Every Last Kiss, Final Copy, June 30, 2011 (21 page)

        She calmed herself, resuming her tranquil tone, her face regaining its youth and beauty.

        “Our bloodstones are powerful, as you know.  They are the keys to everything.  That sniveling eunuch will not be able to use it- because it was made for you.  But the bloodstones were made from one stone. One. When one is lost, we all suffer.”

        I stared at her intrigued, as she pulled her own bloodstone out of her robes.  Hers was larger than mine and set in an intricate setting surrounded by rubies, but it had clearly been cut from the same mother stone… glistening blood-red, with black veins.  

        “Our power as a whole should not be diminished because of the carelessness of one, should it?” she purred, sliding her hands smoothly over my shoulders and stopping with her fingers wrapped lightly around my neck.

        I gulped, then shook my head quickly. 

        “Then, fix it,” she instructed pleasantly, removing her hands.  “No matter what you need to do to repair your error, you have my support.  Do you understand?”

       
Did I? Was she saying that retrieving my bloodstone using any means necessary was more important than restoring history?

        Before I could speak, she nodded.  “I see that we’ve come to an understanding.  You’re such a bright girl.  

        Confusion flooded through me as I watched her adjust her clothing.  How could this be happening?   My entire being was dedicated to enforcing the plan of the Fates.  Never had we deviated before, under the threat that chaos would ensue.  How could we deviate now?  Unless the threat was just that… an idle threat.  I had forgotten that my thoughts were not safe around her, until she snapped me from my reverie with a growl.

        “Do not question us again, Charmian!  There are times when the Plan is not as important as protecting the Order.  It is as simple as that.  And I will not explain myself to you!”

        But she just had.  The Order had a weakness.  The Bloodstones.  And nothing on earth was as important as keeping them.  I quickly blanked my thoughts so that she couldn’t read them again and nodded.

        “Yes, Lachesis.  I’m sorry.  Rest assured, I will fix this…” My voice trailed off hesitantly.

        “But?” she prompted.

        “But can I just ask one thing?  Can I just know one thing… because I know I will not remember it in my next life anyway.”

        She studied me quietly, reading my thoughts and hearing my unspoken question.  Her face an unreadable, lovely mask.

        “In each life your memories from your previous lives are wiped clean for your own benefit,” she finally explained.  “It benefits you in many ways.  If you were able to remember the sadness from your previous lives, it would drive you to insanity.  You would lose your effectiveness as a Keeper.”

        I nodded.  Ahmose had been right. 

        “And you forget the gifts you are capable of through your bloodstone as a safeguard,” she added.  “The power that we are able to harness is exquisite and enormous.  Too much burden for any one person to be aware of, life after life.”

        “But you…”    

        “My sisters and I have each other to keep us in check.  You have no one.  But your Aegis.”

        Realization settled upon me like a cloud.  So, Ahmose wasn’t just there to assist me…  he was there to keep me firmly in place. 

        “So, now you know.” She stared at me.  “For now.  You’ll forget it again soon enough.”

        That thought was not comforting. 

        “Charmian?”

        I looked up at her. 

        “Yes?”

        “Be good.”

        And she was gone. 

      I took a shaking breath and sank into my bed, allowing the softness to comfort me momentarily.  I wasn’t sure what to think.  She had just confirmed that at least some of the things that Annen had told me were true… but since she openly admitted them, didn’t that mean that the Order had nothing to hide?  I was at a loss. 

      My hand brushed against a rolled up papyrus on my bed.  Staring at it suspiciously, I picked it up.  How had she left it?  I hadn’t seen her with it at all. 

      As I unrolled it, the yellow butterfly that I had just seen Lachesis eat flew from the confines of the paper and out my window.  I watched it fly away in shock, alive and well, before I turned my attention to the paper in my hands.  Delicate, feminine writing flowed across the page in English.

There are things you were never meant to understand.

You will have to trust me.

      Before I even had a chance to ponder its meaning, the cryptic message burst into flame and I dropped it to the stone floor, watching it burn on the stone.  Within a minute, it had disappeared completely… as though it had never existed.

