The Passion of Cleopatra (Ramses the Damned 2)

*

Impossible.

He was seeing things, imagining things. Thoughts of Cleopatra had nagged him all day. The idea that she might make an appearance here, it was possible, of course. For what purpose, he had no idea.

But Samir and his men had been watching the ships, the ports. So far, no reports.

And that was all well and good.

But still, she was on his mind, as they now said, and always would be. And that's why he'd recognized her gaze in the face of the pale-skinned, golden-haired woman who had appeared just inside the terrace doors. Her eyes. The woman had Cleopatra's eyes. Her eyes before the resurrection. Before their color had changed. Brown and wide and expressive and full of intelligence and perception. And her poise. Perfect, upright, assured.

And then she was gone.

Lost behind a sudden shift in the sea of guests all around him. Nowhere to be seen on the terrace or the steps or the lawn on either side of him.

He had begun to rudely ignore the guests to whom he'd been speaking seconds before. He managed the most polite excuse he could and departed.

Where had she gone, this woman? Perhaps her resemblance to Cleopatra was a trick of the mind. But her sudden disappearance? This was cause for immediate suspicion.

A hand gripped his elbow.

Alex was standing next to him. "Don't go too far, old chum. We're toasting you both in just a few minutes. Fetch Julie if you can."

"Yes, of course, Alex. Thank you."

Yes, he would fetch Julie. But first, this strange vanishing woman with Cleopatra's eyes.

*

Fear moved through her in a wave.

What was there to fear in this small temple? A replica of the Pantheon, it seemed, with a gallery of Roman statues in alcoves lining its walls and a statue on a pedestal in the center. Was it Caesar? She could not tell. Her memories of his likeness were entirely lost to her now.

So where did this fear come from? Not dread. Not anxiety. But a sudden, violent paralysis throughout her entire body.

Sibyl Parker. From Sibyl Parker, this fear comes. Does she send it willfully? Or is that what she now feels? It was exhausting her to try to make sense of this.

"You are ill," Julie said.

No trace of malice in this statement, just a kind of gentle fascination.

Still gentle, this Julie. Why so gentle?

"How is it that you are so ill?" Julie asked her. "Haven't you healed completely from the fire?"

"I healed from the fire. The illness...it is in my mind."

"Whatever it is you want, I will give it to you, or I will have Ramses give it to you, on one condition."

"And so we negotiate now, you and I? The queen who fed Rome and the aristocrat who wept her way into the arms of a pharaoh?"

"Wear your cruelty however you like. It doesn't fit you anymore. You need help. You are here for help. And that is what I offer you now. Help."

"But on one condition. So tell me, dear, sweet Julie Stratford, what is this condition?"

"You must stay away from Alex Savarell. Forever. You must leave him be entirely."

"Leave him be entirely," she whispered.