His head slowly dips closer to mine. My eyes half close, my vision fuzzy. The warmth of his breath steals across my lips.
He halts.
“Star!”
My name comes to me through a cloudy haze, breaking through the warmth engulfing me. “Star—there you are.”
I blink my eyes open. Lunia hovers near Xarion’s shoulder, her brows raised. “Hey, Lunia.” My voice is not slurred, I swear.
She laughs, her dark braids sway against her pale shoulders. “You’re already drunk! I knew I should have left earlier.” She glances around. “Where did that masked Greek god run off to?”
And I notice that Xarion has sneaked away. I look toward the procession starting to form near the gardens and see his cape slip between two guardians. Lunia would have recognized him, so best he left, although I hate the cold chill settling over me in the absence of his warmth.
I shrug, then take her hand. “Come on. Let’s get ready for the procession.”
Chapter Six
After guzzling two full goblets of water, my head feels clearer. I doubt I drank enough of the red drink to completely dull my senses. I’m sure Xarion’s erotic dancing had more to do with it. But I can’t believe I nearly—
What? Nothing would have happened between us. It was only the spell of the feast cast over us. The lust-driven adrenaline of the dancing and drink fueling impulsive actions and thoughts. I’m thinking too much on it, as always.
“I don’t know how he managed to slip past me, the sneak,” Lunia says. She shakes her head as she spots Xarion—now unmasked and in his procession finery—seating himself in the litter. “He needs to stop being so stubborn.”
I smile. “Where are Selene and Helios? I don’t see them.” Glancing around, I search for the royal children. I’m sure Little Delphus has stayed with his nurse in the palace, as he’s too young to attend the feasts and processions.
Lunia points to where the twins are being ushered to the litter behind Xarion’s. Theirs is larger than his, because it seats more, but Xarion’s has a cabin with gold-leafed poles and a sheer curtain. He’s a pharaoh.
“This is their first royal outing,” Lunia whispers as we move past the line of guardians to find our places. “And I have to escort them to the palace directly afterward.” Her face pinches into a pout.
“They’re getting older by the day, Lunia,” I assure her. “And at least you enjoyed the feast earlier.”
“I did!” She twirls, her blue eyes glowing. “I may have even procured a secret meeting with a Shythe footman for later this evening.” She winks before sauntering toward her spot to guard over the twins.
I can’t help but roll my eyes as I find my station beside Xarion’s litter. Lunia is the female version of Phoenix, and she may even be worse. As if thinking of him can will him into existence, Phoenix takes his place opposite Lunia. He holds a spear at his side, its base flat against the granite street. Turning his head slightly, he tosses me a knowing smile.
I laugh and match his smug smile, but am impressed he sobered and escaped his mistresses. I face forward.
Surprisingly, I realize Lunia didn’t mention the Leymak encounter. She must have heard of it by now, as she’s always in the palace guarding the queen’s children. I’ll speak to her once I’m back at the palace. I’m curious if she feels the same as Phoenix. Their opinions are as important to me as Xarion’s. I need to speak with them on what the sorcerer said, too. I can’t be the only one to question our creator.
When the horn sounds, the bearers lift the carrying poles of the litters, and we walk. The Beta District glows, hanging lanterns and fires lighting the violet sky. Along the sides of the avenue, nobles and citizens and guardians stretch the length, all cheering and whooping for the royal family. Some climb date palms to get a better view, while others are seated on the flat rooftops.
The wild scent of perfumed flowers fills the air as white and red petals are tossed. They flutter, glittering as they catch the firelight before raining down. As the citizens’ praise rises, it’s difficult to imagine that I fought against a nearly indestructible enemy only hours before.
Peeking over at Xarion, I watch him wave with one hand, holding the crook and flail in his other. His golden pectoral glimmers against his bronze chest, the lapis lazuli and emeralds set in the collar catching the light. He wears the shendyt of a pharaoh wrapped around his waist, yet the red cape of the Romans to honor his late father; Julius Caesar. In simple, he’s beautiful.
