Amanda

I am not my mother.

I have to remind myself of that in times like these. Gushing guests, a pretty dress, the finest food Rome has to offer on the table before me, and nearly all eyes trying to watch me. It would be easy to let myself sink into the celebration-my reward for years of toiling to earn back the respect I had been born with- but now more than ever, I cannot forget.

My gaze flicks to my brother. He scowls into his empty plate, as if it were responsible for everything wrong in our lives. I am said to resemble our mother, but Helios doesn't look much like either of them. He has the foolishness of mind to wish that he was like our father, never mind how fast our benefactors, enemies of our father that they were, would have him killed.

I lean close to his ear. "Smile," I whisper. "If they think you enjoy yourself, then they are more like to enjoy you."

And when they enjoy you, you are safe. For a time.

Helios turns his piercing gaze on me. "Enjoy myself?" At least he has the wherewithal of mind to keep his voice soft. "How can I possibly enjoy myself when you are about to betray everything our family has stood for?"

I resist the urge to sigh. Scowling aside, Helios had been adjusting well recently. Perhaps I should have asked Octavian to wait a little longer, so Helios might have more time to prepare- No. If I waited even a month longer, no one could say what could happen. In a month, everything would change.

"Just try not to make a scene," I reply. "And it wouldn't unbecome you to be a little grateful. Octavian has agreed to let me take you with me, but he can still change his mind before now and the wedding."

"Ah yes, your sham wedding. So eager are you to make yourself a whore."

I stiffen, and I feel a faint flush rising on my cheeks even though I know I am no whore. Helios only says this because he disagrees with my choice of husband to be. He thinks I should save myself to wed only him, sister to brother, in the Ptolemaic Pharaoh's way.

But we are not Pharaohs any longer. We are only beggars at the mercy of the Roman emperor, but I will marry the man that will make me a queen.

Instead of this, careful to keep my voice barely audible I say, "Even if we were still in Egypt, I never would have wed you. It would have been Caesarion."

His face tightens with hurt. It is one of my twin's greatest shames, that while the emperor had no choice but to kill our elder half-brother, he found it in himself to spare Helios. In Rome, men must be killed. Women and children are spared. We were but ten at the time, and still Helios hates himself for not being man enough to be murdered.

My patience has limits, and no one is better than Helios at finding them. I rise, the long purple skirt of my Roman dress rustling around me, and slip away from the table. Helios has the sense not to follow me, and instead resumes sulking.

I pass by many of the most elite of the elite. I acknowledge those that acknowledge me, favoring the other women with a smile, but I am careful to avoid smiling too much to the men. My mother's infamous whoring may have been a lie, but I must give them no reason to think that I might have inherited it.

I reach the balcony, and I can breathe a little easier. When I was younger and newer to Rome, the only place I felt safe was outside, staring at the night stars. Now I know nowhere is safe, but I still feel calmer underneath the spotted black sky. These stars are the same regardless of who rules in Rome, and whether are not I am a Ptolemaic ruler or a Roman beggar.

But I am not the only one out at the balcony. As I stare out at the stars that hover over the city, a voice speaks at my side.

"Beautiful, aren't they? Of course, no one's loveliness could compare to yours."

I smile at the speaker. Juba. Helios loathes him with a passion, but he's not so bad. He was kind to me in my first months in Rome, and we have much in common. Both children of defeated rulers, both raised in the household of Octavia. Helios always hated him for his loyalty to the emperor, and his engagement to me couldn't have helped.

"You flatter me, Juba." I hesitate for an instant, but I flick my hair smoothly over one shoulder. "I do hope you won't wear out your compliments so soon. After all, there will be plenty of time for it soon enough."

"I could never run out of compliments for you," he replies smoothly.

I raise one eyebrow. "We'll see."

He smiles, and I sense a trace of something genuine in it. For now, our relationship is a tool to an end. My escape from Rome. But once we are far away from here and safely on our thrones, I think it could become something more. He will not be my Caesar, but my Antony. Only we won't lose power and take the coward's way out.

Juba's smile fades almost as fast as it had come. "Selene, I saw your brother."

Internally I cringe. I don't know what Juba saw or what he thinks it means, but knowing Helios, it can't be good.

"And?" I ask.

