“Life isn’t a tragedy,” Alexander said, nodding.
“I wouldn’t call it a comedy,” Tiberius countered, his voice dark.
“Of course not,” Antyllus told them all. “It’s an adventure. An epic, grand one, if you’re willing to make it one. Selene, I don’t suppose you know anything that would make the journeys we all must set off on soon sound that much more exciting?”
Life isn’t an epic, Selene thought, her eyes still burning. It’s not even an ode. But she picked out a spritely enough tune, one that reminded her of flowing water and birdsong. And the music carried her with it for once. Did its work, and lightened her mood, not just that of her audience. She smiled with it, carrying on into a third song, and a fourth, and then looked up, realizing that the servants were clearing away the remains of stewed apricots and the last of the wine. And that a room full of people was smiling at her.
Caesarion called over, “It’s good to see you smile, sister. I’d like to see that expression more often.”
Of course, his words made her expression fade, and wide-eyed, she lowered her head and prepared to scuttle away. But Tiberius sat up and lightly took her hand in his, startling her. “You’ve played that second one before,” he said, his eyes bright. “It always lightens my spirits. Thank you.” He paused. “Could I have a word with you before you retire for the evening?” he asked.
Such a request was so unprecedented that Selene actually looked up in confusion before nodding, her brows crinkling slightly in apprehension. Thereby missing the glance that Antyllus sent in Caesarion’s direction, and her brother’s nod in response. “I must go shortly, too,” Antyllus put in, standing and offering Selene his hand in turn. “Before I go, I’d like to discuss something with you, myself.”
She wasn’t really sure why Antyllus and Tiberius exchanged a look, Tiberius’ dark, and Antyllus’ a rather fierce grin. But she suspected she knew what the subject Antyllus had in mind would be, and sighed. Might as well get it over with, Selene thought, with most of the enthusiasm she’d have reserved for attending a public execution. The expectant gazes of her siblings felt like spiders crawling over her skin—the stares tickled, with an attendant mortal dread of being bitten.
So she allowed herself to be drawn out of the room and out into the chilly atrium, where the fountains burbled, even in Ianuarius, and oil lamps flickered on the pillars, adding a hint of amber light to the scene. Set her kithara down on one of the benches, and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ward off the cold, after the warmth and light of the triclinium. Miserably aware that anyone could be watching them even now. “Here, you’re shivering,” Antyllus said in a tone of surprise, and rubbed his hands up and down her exposed arms lightly. “I don’t have your sister’s gift for fire, unfortunately. And I can’t really take you into one of the other rooms, warmer though that would be,” he added dryly. “A woman’s reputation is a delicate thing in Rome. We have to stay in sight of others while I’m talking with you.”
She nodded uneasily, looking at his hands as they came to rest for a moment on her elbows. Surprisingly warm, really. And then he lifted one of his hands and caught her chin lightly, lifting her face. “I’d enjoy being able to see your eyes and expression as we talk,” Antyllus told her, smiling. “Lets a man know where he stands.”
Selene swallowed, then nodded again. Nothing he’d done yet felt threatening. But she knew what was coming and couldn’t stop the words that were sure to come from his lips soon.
“Do you know why I’m here tonight?”
She closed her eyes, since she couldn’t look down with her chin so gently held. And the words tumbled out of her own lips, without conscious volition, and as rapidly as possible: “Because my mother and your father have it in their heads that they want a grandchild and because your marrying me would be politically advantageous to your family and because I’ve become inconvenient to my family so they have to get rid of me.”
She knew that last was unfair even as she said it. Her siblings were going out of their way to show their support. But unfair or not, there was a bit of truth in it. She was an inconvenience.
