“I hate watching terrible things happen and not being able to stop them. I can’t save anyone.” It was the truest thing about me. I wanted to save people, not watch them die.

The expression on his face shifted at my confession, moving from entranced to curious in the blink of an eye. The whispered revelation had surprised me as much as him.

Did it mean my aptitude had tested wrong? Or maybe it meant that, like Oz, I would get more satisfaction from studying how to use the terrible things that had happened to save people in the future instead of continuing to stand by and witness them in the past.

“We cannot be saved, Kaia. Our destinies are set as we take our first breath, and though we can decide how to live the years we’ve been afforded, we cannot change the events and people that will shape our lives.” He dropped his hand, picking up another date. “Like you. I think the gods have foreseen your entry into my life at this crucial moment.”

I wished I could believe in cosmic fate as opposed to science and human nature. Life would be simpler, perhaps, but that wasn’t the same as better.

“You believe in cruel gods, Caesarion, who would see fit for someone such as you—who has done nothing to deserve death—to be taken so soon.”

“I believe in gods. They are neither cruel not gentle, but simply other. They see the tapestry of life in a vast painting. We are specks, alive for a moment and then gone, like sparks off a fire. Do not fault them for not caring, as we do not take time to mourn the beetle crushed beneath our sandals.” His smile turned sad. “I am glad you are here.”

“I’m glad, too. Now, tell me something about you,” I said, trying for a lighter tone and crossing my eyes at him while I stole the pile of dates and tore off a piece of flat bread.

“I can’t believe there would be anything you do not already know about your Pharaoh,” he teased back, the sunlight dappling shadow across his tanned face.

“You would be surprised how little is known about you, Caesarion.”

“I am allowing you to remain mysterious because it pleases me to peel away your layers, Kaia, but soon I will demand answers.”

The idea of him peeling away anything shot hot desire through me, and pried a novel, throaty voice from my throat. “I prefer we enjoy the time we are afforded.”

“I will allow it. For now.” He slid a date into my mouth, fingers lingering for a moment on my bottom lip. They were salty next to the fruit’s tart sweetness. “Something true about me … anger aside, I would not rule Rome in my father’s place, given the chance,” he admitted.

“Why not?”

“My home is Alexandria. I know it would not make a difference to Octavian—he wants Egypt, too, and would not leave it to me, but I would let go the grievances of my past if he would let my people be.” Caesarion shrugged, his cheeks ruddy, and not from the sun.

“He wants Rome, and Rome wants the world. Egypt is an important conquest. If it’s any consolation, he’s remembered as a great Caesar. Not kind, but important.” My heart leaped into my throat the moment the words passed my lips, but they were too far away to suck them back in.

Caesarion tensed and electricity charged the air. “How could you know such a thing?”

Maybe I should have just told him the truth about coming from the future, about our connection. Caesarion believed in fate. What held me back even more than the rules was the fear that he would dismiss me as a raving lunatic and never wish to speak with me again. We still had weeks before his death, days that could be spent lazing by rivers, eating dates, and getting to know each other. I didn’t want to give those moments away, not even one.

I sat up straighter, brushing crumbs off my palms and scooting closer until our legs pressed together atop the scratchy wool, trying to forget that the time to leave stumbled closer with every breath. The day was too hot to be touching but the contact spread comfort through my blood, and Caesarion did not pull away.

“Would you believe me if I told you I have a feeling the world will be better off because of his reign over Rome?”

His forehead crinkled. “You are an oracle?”

“Something like that.”

We fell silent, our legs and arms pressed together, his hand covering mine. The food was gone and the horses would be ready to continue soon. The pull between us had settled into a thrumming, steady current. It heightened my awareness of everything around us; I felt the pulse in his wrist, heard breath pulling in and out of his lungs, smelled the salty sweat on his skin. His heartbeat twined with my own, our breathing synchronized, and our scents combined until we felt like one person instead of two. It was more than our molecules aligning. I loved everything I’d learned about Caesarion today—his intelligence, the way he talked about his people. That he didn’t fear death. I wanted to be more like him in the same moment as I wanted him to be more like me—to be willing to fight, to break the rules if it meant getting what he wanted—a longer life.

He didn’t necessarily seem to want that, though, and every last atom in my body, each one interlocked with this boy’s, screamed in protest.

Perhaps spending time with him would be enough, and my slide down the slippery slope toward my brother’s fate could be aborted before rock bottom rose up to crush me. Caesarion would die, as he was supposed to, and I would have my memories. My moments.

The guards waded to the shore and began to saddle the horses, and sadness sank into my bones until it seemed to fuse with a part of me people once called a soul.

Caesarion saw them, too, and turned to me with a rueful smile. “We must press on.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me, my peculiar oracle—if that’s what you are—what caused you to seek me out?”

“We’re supposed to be together.”

“Be together.” He gave me a slight smile, suggestive enough to curl my toes. “In what way do you mean?”

I wanted to tease back, but emotion clogged my throat. Caesarion was my True Companion—as long as I lived I would never feel this innate connection with another person—and now the potential fallout of my impulsive decision to meet him became clear. Nothing would ever measure up again.

“In every way,” I whispered.

We stared at each other for several seconds. His eyes trailed to my mouth before traveling back to my eyes, and the pull between our bodies stirred, increasing with each passing breath. I needed him closer, to see what he tasted like, but now wasn’t the time or place.

“That gives me hope.”

“For what?” Our breath mingled, our faces hovering inches apart, begging to connect. My skin prickled, hairs standing on end as though reaching for him. Heat swam through my blood, simmering closer to a boil.

“That I’ll get to kiss you again.”

I had fallen so far into his gaze that the sight of a young girl running through the reeds, panic twisting her dark features, seemed at first as out of place as me. Then Caesarion flew to his feet at her frantic words, deciphering the local dialect and taking off with a warning shout.

His guards dropped what they were doing and followed Caesarion through the reeds. I raced after them, responding to the girl’s desperate plea for help, and skidded to a halt at the horrible scene fifty or sixty yards down the riverbank. A woman lay on the shore, her arm torn off at the elbow and her blood pumping into the matted, wet grass. A little boy floundered in the water, choking and sputtering, trying desperately to get to the opposite bank as a crocodile stalked his every move, water sluicing around its ugly snout. The woman sobbed weakly, her eyes on the child even as the light inside her dimmed.

Caesarion barked orders at one of the guards, who dropped to his knees beside the woman and tied a scarf tight around her bicep. The data flashing in front of my eyes said it wouldn’t be enough, that she’d lost too much blood. Others gathered, faces drawn with concern, as my True splashed into the water toward the crocodile.