Return Once More (22 page)

Unless he thought I was
interested
in
Oz.
Shit.

A second glance at the smug assumption darkening his eyes suggested he just might.

“Elder Truman, Oz is the True Companion of one of my best friends.”

“I am aware of my son's unique situation,” he replied dryly. “It doesn't mean that you have not developed some ill-conceived feelings for him.”

Before I could control my reaction enough to play along—the Elders thinking I had an embarrassing crush on Oz Truman was a far better choice than their learning the truth—Truman turned to Zeke with a dismissive shrug.

Zeke studied his friend for a moment, then checked with Maude before focusing his intensity on me. “Is this true, Miss Vespasian? A teenage infatuation led you to research a path concurrent with Mister Truman's in order to cultivate idle conversation in the hallways?”

A giant, sloshing pitcher of my pride fought to pour denials past my lips, but I swallowed them back. They burned in my stomach and my face caught fire, growing so hot my hair might have smoldered. My indignation must have looked like mortification to the Elders, but it was best if they believed their ridiculous interpretation of recent events. So I nodded. “Yes. I know Oz and Sarah are together, but he's just so smart and, uh, handsome,” I managed to choke out.

Zeke pointed a bony, yellow-tipped finger in my direction. “That had better be the truth, Miss Vespasian. Your family was given a reprieve after the egregious betrayal of your brother due to your grandfather's stature in Genesis. His dedication molded it into the safe haven it is today. But I'm sure I don't need to remind you that another exception will not be made. We take our mission to protect the future of our System very seriously, and Historians are held to the highest standard. If you hope to join our ranks at the scheduled time, you would do well to remember that.”

“Yes, sir,” I answered, keeping my eyes on my hands and the indignation out of my voice.

Resentment roiled in my chest. That I had to falsely cop to a stupid crush on Oz Truman, that these Elders had been keeping secrets even as they lectured us about duty, and that Zeke threatened my family and insulted my brother twisted my stomach painfully. I clamped my teeth together to keep it all trapped in my throat.

In principle, I agreed with the thinking behind flagging certain files. It should have occurred to me, actually, that anyone researching the trajectory of weapons development—or anything that had contributed to the previous society's downfall—would be monitored. Humans hadn't changed, not at their core, no matter what the Originals had hoped. We all guarded against relapse, against a repeat of Earth Before. It was the reason for the Hope Chest. The reason this Academy existed.

The way they'd gone about it felt icky to me, though. Slimy, somehow, as though they'd covered me with a hundred slugs. And Oz. Maybe he
had
been working on his certification application the entire time, and he'd tripped into that woman on accident, nothing more. It wouldn't be the first time my overactive imagination had gotten the best of me. His father could have loaned Oz the cuff, given him permission to collect those recordings alone.

Or I could have been right all along.

Everything I'd been told for the past seven years had been upset in a matter of days. Nothing felt familiar. The last time things had felt right, felt like home, had been wrapped in Caesarion's arms. I might have promised to stay in line but the idea of the slightest bit of peace drove every thought of keeping that pledge right out of my mind.

I was tired of thinking about doing the right thing. So, without much thought at all, I did what I wanted.

No one knew where Truman had taken me or how long I'd be gone. On one hand, it kind of seemed like the dumbest time ever to sneak back to Caesarion, but I convinced myself otherwise. My friends wouldn't go looking for me or asking questions when the Elders were involved, and the Elders seemed convinced I was nothing more than an easily distracted, lustful teenager.

Not wrong, just misguided.

Let them think I'd gone back to my room and cried myself to sleep, then woke up telling myself all of the ways I was going to be a better apprentice in the future.

Making my roommates worry gave me pause, but just for a moment. I had the rest of my life to make it up to them, but Caesarion had only a handful of days. A couple of weeks, at best. I considered sending Analeigh a wrist comm, but she wouldn't let me get away with a vague
don't worry
for a second time and besides, it would blow the cover the Elders provided when they grabbed me from Reflection.

