***

I never knew the darkness could be comforting.

Somehow throughout the day, the shadows refuse to waver. They linger around us, concealing us even when Antyllus passes just feet away and calls out our names. I feel terrible for many things, so much so that neglecting to relieve his concern, is a guilt lost amidst the rest.

Ignoring the rumbling of my stomach, I cling to Juba, unable to voice the words that come to my tongue at random. Every time I try, I am reminded of my own cowardice. For all the bravado and confidence I’d rambled about between fleeing Kemet and now, when it mattered most, I did nothing—nothing!

Because being brave on my own, is terrifying, I’ve realized. When I fled Kemet, I had Juba, Ptolemy, and Helios. All across Indrira I had them, Raja, and Mrunal. Even when I rode off to face Cyrus, my faith was not in myself, but in Aakesh, his brothers, Juba, and Cearion. All this time I have told myself to be brave, to aid the others without reserve. But what have I done to better myself? What have I done in preparation to take up my own arms and fight?

As the air cools with nightfall, Juba sets his scarf around me. I welcome its warmth, and despise myself for having nothing to offer in return.

“You almost died today,” Juba says softly, hatred in his voice. “Agrippa’s affection is twisted. He decided that if you must die, he would take the pleasure of being your executioner.”

“I thought I’d amused him enough to earn his favor,” I whisper.

“He perked up the second time. I think it’s because you were too distracted to show the fear you’d felt before.”

“What…was that? That shift in realities, I mean. I do not think it was me, but…”

“It was me.” Glancing down, Juba catches my gaze despite the dark. “It’s happened a couple times before, mostly when I was young. I don’t know why or how, and no one but me has ever noticed before, but events that would end my life have a habit of altering in my favor. It’s…”

“Is there any chance that you received a blessing before your kingdom fell?” I ask. “I’ve never heard of a spirit that grants the power to turn back time…but then, I’ve never known a spirit to show visions of the future before, let alone gift one the ability to change that future.”

“I’ve never felt the spirits or heard their whispers. In truth, I’ve no memory of the spirits being spoken about when I was young. There were no temples or priests. It’s as if all of Numidel was opposed to their existence.”

“How strange.” Considering his words, I ask, “What put your life so in danger the first time, today, that reality shifted?”

Juba brushes his fingertips along my cheek, nudging back just enough that I can make out his smile. “My sickle hung at my hip, the first time. I’d grabbed it with full intentions of killing Agrippa before he could strike you. After reality shifted, my sickle was gone.”

“Without it, you could not have posed a threat.”

“Not one that he would have killed me for. Regardless, Antyllus came running back just in time. Whatever fate or spirit or magic decided that my sickle was the key to whether I lived or died, must have sent him home early—just to make sure I really would survive.”

“The Juba of my visions never told me of such occurrences,” I say. “He could never avoid fierce punishments, and nearly died several times. We both did.”

“Maybe something changed when you were shown your visions,” Juba offers. “Something fundamental about the world. There are plenty of spirits out there. What if more than just the moon and sea wished for the future to be changed?”

“But why? I’ve still yet to understand why the moon and sea favor me. If other spirits might, why have they not shown themselves to me…unless, it is not me.” Studying Juba, I ask, “What if the spirit who has done all of this, favors you?”

“The spirits have always favored those with fates great enough to change the world.” Juba shakes his head, pulling my cheek back to his chest. “Maybe a spirit wishes for me to do more than live and die a slave. Hard as that is to imagine…”

“I sometimes wonder what became of the Juba I foresaw. Perhaps the spirit revealed themselves to him after we were parted. Maybe it wishes for you to experience whatever fate that Juba lived, regardless of the changes I am trying to make.”

“Whatever the case, that power saved your life today, so I’ll be grateful.” My stomach gives a long growl, and Juba pats my arm. “But being good little slaves is no solution. I refuse to bow my head and beg those monsters not to take anything else away from me. Not after today.”

