hostile glances of royalty and slave alike.
Another slave appeared at her side and snatched her hand away from her son.
Cassia’s vision blurred and her stomach roiled. She lunged for Alexander. The second slave pinned her arms behind her and held her fast.
“Alexander!” She could do nothing but shout his name, and her body seemed as though it would shake into a thousand tiny fragments.
He was retreating from her now, his light eyes still wide with terror. His mouth opened in a small O, and his bottom lip trembled. “Mama? Where are you going?”
“I am not leaving!”
But the gap between mother and son widened.
Cassia twisted and kicked and even pulled free for a moment, but the slave ran at her and swept her from her feet.
“Alexander. Alexander!”
She hit the palace floor but barely felt the pain. Even the kick helanded in her midsection did not slow her. She scrambled across the marble toward Alex’s feet and reached a hand out to him.
Too far.
Another kick. Pulled to standing. She felt the yellow silk rip in the slave’s hands. She leaned away from the tearing fabric, thinking to get free. An arm around her waist lifted her off her feet.
She kicked backward, connected with shins. The slave cursed in her ear.
The room was a bloodred haze now, blurred by fear and anger and terror. She thrashed in his arms. Her hair tangled around her face.
She screamed, but her voice had gone hoarse. How many times had she screamed already? Above her scream she heard the queen’s laughter.
And he was gone.
She searched the room and could not find his sweet face. They had taken him away. Taken her son away. Alexander!
Still thrashing, she felt the room spin. The slave dragged her backward.
And then they were in the halls, then the portico outside the great palace, and then stone steps rushed up to meet her and she clenched her eyes and brought her arms up to protect her face. She fell and bounced. Her knees and arms met each step with an angry jolt, until she reached the platform between the steps and rolled to a stop at the base of the huge djinn block.
She was still for only a moment before she scrambled to her knees and retched.
When her stomach had exhausted itself, she fell against the djinn block, godforsaken, bruised and bloody, and alone.
Alone.
THIRTEEN
T HE SUN DESCENDED AND STILL C ASSI A LEANED AGAINST the djinn block, her eyes on the palace entrance as though Alexander would skip down its steps and into her arms.
Where else could she go?
She shivered in the shadow of the stone as blood and sweat dried on her skin. She grew fearful as the shadows lengthened. Fearful of the night, and of the palace slaves who might come and find her on the steps and beat her again.
So she crawled forward, loose pebbles scraping her knees, until she felt she could stand, then stumbled down the second set of steps into the street and retraced her path through the city until she reached the Nymphaeum.
Only a few women drew water, late as it was, and they mostly ignored her. She did not blame them. Her torn and bloodied dress, her bruised arms and swollen lip—they shouted to anyone who looked that she was an outcast.
At the edge of the fountain pool, she cupped her hands and filled them with water, then tried to wash the blood from her arms. The deep scratches burned. She did not even know how they had gotten there.
When she had washed her arms and face, she sat on the stone edge of the pool and faced the street.
Alexander is gone.
It seemed to be the only thought she could form. And there seemed to be nothing left for her.
It is what I deserve. She had always thought Alexander was a gift from the gods, one they had mistakenly bestowed upon her, a weak and worthless slave girl who did not merit such a gift.
And now Alexander would be loved and protected by royalty and brought up to claim the kingship of Nabataea. The thought did not surprise her. It seemed fitting for the boy that he was. She should only
Another slave appeared at her side and snatched her hand away from her son.
Cassia’s vision blurred and her stomach roiled. She lunged for Alexander. The second slave pinned her arms behind her and held her fast.
“Alexander!” She could do nothing but shout his name, and her body seemed as though it would shake into a thousand tiny fragments.
He was retreating from her now, his light eyes still wide with terror. His mouth opened in a small O, and his bottom lip trembled. “Mama? Where are you going?”
“I am not leaving!”
But the gap between mother and son widened.
Cassia twisted and kicked and even pulled free for a moment, but the slave ran at her and swept her from her feet.
“Alexander. Alexander!”
She hit the palace floor but barely felt the pain. Even the kick helanded in her midsection did not slow her. She scrambled across the marble toward Alex’s feet and reached a hand out to him.
Too far.
Another kick. Pulled to standing. She felt the yellow silk rip in the slave’s hands. She leaned away from the tearing fabric, thinking to get free. An arm around her waist lifted her off her feet.
She kicked backward, connected with shins. The slave cursed in her ear.
The room was a bloodred haze now, blurred by fear and anger and terror. She thrashed in his arms. Her hair tangled around her face.
She screamed, but her voice had gone hoarse. How many times had she screamed already? Above her scream she heard the queen’s laughter.
And he was gone.
She searched the room and could not find his sweet face. They had taken him away. Taken her son away. Alexander!
Still thrashing, she felt the room spin. The slave dragged her backward.
And then they were in the halls, then the portico outside the great palace, and then stone steps rushed up to meet her and she clenched her eyes and brought her arms up to protect her face. She fell and bounced. Her knees and arms met each step with an angry jolt, until she reached the platform between the steps and rolled to a stop at the base of the huge djinn block.
She was still for only a moment before she scrambled to her knees and retched.
When her stomach had exhausted itself, she fell against the djinn block, godforsaken, bruised and bloody, and alone.
Alone.
THIRTEEN
T HE SUN DESCENDED AND STILL C ASSI A LEANED AGAINST the djinn block, her eyes on the palace entrance as though Alexander would skip down its steps and into her arms.
Where else could she go?
She shivered in the shadow of the stone as blood and sweat dried on her skin. She grew fearful as the shadows lengthened. Fearful of the night, and of the palace slaves who might come and find her on the steps and beat her again.
So she crawled forward, loose pebbles scraping her knees, until she felt she could stand, then stumbled down the second set of steps into the street and retraced her path through the city until she reached the Nymphaeum.
Only a few women drew water, late as it was, and they mostly ignored her. She did not blame them. Her torn and bloodied dress, her bruised arms and swollen lip—they shouted to anyone who looked that she was an outcast.
At the edge of the fountain pool, she cupped her hands and filled them with water, then tried to wash the blood from her arms. The deep scratches burned. She did not even know how they had gotten there.
When she had washed her arms and face, she sat on the stone edge of the pool and faced the street.
Alexander is gone.
It seemed to be the only thought she could form. And there seemed to be nothing left for her.
It is what I deserve. She had always thought Alexander was a gift from the gods, one they had mistakenly bestowed upon her, a weak and worthless slave girl who did not merit such a gift.
And now Alexander would be loved and protected by royalty and brought up to claim the kingship of Nabataea. The thought did not surprise her. It seemed fitting for the boy that he was. She should only
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