The Triumphant (The Valiant #3)(86)
She spun the dagger in her hand and resheathed it.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “War will come to this land one day. Once the Romans settle their disputes, or decide they need my wealth to do so, or just plain need to keep themselves occupied. And you’re right. But that day is not tomorrow. Or next year. Nor, I dare say, will it be the year after. It may not even come in my lifetime, although I doubt that. And I will be here waiting when it does. But you . . .” She looped her arm through mine and walked with me through the garden, out toward the forest of red granite pillars that led back down to the docks, where I’d spent the daybreak pacing. “You have better things to do with your time than wander the halls of my palace or the streets of Alexandria, as marvelous as both may be. You and your sister gladiatrices and your Amazons . . . you are warrior maids, and you were meant for a different purpose. A different path. And the last few years of your life have, well, meticulously crafted and sharpened you. Honed you to a fine edge. Like my dagger. Now. Go find something to stab at, won’t you?”
“I will, Your Majesty.”
“Good.” She turned toward me and took my face in her hands, her eyes glittering like gemstones. “And I pity whomever that walking target turns out to be. Now, away with you.”
“Thank you, Majesty—”
“Oh! One little thing before you leave . . .” The queen put a finger to her carmined lips, as if she’d just remember something. “Do you recall me telling you how Hatshepsut led her armies into battle against the Kushite hordes, riding at the head of her troops in her golden war chariot?”
“I remember well,” I said, smiling at her endless fondness for stories of her exceptional ancestress. “That must have been a magnificent sight to see, Your Majesty.”
“Of course it was,” she said. “Sorcha used to tell me that your people value the horse—and the chariot—almost above all else. Is that true?”
I nodded. “It is.”
“Marvelous!” She clapped her hands together. “I do so like picking out appropriate gifts . . .”
She turned and gestured with one elegant hand, and there, moving in a stately line up the grand causeway, driven by lean young men in linen kilts, I saw eight of the finest snow-white horses drawing four of the swiftest-looking chariots I’d ever seen. I gasped and felt a surge of passionate longing drawn up from the very deep depths of my horse-loving Cantii soul. Horses, ridden or driven, were the great love of my people. And these horses were like the semidivine ancestors of the shaggy, fierce, neat-footed beasts of the island.
“I didn’t have time to have the chariots gilded,” she said. “But my commander of cavalry tells me they are perfectly serviceable.”
“They’re . . . beautiful,” I said, hardly daring to believe my eyes. “Perfect.”
“I hope you don’t mind,” the queen continued, “but I had Sennefer make arrangements with my admirals for a horse transport ship rather than a plain old galley for you and your sisters to travel across the sea—and for a crew from the royal stables to accompany you and care for the animals until you get to Massilia. You’re on your own after that, as they’ll return here on the ship once the animals are safely landed. But I did so want you to have something to remember me by.”
“I can hardly think how in the wide world I would ever forget you, my queen,” I said, as I blinked at the tears on my lashes and the world around me shattered into glittering rainbow shards.
I reached up around my neck and unclasped the necklace she’d given me on the night we retook the ludus from Pontius Aquila. Sorcha’s ludus. Lady Achillea’s own little kingdom, while it had lasted.
“Will you bury this with her, Majesty?” I asked. “I want her to have something of me. And I will have my own goddess, the Morrigan, to guide me once we reach my shores.”
Cleopatra reached for the pendant, her own lashes suddenly sparkling in the sun, and said, “Of course, my very dear girl.”
She turned to Sennefer, who had appeared at her side, and gave him the amulet. He took it reverentially, and it disappeared into one of the many folds or pockets or pouches he had hidden in his robes.
Then he tilted his head to me and said, “A thousand thousand thanks, Lady Fallon, for your service to my mistress. My soul owes you a debt unpayable in a single lifetime.”
“Oh no, please.” I shook my head. “Don’t say that, Sennefer. You are a dear man, but I won’t have your shade following me around in the afterlife, pouring my wine and opening doors for me. I release you from any debt on your soul.”
I’d been joking, but he actually looked relieved at that.
“Thank you, lady.” He rolled his kohl-rimmed eyes at Cleopatra. “I imagine my shade will be worn exceedingly thin by then.”
The queen raised a sculpted eyebrow at him.
“For I expect it to be a very long time,” he continued smoothly, “before the reed boat ferries you to the eternal peace of Aaru.”
I grinned. “That’s what I’m planning for.”
“The gods guide you.”
“And you, Sennefer.”
He sighed. “Only if my lady lets them.”
I left them and went to check on the rest of my friends, surprised to see Neferet and Antonia at the foot of the gangplank, standing beside a stack of luggage.