Above, the Goddess Isis looks down on us from her marble dais, her sculpted stone illuminated with soft amber lighting. The statue reminds me that Xarion and his family are protected by the immortal ones. I look ahead, confident we’ll defeat the Leymak threat.
Egypt will stand against any enemy—human or divine. And the Romans are only human.
My head pounds. I squint and curse myself for giving in to the celebrating. Fighting my way out of my coverlet, I touch my toes to the chilled floor and push myself off the bed. I don’t even remember coming back to the palace last night. How did I get to my room?
I swear to never get drunk again.
After rinsing off in the water basin, I towel dry and lift my face toward the sea breeze drifting in through the open windows. A loud thud echoes from the courtyard outside, and I rush to the balcony. Xarion stands below, a bow outstretched in one hand, his other drawn back after loosing an arrow into a target.
“Why, Xarion . . .?” I shake my head, lowering my forehead into my palm.
I hear his deep chuckle. “Get dressed! We have a lot of work today, guardian.”
Cracking an eye open, I note he’s discarded his party attire from last night and has since donned his embroidered city robes. “There’s no way you’d go back to your chambers till afternoon, is there?” He shakes his head, a smile pulling the corners of his mouth up. “Of course not. I’ll be right down, Your Highness.”
Honestly, if I were any other guardian, I’d have my head for sleeping in and allowing the pharaoh to roam off alone. But this is Xarion. I’m surprised he’s here keeping close to me instead of off trying to fight Octavian’s legions on his own. I think practicing his weaponry in my part of the courtyard is punishment enough for my negligence, anyway. At least my head agrees as he releases another arrow and it thunks home, sending a surge of pain splintering against my throbbing temples.
I rub my head and disappear into my chamber to get ready for my very long day.
The morning sun shines down on the city. Alexandria is already awake and alive with movement. Xarion climbs out of the barge first and extends his hand. I take it, remembering the feel of his soft skin on my thigh. A wave of heat washes over me.
Pulling my hand from his, I say, “Have you made an attempt to speak to Fadil?”
“No. He’s been in meditation. Though he did present a request to the Council to have all likenesses of Serapis removed from the Serapeum until the war ends.” He squints as he looks over the palace district. “He’s a fool. I don’t fear the Leymak invading, if only because Octavian wants me to come to him before he’ll order an attack on Alexandria. He wants me to openly admit that Caesar is not my father so he can rebuke me publically for my mother’s lie. A waste of time that’d be anyway. He’s only the adopted son, and has no real claim to the throne. Although, Rome will accept him before they accept me.”
I touch his sun-warmed shoulder, my chest heavy for his burden. “You are Caesar’s son, Xarion. Octavian is only jealous—he has no blood ties. All this will be settled when the queen defeats him and brings home the victory.”
He nods. “She will, and then my true battle will begin.” I squint, and he laughs. “Oh, Mother is never defeated, be assured. I’m in for it when she returns with whoever she has in mind for me to marry. That is the battle I’m dreading.” He grasps my hand before taking off toward the Library. “Come.”
As we pass under the striped awning, scribes bow to Xarion and offer to wash his feet with rose-perfumed water.
He waves them off, and we continue through the lotus columns that reach past the entrance. Scholars dip their heads to the pharaoh, and he acknowledges them. I blink, my eyes slowly adjusting to the dim lighting after being in the bright Alexandrian sun.
The scent of papyrus fills the airless entryway, the smell of ancient and recently created documents—musty and new. The smell of the Library. Oil lamps hang from the tall ceiling, their firelight spilling over the floor. Voices echo against the stone walls; lectures being taught. Clanking and grinding, the sound of automata, bounces from the far rooms where the scientists work with the Narcos’ Flame to build steam-powered devices.
We make our way to the rows of stacked scrolls that cover every inch of the Great Library. Every tome, every codex in the known world is here. There is not a vessel that docks in the harbor that goes unsearched by the scholars. Every written word is handed over and made into a copy before returned.
Once we reach the Egyptian scrolls, Xarion chooses a desk in the corner where we can work undisturbed. “Start in the sorcerers’ tomes, and I’ll work my way through the pharaohs’ diaries.”
