Free 0316382981 by Emily Holleman

is in Rhodes, and any fool might surmise that he means to sail to Rome.” Pieton yawned. “He entrusted his will to the Vestal Virgins of that city for safekeeping. And many a greater Ptolemy than he has asked for aid from the Republic.” The eunuch toyed with him as a cat might with a mouse.
    But Dryton was no mouse.
    “I know more than that, my queen.” His bright eyes fixed on hers, and he addressed his words to her alone. “I know the suit he’ll make in front of Rome’s senators. He discussed his arguments with me. I might sail to Rome myself, and make the counterplea.”
    Berenice kept her face blank. This man’s offers were too shiny to be true, and though he could have some knowledge of her father’s plans, she doubted that he had as much as he claimed. If he did, he might be a great deal more dangerous than she imagined. She wondered how one so young—he could not be more than twenty-five, perhaps not even that—had gained her father’s confidence so easily. One way came to mind, but she pushed it from her thoughts. Her father was gone, and she wished to wash the city of his twisted proclivities, not dwell on them.
    “You?” Pieton scoffed. “Sail to Rome? I wouldn’t trust you as far as Memphis. Trust must be earned. A few choice phrases won’t buy it.”
    Dryton started to object but thought better of it. “Of course, if that is—if that is what the queen desires.”
    “I’d prefer that you stay in Alexandria,” Berenice said gently. Dryton knew her little; she’d let Pieton play the crueler part. “But you’ve been wise to tell us all you know. You’ll relate my father’s claims to Pieton and work to craft our argument.”
    Nereus spoke up. “But someone must go to Rome.” He’d regained his footing, and he stood taller, as though a few years had slipped away. “A delegation must sail at once. Or perhaps one has already sailed. Pieton? Didn’t you say that any fool might surmise that the Piper sails to Rome? Or are you not as clever as any fool?”
    “Watch your step, old man,” Pieton snapped. “I’m the only reason you are not already—”
    “Silence. All of you.” Berenice’s voice brought quiet among these men who once had spoken over her without a second thought. This was what it was to have power. She savored it. This, she thought, would save her from emptiness; it would blossom in the place where all her hatreds lived.
    “Dio shall lead the delegation to Rome,” she announced with certainty.
    Pieton tried to catch her eye; she ignored his efforts. She could hear his chiding voice inside her head: Why reveal so much before these men you do not trust? But now the eunuch wouldn’t dare talk her out of her choice, not when she had marked it as her first command before her council.
    Later, after that night’s feasting had drawn to a close, Berenice eased back onto her dining couch. Weighed down with minted veal and honeyed duck, she felt as though her stomach might burst through her gown. Throughout the evening, the banqueting room had remained oddly bare. Too many of Alexandria’s high nobles had vanished, either to their country villas or on her guards’ spears. The rest were by and large too terrified to set foot in the palace. It didn’t bother her; she liked the solitude. Great feasts marked her father’s manner of conducting business, not her own. But she was still pleased when Dio slid onto the divan beside hers.
    “I’m honored, my queen, that you’d send me to make your case in Rome.” He grinned. His smile was the only handsome part of him: it revealed a dazzling set of teeth.
    “I can’t imagine a better emissary to represent my cause. There’s no man in all of Alexandria who knows me as you do.” Her voice grew flirtatious, despite herself. Dio brought out this side of her; he was too old, too plump, too lowborn, but it was his very homeliness that stoked her confidence. With pretty men, like Dryton, some part of her felt all knees and elbows,