Free Astarte's Wrath by Trisha Wolfe

taking power from their gods to create slave races to fight their wars. Maybe Fadil is right. Maybe it’s time for the slaves to take a stand and cleanse Egypt of the evilness of man.”
    I bound up, looking around my chamber as if I can pluck his words from the air and hide them. “I’ll forget you said that, Phoenix. Those words were never uttered.” I turn and start toward the door, shivers crawling along my skin.
    “Star,” he calls, and I halt just outside my room. His footsteps bring him close, the warmth of his body—his power—presses against my back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m behaving so. It’s never bothered me before.”
    His hand rests on my arm, his fingers caressing my armband. My heart twinges, and I wish I could remedy this for him. “It’s difficult right now,” I say. “But when the queen returns, all will be right. I promise.”
    “You’re right.”
    I spin to face him. “Phoenix . . .?”
    He raises his eyebrows.
    “Swear to me that you won’t mention Fadil’s claims about the Leymak to any of the Narcos. I know nothing can come of it—but still. There’s no reason to announce this, as it will only cause a divide among the races, as well as the guardians and their masters.”
    His features twist into a wounded expression. “Star, I would never do such a thing.”
    “I know,” I rush to assure him. “I just need to hear it, as things seem so muddled lately.”
    He nods. “I swear. I will keep my fat mouth shut.”
    I smile. “It really will be all right once the queen returns.”
    “I believe you.” He steps ahead of me, saying over his shoulder, “I probably just need a good romp.”

    The theatre is dark. The candelabras’ flames dance along the sides, licking black smudges against the walls. The stone tiered benches wrap around the semicircular enclosure, the sky open along the far side, cloaked by night.
    Julius Caesar commissioned the theatre before his demise. It’s traditional Roman style, but hieroglyphs carved on the free-standing columns stringing a heavy red curtain, and Greek writings sewn on tapestries hung against the walls, make it another colossal greatness of Alexandria.
    I spy Xarion’s crowned head in the top, center row. Lunia and Nuri—another Narco Guardian of the royal children—sit on either side of the twins, and little Delphus rests in his nurse’s lap. Xarion reaches over and tickles Selene. She beams, her features exultant, her laughter bouncing through the theatre. These are not masters and pharaohs and humans that command us—they are family. They’re my family, and I would protect them against Octavian or any other enemy whether or not the ink on my neck demanded it of me.
    I raise my head and look over the citizens seating themselves, their voices carrying through the dark, as Phoenix and I move up the tiers. Fadil is not here, not that he ever leaves the palace, but I’m especially thankful of that tonight. I’m boiling over with rage about what he told Phoenix, and I wonder who else he’s spoken this sacrilege to. He could ignite a rebellion. Not much of one, because the Kythan could never fight their masters. But what if they tried?
    We would all be destroyed—executed for treason.
    Blinking the frightening image away, I find a seat beside Xarion. “I have their gifts back at the palace,” I whisper. “Should I have brought them?” The talk with Phoenix upset me so, I forgot to grab them.
    He shakes his head, a faint smile lighting his face in the darkness. “I’m not giving them mine until after dinner.”
    I nod and look out over the platform. A group of Narcos linger off to the side of the curtain while props are arranged on the forestage. A hand slips into mine, and my heart jumps. I look down as Xarion’s fingers thread through mine, our hands hidden beneath his cape and the dark. For just this moment, I try to forget our arguments and strained friendship and tighten my fingers around his, our palms