"They already are," he said quietly.
"Can we honor his request?"
"We can, of course. But we now have a queen to whom we must answer as well. And then there is Sibyl, whose desire to find Cleopatra is stronger than ours."
"Must we tell them?"
"We must tell Bektaten. Telling Sibyl will be her decision. But whatever we disclose, we mention Alex's desire that they be set free. The two of them. Together. If it's your desire to honor this request, of course."
"If I desire to be set free myself, you mean. If I desire to be freed from my last tie to my mortal life so that I can give myself to your magnificent and terrifying world."
"Our world, my darling Julie." When she looked up at him, he graced her slight smile with a kiss. "Our world."
45
Cornwall
Sibyl was leaving them.
She had announced as much that morning after two days of continuous rest.
Two days during which she would burrow more deeply into her blankets whenever they tried to question her about her connection to Cleopatra.
Enamon had reported sounds of sexual release coming from her room. Muffled and restrained, of course, but still audible during his regular trips past her bedroom door. And so the connection between Sibyl and Cleopatra remained, and it was still strong, and it now provided her with the more pleasurable aspects of Alex and Cleopatra's reunion.
At least her torment seemed to be at an end, Ramses thought. The mad visions gone.
But were they? Or had Sibyl's attitude about them simply changed? Did they seize her still, only she now gave herself to them without confusion and resistance? There was no telling, for, suddenly, Sibyl wouldn't speak of any of it. And now, with a burst of energy that seemed to have come from nowhere, she was eager to return to her hotel room in London and a lady's maid whom she insisted was coming apart at the seams with worry.
They waited for her in the great hall. It had the air of a formal ceremony, the way they all stood with their hands clasped, not far from where they'd met with Saqnos three nights prior. Enamon was missing from their group, but only because he was on the other side of the bridge, waiting to drive Sibyl back to London. Aktamu was off on some other mission, the details of which Bektaten wouldn't disclose.
"Is this wise?" Ramses asked once the wait became unbearable.
"Wise?" Bektaten asked. She wore a heavy robe of rich brocade fabric, and her tightly kinked black hair, so lustrous, was gathered at the back of her head by a device of emeralds and gold.
Ramses was distracted for the moment by her regal beauty.
"To simply let Sibyl go like this," he said. "With so many questions unanswered. Is it wise?"
"She is not my prisoner," Bektaten answered, "nor is she yours."
"And what if she were to tell all she knows of us, you and I and Julie--"
"Who would believe her? She is a writer of fantasies."
Ramses nodded.
It was bracing the way she spoke to him now. But when he
cast a glance in her direction, she didn't seem stern or angry.
Finally they heard the clop of footsteps on the stone stairs.
A moment later Sibyl appeared, dressed in new clothes Julie had purchased for her from a dress shop in the nearest village. A lacy blouse with a pearl-studded collar, contained by a trim jacket the same shade of white. Her dress wasn't nearly as long as gowns worn by so many ladies of this era. The hem was short enough that she could run, dance, and twirl if she so chose. And atop Sibyl's golden locks was a small top hat, black as night and much like the ones Julie had been fond of during their travels through Europe. It comforted him to see how Julie had left her stamp on the woman's new attire. A sign, perhaps, that Sibyl might soon return, even if she did insist on departing now with an aura of suddenness and mystery.
"Do I look well?" Sibyl asked. "Or healthy, at least."
"You look positively stunning," Julie said. "I'm biased, of course. Given I'm the one who dressed you."