I Shall Rewrite the Stars

Chapter 34

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“How are you feeling this morning?” I ask, annoyed with the humidity in this land, for it has made my hair a mess of frizz.

Julia sits carefully, cautious of her belly swollen beneath the layers of an emerald-green, satin skirt. I hold her hand till she releases a breath, and bright blue eyes turn up at me from beneath a frame of tight, stray auburn curls.

“Well enough,” she says, waving a sun-kissed hand toward the low stool at her side. “Will you sit with me today, Selene?”

“You know too well what might happen, if I did and were caught.”

She sits back with a pouting sigh. “You fret far too much. Though, I suppose you must. These past few weeks, we’ve received more guests than have come in all the time I’ve lived here.”

I hum, frowning at the wide leaves tied to a bamboo pole overhead. They stray too far to the left, to fully prevent the sunlight from burning Julia’s cheeks. “It has been a month already, yet the emperor still sends his men to check if I’m attending you as a proper slave-”

“Servant,” Julia corrects. “I despise the word slave—especially for my own sister!”

I smile, my heart warmed as always by such kind words. “I am happy for Antyllus, that he took a wife who thinks similarly to himself. Were you to despise me, it might break his heart.”

“Indeed it would. The poor man is fierce as a lion when his family are called into question, but gentle as a dove elsewise. He’s not made for so cutthroat a place as Vaticana.”

Peeking side to side, scanning the perimeter of the interior courtyard, I look for signs of spies. From the low, manicured hedges in the corners, to the flower beds teeming with violets along the walls, to the small brass fountain in the middle of the yard, it appears we are alone.

“When Cearion reclaims Kemet, the two of you and your son will be more than welcomed there,” I whisper.

Julia breathes a laugh, her bare arms shifting and bangled hands patting her stomach. “I wouldn’t mind if it were a girl, you know.”

“I never meant to insinuate that you would. I just…have a strong feeling. I would wager a palace that you shall birth a son.”

Julia smiles. “So long as the baby is healthy, I will be happy.”

Watching the shadows of pain flicker across her eyes, I clench at the marionette bars of fate in my hands. Poor Julia has always suffered from frail health, and lost four pregnancies before this one. She aches for a child, and has taken every precaution to prepare for a successful delivery.

A delivery I have had Antyllus secure sea water for, so as to ensure that it will go exactly as hoped for.

“Tell me, did you eat before I arrived?” I ask, noting the growling of Julia’s stomach and the blush burning her cheeks. “M’lady-”

“Can’t you call me Julia when we’re alone?” she groans. “Even just in whisper?”

“So long as prying ears might be about, it is too great a risk, M’lady,” Juba says, stepping from the alcove to our right. Dressed in a tunic of black, his scarf trailing behind him, Juba looks akin to a harbinger of death.

“Such dreary attire,” Julia snips, groaning when she looks at me. “And yours as well. I see no reason why I cannot dress you as I please!”

“You declared in front of General Agrippa, that you were of a mind to gift me your old gowns,” I remind. “No slave in all the empire could dare walk around in silks and satins, M’lady.”

“Anything would be better than these rags.” She tugs at the knee-length hem of my baggy, gray gown, then makes a face at the wide neck and sleeveless straps. “Hideous. At the very least, I should have been allowed to order a more conservative servants gown be made.”

“Many slaves wear far less,” Juba says, his gaze distant. “Threadbare sackcloth that barely covers anything, draped over frail bodies of little more than skin and bone…”

“Never in my household,” Julia swears. “Such will never, ever occur under my roof.”

Juba smiles. “You are the kindest of mistresses, Lady Julia.” Then to me, he nods over his shoulder. “You were about to fetch her breakfast, weren’t you? I’ll help you to carry it back.”

“Thank you,” I say, whilst Julia swoons.

“How attentive of you, Juba! Tell me, you are unwedded still, correct? It’s not uncommon for servants of the same household to marry, you know?”

Juba chuckles. “I still belong to His Majesty, M’lady. But with his blessing, I would accept Selene’s hand as the most precious gift of my life.”

