He tossed for hours, his eyes clenched shut, the pillow lumpy beneath his head, his cot as tight and hard as a stone-covered hillside. At last he rose. It had been months since he’d slept through the night, since his ship waited outside the Alexandrian harbor. He cursed Cleopatra and Antony. They had stolen his sleep, and now he walked, half waking, half delirious, through the halls.

Usem, patrolling outside the emperor’s chambers, heard bare feet shuffling across the stones toward him.

He turned and found the emperor behind him, dressed in only a thin tunic, his eyes wild, his skin clammy.

Augustus blinked, as though looking at a bright light.

“You will live a long life, she told me,” he whispered. “Now she means to take it. She smells of lemons and fire. Her perfume is the same as it ever was, and I smell it in Rome.”

“She is not in the house,” Usem said, taking pity on the man, but the emperor shook his head frantically, as though trying to rid himself of an insect.

“Tell me a story,” he asked the Psylli. “Tell me something to make the night come.”

Usem laughed, a dry sound of curious pleasure, something that calmed the emperor vaguely. If the man still laughed, all could not be lost.

“It is night already,” the Psylli told him. “It is hours until dawn.”

“It is not night in my mind,” the emperor replied.

“I will tell you a story,” Usem said. “But there is a price.”

“There is always a price,” the emperor said wearily. “I will pay it.”

Augustus was now convinced that any fee owed to the Psylli and his tribe would never need to be paid, at least not by him. His death would no doubt occur long before he paid his debts, and Usem wanted peace. Who could promise such a thing in a world where creatures like Cleopatra existed?

The two walked back to the emperor’s room, where Augustus lay down again and Usem settled into a crouch beside his cot. The Psylli began to speak, his voice low and even.

“A young man was in the desert one day, walking over the sand and dreaming of his future. He had reached the age of marriage, but the neighboring tribes would not surrender their daughters. They were afraid of his people, who consorted with poisonous serpents. When other tribes saw the Psylli coming near, they fled, leaving even their camels behind. The Psylli grew rich on abandoned possessions, but their own tribe became smaller and smaller. This boy longed for a bride, but he did not wish to take a woman against her will. He knew that he would have to walk for days to find a tribe who knew nothing of his people, but he swore to himself that he would not return to the snake people until he had found his wife.

“He walked for seven days and six nights, sleeping in caves dug amongst the serpents. On the seventh night, as dawn neared, the boy saw something spinning on the horizon, dancing and throwing light across the darkness. The boy walked closer, wondering.”

The emperor turned his head toward the Psylli and saw the man’s eyes glitter.

“As the young man neared the tornado, he could see a graceful hand twisting in and out of the sand, its long fingers bedecked with sparkling rings, the source of the light he had seen.

“As he got closer still, shielding his eyes to protect them, he saw a slender form in the center of the sandstorm, her long hair twirling and whipping through the air to cover her naked body. The young man cried out in wonder, and a rapturous, startled face turned toward him for only a moment. Then she was gone, across the desert, away from him.

“The boy had caught a glimpse of the youngest daughter of the Western Wind,” the Psylli said. “She was the most beautiful woman on earth, and he was instantly determined that he would take her for his bride.”

Augustus shifted in his coverlets. The moon outside, though it was but a crescent, crept through his window, leaving a slice of brightness on the Psylli’s face. He could see only the man’s eyes, which were so black he could not discern their expression. The Psylli continued.

“The young man chased after the wind, but she disappeared from his view, whipping the sand into new dunes to block his passage as she fled. The sun laughed from above as the young man walked the day long, sizzling in the still air, searching for his love. At last he saw her far across the sand, but she blew away as soon as he was close enough to ask her name. This time, however, she smiled at him before she was gone, and he heard her laughter echoing over the desert. The young man kept following, sometimes seeing flowering branches from far-off places left in the sand, and sometimes watching exotic birds ride on the wind’s back, high over his head. Once, she left him an empty ship dropped gently from above, with its sails billowing, but she would not speak to him, nor would she come near enough that he might touch her hand.

