Astarte's Wrath (3 page)

I hold my breath.

The desert bubbles, mounds of sand dunes toppling one on top of another, as the sand builds itself into a tidal wave. It rises into the air, wide and hungry, ready to devour our army.

I angle my neck, my gaze traveling up the stretch of sand as it picks up force.

“Now!” Habi orders.

The Narcos send a land attack behind the desert front; flames slink in and ignite the ground. The Shythe clap their arms together. My fists pound, my forearms pressed tightly. Dozens of blue currents strike the darkening shadow engulfing us.

Before the wall of sand is dropped on top of us, we push our Charge out harder. It streams in crossing currents toward the hovering desert wave. My arms shake with the force—the impact.

The sand begins to shift.

Like a bolt hitting a lightning rod stuck in the sand, our Charge attacks the grains. Liquefying them, then crystalizing the matter. The wall of sand ripples and flashes as the Charge hardens the shifting wave into a solid wall of clear, hard glass.

It wraps around our enemies, trapping them inside. Candra steps to the glass, presses her glowing white palm against it, her eyes blazing and fierce. A wicked smile curves her pale lips.

The Shythe around me cheer, and I drop my arms, my body taxed. On the other side of the glass wall, the Leymak blink in and out, trying to cross over. Only they can’t. Our magics, the same magics that somehow created this abominable race, can’t be penetrated in the aether.

Fire soars higher behind the wall, flames licking, scorching the clear coating. Romans yank off their capes, toss them on top of the fires, and stomp the ground.

“This won’t hold them,” I tell Habi.

He nods. “Retreat!”

Before I leave with the Kythan army, I glance over my shoulder. My mystic foe, my
sister
, stares after me. Her illuminated eyes are narrowed, and her lips are pursed in a perfect, knowing smile. But I can no longer hear the thoughts I know she’s sending me through the barrier.

Chapter Three

O
nce we cross the
Moon Gate, Habi orders the Shythe to fortify the crystal barrier around the inside perimeter of the city. It’s forged from Charge, like the one that allowed us to escape the desert.

In ancient times, our power-infused crystals were thought to ward off evil spirits. Fortunately, in this one aspect, the Council hasn’t given up their old ways. That barrier may have prevented these newly created Kythan from attacking Alexandria.

The Leymak can’t cross our Charge in the aether, but we know they’ll eventually find a way through. So now we seek out the one who may know what the Leymak are and may know how to stop them.

The sorcerer.

There is only one ancient Egyptian sorcerer in Egypt now, and he resides in the queen’s palace. The sorcerers were once worshiped as much as the pharaohs in ancient times. But the world has changed, and with the reign of the Ptolemies came a new order. Though the great Alexander was loved and thought of as a god himself, he brought with him the gods and lore of a foreign world. But he didn’t order the eradication of our customs.

Instead, he welcomed our beliefs, combined them with the ways of his people, and allowed the sorcerers to govern over the Kythan once more.

Alexander was revered for conquering our enemies who enslaved us, the Persians. Even though I never served under their rule, my mother did, and she told me of the Persian’s extreme methods of torture, and the horrible things the Kythan were forced to do under their reign.

Like how our powers were used on the prisoners of war. Slow, measured burns inflicted to their bodies, and when they passed out from pain, our Charge was used to jolt them back into consciousness. We were commanded to raze villages and cities. Sit atop elephants as their heavy feet crushed men. Oversee “the boats”, in which the victim was floated out between two hollowed vessels, slathered in milk and honey, and eaten away at by insects—being kept alive to prolong the torture.

I shiver, forcing the vile images from my mind. Eternally grateful for Alexander and the Ptolemies, I’m relieved we’ve never been commanded to do such things, even in the throes of war.

Yet my mother feared that once the sorcerers were back in power, they’d eradicate the Kythan for their great defeat in the war against the Persians. But we were taken into servitude under the pharaohs once again. My mother helped build the Great Library, Serapeum, and much of the Emporium. Nearly all of Alexandria was constructed by the hands and powers of the Kythan. Seems the Ptolemies didn’t want to lose a useful resource for the construction of their city.