My cheeks warm and Julia coos with delight. Leaving her behind, we pass beneath the alcove and back into the manor. Following a long white corridor, Juba leads me toward the kitchen in the back.

“Gustavian summoned you for another report?” I ask softly, keeping my eyes ahead.

“Every three days,” Juba replies bitterly. “I’m to arrive just before dawn, and be gone as soon as I’ve relayed all that I’ve heard and seen.”

“You’ve told him of my mishaps?”

“He’s more interested in the punishments for said mishaps.”

I shake my head. “He must be unsatisfied with the excuse that Julia can do little, due to her current condition. How long before he commands Antyllus to punish me properly?”

“It could come at any moment,” Juba says. “I can guess at Gustavian’s thoughts, but no one can truly predict when he will call for action.”

Turning left, we cross a narrow hall painted brown and smelling of last nights roasted boar. “As my senior, you’ve permission to punish me,” I begin. “If you must-”

“How can you even insinuate the idea of me harming you?”

I release my breath. “From my visions, I remember the days when you were meant to teach me how to take blows and endure whippings. You’d tell me that such were unavoidable, but there were ways to lessen the damage.”

“All the more I curse every mention of that vile future you saw,” Juba spits. “When we have left this place, and the future we face returns to a mystery for us both, I beg of you to never speak of your visions again.”

Walking into a long room, Juba turns toward the splintered and stained counter on the other side, which sprawls beneath a window sealed with fine glass. Passing large, brown barrels of fruits and fresh wines, I look to the charred hunk of meat half-gone upon a rusting spit in the fireplace.

“Do you think she will like a slice or two of this?” I ask, pointing to it.

“She seems to stomach milk and bread, better,” Juba says, pulling a silver goblet from a high shelf.

I nod, walk the six steps into the cellar, and squint against the darkness. Musky, earthy smells overwhelm me, mingling with the stench of salted meats and souring milk. For all the gifts of food and drink that Antyllus has received these past weeks, most have begun to waste. They will have to be discarded soon.

“What a shame,” I say to myself, retrieving the best-looking glass jug of milk from a shelf in the back.

Dodging spider webs, ignoring the squeaks of unseen mice, I return to the kitchen just as Juba sets to slicing a bit of bread from the thick, dried remains of a hunk bought five days ago.

“Are you alright?” I ask, pulling the cork on my jug. “You seem more tense than usual.”

“I caught a bit of news from Agrippa as I was leaving,” Juba says. “The maharaja’s sent word of his extreme displeasure, upon learning that Gustavian’s men were casually traipsing his domain. He’s even more upset that two of his wards were taken hostage.”

“His wards—does he mean Ptolemy and I?”

Juba releases his breath. “I assume so. I don’t know what Raja and Helios did to convince the maharaja to make such a claim, but it has done nothing to better our situation.”

“I can guess at why, but…”

“Gustavian can do much to harm you, but if he kills you, or defiles your reputations beyond repair, it will be seen as a slight against the maharaja—an invitation of war with Indrira.”

I swallow hard, considering the full scale of what this means for me, for Ptolemy, and how it might actually benefit our assurance of survival. “If he cannot defile us, then Ptolemy is untouchable in the harem.”

“Unless he makes a formal claim for her hand,” Juba says. “Infuriated as Gustavian was when I left, he might just be tempted to do it-”

“To take Ptolemy as his consort, out of spite?” I fix Juba with wide eyes. “What would the nobles say?”

“As soon as he explains the situation, and reminds all that Ptolemy was born of royal blood, they will turn a blind eye. She will face discrimination as an empress, but none will oppose her for fear of their actions being misconstrued as slander against the emperor.”

“He will be a wretched husband—abusing Ptolemy for heirs whom he may well cast aside once some time has passed, and he feels free to claim a new bride.” I sink to my knees, clenching the counters edge as slivers of wood prick my fingers. “If he makes an announcement of intent to wed my sister, I will take action, Juba. I will have to!”

“The position of Empress will gift her more safety than any other title could,” Juba tries, crouching to rest his hand on my shoulder. “She may be miserable for a time, but when we’ve a legitimate means of freeing her, then we can act.”

