Queen of Kings - Maria Dahvana Headley [73]
“What have you done?” Antony asked, the full darkness of his gaze upon the emperor. “Where is my wife?”
His voice seemed to come from far away, an aching echo propelled from the depths of the earth and into the room.
In spite of the witch’s assurances, the emperor clung to his chair, his entire body desirous of flight. He wanted the sun to rise, and it did not. The only glow came from the stars outside the window, and that light was cold. The soul-drawing witch—the psuchagoĝoi—stood beside him, her fingers resting lightly on his shoulder. Augustus did not like the way they felt.
“Where is she?” Antony demanded. “Where is Cleopatra?”
Augustus glanced nervously at the witch, at her gleaming, bone-white skin, her phosphorescent eyes and bloodred lips and the tongue that ran hungrily over them. He mastered his voice with another deep draught of wine and theriac.
“First, you must tell us where you have been,” he informed the shadow before him. “Tell us of your time in Hades.”
The ghost stood straighter, clearly angered. He shook his shoulders, and ripples of gray light came off him.
“Is this why you have summoned me?” Antony asked. “To tell you of the Underworld? You will go there yourself one day, and knowing will not ease your mind.”
“Tell us,” Augustus insisted.
Antony laughed, a short exclamation of disgust. “Do you think you will find yourself in Elysium, soothed by the light of Elysium’s stars, basking in the glow of Elysium’s own lovely sun? No. You will not go to Elysium, Octavian, though you call yourself a god on earth. Only heroes go to Elysium.”
“Your emperor orders you to tell what you know,” Augustus said, his voice cracking and betraying him.
Antony smiled, only his lips moving. His eyes remained bleak.
“My emperor? You are not my emperor. I live in the land of the dead now. I’ll tell you something, though, if you insist. In Hades, you starve. You perish, and you perish forever, without cease, without respite, without home. I am of Egypt. My love is of Egypt. I should not be in Hades.”
“And you are not,” Augustus retorted. “You are in Rome.”
“I should be in the Duat,” Antony said. “My body should be in Egypt, and it is not. Where is my wife? What have you done with her?”
Augustus started to speak, but the witch interrupted him.
“Your wife is why we have called you here,” she said. “She lives.”
Antony’s eyes narrowed.
“If she lived, I would have felt her tears filling the river Acheron,” he said. “Cleopatra would have sacrificed on my behalf. Her sacrifices would have fed me. She is certainly dead. What have you done to her?”
“She does not live,” the witch corrected. “And she does not die. She is here.”
“Cleopatra is in Rome?” Antony asked, looking up with focused eyes for the first time.
“In Rome,” Chrysate confirmed. She glanced at Augustus and tossed her hair back. “What is wrong, Emperor of the World? Are you afraid? Protected as you are by women, snake charmers, and shades? Do you fear for your life?”
“No,” said Augustus, lying. “I fear nothing. Rome is well fortified.”
So she was here. He had felt as much.
“She is in Rome,” Antony murmured to himself. “And yet she betrayed me in Egypt. Is she here? With you?”
Augustus glanced at him impatiently. The emperor’s hands were now quite numb, and his lips felt frozen.
“You will guard my home,” Augustus instructed the witch.
“I will find her,” Antony murmured. “If Cleopatra is here, I will find her.” He moved toward the window.
“You are my creature,” Chrysate told him sharply. “You’ll abide with me.”
The witch opened her hand to reveal a carved stone. A synochitis meant to hold shades in the upper world once they had been summoned. “You are held here,” she continued, moving her hand in the air. The stone disappeared from view.
Antony looked at her for a long moment. Augustus felt nervous, seeing the look on his face. He had known Antony,