Astarte's Wrath (8 page)

“But he would still need someone who could work the old magics,” Xarion says, his gaze far off. “Fadil is the last of his kind, and his powers wane daily. What Roman would have any knowledge at all about ancient Egyptian magics?”

It’s not truly a question asked of me, but I shake my head anyway, thinking along with him about who could wield that power.

“Fadil was very adamant about the immortal ones,” Xarion says. “Ever since I’ve known him, he’s spoken of the old ways, of a time that was pure in our culture.”

“No, Xarion.” I rest my pale hand over his tanned one. “Fadil wouldn’t betray the pharaohs. And even if he’d consider it, you said so yourself, he’s no longer able to.”

His eyes lingeringly sweep over me. “What if you could be freed?” His words catch me off guard, and I start to shake my head, but he continues. “This is me, Star. Don’t do this. I know you must have thought of it at some point. All Kythan must have. What if Fadil—whether in betrayal to the Ptolemies or not—gave Octavian the knowledge to create a race with no true binds. What could that mean for your kind? I could forgive this betrayal if he believed what he’s done was in service to the gods. I could forgive it if it means there’s a way for you to be—”

“Stop.” His gaze penetrates mine, and I look away. “I only want to serve my masters and Egypt, Xarion.” I take a breath. “I’ve never allowed myself to consider such a thing because our slavery is as old as time itself. The Kythan were born into servitude. It’s all I know. It’s all that has ever been.” I look up at him. “Why torture myself with thoughts that will never be?”

His lips part, his eyes flicker in the dim light. “I would set you free,” he says slowly, tension lacing each word.

“Xarion . . . don’t.”

His brows pull together. “I’ll demand for Fadil to tell me how.”

“And what of Phoenix? And Lunia? And the rest of the guardians?” I widen my eyes.

He opens his mouth, but the words don’t come.

“You’d free them all—all Kythan? Who would guard Egypt and her kings and queens? Don’t presume to know better than centuries of kings who came before you, Xarion. Even the great Alexander knew the importance of slaves.”

He releases a heavy breath, his grip tightening on my hand. “Would you give up your friends? Would you trade a long, nearly immortal life of servitude in exchange for a short one . . . with me?”

I tuck in my chin, avoiding his hard stare, and scan the tome on the table. “My answer doesn’t matter, since it’s a question I’ll never have to seriously consider. Fadil wasn’t responsible for this. He can’t free—”

“I would give up my crown if it meant finding a way to free you, Star.” He releases my hand. “But you have to
want
that freedom. Not fear it.”

Before my eyes can find his, Xarion bounds up from his stool and stalks into the stacks. I know he loves me as a friend—we’ve been friends since birth. But is he admitting in his own Xarion way that he has deeper feelings for me?

I shut my tome, and the sound of the text closing on my thoughts booms through the Library as loud as the thumping of my heart.

Chapter Seven

W
eeks pass, and then
months. The Leymak haven’t shown themselves again since that battle in the red land. The barrier continues to keep the city safe, but there’s still fear of their return. Their existence lurks in Alexandria, like a demon that travels through the aether undetected. Octavian’s legions continue to move in from the sea. They group in surrounding cities and towns, making their presence known, but never attacking.

Little word comes from across the Mediterranean. The Council attempts to lift the citizens’ spirits with more festivals and celebrations, rejoicing in the immortal ones blessing our queen in her war against the Romans. But if she and Antonius don’t return soon with victory in their sails, then I fear for the whole of Alexandria.

I fear for Xarion.

Phoenix and Lunia stay with the royal children, guarding them and escorting them to their classes in the Library. Everyone grows restless, and even the beds of Kythan girls can’t seem to satiate Phoenix these days. He’s become edgy, and bickers with me even though we’ve rarely fought, ever.

I wish the Leymak would have never waged that battle. They’ve become a dark shadow, a dream. A phantom that haunts our minds, rearing only to cast doubt. I’m starting to wonder if Candra actually spoke to me through the aether, or whether it was my imagination.