      I exhaled shakily, suddenly realizing that I had been holding my breath.  Forcing myself to calm, I reminded myself of my reality.  I was a Keeper and my job right now was to get my bloodstone back so that I could return home to Pasadena where I belonged.  And I would do it while disturbing my ancient life as Charmian as little as possible.   

      I took a last glance into the mirror before I slipped into the hall, intent on waking Cleopatra up and forming a plan of action for the day.  But my plan was waylaid when a house servant rushed to my side, her face drawn and pinched with worry underneath her tied scarf.

      “My lady, I am so thankful you are up,” she uttered quickly.  “Please, can you come with me?  It is Iras.  She needs you.”

      Iras?!  What on earth could possibly be wrong now?  I quickly sailed through the empty corridors of the palace to Iras’ bedchamber, the servant trailing behind me.  Pushing her door open, I scanned the room. 

      Iras was thrashing in her bed, her forehead glistening with sweat.  I turned in alarm to the servant girl. 

      “How long has she been like this?” 

      I crossed the room quickly to Iras, putting the back of my hand against her cheek, but withdrawing it just as quickly.  She was burning up, her eyes glazed as she moaned.  In her delirium, she didn’t even recognize that I was there.

      The servant girl shook her head quickly. 

      “I know not, my lady,” she admitted reluctantly. “I found her this way this morning.” She hesitated and then continued.  “I do know that the priest Annen was going to be bring her an herb… to help her get over her sickness.  As you know, she has been ill for the past week or two.  I came this morning to tell her that Annen has died. And she was like this.”

      My gaze returned to Iras as my stomach dropped like a lead weight.  This couldn’t be happening.  Apparently, Annen had been meant to heal her.  But he couldn’t… because he was dead himself. 

        If Iras didn’t get better, she would not be in Cleopatra’s tomb to die with us the way she was meant.  I sighed heavily.  I did
not
want to be the one to tell Cleopatra.  But unfortunately, breaking bad news to her often fell within my job description.

      I turned back to the servant girl. 

      “Please go directly to Cleopatra’s personal physician.  Tell them that I need him here immediately.” 

      She nodded quickly, her face alarmed.  She knew that I would not call for Cleopatra’s personal physician, Olympus, unless the situation was dire.  Olympus was every bit as daunting a person as Ahmose.  She backed quickly out the door.  I suspected that she was running at this very moment.

      I sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Iras’ burning back and pushing her damp hair out of her face.  Her bedclothes were soaked with perspiration.  There was hardly a dry place left for me to perch.  My thoughts whirled, trying to recall from history books the types of illnesses that ancient Egyptians suffered from… and the cures.

      I was pretty sure that I remembered reading about typhoid and smallpox.  And, suddenly I recalled that King Tut had died from Malaria.  Holy crap.  We had no penicillin or antimalarial drugs in ancient Egypt.  There would be nothing we could do but plaster her in herbs and offer gifts to Sekhmet, the goddess of healing.   Somehow, my opulent surroundings seemed a little tarnished now that the drawbacks stared me in the face.  

      Before I could ponder the circumstances further, the door burst open and Olympus hurried in, carrying his leather satchel of herbs.  His face was ominous, like always.  He never looked cheerful- it was as though he always expected a death, even at dinner every night.  The little servant girl scampered in behind him, securing the door in his wake. 

      He strolled to my side, apparently intent on appearing as though he had not been summoned by me, but that he had simply decided to grace us with his presence.  I suddenly recalled why I disliked this abhorrent man so much- he was grossly arrogant.  I honestly didn’t understand why Cleopatra tolerated him.

      “You require my services, my lady?” His stringy eyebrows rose mockingly as he eyed my face.  I pasted on my best superior look and glared at him.

      “Obviously, Iras needs your help,” I gestured toward the bed as I rose to stand beside him.  As if on cue, Iras moaned pitifully.   “Please do all you can for her.  Our majesty will be greatly displeased if anything…unfortunate happens to her.” 

