Before the proud businessman can haggle, someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn to see Lunia dressed down in her day clothes. “Hey. Why aren’t you with Delphus?”
“Nice to see you, too.” She shakes her head.
“I see you every day.” Linking my arm through hers, I move us away from the curious eyes of the merchant. “What I meant was you’ve been so devoted to your charge lately. I didn’t think you’d take your leave.”
She shrugs, her shoulder nudging mine. “I need us time, away from that stale place.”
A small smile breaks across my lips. “Your hut or mine?”
“Mine’s closer.”
As we make our way toward Lunia’s apartment, I notice the hesitancy in the quarter that usually isn’t here. The poorer districts of Alexandria have their worries: food, shelter, disease. But there is always an abundance of life, gratitude, and the acknowledgement that we live in a prosperous city. The queen would never allow any of her people to starve or want for anything. And the people adore their goddess incarnate.
But the downturned faces and the sidelong glares that I receive heightens my awareness.
Lunia whispers near my ear. “There is much talk about the aftermath of the recent attack.” She glances around before continuing. “The word is Master Caesarion isn’t strong enough to lead a revolt on the cursed Leymak in the absence of his mother.”
A nauseating twinge pulls at my stomach. Judgment from his people was the very fear he voiced in the garden, only I was more concerned about keeping him away from the Leymak, safely behind the barrier. I’ve been so consumed with my duties in the palace that I haven’t spent much time among the people.
We turn on to the walkway leading to Lunia’s upstairs apartment. Ivy crawls along the walls of the building, and each courtyard is shaded by an awning and terebinth trees. The royal guardians live slightly better than the others; we’re not made to dwell in slave quarters.
“It’s not true,” I say, finally finding my voice on the peoples’ opinion of their pharaoh.
“I know. And I understand completely why we can’t go into battle right now. Why we must wait for Cleopatra. I trust Caesarion, and I trust you.”
She pushes her wooden door open, and I look at her. “Me?”
She laughs. “Star, I’m no fool. With as stubborn as Caesarion is, the only way he wouldn’t rush off to retaliate is because you told him not to.” She smirks. “You two are more transparent than you think.”
I raise my eyebrows, thinking Xarion may have heeded my advice some about not retaliating, but that was right after our complete falling out. As we stand now, he could order his guardians to war at any moment. He’s unpredictable. The fact that I don’t know, nor can predict his next course of action distresses me, and my chest aches. His protection lies in his trust of me.
“What did you want to talk about?” I ask, changing the subject. I’m tired of fighting my feelings for Xarion for one day.
Settling down on her cream couch next to the open terrace, Lunia gazes over her view of the paved shore. A grain ship docks near the long jetty that connects Pharos to the mainland. Sheer blue curtains blow in with the breeze, carrying the sounds of the harbor.
The draft lifts the dark strands of Lunia’s hair from her shoulders. “I’ve been told I’ll never bear children.”
Her announcement drops on top of me like a barrel of bricks. For a moment, I can only stare at her while she smooths out the pleats of her tunic. “I’m so sorry.” Moving beside her, I kneel and take her hand. “How did you discover this?”
She sucks in a deep breath. “Oh, I was chosen a while back to bond—before the battle in the desert. But . . .” She trails off, embarrassment taking over her soft features. “But after . . . it never happened. And believe me, we tried many times.” She laughs, her voice hollow. “The Council ordered me to see a midwife, and she discovered that there is something wrong with me.”
“There is nothing wrong with you, Lunia.” I grasp her hand tighter. “Maybe it just takes longer for some couples.” Couples is a strange way to put how our kind mates. The Council places two Kythan of the same race together, and Fadil performs a spell to bond. It’s for life. We don’t live as the humans do once this happens—as husband and wife. Rather, it’s a simple arrangement to create more Kythan.