I never told Fadil or the others what she voiced that day in the desert. Even if Xarion would release me from the command, everyone is so anxious that I don’t want to add another crack in the already crumbling foundation of our land.

It feels as if we’re suspended in the shadow realm, Osiris breathing down our necks as we hover at the entrance to the underworld. When Cleopatra returns, then the world will return with her. Everyone will celebrate and Xarion will marry and become King. We just have to hold the city together until then. Even if thinking of Xarion’s pending marital obligation weighs on my soul, I push forward, my mind focused on my duty.

Xarion spends his days training with weapons and studying old musty scrolls. He’s spoken to me very little, and hasn’t mentioned freeing my binds since that day in the Library. No, that’s not entirely true. He did try once more to coax an answer from me during a dinner where he had nearly a whole wineskin to himself.

Refusing to discuss the matter while he was intoxicated, I ignored his attempts, especially after he began debating the fact that he was drunk. It was infuriating. Can’t he see how difficult it is for me even to consider? Furious, he stormed off, and that was the last we’ve spoken of my binds. He’s been distant since, and it pains me that things have changed so much between us. I wish I could simply jump on his back and tackle him like when we were kids, but instead, I stand off to his side, silent, while he trains to become King.

I can’t fathom what giving him an answer would accomplish, other than making me more aware of the fact I can never be free—I can never truly
be
with Xarion.

It feels cruel to admit that my feelings run deeper than friendship for him. But if I’m completely honest, they always have. I was foolish to think I could continue to hide my feelings, even from myself. He claims I won’t answer him because I’m afraid. Afraid to consider what I could do with a free life—one not bound to his. But that, for me, is the real fear. I’ve never thought of us apart. It terrifies me. Maybe my binds to him is my crutch.

Regardless, any thoughts or action hinting toward my feelings is dangerous. If the Council ever suspected something physical happened between us—

I can’t allow my thoughts to wander there. Pharaohs do not have romantic relationships with their Kythan slaves. I’d be put to death and Xarion would be ostracized, considered lower than swineherds.

If our situation grows morbid, I’ll ask Fadil to place me under someone else—to be given a new charge. I’ll never be able
not
to guard Xarion, as I’ll always worry for his safety; it’s in my blood to protect him. But I feel this complication is hindering him more than my guarding him is helping. I pray it doesn’t come to that.

Tonight is the twins’ birthday celebration, and I sit on my balcony, finishing Helios’s present. My hands spark blue, infusing fresh sand with a white-blue current as I transform the matter into liquefied glass. I pull up with my cupped hands, shaping the glass into a tall vase.

“Are you ready?” Phoenix’s voice comes from the inside of my room.

I finish the lip, then set the vase on the stone to cool next to Selene’s purple and silver infused glass bracelet. “I just need to change,” I say, standing and wiping off my hands on my work tunic. “I’ll be ready soon.”

As I pass Phoenix, I note the scowl on his beautiful face. “Why aren’t you with the twins? What’s wrong?”

He brightens, but his happy features are forced. He adjusts his khopesh beneath his sash and straightens his back. “They’re with Lunia and Nuri. I was sent to capture you, and drag you to the theatre if I must.” He smirks. “Oh, please be difficult. It’s been a while since my last romp, and I’m sorely in need of some foreplay.”

And suddenly, I’m less concerned about his feelings. I roll my eyes and close the heavy linen curtain of my dressing room to change. “What is Lunia wearing?”

“The same as always,” he says distractedly, like he’s looking something over in my room. “Something tawdry to lure unsuspecting Shythe to her bed.”

I laugh. “Then I’ll wear my usual.”

“Something prude and ill-fitting to deter unsuspecting Shythe from yours?”

“Pig,” I mutter, and hear his dark laugh.

“Star?”

