Page 34 of Cleopatra

Remember those words. For one day I will go on to repeat them.

And believe them.

At the time, I reasoned with myself that Arsinoe had been too young to know Berenice and to love her like I had. “Berenice was our sister, not a threat.”

Arsinoe’s face softened and she looked more vulnerable than I had seen her in a very long time. “You think me a monster now.”

“No.”

“You do, I see it in your eyes. But follow the veins of our family blood, Cleopatra. It has ever been tainted. Murder, sacrifice, betrayal—they are the cornerstones of our ancestors’ tombs.”

“To rule Egypt is to court danger; like the Nile, it gives and takes. As Pharaoh, one must learn to sail upon it.”

“You sound like a priest,” she said, amused.

My sister always had the ability to make me feel young again. And not in the carefree way that a fond memory might invoke. No, she made me feel callow.

“There is no shame in being compared to those most holy.”

“No, I suppose not. But remember, sister, even the priests care for the gods first and people second.”

“You suggest I do otherwise?”

“I know about your secret excursions to the mainland to heal.”

I didn’t question how she knew. There was only one answer: Qar. How I detested that bird.

“What I do for the people of Egypt, I do in Isis’s name.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps you care too deeply. And that is a weakness.”

Her words shocked and wounded me, but I did not show it, for it would only further prove her hypothesis.

“Strength has many forms. You see it too plain.”

“If that is what you think, then it must be so.” She held my gaze.

The tension between us was wound tighter than strips of linen on the flesh of the dead. But then she laughed, releasing me from her scrutiny, and I was reminded of the young child she used to be. Mischievous and cunning, but quick to smile. A lioness without claws.

Qar squawked, craning forward as if to alert us of something.

“A pigeon has returned to the nest on the roof. It must be a message from the palace,” Arsinoe said.

“Charmion?” I called.

“Already sent for,” she said behind me.

Arsinoe and I retired to one of the staterooms while we awaited the letter. I lowered myself onto a couch, conscious that the vulture headdress could topple at any moment. Arsinoe, on the other hand, lounged comfortably, her ankles crossed upon the leopard-skin rug.

A servant arrived, carrying the small scroll on a bronze tray. “Pharaoh, I have retrieved the message.”

I knew it was unlikely she was able to read; few in my household could. A precaution one of my ancestors implemented to keep the court’s secrets close. I had intended to change that policy in time.

But time is the one thing that is constant yet always running out. And I had less time than I could ever have conceived.

“Thank you,” I said to the servant.

She dipped her head before leaving us.