Since we can live for hundreds of years, if Kythan were to conceive every time we mated, our population would overrun the humans’, the world. Instead, after our birth, the sorcerer casts an enchantment that prevents us from becoming pregnant. A blessing where Phoenix is concerned. And only once the enchantment is removed during the bonding can we bear children. And only the number the Council grants us.
“It’s all right,” Lunia says, brushing a stray tear from her pale cheek. “I really never wanted to be a mother anyway.”
My heart aches for her. Her words are false. Though she’s one of the strongest guardians I know, Lunia’s always held a secret hope that she’d be chosen to bond. That she could have children of her own. I now understand why she’s formed such a close tie with little Delphus. He’s the closest thing to a child she will ever have.
“You would have made a wonderful mother,” I tell her. Fresh tears brim her vibrant blue eyes. “What about a plea? Could you request a new mate? In a special case like this, maybe the Council will overrule the bonding and place you with another Shythe.” I bite my lip, knowing it’s never been done before. “It may be he’s unable, not you.”
She shakes her head. “You know as well as I do bonding is for life. The Council will simply choose another couple to take our procreation spot.” It’s true. Especially with Octavian’s war taking priority, they won’t waste any of their time on slave matters.
“Come on,” I say, pulling her up beside me. “I know what you need.”
I walk to her small eating area and dig through her shelves. Finding what I’m searching for, I pull out the bottle of Roman liquor we purchased from the Emporium during Antonius’s first festival. I hold it above my head, as if all our solutions lie at the bottom of this bottle.
“But we’re saving that for a special occasion,” she protests.
“This is a special occasion. You’re a taken woman.” I wink. “And I can’t believe you hid this from me until now.”
A rose hue colors her cheeks. “I didn’t want to tell anyone who I’m bonded to.”
Popping the cork, I eye her. “I wasn’t going to ask . . .”
“And you wouldn’t. Thank you.” She smiles.
“But . . .?”
Groaning, she plops down on the stool at the table. “Seb.”
I halt pouring the liquor into the glass. “Well, he’s . . . I mean.”
Her laugh tickles my insides. It’s her true laugh, and I’m so relieved to hear it. “Don’t even try to make it all right. He’s ridiculous. Of all the Shythe I could have been bonded to, he’s the most clumsy, awkward, irritating—”
“You adore him.”
She sighs. “I absolutely do.”
We drink until the bottle of Roman liquor is half empty. The moon has risen into the sky, casting its pale glow over the glass top harbor. Our laughter tumbles freely, and my sides hurt. Attempting to pour another glass for each of us, I spill the amber liquid on the floor.
My head is fuzzy and my thoughts cloudy, but Xarion still manages to break through the hazy fog wrapping my brain. Regardless, I’m enjoying the break from my own troubles as the alcohol courses through my veins, making everything feel distant.
And even though Lunia is shattered over not being able to have children, the way she speaks of Seb, I know she is well loved. At least she is bonded to someone who will worship her and care for her, even if it remains only the two of them for the rest of their existence.
I thank the gods for this small mercy.
When I try and fail to pour the liquor again, Lunia laughs and takes the bottle from my hands. “No more for you.”
Lying back against t
he couch, I accept this. “I believe you’re right.” I laugh. “I don’t think I can stumble home at this point.”
“Stay here,” she says as her eyelids begin to droop. “We’ll go together to the palace in the morning.”
“All right.” A smile stretches my face as Lunia’s breathing deepens, her features softening with sleep.
I stand slowly, my hand inching along the rough wall to steady me, and grab the throw blanket from the back of her couch. Draping it over her curled up body, I worry she’ll be sore come morning, but don’t want to chance waking her in order to coax her into a more comfortable position.
Her dark slash of bangs covers her eyes, and I push them aside, behind her pointed ear. She’s shifted into Kythan form in her sleep. Smiling down at her, I say a quick prayer to Isis—that if it’s the goddess’s will, she’ll bestow a child upon my friend. No child would be loved more deeply.