By my calculations, even Caesarion's tentative timeline in our Archives seemed to be off. Historians on Earth Before guessed that his mother had sent him from Alexandria
prior
to her death, but now I knew he left the same day Octavian ordered Cleopatra to surrender or die. I promised myself that one day I would correct his path in the Archives so my True Companion would be remembered by everyone, not only me.

I jammed in the scrambling chip with more efficiency than the first couple of times and grabbed a change of scarves from Sarah's closet and a bottle of painkillers, then hurried down to the travel chamber. My Egyptian clothes waited in the broken decontamination drawer where I'd stashed them the other day. A quick switch of the sash from navy to aqua changed enough to make me feel fresh, and the dusty sandals molded to my feet. More and more, ancient Egypt felt like home, but I knew it was Caesarion and not the time or place that suited me.

With time travel, Caesarion never
really
had to die, at least not for me. If I were a full Historian—one willing to break the rules—I could return to the day in the gardens and meet him for the first time again and again. I could return earlier, run alongside him in the reeds along the Nile, play silly games together as children, or I could arrive in the days before his death and steal the same hours from now until eternity.

But it didn't feel right. It's why we chose to return and observe specific moments and events in a linear fashion, and why the Originals had implanted the twenty-four hour self-destruct. No matter the advancement of our technology, or the tattoos and comps that helped us seamlessly adapt to different worlds, languages, and cultures, life was meant to move
forward.

As I set the date, time, and place on Jonah's cuff, then lowered my mouth to the speaker to request that it take me to Caesarion, I knew that once he returned to Alexandria I would never see him again if I could help it.

This was my life, our story, and like all moments in time, it could only truly be lived once. Memories could be recalled and re-examined but never redone. We did our best to say the right things, to express enough, in the moment.

Or we lived with the regrets.

*

Berenice
,
Egypt
, Earth Before–30 BCE (Before Common Era)

My luck with timing my arrival didn't hold a second time. When I arrived, Caesarion and his party were taking supper by a small fire, and by the looks of things, he was the only one happy to see me.

Shock and anger colored the guards' features as I shimmered into the evening. Caesarion's relieved and delighted grin barely registered before his contingent of protectors flew to their feet and rushed me. I didn't fight, unsure how to best handle the situation and following the instruction flooding my brain through the bio-tat, which insisted I appear as nonthreatening as possible.

Caesarion stood, his eyes hard as one of his guards yanked my arms behind my back and two others pointed swords at my chest and belly. The one behind me twisted my arms hard, and I cried out.

The blood drained from my True's face, his white-hot fury electrifying the evening. “Do not hurt her, Ammon, or I will snap your head off with my bare hands.”

The guard behind me, who must have been Ammon, loosened his grip in surprise but didn't let go. My eyes met Caesarion's in an attempt to convey both my gratitude and to warn him to proceed with care.

“She appeared from nowhere, my Pharaoh. The girl is a dark one.”

“Or a
sihr,
” a second guard spat, disgust dripping from his chin.

The last word didn't translate exactly into English or Latin, or even Greek, and it took my brain stem tat a minute to give me a workable definition. It provided a loose translation to
sorceress
or
witch
, and then returned a file on ancient Egyptian belief in witchcraft and magic. The knowledge relaxed the tightness in my shoulders. Magic and witchcraft intertwined with daily life for these people, and wasn't considered inherently evil, as it would be once the Catholic or Islamic Church established a foothold. But a layman, and a female, harnessing the
heka
raised their defenses, especially around their revered Pharaoh.

“I'm not going to hurt him,” I stated, putting all my honesty on my face. Forthrightness heard in the voice, seen in the eyes and posture, crossed worlds and cultures and centuries. I only hoped they would choose to see my intention. “I love him.”

Caesarion startled at the confession, and Ammon dropped my arms. I took a hesitant step toward my True, stopping short when the other two guards didn't lower their weapons and the old manservant stepped in front of his royal charge.

