Astarte's Wrath by Trisha Wolfe Page A

production, which isn’t completely a lie. My head feels like it’s split in two from the vision. But I can’t answer the concern in Xarion’s eyes right now. I can’t deny him the truth if he demands that I tell him, but I don’t want to burden him with this on his siblings’ birthday, especially since he’s already cross because of me. Whatever that vision was, however it was sent, can be questioned later. My hands tremble as I reach for a column to steady myself.
    “Are you attending the twins’ banquet?” Xarion asks, his tone clipped, his eyes cast on something over my shoulder—not me.
    I look into his cool, aloof face. He’s angered over our argument, but there’s worry edged in the creases of his eyes. When I don’t respond immediately, he says, “The twins wish you to be there, so—”
    “I’ll be there,” I say. His eyes snap to mine. He nods once, then walks into the palace.
    Heading toward my room to grab the twins’ gifts, I consider who I can speak to about Candra’s taunt. I’d have gone straight to the queen if she were here—No. I’d have rushed to inform Xarion first. This rift between us is affecting my duty. As soon as the twins’ dinner is over, I’ll tell him. I may have gone to Fadil, but that was before I began questioning his loyalty—his sanity.
    But he’s not the true threat. Any real power the sorcerer once held lies in a dormant relic. The Leymak need to be my focus. And I need a pharaoh who’s not afraid to rule.
    Isis, return our victorious queen soon .

    Selene and Helios’s party stretches long into the night. Decked out in their finest—eyes painted with green malachite, rimmed in kohl; ceremonial wigs; golden broad collars—they laze on dinning couches along the garden terrace, fanned by giant ostrich feathers, laughing and mingling, as if they’re one of the adults they converse with. It brings a smile to my face. Selene holds Bast—one of the many palace cats—in her lap, stroking her black coat. They’re enjoying the banquet so much. I pray nothing dampens their fun.
    Lanterns glow. Date palms sway in the cool ocean breeze. Vines of jasmine are weaved through the sweeping, latticed roof. Their blossoms compete with the scent of glazed pork and roasted duck. Laughter mixes with low music as the lyre player strums the strings, and many of the guests sway alongside the dancers draped in sheer, silvery linen.
    This party is far tamer than the queen’s usual dinners. Since the twins have just turned eleven, the dancers remain clothed and mostly everyone drinks in moderation, although a few of the nobles are beginning to slur and stumble. I’m trusting Xarion to end the banquet soon and send the after party elsewhere to finish their drinking before the fornicating begins.
    I stand guard in a corner of the terrace, my hand resting on the hilt of my khopesh. My eyes dart toward every sound, searching for movement against the dark, starless backdrop. Candra has set my nerves on edge. I refuse to let her or any other ruin the twins’ night.
    A deep chuckle catches my attention, and my gaze lands on Xarion. He’s lounging on a silken couch, picking figs from the plate set before him on the marbled floor table. His eyes are deeply rimmed with kohl, and their normally clear emerald is glassy and heavy-lidded. They meet mine for a brief moment, his lips pressing together in a hard line, then return to the council member he’s talking to.
    I inwardly sigh. How has our relationship changed so much over the course of just a few months? I think back on our time together, seeking the exact moment when everything altered. We’ve always been close, and it’s true he’s a flirt, so nothing stands out. But then I recall the Sekhmet feast. Our intoxicated bodies pressed together, his face inching closer to mine before we were interrupted. And the weighty words he spoke to me moments before.
    And, I remember the day after his coronation as Pharaoh. He searched me out