by Tula Neal
“You know you cannot stay with her,” he said, firmly. “You belong with me now. If necessary, I will abduct you again as I did before.”
She gave him a ferocious glare.
“I’d rather have you in my life, angry, than not have you at all.” He grinned. “Anyway, you will not be able to remain angry at me for long. I’ll not let you.” He jumped up, pulled her to her feet, and swung her into his arms. How light she felt, how right, as right as the weight of the knife at his waist, a pressure both familiar and comforting. “Imi, you are mine, now and forever.”
Her eyes widened, and she looked about to argue, so he kissed her. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Just let it be.” He carried her to the bed, his desire for her unfolding inside him like a scarlet rose.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, his breathing growing ragged. He pulled aside her robe and undid the brooches holding her tunic together. Her body glimmered ebony in the lamplight. He bent reverently and kissed her nipples, swirling his tongue around one, then the other. The nipples puckered, and the flesh hardened instantly. He breathed in deeply. She smelled of amber and sandalwood. In a dream the night before, she had come to him naked, smiling, her scent like a heady cloud about her, and when he touched her between her legs, her moisture silkened his fingers. The memory almost made him spend. He had to close his eyes and will himself to calm.
He sucked her nipple and stroked the soft skin of her other breast. She murmured and shifted under him, opening her legs in an unspoken invitation, her hands moving over his hair. Seleucus drew a trembling breath and pushed himself down on the bed. He pressed a trail of kisses on her belly, at the place where a thin line of fine hair led to the curly, coarser hair of her pussy. He smoothed the hair down and circled her clit softly, slowly. She quivered, hummed deep in her throat. He marveled at her pussy. How pretty it was, like a flower. He dipped his head and pressed a quick kiss to her clit, tasted her with his tongue. She arched her back, and he slipped a finger inside her. She was wet already, just like in his dream.
She grunted softly, and he smiled to himself. She might have made an oath to her goddess, but she liked this, liked the feel of something hard sliding into her secret parts. She grunted again, and he kissed her inner thighs. Her smell was different here, stronger, more intense, filling his senses. Her clit was swollen now and reddened. Imi pushed her legs further apart, offering herself to him.
He looked at her in the lamplight, her secret place completely bared to him. She was staring at him with a wild, hungry look in her eyes, her lips parted, and her breasts rising and falling with her heightened breaths.
Seleucus bent. He kissed her pussy, an open–mouthed kiss, closing his eyes to inhale her scent, giving himself up to the feel of her under his mouth. She lifted her legs, rested her ankles on his shoulders, her knees splayed. Seleucus dipped his finger in her secretions and sought her back hole as he curled his tongue around her clit. He heard her surprised gasp and waited to see if she would make him stop, but she didn’t. Carefully, gently, he thrust his finger in and out of her tight little anus while licking and sucking her. Imi’s breaths became quicker, shallower. Her body shook, shook again. She drew her legs together, imprisoning his head between her thighs. Under his tongue her clit jumped.
“Seleucus. Ah.” Her body contorted, held it, then sagged to the bed. Seleucus kissed her again between her thighs then pushed himself up to hold her in his arms.
Chapter Ten
The wind whipped Imi’s hair around her face as she stood at the helm, her eyes narrowed and focused on Ephesus.
“In a very little while, you will be home,” Seleucus said, behind her.
“No,” she responded fiercely. “Alexandria is my home. Alexandria.” Her breath caught on the name. Soon the relics would be in Arsinoe’s possession and nobody could gainsay her right to rule. Yet, uncertainty remained. If more of Egypt’s priests rallied to her cause and if, once persuaded, they could, in turn, sway the generals who backed Cleopatra, the United Lands would once again be Arsinoe’s. If. Such a small word to have such huge consequences. But Arsinoe’s victory would mean Imi’s own exile would end and she could go back home.
Alexandria. Her memories of the city fell on her like rain in winter, sharp and stinging. The cries of the water sellers in the streets, the scent of the spices her mother liked to use in her cooking, the soft splash of water in their courtyard fountain and, above all, the faces of her family.
