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She could only gaze at him.

"Shaktanu," she finally whispered.

"You believe it to be a myth."

"It is a myth."

"You say this to me with a confidence that can only be described as arrogance."

"You demand gratitude for the degradations I have suffered here because you saved me from a poisoning by chance. Arrogance is a topic in which you are expert, Saqnos. Prime minister of Shaktanu."

"Degradations? You refused to tell us your name."

"You took me prisoner."

"You stumbled into our trap. I remain curious as to how and why. What ties you, Cleopatra, to Ramses the Great? Did the tales of this mysterious Egyptologist draw you as they drew me? How is it this Mr. Ramsey makes such a splash in modern life, and you somehow remain in the shadows until today? Did someone awaken you? Did someone bathe you in sunlight so that you might walk again? Did they tell you an old lover had risen?

"Or maybe Ramses is nothing of the kind. Maybe he is an old rival, an enemy in war. I've heard tell you made no friend of the great King Herod in your day. Of course, history today remembers Herod for crimes far worse than plotting your assassination."

"Ramses was much more to me than any of these things you describe," she said.

"Was," Saqnos said. "And is?"

This was worse than the dogs, she realized, worse than being forced to reveal her name. To admit the complexity of her feelings for Ramses before this awful man. But what other choice did she have? How else could she steer him away from the strangeness of her resurrection, the destructive consequences of it? Hard enough to admit those things to Julie Stratford, but to this man, this brutal, coldhearted immortal? Impossible.

"He was my counselor and my guide during the darkest hours of my reign," she said. "He brought with him centuries of wisdom. He used that wisdom to help me. Against my own siblings, against Rome. And with Rome, when it was possible."

And so she had stumbled into another trap. If Saqnos chose to question her, she would not be able to answer specific questions about her past without revealing the speed at which her ancient memories were leaving her.

"That was not all he brought with him, was it?" Saqnos asked.

She met his gaze.

"The pure elixir," he said. "Its power. Its exact ingredients. Its formula."

Strangely specific, this statement, and the way he brought his goblet to his mouth quickly, as if to distract her from the eagerness in his eyes.

Its formula...

She tried to chase all emotion from her face, to assemble the pieces of information he'd provided her. And so he had not poisoned anyone that day. But he had sought to abduct Julie.

Had his plan been to leave Ramses alive so that he might use Julie's abduction against him in some way?

Its formula...

So that he might torture Julie into giving him the formula for the elixir?

She made a show of returning to her food. Chewing, tearing apart tiny bones, and spearing little beef Wellingtons with her fork, all of which allowed her to disguise the evidence of her rapid thoughts.

Could it be that this Saqnos, clearly immortal, did not have the elixir? That he had been transformed by it, just as she had been transformed, without ever possessing it or the knowledge to make it?

Was the same true for the other immortals who did his bidding? The ones who called him Master? Strange for them to call him Master if he had not made them. But there was no ignoring the particular hunger that had come into his voice when he said those two simple words. Its formula.

Did he believe she knew the elixir's ingredients?

Should she allow him to believe this?

And then she recalled another word he'd just used. His final phrase had distracted her from it, but now it came to her, bright as one of her visions of Sibyl Parker.