"He seems...displeased." Juba is being tactful. Displeased is an understatement. "Is it his wish to travel to Numidia with us?"

"It is not his wish to stay here," I say, because while it's not an entirely truth, it's not false either.

Juba frowns. "Is there another arrangement that might please him more?"

"Nothing will please him." I stare out into the sky at the familiar constellations as I speak. "He is selfish, like our parents."

I love him still, but I know it is true.

"Selfish?" Juba asks. "Admittedly I have heard much about Antony and Cleopatra, but I have not heard them said to be selfish."

"My mother was a selfish coward. My father was perhaps less selfish, but just as much a coward."

Juba raises his eyebrows, an invitation for me to explain. I cast a glance around. We are alone on the balcony. I don't trust him entirely, but perhaps confiding will make him think I do. None of the words I wish to say will displease Octavian should Juba report back, so I continue.

"It was their warring and maneuvering that got us into trouble in the first place. Yet when the time came to face the consequences of their defeat, they took the coward's way out. For my father, at least it was by his own sword. For my mother, she tricked my brothers and I into giving her a snake to press to her breasts."

I still remember. I was ten at the time, but I will never forget the fear and confusion of being herded with my brothers to deliver to my mother a basket with a cobra inside. She had the decency to send us away before she did the deed, but in some ways that was worse.

"She killed herself so that we could take her place," I tell him. "So that we could be the captives paraded around for Octavian's victory. Little Tomy didn't survive the shipment. That just left me and Helios to be dragged through Rome in gold chains too heavy for us to carry."

I shake my head with the memory. "The emperor thought he was being merciful for letting us rise off our knees to join his sister's household. But Helios is our parents' son. He has never forgiven the emperor for not killing us while we knelt at his feet."

Juba sighs. "I remember he had trouble adjusting. But it has been so many years, I had hoped... Perhaps when we arrive in Numidia, we can appoint him to a military post. Perhaps he will find some fulfillment in that."

"Perhaps," I agree to please him, but I have long since lost hope in my brother.

From the main party, there come the raucous sounds of someone, a senator, trying to call for a toast. I take this as my cue to return to my seat. As I approach, I catch sight of Helios hand, something tight in its grip, slipping underneath the table. I sit beside him, and I see he is relaxed now, more so than he has ever been in years.

My heart sinks. I know that look. It may have been years, but you do not forget the look on your mother's face as she prepares to die.

My mind replays the events of the past weeks. Has Helios behaved differently since my engagement was announced? Of course, but I had attributed that to the engagement itself. I remember the words we exchanged just moments ago, and my head is heavy with certainty.

Oh Helios. You took a page out of our parents' book, didn't you?

"Helios," I say under my breath, "It is bad luck to toast without having eaten."

He stares at me with doubt in his eyes. He is trying to figure out if I am on to him. But I am a better actress than he.

"Helios, you will curse our toast if you don't eat first. Please." I stick out my lower lip ever so slightly, like how I would pout to him when we were small children.

Sighing with exasperation, Helios turns to the silver platters in front of us. I have only seconds. One of his hands rests on the base of his chalice, but my hands have other goals. I switch my chalice with the one on my empty other side, the one away from Helios. When Helios sits back with a roll in his hands, mine are folded on my lap again.

He takes a single bite and lets the roll drop onto his plate with a soft thump. "There," he says, mouth half full. "Happy?"

I nod. The senator that was making a toast finishes. I lift my glass up to Helios. Our glasses clink together, and I tip back my chalice to drink. Helios watches me, and he waits to see the drink cross my lips before he starts to drink.

I set my chalice down, and wait. My stomach churns with the anticipation. At first, Helios remains as calm as before, and I wonder if I misread the situation.

But then he begins to cough. His eyes rest on me as his body convulses, and his eyebrows knit together. Confusion. Why aren't I gagging and seizing?

I cry for help, my eyes still locked on Helios, but I know it is too late. Helios would not have left this to chance.

Oh Helios. You took a page out of our parents' book, didn't you?

His face turns purple. I imagine it is similar to the way my mother's face looked when the snake's work was done. Helios slips out of his seat and his body hits the floor.

I kneel and gather his head into my lap. He thrashes once, twice, and goes still. Around me the party is ruined, everyone crying and bustling.