“At last, after twelve days and nights without sleep, without water, with nothing but his hopeless love to sustain him, the young man collapsed on the sand, exhausted, his skin parched and his tongue swollen. He closed his eyes.”

Augustus’s eyes closed as well, though only for a moment. He lay back against his pillow, cursing silently, his very soul twisting inside him. Love stories. What did he care about love?

“When the young man woke, he found himself in the center of a tornado. All around him was the daughter of the Western Wind, and she lifted him into her arms and held him to her lips. She kissed him, and her kisses filled his lungs with air. She brought him to an oasis and poured water into his mouth. She wrapped herself around him and took him high into the sky.

“With her, the young man traveled from end to end of the world. He listened to her whispers and howls, her screams and laughter, and he fell more and more deeply in love with her.

“In the North, she blew up a blizzard, sending white drifts across ice floes, whistling a trilling song as she sent enormous blue ice mountains crashing across the sea. He watched a pale bear and her cubs swimming across the freezing water and then capering in the snow. The daughter of the Western Wind played with them, flinging herself in and out of the water, making waves that splashed over the ice, bringing fish to their shore, until the young man, unused to the cold, was nearly frozen to death.

“She picked him up and carried him South, to an island where the trees bent to make a leafy bower for their wedding bed. There, the daughter of the Western Wind and the son of the Psylli made love, and the young man gloried in her, watching her inhale and exhale gently, her skin smooth and warm, her long hair wrapping around him. The young man asked his bride about her family, and she told him that she did not wish to share him. It was her nature to travel over sea and land, and she could not be still for long. If she stayed in his arms, the oceans would go still, and the bees would cease drinking from the flowers. If she stayed in his arms, the storms would stop filling the rivers, and the snow would stay in the sky. She told him that she would have to leave him soon, or risk the wrath of her father.”

Augustus had fallen into sleep at last, his dreams dark and twisting, as ever they were, his hands clenching invisible weapons and his mouth forming inaudible words. Around him, the world exploded and showered down upon itself, shining and searing. Inside him, the world ended, again and again.

“The young man did not wish to let his wife leave his side. He tied himself to her body as she slept, and he was thus entwined with her when her father appeared, a roaring rush of fury, tearing the palm trees from the sand, and sending tremendous waves crashing over the shore. Those who lived on the island ran out from their homes and over the beach, but the Western Wind was merciless. He lifted his daughter up from where she lay sleeping and soared into the sky with her. As he flew, waves shook themselves up from the oceans and broke over the land, destroying everything in their paths. Entire forests were uprooted and flew into the clouds, landing in the heavens, where eventually they settled and became shelter for the stars. The young man clung to his bride as she warred against her father, screaming at him and beating him with her fists. Three mountain ranges turned to plains. Seven rivers turned to rain. A shooting star found itself blown off course and into the fingers of a child, where it became a shining plaything.

“At last, the father landed on the sands of Libya, where the young man’s tribe was camped. He swept their camels into the air, and threw their tents from end to end of the desert. He strew their possessions across the mountains and tossed their serpents into the sky. Later, they would rain down, poisonous, mysterious, and full of rage, onto the heads of a neighboring tribe.

“The Western Wind turned his wrath onto the wells of the Psylli, and directed his hot breath into them until they were dry. The young man’s tribe was left without water, and they spoke angrily to their wayward son. He knew he’d hurt his people by falling in love with the Western Wind’s daughter, but this did not stop him from loving her.”

A soft breeze began to blow into the emperor’s windows, rattling the shutters and easing them open.

“The young man refused to give up his bride. Her father snatched her from his arms and took her back to his home at the edge of the world. The young man spoke with his tribe and convinced them to go to war. Though they were angry with him for inciting the rage of the Western Wind, they were angrier still at the wind, for drying their wells and for stealing a rightful bride from one of their own.”

Augustus thrashed in his sleep as the breeze passed over his bed, tearing his coverlet from his body and chilling him to the bones. Usem looked up and smiled as the breeze passed over his face.