Once I feel I’m stable enough to walk—despite the swirling lights getting in my way—I stumble to her made-up cot in the corner. Unable to get comfortable, I roll to the floor on my hands and knees, deciding I miss my bed. It may not be as lush and inviting as the one I sleep on in the palace, but it’s mine. And right now, it’s more inviting than Lunia’s hard cot.
Once I make it out of her apartment and on to the quiet streets, I beam, proud of myself for not breaking my neck on the stairway. I point at the steps and laugh.
An old man trying to find sleep propped against the apartment wall shakes his head, mumbles under his breath. I nod at him, but he dismisses me as he jerks a tattered blanket around him and turns his back to me.
As I approach my apartment, the lights of the palace burn like molten glass from across the harbor, shimmering along the smooth surface of the water. My heart beats in my ears. Xarion is in one of those rooms. Suddenly the distance between us—physically and emotionally—is too great. My body demands to be near him, if only under the same roof.
After I’ve managed to find my way to the dockyard—honestly, who put all those loose stones on the street?—I ask the barge operator to take me to my home.
I lie back on the silk cushions. The sky is so clear, it’s as if the gods reached down and swept the clouds away permanently. The stars are so near I could reach out and touch one. And I do. I lift my hand and wave it across the dark canvas, anxiously awaiting the gleam in Xarion’s green eyes when I confess how much I love him.
Enough to run away together.
Chapter Eleven
The guardian blocking Xarion’s chamber stands at attention, his back straight, his face stoic. He’s determined to keep me out of Xarion’s room. My voice rises with my irritation.
“I’m his personal guardian,” I repeat, my words slurred. I struggle to sound each one out, to ensure he understands their importance.
He sighs heavily. “Again. The pharaoh gave strict orders not to be disturbed unless it is of utmost importance.”
This is! What could be more important than finally telling Xarion the truth? Annoyed, I spark my Charge. It swims along my fingers in ribbons of crackling white-blue fury. “I’ll not ask again, Merrick. I have urgent business with the pharaoh. Move aside.”
A click echoes through the dark corridor, and the door Merrick is guarding cracks open. “What’s happening?” Xarion groggily runs his palm over his eyes. “I precisely ordered not to be—” His words break off when he sees me.
I douse my power, and the hallway darkens. Merrick pulls his spear against his chest and lifts his chin. “Guardian Astarte demands your council, Your Highness. I expressed your orders to her, but she refuses to leave. Should I call General Habi to have her escorted away?”
Xarion’s gaze stays on me, unwavering. “No. That’s not necessary.” He widens the space between him and the door, his hand braced high above. “My personal guardian will take your shift, Merrick. You’re dismissed.”
With an almost relieved sigh, Merrick bows his acknowledgment. “Yes, Pharaoh.”
My chest loosens, and I duck under his arm as I enter the room. His familiar scent envelopes me. The calming aroma of sandalwood and the strong, masculine smell of frankincense in his perfumed oil. A candle burns low on the cedar table, its dancing flame casting the room in a flickering glow.
I hear the door close, and my body reacts with a sudden jolt. I’m alone with Xarion.
“What do you want, Star?” His voice holds a note of annoyance, remindful of the coolness we’ve regarded each other with these past months. But when I don’t immediately respond, his voice softens, his concern evident. “Why have you come to me in the middle of the night? What’s wrong?”
“There’s no emergency, master.” I rush to assure him. “I just—”
He groans. “I command you to never call me that again.” He stalks to the window and throws open the heavy curtains, allowing the moon to shine its pale light into the room.
As he turns to face me, my eyes slip over his form. His white embroidered robe, open in front. His toned, tan chest and stomach. His linen pants sit low on his hips, the curves of his muscled stomach very apparent against their seam.
My legs weaken, numb. But somehow, I manage to move closer to him. I keep my eyes lowered, focused on the exposed smooth skin of his chest. I’ve touched Xarion many times—in many ways. But never out of longing, want, need. Desire. Suddenly I can’t control my own limbs. They defy the tiny whisper of reason trying to break through the alcohol-induced cloud fogging my brain.
