stares at me, then his head shakes. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.” His features glaze over in humiliation. “You don’t feel the same.” He turns toward a statue of Isis, his gaze unseeing. “I’ve been pouring my heart out, confessing my feelings for you—and I’m so blind.”
“That’s not it,” I say quickly.
He shakes his head again and starts toward the walkway. “I’m a fool.”
My heart skitters to a stop, my mind searching for a way to make him understand. As much as I care for him, this situation is bigger than us. Octavian might accept the king of Egypt fleeing, leaving him the throne. Or the Council might accept me as Xarion’s equal, and grant us permission to be together. But the Leymak will accept none of the options Xarion presents. If Candra is denied the was scepter—her chance at immortality—not even the deserts will hide us away. The Leymak will search for Xarion, and we’ll run forever. Like Sinuhe—only we will never find a safe haven.
I can’t simply choose to become human and give up my power when he needs my protection now more than ever. Not until the Leymak and Octavian are defeated, and the threat against Xarion’s life is gone, can I ever think of myself.
It’s not the way I was raised. And it’s so much more than the ink engraved on my skin.
“Xarion,” I say, desperation leaking into my voice, halting his quick march away from me. “Trust me when I say my feelings for you”—I pause, battling a war within myself between what I want to say and what I need to say—“I have never loved another.”
I stop short of admitting aloud that I love him. He must know, he has to, but if I have any hope of convincing him of what needs to be done, I can’t voice the full extent of my emotions.
Hope crests in his eyes, clear and bright, and I loathe myself for my next admission. “But we can’t—I cannot allow you to dishonor your birthright. Nor can I live with the knowledge that if anything happens to you, it will be my fault. Please, don’t ask me to bear that.”
A solemn, defeated look washes over his face, and with a jerky nod, he says, “I will honor your request.” Then he turns to go.
His clipped response to my plea ices my heart, and I breathe shallowly through the pain. But what did I expect? For the king of Egypt to thank me for my lovely words when their ending result is rejection?
My gaze lingers on him as he walks out of the garden—away from us .
Chapter Ten
A month has passed, and still no word comes from Actium.
The Council has sent messages by ship across the Mediterranean, trying to make contact with Cleopatra. But they either come back unanswered or they don’t come back at all.
Candra’s taunt that Octavian has claimed victory over our queen haunts my every thought. I’m conflicted over whether I should lock Xarion in the palace until his mother’s return, or trust the gods to ensure his safety.
I fear the pressure mounting on the pharaoh to act in his mother’s stead, coupled with our falling out may drive him to desperate measures. I worry that he’ll consider becoming a martyr to save his family and city. Walk right out to the Leymak and surrender. Every time I see his face contort when the Council confronts him with a new problem, I feel as if I’m losing the man I love—slowly and irreplaceably—as he disappears into himself.
Every day that passes I’m getting closer to giving in; asking Xarion to do whatever it is that will free me of my binds, and accepting his offer to run away together. I could even ask Fadil to help us. For him to search the scrolls of the ancients to produce a spell that will mask us from the Leymak.
Then when Octavian comes, there will be no pharaoh to crucify.
Only my distrust of the sorcerer and my sense of duty keep me from fully considering it. I know Xarion better than he knows himself. He will regret leaving his family behind to war with Octavian—a war that falls
“That’s not it,” I say quickly.
He shakes his head again and starts toward the walkway. “I’m a fool.”
My heart skitters to a stop, my mind searching for a way to make him understand. As much as I care for him, this situation is bigger than us. Octavian might accept the king of Egypt fleeing, leaving him the throne. Or the Council might accept me as Xarion’s equal, and grant us permission to be together. But the Leymak will accept none of the options Xarion presents. If Candra is denied the was scepter—her chance at immortality—not even the deserts will hide us away. The Leymak will search for Xarion, and we’ll run forever. Like Sinuhe—only we will never find a safe haven.
I can’t simply choose to become human and give up my power when he needs my protection now more than ever. Not until the Leymak and Octavian are defeated, and the threat against Xarion’s life is gone, can I ever think of myself.
It’s not the way I was raised. And it’s so much more than the ink engraved on my skin.
“Xarion,” I say, desperation leaking into my voice, halting his quick march away from me. “Trust me when I say my feelings for you”—I pause, battling a war within myself between what I want to say and what I need to say—“I have never loved another.”
I stop short of admitting aloud that I love him. He must know, he has to, but if I have any hope of convincing him of what needs to be done, I can’t voice the full extent of my emotions.
Hope crests in his eyes, clear and bright, and I loathe myself for my next admission. “But we can’t—I cannot allow you to dishonor your birthright. Nor can I live with the knowledge that if anything happens to you, it will be my fault. Please, don’t ask me to bear that.”
A solemn, defeated look washes over his face, and with a jerky nod, he says, “I will honor your request.” Then he turns to go.
His clipped response to my plea ices my heart, and I breathe shallowly through the pain. But what did I expect? For the king of Egypt to thank me for my lovely words when their ending result is rejection?
My gaze lingers on him as he walks out of the garden—away from us .
Chapter Ten
A month has passed, and still no word comes from Actium.
The Council has sent messages by ship across the Mediterranean, trying to make contact with Cleopatra. But they either come back unanswered or they don’t come back at all.
Candra’s taunt that Octavian has claimed victory over our queen haunts my every thought. I’m conflicted over whether I should lock Xarion in the palace until his mother’s return, or trust the gods to ensure his safety.
I fear the pressure mounting on the pharaoh to act in his mother’s stead, coupled with our falling out may drive him to desperate measures. I worry that he’ll consider becoming a martyr to save his family and city. Walk right out to the Leymak and surrender. Every time I see his face contort when the Council confronts him with a new problem, I feel as if I’m losing the man I love—slowly and irreplaceably—as he disappears into himself.
Every day that passes I’m getting closer to giving in; asking Xarion to do whatever it is that will free me of my binds, and accepting his offer to run away together. I could even ask Fadil to help us. For him to search the scrolls of the ancients to produce a spell that will mask us from the Leymak.
Then when Octavian comes, there will be no pharaoh to crucify.
Only my distrust of the sorcerer and my sense of duty keep me from fully considering it. I know Xarion better than he knows himself. He will regret leaving his family behind to war with Octavian—a war that falls
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