“Yes, Phoenix.” I tie my sash, drawing the belt tightly around my middle, the pleats of my cream shift folded shapely against my skin. Then I pull back my curtain. Phoenix is sitting on the corner of my bed, his face buried in his palm. A dull red snakes up his forearm. His Flame is faint, but reveals his emotions.

Narcos are far from even-tempered. Any and every emotion is heated, like their power. His dim light conveys that he’s worried, though to the average human he may seem angry.

Looking up, his lips part, but he only plants his face in his palms again. “What is it? Just tell me,” I say, moving to his side and resting my hand on his toned thigh.

He raises his head and stares at the wall. His dark hair falls over his ears, their pointed tips peeking through. “Have you spoken to Fadil lately?”

I shake my head.

“I’m not sure I should say anything, but it’s been—” He breaks off. A muscle in his jaw jumps against his skin. “Fadil told me that the Leymak are not bound to their creator, to Octavian.”

My stomach sinks. “How does he know this?”

“Fadil claims Isis spoke to him through a priestess. That she revealed Octavian had commanded the Leymak into existence with a sacred relic of Set”—my mind flashes to the macehead I discovered in the Library—“but because he didn’t perform the creation ritual properly, they’re only aiding him in this war. They are not slaves, not like the Narcolym and Shythe are.” He turns his head toward me. A haunted look simmers in his eyes. “Octavian has offered the Leymak high ranks among his legions and land in Rome. He pays for their service, and they fight battles for him. They are rewarded, Star.”

A pang hits my chest. I bite down on my bottom lip, searching for the right words to calm Phoenix. Knowledge of Kythan able to live freely among men, with no binds to command their power—is dangerous. Why would Fadil reveal this information to him? To any Kythan? But especially a Narco. Of the two races, Narcos despise their slavery the most, as it goes against their free nature—the nature of the sun god Ra whose flame is free to burn at will.

I remind myself this is Phoenix. Even though he’s a Narco, he’s first my friend.

Phoenix shakes his head. “Never mind.” He laughs darkly. “I forget the Shythe are content worshiping their masters. Like Alexander proclaimed, you’re above us—created from Zeus himself—part the great Alexander’s legacy. Of course the superior Shythe are happy.”

Blowing out a tense breath, I select my words carefully. “You know I don’t believe in that nonsense.” And I don’t. I respect the late Alexander, but his claims are as farfetched as his mother’s—declaring him to be the son of Zeus after she was struck by lightning while pregnant. “And besides, wasn’t it Alexander who said the Narcolym were descended from Apollo? Don’t forget
that,
oh, descendant of the great sun god.”

He laughs, and the sound loosens the vise gripping my chest. “I love how they put down the Romans and their beliefs, yet they are just like them, twisting everything to meet their needs for their gods.”

I comb my fingers through his hair. “You’re right. They all twist our ancestry to meet their needs of worship. It’s been the way of it. Even the legend of Osiris has changed through the centuries to fit the peoples’ needs.” I take a breath, gaining my ground. “But we know the truth. Though slaves, we’re our own beings, special—not like them. That is why they try to put divine claim to us. They fear what they cannot understand; something created from the magics.”

His eyes hold mine. “Set was evil until his power was used to create us.” The fire pit in the corner crackles. The room freezes with the sound. “Does that mean we’re evil? Does that mean because the Ptolemies believe Octavian is evil, that the Leymak are evil? What is evil? If you ask me”—he lifts his chin—“evil is humans taking power from their gods to create slave races to fight their wars. Maybe Fadil is right. Maybe it’s time for the slaves to take a stand and cleanse Egypt of the evilness of man.”

I bound up, looking around my chamber as if I can pluck his words from the air and hide them. “I’ll forget you said that, Phoenix. Those words were never uttered.” I turn and start toward the door, shivers crawling along my skin.

“Star,” he calls, and I halt just outside my room. His footsteps bring him close, the warmth of his body—his power—presses against my back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m behaving so. It’s never bothered me before.”