“You will have me abandon my sister to-”

“I will have you remember the hopelessness of attacking Gustavian on your own. In Vaticana more so than anywhere else, we are two against all his guards, legions, and loyal subjects. Alone, we will fail.”

“But-”

“We will fail, Gustavian will hold our executions as prime entertainment during his marriage banquet, and you…you will die aching with regret, for forcing Ptolemy to bear witness to something so terrible.”

As tears gather at my lashes, Juba pulls me to his chest. Held close, I hide my face against his scarf. The thought of going off to safety from Gustavian’s grasp, whilst Ptolemy lingers in the heart of all dangers…it rends my heart in two. ‘What would Mother think? What would Father say? What would our brothers do?’

“None of this has come to pass, so there’s no point in fearing it all just yet,” Juba whispers, bringing me to my feet with him. “I only took a guess at a situation we may face. And regardless, I still fear more for you than Ptolemy.”

“Because?” I ask, wiping at my eyes.

“It will make sense to pluck a girl from the harem and make her Empress. But you are just a slave in a blacklisted household. Should Gustavian wish to execute you, he will find a justifiable means to do it. You would not be the first enslaved person to perish due to false accusations.”

“I know,” I say, cringing against the visions of Helios’ execution. “But I’ve strong allies in you, Antyllus, and Julia. I’ve wisdom beyond expectation and I’ve the resolve to endure. None shall find me an easy victim, Juba. I may play the role to an extent, but I will not open an opportunity to readily end my life.”

He smiles, taking the plate while I pour some milk into the goblet. “I’ve faith in you, Selene,” Juba assures. “I’ve less faith in Helios, but I want to believe that he and the maharaja will keep pressure on Gustavian. Between the two, they might just pull off a miracle that will free you and Ptolemy from the empire’s claws.”

“And you,” I say, walking toward the hall. “I will never leave without you-”

“Oh!” a high voice cries, as we cross the threshold.

I barely see the deep purple of a skirt before I act. Too close to avoid the woman, I turn on my heel. Instead of slamming the chalice in hand against her, my shoulder strikes her hip, seconds before my head slams off the floor.

Milk spills everywhere, soaking my gown and hair. Teeth sunk into my lower lip, I hold my breath against a wave of pain. Peeking one eye open, I gasp, “Forgive me! Are you alright, M’lady? Did the milk stain your-”

A black satin slipper strikes out at my cheek, forcing my weight into my injured shoulder.

“Idiot—how dare you touch me?” the woman cries.

“Forgive her disgraceful conduct, Lady Antonia Minor,” Juba begs, crouching to bow his head over me. “Even I’d had no idea you were standing there.”

“That swine laid her hand upon me,” Antonia Minor hisses. “Take her to the yard and flog her ten—no, twenty lashes!”

Juba flinches. “I beg for mercy, M’lady, for Lady Julia is taken ill by even loud bird chirps. I fear the sounds of a flogging might-”

“You dare to question my command?” Kicking me again, Antonia Minor storms down the hall with a shout of, “Mother! Mother, come quick!”

Cursing low, Juba helps me to sit up. Wiping milk from my cheek he asks, “Are you alright?”

“Aching, but well enough,” I say, dreading whatever awaits us most assuredly in the courtyard. “Did you know that Octavia was planning to visit today?”

“If I had, we’d have been the most prepared manor in all of Roma.”

Together we stand, and though Juba moves to brush more droplets of milk away, I stall his hand with my own. “How ever humiliating, the worse I look, the better. Please, trust all that I do next.”

Juba’s lips thin, but he nods. “As you wish.”

With a deep breath I look toward the distant shrieks of my half-sister, and begin walking. We had just spoken of when Gustavian might make a move against me, and I’ve no doubt this sudden visit is just such a move.

For why else would a pompous brat like Antonia Minor, deign to skulk the halls outside a kitchen? She has never had to make her own food, a day in her life!

Focus, I tell myself. Be brave. If I can endure whatever is to come, then Juba’s mind will be put at ease, and all might just shift in our favor.

***