We both wash our hands and towel them off, so that the oils from our skin will affect the papyrus as little as possible. I take down five scrolls and one large tome, then anchor the first scroll with weights against the desk, preventing the corners from curling in as I read.
For hours I pour over old texts, hunting the ancient ways of the sorcerers. I dig deeper than the common knowledge of how Pharaoh Ahmose I ordered the creation of the first Kythan, and come to a section that describes in detail his bidding for the sorcerers to construct a powerful army to rival his enemies, the Hyksos.
Considered invaders, the Hyksos ruled over Lower Egypt, but were not supported by the majority of the people, even after they took Set as their praised deity. Having learned this much as a child, I gloss over the details of their reign, and finally find what I’m seeking.
Five of the most powerful sorcerers gathered around a sacred amulet to perform a creation ritual of the gods. Amun-Ra—self-created, and thought to be the creator of other gods—held the power of creation in his hand: his was scepter.
I’ve seen its likeness many times, as the Kythan are likened to Set. The head of the Set animal tops a long staff with a forked tail at its base. But how the sorcerers came to possess the was scepter, I can’t fathom. I read on, immersed.
The sorcerers performed the ritual on Egyptian rebels of the war, infusing their bodies with the Ka of Set; his essence. For days, the prisoners suffered, enduring constant pain throughout their first shift, madness at having their Ren—identities—stripped away, and in severe cases, death. Not only a physical death, but once the shift took effect, the Akh died a permanent death, never reaching the underworld; never being able to reconnect with its Ba and Ka.
Bowing my head, I push back from the tome, my heart heavy. I can’t imagine anyone enduring that. Not even my enemies. Though our first shift—our Change—is similar to this account, it’s not as extreme. I underwent headaches, sweating, body aches, fierce nightmares, and then my power came. After I shifted the first time, I never again suffered any discomfort. But now I wonder if the pain we endure during our Change is linked to the first shift of these ancient people, like a terrible, haunting echo.
And though I’m a slave, I will still have the proper funeral rites performed over me so that I may enter the afterlife. My Ka and Ba will again meet with my Akh in the underworld. I will not die a final death. I will not roam the world an Akh; a wraith.
These people were thoroughly removed—wiped from the history of the world—in order to make way for new life. The Kythan.
Forcing myself to continue, I begin again. Once the first Kythan transformation was complete, the strongest army ever known to man was commanded into Lower Egypt to expel the Hyksos. I envision the Set-worshiping Hyksos spying numerous recreations of their beloved god descending upon them. What must they have thought? That they had wronged Set in some way? Though it’s warped, the military-trained side of me can appreciate the genius of this tactic. Using the likeness of a most adored god to wreak havoc on one’s enemies.
After the Hyksos were defeated, Egypt and all of the pharaohs to follow praised the Kythan. Set became one of the most honored gods until the Persian overthrow that led to his demoralization, and thereafter, the Kythan’s . . . where we became nothing but slaves to the pharaohs. All of Egypt cursed the god of foreigners. And that is our history.
From greatness to slavery.
Pushing haunting thoughts of my ancestry away, I conduct a search of all recovered artifacts of Set, and come across a history where I lose myself in research.
“My eyes feel like they’re going to weep blood,” Xarion whispers. My head snaps up as he settles on the stool beside me. “Have you found anything—anything that would explain how Octavian accomplished this?”
He rubs his thumb down the crease between my eyes, and I sigh, batting his hand away. He laughs. “There was some artifact, a macehead that was recovered centuries ago that depicts Set,” I begin, purposely omitting the cruel details of our making, and giving him the clipped version of my new discoveries. “It’s the oldest relic known of the god, and was stolen from King Scorpion’s tomb.” His brows shoot up, and I shrug. “It supposedly held the power of Set, Seth”—I correct in Greek, knowing he’s angered enough over Fadil’s words—“and so, yes. I assume if Octavian found someone who knew the old magics, then another race of Kythan could be made from such an amulet—I mean, they have been.”
“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 tuc
k 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
Weeks 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.
Astarte's Wrath (Kythan Guardians) Page 5