Stalemate.

I considered returning to the Academy and trying again after a few hours had passed, when all but one of the guards would be asleep, but then Caesarion shouldered the manservant out of the way and reached for me. My hands slid into his and contentment flooded every muscle. Snuggled against his side, the two of us faced his guards, their weapons still trained on me but all of their faces uncertain. Confused. With the exception of the guard who still emanated anger and hatred.

His shaved head gleamed in the light from the moon, his desire to hurt me reflected by the dying fire. Sweat beaded and dripped toward his hard, black eyes. They filled with distrust, and the smell of his fierce protectiveness broke out gooseflesh on my skin. That man would kill me to protect Caesarion, even if it angered his master, and sleep well that night, secure in the knowledge that he'd done the right thing.

My mind struggled to find a way to explain or to make this right, but it came up empty.

“She might be a dark one, or a
sihr,
but she will not harm me.”

“Pharaoh … You are a young man and naive to the ways of the world outside the palace. Let Thoth explain it to you—women cannot be trusted, especially ones who claim to love you.” The hateful guard glared, his wary anger as hot as a bonfire. “The dark ones kill without warning, without weapons. We have seen it.”

The explanation spun a web of confusion in my brain. The translator came up with no additional information for the term
dark one
, and the mention of killing infected me with uncertainty.

Caesarion's arm tightened around my back, washing warmth through my body and deepening the headache at the base of my neck. I needed to pop some painkillers.

“Thank you for your insight, Thoth, but I am Pharaoh. You will not harm her, and she will not harm me. You will not speak of her presence ever, not to anyone. Do you understand?” His voice took on an authoritative tone that straightened the backs of the guards, who nodded in unison.

I never thought I would be a girl turned on by power, but the ease with which Caesarion wielded his filled me with pride and lust in equal measure. With thousands of years of known history and a thousand more still to come, this confident, beautiful, thoughtful man was meant to be mine. And for a few more days, I could have him.

The guards dropped their weapons to their sides, and I heaved a sigh of relief.

Caesarion turned to face me, his hands running from my shoulders to wrists, checking for wounds. “Are you hurt, my love?”

Breath caught in my chest at his subtle return of my sentiment. We'd spent two days together and I felt
love
, real and consuming, which in any other situation would seem ludicrous. Jonah had been the one to connect with
Romeo and Juliet
, to find it romantic, not me—I found it unbelievable and silly.

Before this. Before him.

There were scads of books, plays, and movies from Earth Before where the boy and the girl claimed to love each other from first glance, but it was rarely
real
love. It was simply an intense physical compatibility, which certainly still existed in Genesis and began many a Chosen pairing.

Caesarion and I were an exception. There was instant recognition between every cell, every molecule in our bodies that we had found our one perfect fit, and from the moment I had laid eyes on him, I'd loved him. I may have chosen not to act on it, had we not resolved the initial misunderstanding, but since then he'd proven a handsome, well-spoken, intelligent man underneath the pampered, entitled exterior. A man worthy of love, and so much more than he would receive from the world.

I felt lighter at his side, the troubles at the Academy eased by his smile, if not forgotten.

His eyes shone bright with emotion, telling me he hadn't called me his “love” without meaning it. I felt as though I'd toppled into a pool of cool water, and let it wash over me as we stared.

I smiled as he brushed his palms down my face, then trailed them down my arms. “I'm fine. Not hurt. Thank you for saving my life.”

The words tumbled free before I could think, but it didn't stop them from bruising my heart. I didn't know if Caesarion heard the unspoken addition, but it rang clear in my ears.

Thank you for saving my life even though I'm not going to save yours.

Sadness tinged his smile, as it so often did. “It was my pleasure. Now, are you hungry?”

I shook my head, wishing the melancholy that tried to supplant my happiness could be shaken loose, too. “No. Have you eaten?”