“You will see it again, my love.” Seleucus wrapped his arms around her, and she turned to lean into his solid presence, taking comfort from the feel of his hard body, burrowing into his chest.
“Arsinoe will defeat her. You think so, too, don’t you?”
“For your sake, I hope so. You are loyal, and I admire that, but, at some point, you must consider your own life. Will you always defer your own dreams to follow another’s?”
Imi closed her eyes and didn’t answer. She would have liked to have stayed there forever, held tightly against him, inhaling his musky, salty scent. Safe.
“Look at that.”
Seleucus straightened, and Imi opened her eyes. He was staring in the direction of the harbor, shading his eyes to get a better view.
“What?” Imi turned to look.
They had drawn closer to Ephesus, and now she could make out the sails of scores of ships.
“Roman,” Seleucus said, tersely.
Imi’s throat dried.
“Marc Antony?” she whispered.
“It could be no one else.”
A grim silence descended on the pirate ship. If a Roman saw them, recognized them for what they were, and gave the alarm, they might not escape. The men knew they could expect no mercy from any Roman general, much less Marc Antony whose hostilities with Octavian appeared to have left him with little mercy for other enemies.
The pirate ship threaded its way past the quadremes, quinqueremes, and even bigger warships. Imi’s eyes widened as she realized their decks were empty except for a few sailors on each.
“They are ashore,” she whispered to Seleucus.
He nodded.
“He has gone to Arsinoe.” Imi’s knees felt weak. A thousand possibilities flashed through her mind, none of them good.
“Calm yourself. Perhaps he has come to treat with her, to make her an offer of peace.” He suggested it more to reassure her than because he believed it himself. Would the Roman have come so heavily armed if he meant the princess and her supporters no harm?
“She will accept no offer that does not involve the return of the throne of Egypt.”
Seleucus did not respond to this. Both Imi and her princess had lost so much in the last few years. Had Marc Antony come to take away more or would he find compassion in his heart for the proud, young girl who wanted back the kingdom his lover ruled? Seleucus had his misgivings. A man would do much for the woman he loved, and it was said Marc Antony was mad for the Egyptian queen. He had turned his back on his powerful Roman wife, Octavia, risking the wrath of many Romans. What more might he not do for the Egyptian?
Seleucus had his men secure the ship as close to the wharf as possible. He selected six to accompany him on shore and whispered quietly to them for a few minutes before allowing them to change their clothing.
Imi simmered with impatience, but soon enough they were being rowed ashore by one of the few lightermen around, a man who resisted all attempts at conversation, frustrating Seleucus’s attempts to learn more about the situation in the city. At the wharf, there were few people about on shore, which surprised Seleucus, for Ephesians were not known to stop their commerce for anything.
“Are there stables nearby where we can rent horses?” he asked Imi. It had been a couple years since he had been to Ephesus.
Imi nodded, her eyes dark and distracted.
At the stable, the horse owner confirmed their fears.
“Marc Antony’s gone off to see the Egyptian princess, and, what do you know, but all Ephesus has cl
osed up shop and followed him,” the man said as he waved Seleucus to his horses. “Even my boys. I told them to stay here, but as soon as I turned my back, they were gone like the rest, and who knows when they’ll return? Lazy good–for–nothings!”
“Do you . . .” Imi’s voice came out high and squeaky. She cleared her throat and tried again. “What does Marc Antony want with her? With the princess?”
“Artemis curse me if I know.” The horseman shot her a shrewd look. “But it is said that he summoned her to his ship and she refused. Knew better than to leave the sanctuary. Twice the Roman went there, and twice the priests turned him away. So, today he has taken his army with him and is in a foul mood from all one hears.”
Imi gave a little cry. They had to hurry.
“I think I would stay away from the temple today, little lady,” the horseman added. “It will not be a good place for an Egyptian, especially not one connected with her.” He made a small sign, and Imi knew him for a devotee of Isis.
She inclined her head. “Thank you for the warning.”
“You will ignore it?”