      I couldn’t bring myself to say the words, but my implication was clear.   If Iras died, Cleopatra would be pissed at Olympus.

      He looked down his long Greek nose at me and I backed away from him.  For some reason, he always smelled like pungent cheese.  In a land where everyone was overly concerned with how they smelled, that was strange to me.  Just one more thing to dislike about this unpleasant man. 

      “I will do what I can,” he announced gravely and a little dismissively, as he turned his back to me.  “It will be in the hands of Sekhmet, as well as my own.” 

      I almost rolled my eyes.  I had foreseen this not five minutes ago.  Visions of the offerings that would soon take place in this room flitted through my head.  Good lord- I might as well start lighting the incense now. What I wouldn’t give for just one bottle of penicillin or a Z-Pack.

      “I will check back in this afternoon. Please do not leave her side,” I instructed. 

      He sniffed as he stared at me, but he did not dare to argue.  He knew that what I had implied was correct.  Cleopatra would hold him personally responsible if Iras died.  And right now was not a good time to cross her, although he couldn’t know the extent of that truth.  I sighed at the thought.  I was going to have to break this news to her and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

      I made my way slowly back to her bedchambers, not relishing my job at all.  As her right-hand girl, I always got the short end of the stick. 

      Once, when we were teens, she had inadvertently broken her father’s favorite flute.  It had been a complete accident, but her father was very serious about his flutes.  He had even had an elaborate display case custom made from ebony to house his enormous collection. 

      Out of curiosity, Cleopatra had taken his favorite one, a beautiful hand-carved ivory creation, to see firsthand why her father enjoyed playing them so much.  She herself couldn’t understand it- it seemed a little foolish to her, an utter waste of time. 

      Unfortunately, though, she had dropped it before she could even try it and it had shattered on the marble floor.  I was the one who had to break the news to Auletes for her, although she didn’t ask me to lie.  She simply didn’t wish to get struck and she felt confident that he wouldn’t beat me for her mistake. 

      She had been wrong.  In his intense fury, he had backhanded me so hard that I flew across the room into the wall. A sympathetic guard had helped me to my feet and held me as I regained my balance.  That guard would grow up to be the leader of Marc Antony’s armies… and my fiancée. 

      Hasani had risked Auletes’ wrath in order to help me to my bedchamber…because the room was spinning so much that I couldn’t walk alone.  I could remember the anger and sympathy on his face as though it was yesterday.  But as a member of the royal Ptolemaic guard, he couldn’t say anything to Auletes.  It was unheard of.  

      But Cleopatra could.  My face had swelled up for a week, my eyes black and blue.  Cleopatra had felt so horribly that she had waited on me hand and foot… and she had gone toe-to-toe with her father for the atrocity, all traces of her fear and guilt for breaking his flute were gone at what she saw as a horrible injustice.

      Servants had whispered to me in awe of how she had screamed at her father for hurting me.  But I was in too much pain to care.  It felt like the intense pain was going to split my head apart.   But her railing had accomplished something. The next morning, one of Auletes’ servants had crept into my bedchamber carrying a small ivory box.  The box itself was beautiful, but it also contained a set of matching golden combs.  I still had those combs in my jewelry box, although I never wore them.  I didn’t like to be reminded of that incident. 

      Cleopatra had never asked me to do her dirtywork again.  Although, I was still the one stuck with giving her bad news.  Such as today.  Standing outside of her bedchamber doors, I took a deep, steadying breath and pushed the doors open. 

      She was still sleeping soundly, her beautiful face relaxed and unworried in her slumber.  I walked silently to her side and gazed down upon her, dreading that I had to interrupt her peaceful dreams with this new development.  I sighed heavily once more, before reaching down and shaking her shoulder gently. 

      I had barely touched her when her dark eyes flew open and met mine.  The intensity of her gaze so soon upon waking startled me and I stepped back with a gasp. 

      “Goodness, Cleopatra.  Were you already awake?” 

      She stared at me wordlessly as I crossed to her balcony doors and opened them, allowing the fresh sea breeze to flow in through her rooms, rustling the sheer draperies that surrounded her bed.