His shallow breaths skim my face as my hand goes to his flesh. It’s warm, soft and yet hard, and my fingers splay against his skin. He shudders under my touch, and as my palm sparks blue, sending a small current of Charge between us, he sucks in a sharp breath.
A low, anguished noise rises from the back of his throat. Then he’s quickly closing the gap between us. His hand captures the nape of my neck, his fingers sliding into my hair and grasping. My stomach flutters as he pulls my head back, and I’m forced to look into the deep pools of his green irises.
His intense gaze conveys so many things that words cannot. I begin to close my eyes as his face lowers toward mine—and the world spins. I wobble, unable to find balance with my eyes shut.
His lips never meet mine.
Cracking an eye open, I say, “You’ve changed your mind so quickly?” But it comes out sloppy, whiny. Not how I intended.
Pressing his lips into a hard line, he releases a strained breath. “You’re drunk.”
My head jerks back defensively. “I am not. I only had a few”—a hiccup interrupts—“drinks.”
His lips twitch into a faint smile, and he shakes his head. He releases his hold. “Come on.” Taking my hand, he attempts to lead me toward the bed. I’m consumed with nervous energy, wondering what it will finally feel like to kiss Xarion—until he says, “Sleep it off. We’ll talk come morning.”
I yank my hand free. “No, Xarion. You’ll listen to me now.”
“Star, get in this bed.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I pout. Suddenly I’m as spoiled as his cousins, and even though I know somewhere in my head my actions are wrong, I don’t care. “I have to tell you something important. Why do you always treat me like this?”
His head whips around. “You’d think a few drinks would loosen you up.” He dips low, anchoring his arms around my shoulder and legs. I yelp as he scoops me into his arms. “In a good way, that is.”
Though I hoped he would do just this action, I regret that the first time he’s laying me back on his bed is because he thinks I’m drunk. Only a command to sleep would be more embarrassing.
When my head hits the soft pillow, the many threads caressing my cheek, I realize how drained I feel. “Fine,” I mumble as he pulls the sheet over me. I kick it off. “In the morning.”
Xarion walks to the other side of his bed and reaches for his pillow. I latch on to his hand. “Sleep with me,” I say.
Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, he peers down at me. A fla
sh of something—pain, longing?—crosses his face. “I shouldn’t.”
“We used to all the time when we were kids.” My tone is pouting again, but I don’t care.
He laughs. “Yes,” he says, slipping a knee onto the bed. My body sinks with the dip of the mattress. “But back then”—he hovers above me, his hands on either side of my head—“I didn’t want to ravish every inch of your body.”
My breath stops. A shiver trails my skin at the image of his lips, his hands, touching every inch of me. His robe hangs open, the embroidered hem just grazing my arm. I reach up and grab it, applying a subtle tug. His eyes are heavy-lidded, and his chest moves up and down with his quick breaths.
“Now,” he says, breaking the intense spell. “I’m going to my couch, where I’ll no doubt lie awake all night, battling the urge to come back to this bed.”
I swallow. “Just lie here—for a little while.”
I see the moment defeat claims him. His features relax, his furrowed brow smooths. With deft movements, he lies on his side, one arm draped over me, one leg slipped between my parted ones. The feel of his warm body pressed against me causes all reason to leave my head.
I hesitantly lift my hand toward his face and pause, but then find the courage to run my fingers over the scar slashing his eyebrow. His eyes close, his arm tightening around me, as I comb his soft waves away from his forehead.
He sighs. “Why couldn’t you have come to me in your right mind?”
My head feels heavy and fuzzy, sleep on the brink of taking me. I yawn. “There’s so much you don’t understand.” I close my eyes, my hand resting against his head.
“Tell me,” he whispers.
“Candra and the Leymak are never going to stop coming for you,” I say. “I can’t—”
Astarte's Wrath (Kythan Guardians) Page 9