"I'm not like you," I whisper to my brother as the light leaves his eyes. He would rather both of us die than live under the enemy's thumb. There is nobility in that perhaps, but I am not like that.

I am not my mother.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ishmael- Pyre

The firelight was flickering, wisps of wind combatting the flames from the open window. Cold night air and the chirping sound of crickets in the soft, dewed grass filled the cabin's main room. The only other sound was that of hushed voices and the occasional creak of wood that she watched from the distance. Their hands were on their bibles, bodies cloaked in warm blankets and faces long and grim as talk turned to the demons that plagued them from the shadows. Something wicked had entered the town, bringing with it water than ran thick and dark with sludge and men who dropped dead in the streets. There was talk of demons, of hexes and sin—

There was talk of a witch living among them.

"Rachel?"

She jumped, turning around on the wooden stool to find a girl standing before her. The face was a familiar one, dark hair pulled back tight against her scalp but eyes full of love and invitation. "Tacita," the name was a whisper of relief as she clutched at her heart, "you startled me."

Apology filled the gentle laugh that left Tacita's throat. "Come sit by the fire," she offered, placing a hand against Rachel's cheek. "You're cold as death."

Hesitantly, Rachel glanced to the fire, to its open and flickering tongues darting out at the bodies that surrounded it. Something about it made her stomach turn, heart jumping in her chest at the thought of being inside of the group. "I think I will stay. Their talk of—" The word was thick and heavy on her tongue, unable to be forced into the open air shared between friends. She shook her head, eyes downcast to her fingers clasped in her lap. "It frightens me," she admitted.

Warm hands grasped hers, shaking away the cold as Tacita pulled her upwards. "You should be frightened." The warning lodged itself in her throat like a stone. With the fire at her back, Tacita looked like an angel burning bright—almost too pure to gaze upon, her eyes large and looming. "Come," she tugged Rachel to her feet, urging her closer to the heat of the flames, "my heart will rest easier knowing you are safe near us." Without protest, she followed, watching the smile upturn the corners of her friend's cheeks. " I will make sure there is no more mention of witches." How gentle and kind the words were. How gracious and well meant. But it was not the witch Rachel was afraid of.

It was the fire that would burn her.

Stuff a crow into a dead man's mouth and he'll live for two days to tell you all his secrets. It was not easy magick— but crows were pleasant company and the dead had more voice than the living when it came to matters of immodesty. As she walked the silent stone path up to the platform that awaited her, hands bound behind her back and a cloth wrapped tight around her lips, Rachel would have preferred the company of the dead to the invisible assault of the living on every side of her.

Their eyes were like knives. Even with head bowed, each stare pierced her body with a poison-tipped arrow. Feet dragging behind her, the sound of her own breathing was the only shield she had from the rest of the colony. The rope had chafed her hands but the tenderness was an anchor. Her whole body was an anchor now—keeping her grounded to the icy ocean floor despite the roaring currents that swirled above. It was all that was left. Not even the smile of Tatica or the memory of summer could strike the winter frost from her bones.

"What say you, Rachel Cloyse?" At last, she looked up, following the voice as her journey came to an end. A wooden platform had been constructed. Around it, a stake planted to the ground waited with enough wood beneath to burn the whole village to the ground. On it stood a single man, the holy book of god clasped tightly in his hands as he stared down at the sinner in front of him. "Are you guilty of witchcraft, of which you are suspected?"

She smoothed out her skirt the best she could, stepping onto the platform unaided. Unseen hands pressed her back against the stake, wooden splinters pressing into her spine as they affixed her to it. Finally, the gag was removed. Rachel sucked in a breath of cold autumn air, letting it flood her lungs as her eyes traveled over the crowd gathered before her. Hundreds of faces waited, peering out at her beyond their terror to watch the witch that had plagued them for so long.

And at last, she spoke. "I met one day with a great black dog by the river," Rachel told them. Her voice uncurled like the seeking tendrils of a vine, burying itself roots and all into the ears and minds of all who listened. There was no need to amplify her voice, for any to shift closer. From her throat thrummed power, and from her words sin was charted into chaos. "He came close t'me, whispered in my ear, and bade me sign his book with my blood." There was no inflection in her voice, no guilt or fear. She did not tremble when she told them the tale. "By night's end, I was his." A murmur of fear broke the wall of silence, spreading over the community like the tide crashing against the shore.