Antyllus bit off half a truncated barracks oath, and her eyes snapped open in surprise. She’d never seen that much anger cross his face before. “Selene,” he said, taking her by the arm and pulling her down onto a bench beside him, before shifting his grip to her hands instead. “First . . . I’ll admit that my father’s pressed for a match over the years. First with Eurydice, which I didn’t take all that seriously—I could see that her heart was taken, though not by whom.” Half amused, half sour, that. “And then, yes, with you. I passed on mentions of it to your brother when my father pressed, and nothing more. What kind of a man do you think I am, that I’d blindly follow my father’s orders in marriage, if I didn’t think there was at least a chance of my own happiness in it?” He snorted, but it wasn’t an angry sound. “Then again, while you’ve lived in my father’s house during the campaign season on and off for the last several years, the instant Caesarion and Eurydice return, you’ve already packed and left. That hasn’t really given you a chance to know me at all, let alone the sort of man I am, has it?”
Selene swallowed again, and shook her head minutely. Antyllus looked at her, shaking his head. “And you’ve left as early as possible each time specifically because your mother’s mentioned this possibility?”
Oh, gods, how do I answer that without offending him? “Ah, well, not specifically,” Selene mumbled, trying to look away at the same time as giving him the eye contact he’d requested.
He sighed. “Can I make one small request of you? Would it be possible for you to forget that your mother has ever even mentioned my name? I hate to think that you think I’m a monster solely because Cleopatra handles you like a queen handles her subjects, and not at all as a mother should treat her daughter.”
Struck, Selene looked up at him. “Oh, it’s not. . . I mean, yes, that probably—“ she sighed. “I don’t think you’re a monster. I don’t. . . I don’t hate you.” She shook her head slightly, rattled. “You’ve been . . . very kind.”
“Ah, good.” His tone was wry. “When you come to ask a pretty girl to marry you, it’s a relief to hear that she doesn’t hate you.”
She winced, going completely still. Her hands still clasped loosely in his, she tried to edge away slightly. Antyllus looked down at their hands, and asked, gently, “So if you don’t hate me, why does the thought distress you so much?”
Selene’s eyes burned once more. This day simply won’t end, she thought, despairingly. He’s actually very kind. He makes everyone laugh. Even me, when I didn’t think I could laugh tonight. He’d be a perfectly nice person to marry if I weren’t already in love, and if Mother wasn’t pushing it so. What will it take to make this stop?
Nothing but the truth would do it. And once spoken, that truth would absolutely ensure that Antyllus would never come back again. He’d remove the warmth of his hands from hers, and there would be an end.
That thought left her feeling emptier than it should have.
“It wouldn’t be proper to marry you,” Selene said, dully, and once she started, she went on with a sort of dogged determination. “I’ve had feelings for someone else for . . . almost three years.”
Antyllus’ eyebrows shot up, and he sat up a little straighter, taking his hands back from hers, as she’d known he would. “Caesarion and Eurydice never said a word of that to me—“
“They don’t know,” Selene told him, shrugging. “I’ve never told anyone.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “Why not? They’re not monsters, you know. If you have a preference, why haven’t you told them? They could make arrangements—“
“He’s betrothed already—“
“Betrothals can be broken.”
“And in love with someone else. So it doesn’t matter.” She looked away.
There was a distinct pause. “He’s betrothed and in love with someone other than his b
etrothed?” Antyllus asked, his voice sharp and a little angry. “He doesn’t sound like a man of honor.”
“He’s one of the most honorable people I know,” Selene replied indignantly, and then put a hand over her face. He is. That’s just the problem.
“And you’ve never even told him how you feel?” Antyllus asked. She could hear the frown in his voice.
“Of course not. What good would that do?” Her voice was wretched, and then she shook her head, feeling the tears burn in her eyes once more. “It doesn’t matter.”
To her great surprise, she felt him take her free hand in his once more. “If it doesn’t matter, then. . . does it matter?” he asked her, his voice suddenly both gentle and pragmatic at once, and she let her fingers slide from her face to look up at him in confusion. “If you don’t think you can ever marry him, why not marry me?”
“Because it wouldn’t be fair to you,” Selene replied, baffled by his reaction. In fact, she thought he might even be smiling a little, his dark eyes amused. “It’s not right to marry someone if you can’t give them your heart. If I’m in love with someone else, it’s . . . how could I ever love you?” That last came out as a rush. “And you’d be . . . jealous and suspicious and . . . that usually leads to bad things.” Usually tragedy, she thought, her heart beating rapidly under her ribs.