“The Western Wind had stolen not only a bride but a baby, for the daughter of the Western Wind was with child. The tribe of the snake people armed themselves and rode out across the desert, with their serpents beside them. They rode day and night and never saw the Western Wind’s daughter. The Western Wind himself tormented them with sandstorms, pushing waves of dust up over the desert so that they engulfed the warring tribe, their mounts, and their serpents. Convinced that he had buried them so deeply they would never recover, the Western Wind went off to his other business at the far side of the world. The warriors and their serpents dug themselves up out of the sand and rode on until they reached the world’s edge.”

The window was opened entirely to the elements now, and the wind blew in, tossing the curtains, ruffling the scrolls. It blew into the emperor’s mouth, and out again. It perched on the Psylli’s shoulder.

“They stood looking out across the nothing that awaited them there, and far in the distance, balancing on a platform of the thinnest air, they could see the lighted castle of the Western Wind. In the doorway of the castle, the young man could just see his bride, her hair twirling around her, her eyes flashing lightning. She was tied to the castle wall. The young man despaired of reaching her. He did not know how to walk on air, and the distance was too far for him to leap. His bride’s voice, however, was light enough to travel across the distance between them, and she whispered into his ear that she loved him.

“The young man thought hard for a moment, and then he called to his serpents. They twined themselves together, tail to throat and throat to tail. Soon, the young man and his tribe had a coiled rope of snakes as long as the distance from the edge of the world to the castle of the Western Wind. The young man threw the rope across the divide, and his bride pursed her lips and gave the rope a breeze to carry it the last few lengths across the gap and to the castle doorway. The young man did not hesitate. He stepped instantly onto the serpent’s backs, and ran across the tightrope to his beloved.

“Thus it was that the tribe of the Psylli traveled across thinnest air and arrived at the castle of the Western Wind. Thus it was that the tribe of the Psylli waited for the Western Wind and captured him with their ropes and their magic, slicing at him with their swords until the wind surrendered and gave over his daughter.”

The Psylli stood, his body shining dark and lean in the moonlight. He looked down at the emperor’s form. The man’s eyelids fluttered, and Usem knew he was only pretending to sleep. The Psylli placed his hand on Augustus’s chest.

“Thus it was, by going to war against the Western Wind, that I won my wife. We became parents and I came here, to Rome, to protect my family from war and trouble, from pain and sorrow, as any father should protect his children.”

The Psylli looked at the emperor, and his jaw clenched slightly.

“Any father,” he repeated. “Any ruler of any tribe, any ruler of any country. That is the responsibility of a leader. But a leader should understand that the loss of love can be more dangerous than the loss of a kingdom. He should understand that he risks himself when he tangles his city in such a thing. A broken heart can destroy as surely as a knife, and there are broken hearts in Rome. There are stolen lives in Rome. It would be no shame to give her children back to her. My wife believes that it would calm Cleopatra, and a calm enemy is easier to best. It would be no shame to relinquish the ghost you hold captive. She wants peace for him and for herself. She wants it more than vengeance, at least for the moment.”

The emperor stopped breathing for a moment, feeling the Psylli’s gaze upon him. He said nothing. Then the man removed his hand from the emperor’s chest and turned away.

The breeze became a woman, her hair twirling, her hands outstretched to touch the snake charmer’s. Together, the wind and the Psylli left the room.

In the dark, Augustus’s eyes opened. His heart felt broken and furious at once. Love. Who was this man to talk to him about love? Who was this man to say Augustus did not understand it?

Cleopatra had not been broken by love. She had been broken by her hunger for power, and by her desire to be the queen of more than her own country. Augustus knew it, just as he knew that he himself had the same hunger. He ruled, just as she had. He’d climbed up over obstacles of kin, of friends and warriors, just as she had, and now, here in the Palatine, he stood at the top of the world. She was far below him. He had only to kill her now.

The emperor stepped out of bed, weary to his bones.

He had never loved anyone but Rome, and Rome needed him.