I Shall Rewrite the Stars

Chapter 33

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Nearly an hour drags on, each step more difficult than the last. As men, women, and children in ragged dress and chains emerge from surrounding buildings, I focus on the cobblestone street. At this time of morning, only slaves and guards should be about. But soon, the wealthier residents of Vaticana will wake.

I dread the thought of it.

We’ve passed between a large, intricate gate of gold when I dare to lift my eyes again. On either side, are towering mansions lined with curling pillars and denoted by ornate statues of their founding patriarchs. I cower from the glare of shimmering gold leaf, which paints the wings and instruments of cherubs clustered at the corners of massive doorways. I cringe at the thought of the excessive décor hidden beyond those mighty, black doors.

Though, perhaps it is more because such sights remind me of the palace, and thoughts of the palace remind me of Ptolemy.

I’ve turned to the left, imagining the massive structure for but a moment, when Juba says, “She’ll be alright. I don’t believe for a second that Gustavian will actually call upon her services.”

“He’ll spare her when he’s so happily taken all the rest?” I shake my head. “He’d do it to spite all of Kemet, as well as deal the greatest of blows to Ptolemy and I.”

“You are blessed by his greatest enemy—the only true rival of his patron spirit. Fear for yourself, Selene. Everyone knows that Ptolemy is only good as a bartering chip. You are worth far more.”

“If only that fact were enough to free Ptolemy from the harem.”

Juba spares me a brief glance. “You wish it were you who had been sent there?”

I look away. “I could bear the shame far easier than my sister-”

“I would steal you away before anyone could so much as lay a finger on you.”

“We would not reach the city gates before a mess of guards found and captured us,” I say. “But wishes and wants and what-if’s do not matter anymore. Forgive me for…”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Juba says. “You—bow your head.”

I drop my gaze to the street, clenching my hands to my chest in a feign of fear. Without our whispers, I notice the clacking of sandals headed our way. Not a word is spoken as we move to the side of the street and stop. Not a word is needed, for the strong scent of lilac announces the arrival of the greatest viper in Roma.

“Greetings, Lady Octavia,” Juba says, bowing an inch lower. “Have you need of me? I can attend to you the moment I’ve finished this task.”

“You’d not drop it the instant I say to?” Octavia huffs a laugh. “My brother has you out to walk his newest mutt, then. Tell me, is she a gift? I’ve no need for another mouth to feed.”

“She’s to be given to Lord Antyllus, M’lady.”

“Antyllus?” She clicks her tongue. “Why would Gustavian gift that poor excuse of a man a gift? Perhaps in hopes that his wife will give birth to a live son this time?”

Juba does not reply, and I bite my tongue. Despite being her eldest son, Octavia despises Antyllus. He looks too much like Father, and has remained loyal to him in spite of his betrayal of Roma. Even before Gustavian, Antyllus has claimed filial loyalty of a first-born son, to excuse his otherwise treasonous behavior.

Such is the only reason that, by grace of an ancient law even the emperor cannot challenge, he has not lost his head.

Nevertheless, Antyllus has been shunned by the nobility, reviled by Gustavian, and disowned by Octavia. Thus, in the serene peace of his manor, separate from the main house though still upon its lands, Antyllus has led a happy life. A far happier life in isolation, than he ever could have had as a public figure.

“Let me see it,” Octavia commands.

“As you wish, M’lady,” Juba says, only the slightest hint of displeasure in his tone.

Turning back, he takes my chin gently in his hand, and lifts. I keep my eyes down, hoping against hope that Octavia will find no interest in me. I look nothing like Father, after all. Surely she-

“You have his eyes,” she whispers, shoving Juba’s hand aside to dig her nails into my cheeks. Jerking my head left then right, Octavia hisses, “Look at me.”

I do, stunned by the rage in her narrowed, golden eyes. With blonde hair set upon her head, twined around narrow garlands of gold-leaf and pearls, Octavia’s lightly wrinkled face pales in comparison to her many adornments. As she steps back, bared shoulders blushed from the morning chill, she crosses her slender, purple-sleeved arms beneath her chest.

“Has he captured them all, then?” she asks.