“I have no choice. I would dishonor myself and my family if I let Arsinoe down in her hour of need.”
The horseman shrugged.
During their conversation, Seleucus had selected eight of the best horses. Silver exchanged hands. In minutes, the small group was thundering down the avenue that led straight into the heart of the city. Imi could have taken them around along the shoreline, but the avenue was wide and well–paved. They could make better time this way. The horse Seleucus had chosen for her was a good one, strong and powerful, and she gave him free rein. Seleucus allowed her a slight lead, but she could feel him near her flank, shadowing her.
At the Great Theatre, the riders made a sharp right and headed down the Artemisium, the road that led directly to the temple. Imi was glad the road was almost empty, because they could go faster, but her fear was a congealed lump in her chest. Her thoughts were a soundless prayer.
In front of her, on either side, stretched a row of tall cypresses, green and indifferent in the morning sun. Imi sneezed as the dust from the road rose around them. Her eyes watered. They were more than halfway to the temple now and the road began to thicken with people again. First a mere handful then swelling, so that by the time they had arrived at one of the entrances to the grand plaza in front of the temple, Imi was not surprised by the huge crowd gathered there. So many people. Ephesians had taken to the small, slight Arsinoe and had treated her and her small retinue with kindness. She was their most famous guest, but now one whose name resounded through the world had come to see her, and they wanted to bear witness to history.
Unable to go any further on horseback, Seleucus dismounted and helped her down. He and the other men tied the horses up. Seleucus tossed a coin at a nearby boy to look after them until their return. Two centurions nearby looked their way, their gaze taking them in from head to foot before they turned to each other and whispered.
“Do you see what Marc Antony has done?” Seleucus asked.
Imi rose on tiptoes to look around. There were centurions in the crowd, but she glimpsed many others on the outskirts of the plaza. Their eyes watchful, their helmets glinting in the sun.
“See, he has circled the plaza with them. It looks casual—”
“But it isn’t,” Imi finished. “I must get to my lady. She will want me.”
Seleucus nodded at his men, signaling them to follow, but at some distance, so they aroused no suspicion.
At the front of the crowd there was a collective gasp. A cry went up. “Look, the princess.” Imi craned her neck as she pushed ahead. Arsinoe had walked out from between the temple’s pillars. Three priests and two priestesses hovered anxiously around her slight form. The princess had always been slender, but the years of her exile had brought her to thinness, though she remained as graceful and lovely as ever.
The people in the plaza surged toward the temple. Seleucus grabbed Imi’s arm.
“Stay close to me,” he murmured in her ear.
Imi wanted to shout to Arsinoe that she was there, that she had the relics, but there was too much noise, so the princess would never hear her. Seleucus had come to a standstill. The crowd was so thick he couldn’t pass. Imi could have wept with frustration. A hush fell over the crowd. Imi craned her head and saw a tall man in Roman armor mounting the temple steps.
“Marc Antony,” Seleucus said.
“I must . . .” She tried to push between two solidly built women in the rich robes of merchant’s wives.
“No, wait.” Seleucus pulled her back. “Listen.”
“Daughter of Ptolemy,” Marc Antony was saying. He had a harsh voice that carried easily.
Arsinoe inclined her head. As the rightful queen of Egypt, she was also the incarnation of the goddess on Earth and need make obeisance to no one. Even the humiliation she had suffered in Rome had not robbed her of her natural dignity.
“In the name of the Great Mother, I greet you, Marc Antony.” Her own voice was high and light, but he had reached her now and she had to tilt her head to look up at him. Imi was awed by how the Roman towered over Arsinoe, who seemed even more frail and vulnerable by contrast.
“It is claimed that you still conspire to overthrow the queen of Egypt.” The crowd murmured. Imi heard a man say to another “his whore” but he said it quietly, turning his body so that no centurion could hear him.
“How can that be so?” Arsinoe asked, her voice tinged with contempt and disdain.
“You deny it?”
“Of course I deny it. How can I look to my own overthrow?” Her eyes ranged over the crowd.