I follow Habi past the dockyard of the Royal Harbor. Colossal connecting palaces, temples, and apartments line the paved shore, with an array of colorful awnings that capture the sunset reflecting off the water. A multitude of ships, vessels huge and small, dock in the deep blue waters of the harbor.

We approach the royal barge used only by the queen and her guardians for commute to the small, crescent-shaped island of Antirhodos. There Cleopatra’s palace towers next to her personal temple of Isis.

As we push off, the oxen pulling the line strung at the bow taut, I settle on the gold cushioned seat next to the open cabin. Sheer cream fabric embroidered with gold and silver drapes the engraved beams of the cabin. I run my fingers over the grooves of an ankh. The looped cross means life eternal in my language, and it gives me a small comfort seeing it written here.

Pharaoh Cleopatra embraced the Egyptian customs more than any past Ptolemaic ruler of Egypt. My mother didn’t live long enough to see Cleopatra’s reign, as her life was taken by the fire that burned a large portion of the Great Library. Ironically by Julius Caesar, the man who helped our queen defeat her brother Ptolemy and take the throne. Ptolemy commanded the Narcos to battle against Caesar’s legion, setting their ships in the harbor aflame. But Caesar ordered his naval army to move in regardless. Such was his devotion to Cleopatra, he would not let her be defeated. The winds swept the fires toward the city. After Cleopatra was crowned Pharaoh, Caesar directed his troops to help reconstruct the Library as his first gift to the queen he loved.

But even though my mother was lost to me, I’m comforted it was in service to our queen—the child she guarded personally up until her end. My mother said Cleopatra was similar to Alexander, in that she not only tolerated the different beliefs and customs of our land, but welcomed them as her own. As Alexander linked himself to the great conqueror Pharaoh Thutmose III as his ancestor, Cleopatra announced her predecessor to be the goddess Isis.

Our ruler’s love of Egypt, the only home she’s ever known, is evident as I stare across the harbor toward the walled city. Though the Annex of the newly restored Library and the Museum are evident of their Greek design, they are also adorned with statues and monuments of the Egyptian gods and pharaohs. The entirety of Alexandria is a hybrid of different cultures, all fused together to create the greatest civilized city in the world. I feel, as my mother expressed, Alexander would have marveled at its accomplishment. I decide to visit my long ago departed master in the Soma soon.

My eyes flick to Habi, silent as he usually is, and wonder what he’s deducing of the Leymak. Of whether or not they spoke to him as they did to me during the battle. I should inform my general of what Candra said, but after I report to the pharaoh, I want to talk to Phoenix. He’s been one of my closest friends since we were children, and I trust his council—even above Fadil’s, the sorcerer adviser to the queen.

I would tell Caesarion first . . . but I’ve never spoken to him of my binds. I’m ashamed that I feel embarrassed to do so. He’s my master, and yet I’ve never felt like a slave in his presence. That won’t always be, though, and I need to accept it now. I inhale a deep breath and promise myself not to keep it from him for long.

The barge drifts to a stop, and two Egyptian servants tie it to the dock. Habi and I step off, and my chest finally loosens for the first time since we left the red land. The fresh sea air fills my nose. I breathe deeply, allowing the coolness to wash over me.

Past the palace, the Pharos Lighthouse reaches into the heavens, four hundred feet of white marble-faced stone, built by the labor of the Kythan. In its beacon tower, Narcos trade post duty, their Flame used to light the way for travelers. And when there’s a threat, their Flame is beamed down, setting sails and ships aflame. The beautiful Pharos becomes a weapon of deadly destruction on the sea.

Habi turns to me. “You should apprise Master Caesarion first. Bring him to the sorcerer’s chamber after I’ve reported the attack to Fadil.”

