“You are dead,” Chrysate told Antony. “You have nothing more to do here.”

“My wife is here,” Antony said, his voice low and dangerous. “And I will go to her.”

He tore himself from Chrysate’s side, his face twisting with the pain of resisting the holding stone. Moving without touching the ground, he was nearly at Cleopatra’s side within seconds. A shred of his soul remained in Chrysate’s fingers. She clung to it fiercely, and Antony screamed with rage.

“I am no slave! You will release me!”

On the floor of the arena, Cleopatra trembled, her body still ruled by the snake song, though she’d shed the snake’s form. She looked up, her face unbelieving.

“Antony,” she whispered. “I thought you were dead.”

“He is,” Chrysate said, and swiftly twisted the edge of Antony’s soul in her fingernails, crushing him back into the wisp he had been when he first rose from Hades. She smashed him back inside the silver box, and then she moved toward Cleopatra, swift and graceful as a wolf assessing wounded prey.

The legionaries moved closer to the stricken queen, prodding her with their spears. Her two sons huddled beside her. Antony was gone. Surely, she’d hallucinated him. She stretched her arms to touch them, but the elder cringed, fearful of her hands. Ptolemy crawled into her arms, crying, and she held him tightly against her. She would not have long with him. She kissed his face, and whispered into his ear.

“You are the king of Egypt now. You and your brother. You must behave like kings.”

“There is no Egypt,” her elder son said. “Egypt is dead.” But he came to her anyway, and burrowed into her arms. Cleopatra held her children with all her strength and looked back up into the stands. Selene was still seated above her, looking horrified.

“I came for you,” Cleopatra said. “You are why I am here.”

Selene shook her head. Cleopatra looked into her daughter’s eyes, at her small copper face. It had been over a year since she had seen her in the light, and the girl had changed.

“You are not my mother,” Selene said, and Cleopatra felt the words stinging her skin, breaking her memories of joy.

Her face a mask of confusion, Selene reached out to the witch who stood beside her, the witch who had captured her father. She took Chrysate’s hand, and the priestess laughed. Strength flowed into her from the girl, even now.

The emperor hobbled down the stairs and appeared at Cleopatra’s side, his eyes lit with triumph, despite his pain. In his hand, a silver net glittered.

Augustus threw the net over her, and she gasped at its scalding touch. The pain shone through the center of her bones, nearly intolerable. Her children were pulled from her arms, and she was left alone, tangled in silver.

“Did you think you could win over Rome? We will burn you this time,” he sputtered, rage and pain choking his voice. “Make no mistake, we will burn you.”