“What?” Marc Antony was clearly confused, and Imi thought of what she’d heard of him, that he was not the quickest of men, but loyal and honorable according to his own lights.
“I am the queen of Egypt,” Arsinoe said, her tone triumphant. The crowd cheered and clapped their support for her.
“I, and no other.” The cheers got louder, and she raised her voice to be heard. “The whore who sits on it now is the usurper. I am the anointed of the gods of Egypt. Join me, Marc Antony. Join me, and you will not regret it.” Tears stung Imi’s eyes. She had never been prouder of her mistress than she was at that moment.
Marc Antony stared at Arsinoe, and, for a moment, he seemed sad.
“You will not renounce your claim to the throne of the United Lands?”
“I cannot, for the goddess, the Mother of Egypt herself, chose me.”
“It is for you to choose. Do you renounce your claim and pledge to live in peace with your royal sister?”
“Cleopatra chose war. She took my throne and my kingdom. Mine by right. Why do you not ask her to renounce the throne which she stole?”
Marc Antony passed a hand across his forehead.
“That is not for me to do,” he said patiently, as if explaining something to a child. “I ask you . . . I beg you to reconsider. Renounce your claim now and live in peace.”
Arsinoe drew herself up, her chin jutted.
“I renounce nothing,” she said but her voice broke on the last word and she stepped back as if she knew what was coming.
“By order of the queen of Egypt and by the powers vested in me, I sentence you, Arsinoe Ptolemy, to death.” He drew his sword. Imi heard a shrill, high scream, realized she was the one who’d screamed. A thunder clap sounded over the temple. In the next minute, the sun vanished. In the sudden darkness, a shaft of light shone down on the temple. It appeared to radiate from a dark–skinned woman of piercing beauty, dressed in the Egyptian style in near–transparent robes, who suddenly appeared on the steps. A great pair of wings unfolded at her shoulders, the feathers shifting in color through iridescent blues to the shade of blood.
“Isis,” breathed Imi. Beside her, Seleucus stared open–mouthed.
Almost immediately, forms flickered and wavered beside Marc Antony, materializing from the air. A stocky, clean shaven man and a statuesqu
e woman in Roman robes. Their intent gazes were fixed on Marc Antony. His sword arm rose. Imi expected Isis to stop him, but, instead, her expression unutterably sad, she turned to Arsinoe and held her arms out. The sword descended. A gasp shot through the crowd. But even as unfeeling steel cut through tissue and bone, Arsinoe or the spirit of what had once been Arsinoe stepped forward, unscathed, and was gathered into the Egyptian goddess’s arms. They vanished, and the Roman gods with them. The sun shone out again. Marc Antony looked stunned, his mouth open, his expression incredulous. Arsinoe’s body lay awkwardly crumpled, her blood pooling around the Roman’s feet. Beside Imi, a young woman retched while another sobbed loudly.
“He’s killed her.” Another shouted: “The Roman has killed her. Blasphemy!” The people had been as still as pond water during the visitation of the gods, but now they roused themselves. It did not take them long to change the tenor of their shouts. “Get him.” Then “kill the blasphemer!”
Again, they surged forward, but Marc Antony’s centurions were suddenly there, in a protective line across the front of the temple steps. The plaza erupted in turmoil as people vented their feelings against the Roman general. Fights broke out here and there through the crowd.
A squadron of centurions hustled Marc Antony into the temple’s precincts.
“Come.” Seleucus grabbed Imi by the elbow and turned to maneuver her back through the crowd to their horses.
“No . . . I . . .” She struggled to release herself. Arsinoe was dead. How could it be? She had brought the relics. She had them with her. It was what Arsinoe had wanted. Imi had done what was asked of her. How could Arsinoe be dead? How could he have killed her? The reality of it struck her hard, and she let out a long, animal howl. If Seleucus had not picked her up right then, she would have fallen to the ground and been trampled under the feet of the maddened Ephesians. A centurion tried to block their way, but one of the pirates thrust his knife into the man’s stomach. They raced to the horses. Seleucus hauled Imi up in front of him and wheeled around to grab the reins of her horse.