My brow furrows. “Shouldn’t he be included in the meeting?”

“Fill him in,” he says. “I’m not wasting any time.” He marches toward the double sphinx statues at the entrance to the palace, his bare back revealing recently healed wounds.

I bow my head for a moment, knowing Habi is right. We don’t have time to waste, but Caesarion is the ruler in his mother’s absence. She declared him Pharaoh two years ago. Though they rule jointly, she is acting Pharaoh, and he is King only in name. Still, he should be treated as such.

Habi was a young boy when Alexander took control over Egypt, and he’s lived through the Ptolemaic reign. He’s never served the young pharaoh as he has our other masters for reasons I’m unsure of, but he’ll soon realize Caesarion’s importance. We all will if, gods forbid, anything should happen to our queen across the Mediterranean.

My footfalls echo against the limestone-paved floors of the palace. I turn down hallways, my route memorized. Giant columns cut from red granite line the open corridors, and oil-burning lamps illuminate the ivory-covered walls, filling the palace with warmth.

I stop before a door inlaid with tortoise shell and smooth out my tangled hair. My skin is still covered in grains of sand, and I try to wipe myself clean. Then I look down at my torn tunic and scowl. I’m not fit to go before a pharaoh—a pharaoh who’s about to flay me at first glance—but there’s no time to bathe. I push the door open and step into the sunlit room.

He stands before a tall, open window, the sea breeze caressing his dark locks of hair. His tanned arms contrast against his white sleeveless tunic. Adorned across his shoulders is a gold and multicolored broad collar. Like his mother, the pharaoh embraces his country, and wears only the finest Egyptian apparels.

My breath catches, and I force myself to breathe calmly through my nose.

His back tenses as he senses my presence, his sculpted arms flex. “Star, what news have you brought of Octavian’s legions?”

Pressing my arms behind my back, I stand at attention, my heart sinking. I expected his anger, what I hear in his harsh, clipped tone. But I thought he’d at least be relieved I’ve returned safely. “There was an . . . occurrence, master.”

He spins to face me, and the light reflecting off the crystal chandelier sends tiny sunbeams across his smooth face. His pure emerald eyes squint as his lips turn up in a lopsided smile. “You know better . . .” Taking three quick strides, he’s before me, anchoring his strong arms around my waist. “. . . than to address me as such.”

My face heats. “Xarion,” I say, my voice low. “We’re not children anymore. I have to respect your new status,
Pharaoh
.”

“Nonsense.” He pushes a clipped breath of air through his full lips. Then his eyes darken. “Were you injured?” I shake my head. “Damn, Star. I was sick with worry. Next time, I
will
command you to stay.”

I bite my bottom lip, knowing his threat is a bluff. “Then we’re done with our fight?”

He releases a heavy breath. “Are we ever?”

A small smile forms on my mouth. But as my eyes take in his features, they settle on the white jagged scar running through his right eyebrow, the only imperfection marring his otherwise perfect face. A pang of guilt sweeps over me so violently I press my hand against his chest, and Xarion reluctantly releases me.

“You know this is my duty, Pharaoh,” I say, my eyes seeking something other than the scar, the reminder of the one time I wasn’t there to protect him. From palace thieves, of all things. Simple, low-life humans. Nothing like the threat Octavian presents.

And suddenly, I realize we’re alone.
He’s
alone. “Where’s Phoenix? And Lunia? Why are they not guarding you?”

Crossing his arms, he says, “I sent them to watch my brothers and sister.”

“You have to stop this, Xarion.” I eye him. “It’s our job to protect you, and you have to let us.” I sigh. “Gods, I thought you’d stop after your coronation. But you’re just as stubborn as when we were kids.”

A sly smile sneaks up the side of his face. “But we had fun then, right?”

“This is no longer a game.” A flash of the Leymak enters my mind. “Have you heard anything of the battle yet?”

He shakes his head, his dark hair falls against his eyes. “I was waiting to hear it from you.”