Astarte's Wrath (Kythan Guardians 0.50)

My heart jumps in my throat. I crane my head to watch as Roman soldiers and two Leymak usher in Xarion. My eyes hurriedly inspect his body, searching for wounds, bruises, broken bones. Only I can’t help needing to see his eyes immediately—feel them on me. Other than a blackened eye, he’s not harmed. I release a repressed breath, able to breathe again.

“Star!” Xarion shouts. He struggles against the cuffs binding his wrists. The soldier gripping his restraints yanks the chain. He’s pulled to a stop and pushed on to his knees before the dais.

An ache closes around my throat, begging words to leave my mouth. But I hold my tongue. Instead, I meet his gaze and smile. It’s a bittersweet movement as my lips tremble into forced place. I’ll save you.

Octavian steps to the edge of the dais, forcing Xarion’s attention on him. Shaking his head, Octavian sighs. “Oh, Caesarion. Two Caesars are simply too many.”

The pit of my stomach roils with terror. He can’t kill him now. Not now. My lips part to draw Octavian’s attention, but Xarion’s quicker.

Pulling against his manacles, Xarion gets to his feet. Even though Octavian stands upon the dais, Xarion rises to look him directly in the eyes. “You’ve secured your throne, Octavian. Let the guardians go. They’re no threat to you.”

My heart plummets. I know how difficult it is for Xarion to set aside his pride and make a request of Octavian. But he has. For me. Not now, I plead to the gods surrounding me in stone form.

Octavian averts his gaze and eyes me and Phoenix. “You mean release the traitors?” He shakes his head. “I don’t believe I can do that by law, Caesarion.”

“Why not? Are you not powerful enough to make the laws?” Xarion’s attempt to chide the Roman is met with a sneer from Octavian.

Composing his features, Octavian chuckles. “Oh, I am. Be assured. But just as it does the people no good to have whores making false claims, I’m afraid I can’t allow traitors to live under my rule.”

“My mother is no whore,” Xarion growls. “And they’re not traitors. They were commanded by their master to hide me. They had no choice.”

“Ah,” Octavian says, lifting a finger. “That reminds me. Where are my manners?” A smile stretches his smooth face, and he turns toward Candra. “I believe your payment is due. The agreed upon relic for the king of Egypt.”

Candra glides forward, her arms and eyes incandescent. “Thank you, Octavian. It’s been an honor to aid you.” But she does not bow.

My hands slicks with sweat. My heart thrums in my ears. Now. This is the moment—

“One request first,” Octavian says, holding the was scepter just out of Candra’s reach.

Candra’s form stiffens. “Yes?”

“I believe it would be rude not to include the queen, don’t you?” His eyebrows rise into his blond waves. “Since she is the last reigning pharaoh, it would be tragic for her not to witness the freeing of her most devoted slaves.”

A slow smile slides across Candra’s face. “Agreed.”

Octavian snaps his fingers. The side entrance of the temple opens. Though I’m relieved to have the chance to look upon Cleopatra—to know she’s all right—I’d rather not have another Ptolemy contending for my protection. I pray Phoenix can get her out safely while I focus on Xarion.

First, two soldiers cross into the room, and then behind them, a death table is wheeled into the temple. The queen lies on her back, arms crossed over her chest.

Xarion’s cry echoes off the temple walls. The anguish in his voice rips my soul. I bow my head, trying to control the rage simmering in my veins, to focus on my purpose. But I can’t rein in the tremble of my limbs. Anger grips me so violently I squeeze my eyes closed, veiling the sight of my departed queen.

“You bastard!” Xarion shouts. He lunges forward, the chains rattling in protest.

“Me? I did not do this, Caesarion. Your mother took her own life.” He sighs. “With an asp, of all things. Not only a painful way to die, but cowardly.”

Fighting to break free of his captors, Xarion strains against his manacles and leaps toward Octavian again, but he’s yanked back. “I’ll have my revenge. I swear it.”

Ignoring Xarion’s threat, Octavian turns to Candra and extends the was scepter. “I grow tired of this affair, guardian. Let’s press forward. I have a whole country to annex.”

Candra nods once and steps forward to accept the amulet. “As vowed, I prepare to free the Narcolym and loyal Shythe”—she glances at me—“before my ascent.”

My brow furrows. Other than it’s a joy to disturb her moment, I could never keep from speaking out. I’m not much of a guardian, I suppose. But oh, how I will be once she begins her ritual. “Free them? Aren’t the Narcos already free?”

Her shoulders go rigid. The beads in her hair clank as her attention is snapped to me. I get more pleasure out of irritating her than I should.

Bringing the scepter to her chest, as if it’s her child, she says, “Seems you, my sister, should not only choose your friendships wiser, but you should also never underestimate anyone.”

She’s mocking me. Using my own words against me. “Fine, Candra. Your point is made. Who are you speaking of?”