The preacher scoffed in disgust beside her, waving his hand to signal for the fire to be lit. "That sounds like confession—"

"I weren't finished," Rachel interrupted, voice rising in pitch. At last, her body trembled, silencing the crowd as bitterness seeped into her stony face. "I used the gifts he gave to protect this colony." The crowd shivered, anger becoming confusion as she began to quake with the effort of her words. "Your babes sleep at night 'cause of me," she told them. "You elderly go int'a death peacefully because I bid them to." Shaking her head furiously, Rachel searched for eyes in the sea of faces, for sympathy from those who did not know they were damned. "Never did I hurt a soul what did not deserve what had been done."

But there was nothing. Only judgment. Only fear. Only children, staring at her with their moon eyes weeping with tears they did not understand. The power inside of her fragile body shook, pulsing outwards in waves that made the trees tremble.

A cold gag was forced between her lips once more, head slamming against the stake with a dull thump. "That's enough from you," the pastor growled, but Rachel would not be silenced.

On her tongue, cloth turned to ash, shrieks of panic rising from the voices of the colony as she spit embers from between her teeth. "I learnt his magic to make the crops grow— t'keep the winter mild," she shouted. Suddenly, a trembling face caught her eye, as well as the pale hand clutching to the bundle of cloth pressed against her shoulder. "Faithe Emerson—" All eyes turned to the woman in the crowd as Rachel's body strained against the pyre. "You was never to have a living child. I saw inside of you and saw your body twisted. Now think of the son you have on your arm." She watched as the woman's knuckles paled, grasping the sleeping infant tighter. "He breathes because I willed it so," Rachel told her, and Faithe's body was seized with panic.

"She lies!" the woman shrieked, pulling away from the crowd and stumbling over the hem of her dress. "I have God in my heart, I never asked for her help!"

I have to make them believe. The words wouldn't leave her throat. Her body was possessed, jerking and twisting against the ropes as she yanked another face from the crowd. This time, a brown-haired boy wearing his father's shirts caught her eye and she called out to him. "Symon Hawkes!" Terror struck his face, eyes bright as an animal trapped at the end of a musket. "You found your mother beat an' bloody, her dress torn and her modesty stripped away." Slowly, Rachel shook her head, a bitter laugh rumbling in her chest. "T'wasn't God that healed her. Nor God who put the body of her attacker in the earth where he feeds the insects with his corpse."

Fear turned into panic and panic into alarm as the god-fearing neighbors she'd grown up with dissolved into a chaotic clamoring for their immortal soul. They screamed, women running and knees buckling as others tried to shove the children out of sight. In the middle of it all, someone cried out, "God help us!" and the deep, thick laughter that exploded from her chest could have leveled cities to the ground.

I have to make them believe. "God has abandoned you," she shouted. "In this town, I am what hears your sins and pleas! I am the god you pray to!"

In the fury, it was not a man who grabbed the torch. It was Tatica, her eyes wild and burning and alive. For a moment their eyes met. Worlds collided into one, and the path became clear. "Kill me," Rachel spat. But in her mind, another conversation echoed. I leave them in your hands. Tatica's whole body shimmered, the glowing force of a magick much stronger overtaking her body. But she did not move. She did not smile. "Set this pyre with your hatred and watch you salvation burn."

Tatica's mouth never changed. Her body trembled with fear. But in Rachel's mind, she could hear the voice of the coven speaking back to her. We will meet again in another life, sister.

As flame met branch, her head shot up towards the sky, eyes rolling back until their white matched the burning gaze of the sun. Thick black feathers sprouted from her throat, pouring out of her mouth before the flames had even reached her feet. Grey became the pallor of her skin, veins collapsing with blood long dead. Talons gripped the flesh of her chin from between her lips, ripping the swelling skin free from her skull as the thick black beak and the beady eyes of a bird became visible from her wilted body. When the fire touched her, it was the scent of scorched corpseflesh that reached the nostrils of the town.

Rachel Cloyse had been dead for days— and from her rotting lips, a living crow shrieked once and flew away into the burning sunset.