“You yourself told me, that it is pointless to try fighting them on their own lands.”

“We simply need to get off their land, then. You said that Gustavian exiled us in your visions. If we can convince him to do as such again, we should be able to break free and run.”

“I’ve already told you-”

“That running is not a solution, I know. But sitting on our hands hoping for the best, is just as wrong. I know you want to be of use, Selene. But in order to do so, we have to break free from Roma. Only then can we find a means to support your brother’s fight.”

“You’ve no reason to take up arms for Kemet,” I say.

Sliding out from beneath me, Juba tucks his scarf around my neck with ease—as if he can see me clearly, though he is no more than a moving lump in the darkness to me. “You are my reason to fight,” he says, standing. “Whatever banner you fight under, I will fight for too. Whatever land you cherish, I will cherish too. You would do no less for me.”

“I—where are you going?”

“To grab us some food. Antyllus won’t mind, and no one will notice.”

“But-”

“Today was a lot to handle. We need to keep our strength up, so stay here whilst I find a means to provide for us.”

My heart flutters, and so I say nothing as Juba stalks into the night. Though, as the silence grows and the moon shifts toward the west, I begin to wonder if I should have stopped him. Or at least gone with him.

Juba is fine, I tell myself. He is stronger than me, and braver—much braver. Besides I…

“I would only get in his way,” I whisper, cursing myself. “Why was I never taught the one skill I now need most?”

Thinking back on every skirmish and battle I have been a part of in this life, all I can recall are running and hiding. I have awaited another to save me at every turn, just as I did in my visions!

“Tell me how to be stronger,” I whisper to the spirits. “Please, tell me what magic the moon gifts. It cannot merely be knowledge of the future.”

No whispers reply, and after a while, I wonder if I have offended the spirit of the moon. Foresight is a mighty and powerful gift. How many would not be alive right now, if I had not received it?

“Forgive me,” I whisper, shrinking back as footsteps fast approach.

“Selene, come quick,” Juba calls, grinning wide in the gray light of predawn.

Offering a hand, he pulls me to my feet and tugs me along at a run behind him. Shouts and shrieks echo from the front of the manor, louder when Juba slows us to a walk. Creeping toward the alcove leading to the courtyard, he pauses at its edge.

“Major and Minor cannot afford to quit their studies now of all times!” Octavia hisses. “Two weeks or two days, it makes no difference. I am going to Verona until those pests are ridden from my estate. Your sisters will be in your care until then.”

“I’ve a small cottage at the other end of my land,” Antyllus sighs. “They’ll have to stay there.”

“In some backwoods cottage?” Antonia Minor screeches. “Oh, Mother-”

“Your whining has caused us enough grief,” Octavia snaps. “Endure, Minor. It is only for two weeks!”

“We’ll be fine,” tries the softer voice of, I assume, Antonia Major. “Let’s just wait for the servants to finish fixing up our rooms. Then we can-”

“How am I to study for the Vestal Examinations under such cursed circumstances?” Antonia Minor wails, her weeping echoing far and wide.

“What happened?” I whisper.

Juba turns his grin on me. “I took a detour from the kitchen. Forgive me for being away longer than planned.”

“I…”

Juba slips me an apple, and looks back toward the group in the courtyard. As he does, I notice something odd about his eyes. They look darker somehow.

Unsettled, I bite into the apple and resolve to ask more later.

A long while of whining and griping passes, before Octavia’s departure is announced by the crack of a whip, and the groan of the several men who carry her litter. Juba nods for me to follow him, and we make our way through the gardens toward a small marble building at their end.

Consisting of a short foyer and three rooms all coated with dirt and cobwebs, it is evident the building has not been used for some time. Tossing me another apple, Juba sets to work with a smile I have rarely seen before.

“Just what did you do?” I ask.

“Stole a few pests from traps across the city, took a bit of cloth from houses condemned due to insect infestations, and lured a pair of vipers into Octavia’s garden.”