“No, M’lady,” Juba says. “Just the daughters.”

“And the other one is where?”

“The harem, by His Majesty’s command.”

Octavia scoffs. “A chit of Kemet is in his harem? You lie to me, Juba.”

“On my life, I would never dare to.”

“Oh? Well, we shall-”

“Mother, what of this ugly girl has caused you such displeasure?” a soft, preening voice asks. “Isn’t it too early to let a mere pair of slaves disrupt your good mood?”

As I lower my eyes, I glance past Octavia. Head high, deep brown hair tied the same as her mothers, Antonia Minor smiles sweetly despite the ice in her hazel glare. Dressed in a gown of lavender belted with plaits of golden cord, she flicks a fan daintily beneath her pale nose.

Behind her, veiled with a curtain of sheer, white fabric, Antonia Major, her elder twin sister, peeks at me from beneath thick lashes. Arms around herself, she huddles in the mass of gray fabric cloaking her narrow body. The sight of her fearful self saddens me. Almost as much as the small glimpse of scars I spot marring the left half of her face.

“It seems two of your father’s bastards have arrived in Vaticana,” Octavia says. “One stands before us now. Disgusting, isn’t it?”

“This unsightly thing is of Father’s blood?” Antonia Minor laughs. “Criminal or no, could he truly have created such an unnatural girl?”

“I imagine it must be its mother’s influence. She must have been the most wretched creature to look upon.”

While they laugh, I bite my tongue till I taste copper. Such insults were hurled at the first meeting I foresaw. I’d made the mistake of glaring then, before Helios jumped to his feet. Such actions were taken not only as disrespect, but attempts to cause harm.

As punishment, I was flogged.

Helios was flogged and left to suffer in stocks set before the gates of Octavia’s manor, for a full week.

Ptolemy was starved for four days, and warned not to follow our examples.

“Is it mute?” Octavia asks, when the laughter fades.

“Not to my knowledge, M’lady,” Juba says.

“Interesting.” She pauses. “Give me its chains. I’ll take custody from here, onward.”

Juba drops to one knee. “Forgive me, but I’ve been instructed to deliver her to Lord Antyllus.”

“You dare deny me?”

“My orders are from the emperor’s own tongue, M’lady. Forgive my disrespect, but his word is absolute.”

“Gustavian went all the way to the docks, just to view this vile chit?” Octavia’s gown swishes as she turns away. “I will speak to him myself, then. Major can use a new attendant, after all. One filthy monster should serve another, don’t you agree?”

“You are far wiser than I, M’lady,” Juba replies. “If you say as such, then I must believe you are correct.”

“Begone, then. Inform Antyllus not to get too attached. That thing will be called upon to serve its proper mistress, before noon.”

“As you wish.”

We remain still until the mass of footsteps drift away, then face forward. Not a word is said, but our silence is volatile. Within minutes we pass two purple-cloaked guards set on either side of a high, golden gate. Leading me down a path lined with high, green hedges, Juba whispers his rage without looking back.

“How am I to endure this? I think nothing of such words spoken against me. But to hear her say those things about you…”

“It hurts,” I admit. “But she can hurt us in far worse ways.”

“So you’ll let it go?”

“Of course not.” I pause, my fists clenched at my sides. “One day, I will tell that cursed crone that she pales like death when compared to my mother. I will remind her that Father was forced to wed her, but chose willingly to be with and love my mother. Octavia’s agony over these facts, will be the sweetest of sights.”

To my surprise, Juba flashes a smile. “I’d thought you too kind to seek proper revenge. I’m glad the desire is inside of you. You deserve to feel this way, Selene.”

“I am human, Juba. I feel just as much darkness as any other.”

“You forgive too easily, and see much more light in the future, than most.”

“My optimism and kindness are reserved for those I deem worthy of them. But there are some who are not—could never be. I hold neither pity nor aspirations of mercy for such wretches. They make my heart feel cold as ice.”

“And I judge you not an inch for it.”

It is oddly comforting, to bare the darkness in my soul and find it not reviled, but readily accepted—encouraged even! And justified. It would be normal for Juba to think lesser of me, for lacking purity of mind and will. Instead, I think he sees his own darkness reflected. And maybe, hopefully, he feels less ashamed because of that.

