I Am Not My Mother
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 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 an asp 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 actor 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.