He picked up one of her hands lightly in his, and kissed the palm, shocking her. Then placed her hand directly over his heart, holding it there lightly, almost companionably. “This heart, right here,” Antyllus told her lightly, “is currently unused. Unoccupied. Has only had one owner—me. It’s yours if you want it, because I think that I could grow very fond of you, given the opportunity. You’re honest, kind, and would bring music to my life, which I could definitely use more of.” He smiled faintly. “And given a chance? I would do my best to ensure that within a year of marrying you, you wouldn’t even remember the name of this paltry fellow that you think you’re in love with.” A wicked smile, lighting up his eyes, gentling immediately as she stiffened a little in alarm. “If you haven’t even spoken with him about your feelings, I doubt you’ve kissed him or held his hand, either. I don’t think I’d have much cause for jealousy.”
Selene felt as if she were about to swallow her own tongue. “Poets say women are very inconstant,” she said, almost accusingly. “If I suddenly turned around and fell out of love with him, and into love with you, you’d always wonder if I were fickle and disloyal at heart—“
Antyllus laughed outright at that. “Not at all. I’d think that you were young when you first felt an admiration for someone. Were amazingly loyal to someone patently undeserving of your regard. And that, if you did love me, that Fortuna had smiled on me, and I’d been lucky enough to grab her by the forelock before she scarpered off.” He leaned forward, still holding her hand to his heart, and to her great surprise, kissed her. Light. Undemanding. Faint roughness of incipient beard against her lips and cheeks. But all the warmth in the world, seeping through her
“You can’t do that,” she whispered in shock as he pulled back. “We’re not betrothed—“
A quick, wicked grin. “I wanted you to know what it felt like,” he told her, raising his eyebrows. “It’s a lot better in reality than in dreams.”
Stung, Selene bit her lip, looking away. And he caught her face lightly, turning her back towards him. “That wasn’t meant to hurt,” Antyllus told her, frowning. “I’m sorry.” He sighed. “You don’t have to say yes or no immediately,” he added, his eyes searching her face. “In fact, I’d be willing to go with you and Eurydice and Caesarion to Egypt. To give you a chance to know me, instead of this . . . shadow your mother has turned me into, in your mind. I was being truthful earlier—I’ve always wanted to go there.”
“And if I tell you no, you’ll have traveled all the way to Egypt for nothing,” Selene said, swallowing. Trying to make her mind stop racing in circles.
He chuckled. “Ah, but from Egypt, it’s just a skip to Syria, really. A little further north, and I’m practically in Scythia, and I can try to find bowyers willing to bring their art to Rome. Or at least, to sell me every bow they have in their possession. So even if you tell me no, it won’t be a wasted trip. Hardly out of my way at all, when you think about it.” He nodded to himself in blatantly feigned cheerful pragmatism.
And to Selene’s great surprise, she felt a smile creep across her face, and a laugh to her lips.
He left after that, and she picked up her kithara, thinking hard as she headed back into the warmer rooms of the house, looking forward to finding her room, undressing, and being able to close her eyes on this wretched, horrible day. But a shadow detached itself from one of the pillars alongside the atrium, and Tiberius fell in step beside her, and she almost dropped her instrument in shock. He reached out, catching it as it slipped from her hands. “Oh, gods,” she whispered. “How long have you been standing there?” Oh, no. He had to have seen Antyllus kiss me, and now he’ll think I’m a whore.
“Long enough,” Tiberius said, his voice sounding odd. “Come inside—it’s far too cold out. I have no idea what Antyllus was thinking, keeping you out here.” He tucked the kithara under one arm, and offered her his other, guiding her back into the now-deserted triclinium, still warm from the meal and the body-heat of the others. One lone brazier still burned here, staving off the chill that threatened to permeate the room as winter air stole in through the shuttered window to the peristylium. He settled the kithara on one of the couches, and looked at her in concern. “Are you tired?” Tiberius asked, his voice tentative. “I wanted to speak with you, but it . . . can wait.”
