Queen of Kings - Maria Dahvana Headley [110]
Eventually, after what seemed hundreds of years of travel, the boat scraped rock, and Antony carried her onto a bank dotted not with colored wildflowers but with poisonous plants, dark and ashen. The dead approached, slavering at the sight of one from the world of the living, but then backed away, bewildered by her bloodlessness.
“How did you get us away from the witch?” she asked, hearing the vessel recede back into the river.
Her beloved grinned, a strange, sweet expression here in Hades.
“She may be able to draw a soul up from Hades, but she does not understand Rome,” Antony said. “Everyone is willing to bargain if you have something worth bargaining for. I told the Senate about the emperor and his hiring of witches, and in return, they gave me their blood and stole the stone the witch was using to keep me tied to her in the upper world.”
“What do you mean when you say they gave you their blood?” Cleopatra asked sharply.
“A drop of blood reminds us of what we were and makes us feel human, at least for a time. Now I’ve tasted the blood of seven senators, and my bond to the witch is lessened.”
Cleopatra thought for a moment. Perhaps he would not mind what she had become.
A ghost approached them, its eyes wide and blank. It offered them a sprig of asphodel.
Antony pushed it away, and it spun on its heels, bowing back into the grasses, plucking flowers and pressing them into its mouth. The spirit moaned with hunger.
“He was a philosopher,” Antony said. “Now he is nothing. The longer a soul stays in Hades, the more longing it feels for its past. Most of them wade into the waters of Lethe and drink until they’ve forgotten the human lives they left behind.”
Cleopatra shuddered. She was not human. She knew it, and so did Antony. He had seen her a snake, a lioness.
“Am I dead?” she asked, looking at the painful streaks of silver on her skin, a netting melted into her flesh. “Am I a shade? Is that how I come to be here?”
“You are not alive, and you are not dead, either,” Antony answered, his face unreadable. “Your body is above us, trapped in Chrysate’s hands, and your soul—”
“I sold my ka,” Cleopatra whispered. “I sold it to Sekhmet to bring you back.”
Antony looked at her, his eyes filled with sorrow.
“When I first came to Hades, I could still taste the wine you gave me in our mausoleum. Who are you? the dead asked me. ‘Mark Antony,’ I answered. No longer. You are no one here, they said. ‘Where is my wife?’ I asked. She belongs to another, they answered.”
“They lied to you!” Cleopatra shouted, infuriated. “I am yours,” she said more quietly. “I swear it. Octavian sent a false messenger to you and bribed my army.”
“They were not wrong,” Antony said quietly. “I saw you in Rome.”
Cleopatra felt as though part of her mind had been left behind with her body. Of course he’d seen her, in the arena.
“I saw you kill a servant in the street. I saw you drink from him until he was dead.”
Cleopatra had a fleeting thought of throwing herself into the river. She started to stand, but he took her hand and held it tightly in his.
“Then why did you bring me with you?” Cleopatra managed. If he did not want her, she should be in that silver box. She should be in Rome, a captive.
Antony touched her chest, the place where her heart had been.
“Te teneo,” Antony said simply. “No matter what you are, no matter what has happened to you. I love you. That was my pledge. I tried to keep you safe in the living world, but I did not understand what you were. I was a fool. I thought soldiers could protect you. We go to Hades and Persephone, the lord and lady of this realm. They will know how to help you.”
Cleopatra looked quickly at him.
“You risk yourself,” she said.
She knew enough about his Underworld to know that the throne room of its gods was not a place for lowly spirits to visit. There was no petitioning in Hades. The gods were not sympathetic.
“Then I risk myself,” Antony told her. “I am not afraid.”