Astarte's Wrath (Kythan Guardians 0.50)

He chuckles, and finishes off his drink. “Maybe you’ll loosen your skirts enough tonight to celebrate with me.” He hooks his finger under my sash and tugs me closer.

I bat his hand away but laugh. “There isn’t enough drink in all of Egypt for that to happen.”

Phoenix is one of the most attractive guardians. This is true. And he wouldn’t consider sleeping with me as anything other than a way to blissfully pass the time. As he does with any guardian he beds. It wouldn’t change his feelings for me, or our friendship. He’d continue to think of me as he always has. But I’m not as flighty as him, or the other citizens of Alexandria. I’ve been raised in a world where physical love is enjoyed for what it is, and nothing more. But there is something different about how I view it for myself.

Phoenix once asked me what I was waiting for. And I had to admit that I didn’t know. But that I didn’t just want to simply give myself over to another for pleasure. I want to at least care for the person, and for it to count for something.

Though what, I’m not sure. I’m a guardian. Relationships are rare for us. We breed in order to create more guardians to serve the pharaohs. We don’t marry and live in family units. Mothers raise children until of age: seventeen. When the Change occurs—the f

irst shift—and we can devote our life to servitude. And as such, I only met my father once. He died in the war between Cleopatra and her brother shortly after I was born. I don’t even remember him.

Phoenix cocks his head, a smile in his illumined red eyes. “Come on,” he says.

The lamps burn bright above the crowded streets. Strings of candle-lit votives canopy the district, casting the palaces in a living, vibrant glow. Narcos kindle fire pits in the center of the feast. Boars and fish rotate slowly over the embers.

Phoenix and I move leisurely through the party, him stopping every few seconds to kiss or grope another half-dressed woman. He’s unstoppable. I decide to let him enjoy himself, and free him of my timid ways.

“I’m famished,” I say, gaining his attention from a Shythe girl. “I need to recharge after exerting myself in the battle.”

“Of course!” he shouts over the laughter and music, but his eyes stay trained on the girl in his arms. “We’ll meet up later . . . after.”

I shake my head at him again, then wander away from the circling girls, like predators flocking to his side. What I said wasn’t entirely an excuse to flee from the debauchery I know is about to follow. I haven’t eaten since before we left to face Octavian’s legion, and I am hungry. But I also want to find Lunia and head back to the palace to retrieve Xarion for the procession. And an intoxicated Phoenix won’t make a good guardian escort.

There’s a long line before the buffet. The spread displays figs and cheese with dill fronds, buttered honey bread and salt fish, and the sight and scent of roasted duck makes my mouth water. The wait looks to be too long, though. I glance toward the shore, just past it to Antirhodos. The procession will happen within the hour. Maybe Lunia is already there.

Pushing past the line, I make my way toward a tight corridor between connecting palaces. The music is a low, muffled thrum as I enter the covered archway. The fires of the feast fade away, and the chilled air engulfs me, the darkness complete.

Sparking a small dome of Charge, I light my path, and an arm captures my waist.

My back is pulled against a hard chest. Sculpted, tanned forearms press my arms to my sides, and my Charge is doused. The darkness surrounds us. “Get off!”

Trying to free myself, I instep, driving my heel into the man’s toes. He grunts. “Is that how you treat all your masters?” Xarion’s says near my ear.

I huff, and allow my Charge to die out completely. “Are you mad? What are you doing—and why are you here?”

He doesn’t release me. Instead, he holds me closer. Then begins to sway our bodies in time to the low, distant music. “I slipped out,” he says. “And I’m wearing a mask so I can enjoy the festivities before I’m made to sit on a throne all night.”

“Xarion,” I say breathlessly. “You’re hopeless.” But I laugh as he begins to move me toward the party, his legs guiding mine from behind. “Will you release me?”

“Never,” he says. “I want one last moment of freedom before I’m forced to be Pharaoh. Remember when we used to sneak wine at the feast every year?”

“Oh, yes,” I say, leaning my head against his solid chest. “I remember the queen getting quite upset with your antics.”

“Mine?” His feet stop. “What about you? I believe it was your wicked influence that convinced me to run drunk and naked through my mother’s procession.”

I laugh, remembering his bare cheeks flying past gaping nobles. We were only ten then, and things were so much simpler. We knew of many important things happening around us, but back then, everything was conquerable. We ruled the world—we owned it.

The warmth of Xarion’s arms wrapped around my waist brings me back to the now, the moment we’re in. Things are so different—changed. Not spoiled, but I see him and our world through clear eyes now. He’ll always be my friend, my confidante, but I’m his protector.

“Xarion,” I say. “I really must get you to the procession. You’re needed there more than ever with the queen at war. The people need their pharaoh.”

He groans. “When did you become so responsible?”

“When I was forced to think of . . .” I trail off, stopping myself from blurting something foolish.

His face inches closer to my cheek, the heat of his skin a live current. “What? What has turned the reckless Star so serious?” He smooths my beads aside, his soft fingers skimming my skin. Then he turns me around in his arms so I’m forced to meet his eyes through his dark mask. “Tell me.”

I swallow. “After that night, Xarion, when I was forced to realize all the dangers that could befall you. That’s when.” He rolls his eyes, as he always does when I remind him of the night he got his scar. I’m tempted to run my fingers over it. I regret allowing him to talk me into sneaking out with Lunia. To a play at the Theatre, of all things. I was so irresponsible. “I’m vowed to guard you. And I could never live with myself if anything happened to you.”