Selene blinked, rapidly. He’d occasionally teased her gently over the years. Had clearly enjoyed it when she played for him and Drusus, but had never specifically asked her to play for them. But seeking her out in this way? Never. “I . . . always have time to speak with you,” Selene said, her eyes flicking up and then down again. Wondering if the tight pain in her chest whenever she looked at him really was an illusion, the way Antyllus clearly thought it was. It feels real. It feels very real. Of course, I could just be a stupid girl with a foolish, useless heart.
Tiberius exhaled and gestured towards the couch, and she settled down beside him, still wondering what he’d seen and heard in the atrium. Maybe he’s about to tell me what horrible, unladylike behavior that was, not pulling away from Antyllus. Not slapping him for his forwardness. Maybe he’s about to tell me how ashamed he is of Alexander’s sister—
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Tiberius said quietly. “I was going to go to one of the guest rooms to wait until he’d finished speaking with you, but the stairs are on the other side of the atrium, and by the time I realized that he’d taken you out there in the cold, I couldn’t really sneak back inside without being seen and making everything that much more uncomfortable.” His cool gray eyes caught hers, and for once, she couldn’t look away at all.
He sighed, looking down at her. He’d seen over the years how her face changed when she played her music, but never more strikingly than tonight, when she’d glowed from within while striking notes from the kithara’s strings. “I should have asked you to play more often,” he murmured, lifting her hands in his. Lightly stroking his fingertips along the string callouses on her own. “I love listening to you play. It’s lightened my heart many times. But I never wanted to ask, because I didn’t want you to feel like a servant.”
“Oh, but I wouldn’t,” she said, her face and eyes suddenly shining. “I’ve always liked playing for you.” She looked down, feeling abashed at the admission, and doubt caught at her again. What’s infatuation, and what’s real love? Can they ever be the same thing?
He exhaled. “Alexander suggested this,” Tiberius told her, taking her hand in his and studying her face. She shared many of the same facial features as her brother, of course. The same dark hair, dark eyes, and skin like amber spread over ivory. But on her, the features were softened. Gentled. She had none of
Alexander’s buried anger at the world, and didn’t share his gifts in war or spycraft. But as had become obvious in the course of the past twelve hours, none of them really knew what gifts Selene really had. The music, yes. The memory, the gentility, the kindness. But what could she be, if someone actually allowed her to bloom? “But regardless of the source, it’s a good idea.” Tiberius paused. “I’ve no gift for pretty words, Selene. You know that. But . . . marry me. Antyllus is a good man, and a good friend of mine. But I already hold you in affection. You don’t have to wait for that to grow in my heart.”
Selene felt as if she’d just turned to stone. “What did you just say?” she asked, her hands shaking. I didn’t just hear that. This is a dream.
“I said, marry me,” Tiberius repeated patiently. “I don’t know who this idiot is who holds your heart, though I’d love to know his name just so I could go beat the honorless knave—“ he saw her raise her hands to try to stop his words, but continued, doggedly, “But you know that I’d never harm you. Never beat you. Never betray you.” He caught her eyes and held them, so she’d feel the sincerity of his words. “I’d do my best to make you happy, though the gods know they didn’t form me with a gift for giving others joy.” He smiled faintly, and then realized that tears had just overflowed her eyes. “Selene, what’s the matter?” He reached out and brushed the tears away with his thumbs, holding her face lightly, unsure of what to do or say to make whatever hurt it was, feel less.
Selene closed her eyes, unable to meet that bright gray stare. “It’s you,” she managed to choke out, her heart aching inside of her, and opened her eyes to see the flicker of shock cross his face. “It’s always been you.” Saying the words didn’t make her feel any better, strangely. She turned away, covering her eyes with her hands. This horrible day can just end now.
Tiberius caught her hands in his, pulling them away from her face, a knot forming in his chest. Oh, gods. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. “You’re . . . you have feelings for me?” he said, his voice sounding slightly dazed to his own ears. I’m the honorless piece of shit.
Children of Tiber and Nile Page 9
