolts drawn in case Darius somehow managed to escape. I grabbed my brother’s wrist with a tight shake of my head.

“It’s too late,” I said, thin-lipped and suddenly light-headed. “Bessus is king now.”

Parizad whirled on me, horror-struck. “You knew about this?”

“I share Bessus’ bed,” I said, watching still more soldiers fall upon Darius. “And soon I shall share his throne.”

Parizad stared at me, but my fingers threaded through his as Bessus lifted the blood-spattered golden eagle diadem from Darius’ brow and placed it on his own head. The old king’s white robe was rent to tatters and his chest pockmarked with bloody gouges that seeped wet crimson.

“May you cross the Chinvat Bridge with ease, cousin,” Bessus whispered, a grin cleaving his face in two. He leaned down and slit Darius’ throat, allowing the feeble king’s last breath to escape in a wet hiss.

“Darius is dead,” Bessus proclaimed in a line I’d listened to him practice countless times over the past days. “We hereby proclaim ourselves the Great King, King of Kings, Artaxerxes the Fifth!”

For a moment no one dared breathe. I was the first to move, sinking to my knees in a graceful
proskynesis
I’d also rehearsed, my lips curving into a smile before kissing my fingertips. The men around me followed my example, hailing Bessus as their king.