“Of all we might share, I feel no aversion to the weight of the darkness in your heart,” I say. “Lean on me in all ways, Juba. I wish to be your support as I know you will be mine.”

“Does love drive you to feel such a way?” he asks, as we walk between two rusted, iron gates.

“If it does?” I ask, peering toward a long yard of high grass, which leads to a simple house of white marble. Its pillars are cracked, its door faded from black to a smokey gray. In its windows rest half-burned candles that I know will not be switched, until they have melted away completely.

This manor is as neglected now, as it was in my visions.

“I hadn’t thought that to love another, was to accept even the parts of themselves they wish didn’t exist,” Juba replies, stopping at the door. “It seems too good to be true.”

“Such is love. Who are we to fully grasp its depth? For me, I rather enjoy discovering how much more I can feel for you, when I’ve otherwise believed that I’ve finally learned the answer.”

“Again, it seems too good to be true.” Releasing his breath, Juba lifts his hand and knocks twice.

Then again.

Several minutes later, he does so again.

“Who are you to come calling so early?” a tired voice groans as the doors creek apart. “I—Juba? Has something happened to His Majesty?”

“Nothing that I know of,” Juba says. “He’s sent me with a gift for you, as well as notice that I’m to join your household. Till such a time as His Majesty wishes I should leave, that is.”

“Did he make no acknowledgement of the letter I wrote, begging more food if not for myself, then at the very least for my pregnant wife?”

“He made none.”

Whispering a curse, a tall man peeks around Juba. Lips drawn in a deep frown, a large hand brushes curls of brown from tanned skin paled with lack of sleep, and the man’s hazel eyes widen.

Just as they had the first time we met.

“Antyllus,” I whisper.

Tears burn at the corners of my eyes. I knew it would be this way—I knew it! But to see him again, to see Father in everything from the way this man shifts his weight, to the way his cheeks dip when he opens his mouth…

“He caught you?” Antyllus asks, brushing Juba aside as he pulls me into a tight hug. “Tell me there are no others. Tell me that wretch didn’t steal all of Father’s children, from Kemet’s shores.”

“There were only four of us,” I say, breathing in the earthy scent from his black tunic. “My brothers are safe. My sister was taken to the harem-”

“I’ll fight for her,” Antyllus swears. “How dare he—how dare that-”

“Mind your tongue, M’lord,” Juba warns. “There are unfavorable ears everywhere. It would be dire for all of us, were you to be heard and accused of treason.”

Trembling, Antyllus drops his head and steps back. When he looks at me again, he smiles and says softer, “Forgive me. This is our first meeting, yet I’ve acted a mess. You must be so frightened, and here I’ve gone and made things worse.”

“Not at all,” I say. “Father would have reacted much the same. The eldest, my brother Cearion, might have as well.”

“Our brother,” Antyllus corrects. “I do not mind that Father began a new life beyond this cursed place. If your mother brought him happiness, then she has my gratitude. Should we meet, I will honor her as my step-mother, and hope that you and your siblings might one day call my family and I your own.”

“Even in this life, you’ve the kindest of hearts.” At Antyllus’ curious look, I look toward Juba. “I trust him.”

“Will you tell him everything?” Juba asks.

I nod. “This place should be safe enough, but-”

“I’ll stand guard till you have finished.”

“What are you both talking about?” Antyllus asks, taking my hands in his. “I could see Father in you from my first glance. I know that you’re my sister.”

“And this meeting is already so much to take in,” I say, returning my gaze to his. “But I have much to tell you. All I can ask, is that you hear me out until I am finished.”

Antyllus hesitates but a moment, his eyes searching mine before he nods. “Whatever fate brought you to my doorstep, I will prove it to be kind. There are few else in Roma who can honestly say the same, but I promise, you can trust me.”

“I know, for you have already proven as such.” He makes another curious look, and I smile. “Shall I begin with an introduction? My name is Selene, second child of Kemet and blessed by the spirit of the moon. This is my second time meeting you, Antyllus, and though the circumstances are wretched, I am so very, very happy to see you again.”

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