“You what?”

Juba laughs. “I’d heard a few servants were dismissed for having lice, and rats are common this time of year. So long as it’s assumed that the vipers were attracted by the rats, no one will ever suspect me.”

“And you are pleased by this?”

“You’re not?”

“I’ve just never known you to be so underhanded,” I admit.

Juba shrugs and brushes a mass of cobwebs from a windowsill. “They deserve worse, but this will do for now. It’s a shame the principessa’s aren’t leaving, but I’ll feel better every day that Octavia is away from Vaticana.”

“But what do you hope to accomplish with this, Juba?”

“Without Octavia as an immediate threat, much of what you foresaw won’t happen.”

“In my visions, Gustavian sent us away after Octavia fell ill, and none were left to properly abuse us.” I clench the ends of Juba’s scarf. “What will he do this time? I truly have no idea.”

“You lived many years without foresight,” Juba reminds. “Whatever comes we will face it, and soon enough, Gustavian will drive us from his borders. We need only hold on until then.”

“Right-”

“Pardon me.”

We whip around at the same time, startling the veiled figure in the doorway. She cowers, clutching the wall to keep from tripping over her long, powder-blue skirt.

 “Are you alright, Principessa?” I ask, rushing to her side to offer a supportive hand.

“Major,” she says. “So long as Mother and Minor are not around, I would like it very much if you were to call me Major. It does not sit right for my sister to speak to me, as though I am her mistress.”

“Principessa?” Juba asks, shock registering on his face.

“You may call me Major as well, Juba.”

“You’ve a kind heart,” I say, recalling my few visions of her. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced before. My name is Selene.”

“I’ve heard a bit about you and your siblings,” Major says. “I admit, it feels strange to know that I am the elder sister of five now. Especially since I have only known Minor, and only just met you.”

“Is that why you came here? I am happy for this meeting, but surprised that you did not stay in the main manor to comfort your sister.”

“Antyllus offered her a servant’s room to rest in, until you both are finished.” Giggling, Major whispers, “But he told me that in truth, he’d no idea where you were. I came here to see if there was anything I might do to ready this place, myself. It was pure chance that brought us three together.”

“You’ve had a kind thought, Principessa, but we can handle this on our own,” Juba says. “You can go back and find something for breakfast if you’d like. Or Selene can go fetch it, instead.”

“Major,” she corrects. “And I am fine, thank you. So long as you do not mind my company, I would like to stay a while.”

“As you wish,” I say. “Though, I’m afraid there are no stools or benches yet.”

“I can stand.”

“You’ve an open mind,” Juba notes, brushing more webs from the window. “Few would deign to speak casually with slaves—least of all principessa’s.”

“Vesta urged all her daughters to be as warm and welcoming as a hearth fire. It would not do for a priestess of the spirit of the sun, to stray from the teachings passed down by his beloved wife.”

“Your sister does not seem to have taken that to heart.”

Major laughs. “No, she has not. And though she believes herself the most qualified to join the next selection of Vestal Priestesses, I fear she will be sorely disappointed.”

“But you will not,” I say, recalling the vision of her appointment as a priestess. Octavia was so abuzz with delight, she did not scold me for an entire week! “You will become a fine priestess, Major. I am sure of it.”

“You flatter me,” she says, pressing a dainty hand to her heart. “I admit, it saddens me to think of receiving the position. For if I do, then our time together will be cut short. Mother will waste no time in sending me off to live in the temple, and slaves…”

“Are forbidden from entering the sacred grounds of Vesta,” Juba says. “Not that Selene would be allowed in, regardless. I don’t think the emperor would allow anyone with Kemetish blood within a hundred feet of the temple.”

“Exactly,” Major sighs. “It is so-”

‘Selene,’ a spirit whispers ever so softly, and no sooner does a fierce screech rattle the air.

***