“Why?”
“Because you’re usually a lot nicer when you’ve had your tea,” I stated simply.
For a moment, Mathias held me captive with his searching gaze and then he looked down. The corner of his mouth twitched up in a half smile as he murmured, “Thank you.”
He reached for the cup, his fingers brushing over mine as he took it from me. The touch was so brief it shouldn’t have mattered, but it still managed to send a tingling thrill through my fingers. Grateful for the darkness to hide my warm cheeks, I walked back to my side of the fire and sat down on a blanket I had rolled out earlier. When I finally risked a glance in Mathias’ direction, he was completely preoccupied with his tea. The sight reminded me of the first time he had sat in my apartment fussing with his tea and looking as nonthreatening as could be if not for the 10 glowing above his head.
Ilia’s murmurs to the horses rose slightly, then faded into the background once more as I struggled to think of something to say that would break the silence without being too terribly awkward. “Mathias.” I fiddled with the edge of my shawl, tugging it forward a little as the wind picked up, before I continued, “Do you know of anyone who caught the Golden Hind before now?”
Mathias lowered his cup and looked at me, but it wasn’t his voice that broke the silence.
“Golden Hind?” Ilia’s accent flavored words broke over me. I twisted around to see the satyr closing the scant distance between him and our campfire. The satyr was studying me with an expression I couldn’t quite interpret as he said, “No one catches the Golden Hind since Heracles. But he, eh, cheated when he put an arrow through her legs.”
I rubbed my upper arms, feeling the leather beneath my fingertips, as I nodded. “I remember the story. Heracles was hardly the best model for respecting other cultures,” I muttered more to myself than the men. He had been almost as bad as Achilles. Offering Ilia a little smile, I added, “You have my word that I haven’t brought a hunting bow with me. I wouldn’t know how to shoot one anyway.”
The satyr glanced from me to Mathias and then scratched at the base of his left horn as he settled in a low crouch to my right putting himself between Mathias and me. He held his hands out toward the fire’s warmth, expression thoughtful. “Why do you ask about Golden Hind?”
“I’ve been charged with the task of finding the Golden Hind and capturing her so I may bring her to Perperikon.”
A frown appeared as the satyr once more looked between Mathias and me before his gaze settled on me. He looked more puzzled than disapproving, though, which only calmed my rising unease the tiniest bit. Ilia tugged at his beard, seeming lost in thought, before he said, “Capturing the Golden Hind, eh, impossible.”
I hid a wince as my right wrist suddenly burned like a bunch of nettles had raked over the skin. Keeping my tone carefully neutral, I objected, “There must be some way.”
The satyr only shrugged. “Dryads and sylphs, eh, they use apples to lure Golden Hind to Perperikon, but there is no capture. Only bringing her to corral for inspection and care.”
“Apples,” I repeated softly. Well, that would have been handy information to have before we left Stenímachos without any apples at all. Filing the information away for later, I risked continuing the conversation. “I was told that coming to Belintash would help me find the Golden Hind’s trail as a part of the homage to the history of Thrace. Is it true, Ilia?”
He raised his gaze from the fire to look rather sharply at Mathias, then he raised his hand and gestured to the wooded sides of the mountains around us. “All of this, eh, playground for Golden Hind. She may be near.” Lowering his hand, Ilia shook his head solemnly as he added, “This task, eh, fool’s errand. You cannot capture Golden Hind.”
The burning sensation grew stronger and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound. Even the contemplation of failure seemed to be dangerous. Score one for the power of a positive attitude. I met the satyr’s solemn gaze and merely smiled. “There is always the first time. And, I do not have the choice save to try . . . I gave my word that I would after all.”
* * *
Mathias
She should not have told the satyr anything. The thought pounded through the iciness as relentless as a drummer. I kept my gaze focused on the fire as I struggled to keep the cold from winning another foothold. Still instinct and icy rage demanded I stop any and all revelations that threatened to expose a potential weakness to an outsider.
Ilia was watching me as Lauren stirred the contents of the cooking pot now hanging over the fire. The satyr and the elders had figured something out. I probably should have eliminated them all. It would be safer to— No. I tightened my grip on my rapidly cooling cup of tea as I forced the whispers rooted in the coldest form of justice away. Involuntarily, my gaze shifted from the crackling flames to Lauren. Her dark hair fell forward escaping the confines of her shawl to brush against her cheeks and the coldness fell away from my thoughts as my fingers itched to touch soft hair and silky skin. My grip on the cup tightened, but I couldn’t look away when her dark eyes lifted to meet mine. The firelight reflected in their dark depths calling for closer attention.
It was almost painful to wrench my gaze away from her. I set the cup down and strode away from the campfire’s circle of light as I struggled against the desire to draw ever closer to the Spotter’s warmth. It would be a mistake I could not afford; a mistake she could not afford. The best thing I could do for her was to keep my distance even if the cold continued to fill my vision and make it difficult to react beyond stopping threats with as much force as necessary.
“Mathias, are you okay?”
I closed my eyes as Lauren’s concerned words filled the silence. Forcing myself to keep my back toward her, I refused to speak. I turned my focus back to the reasons we needed the satyr. First of all, it had been decades since the last time I ventured through the Thracian homelands of the surviving Myrmidons after my people had been exiled from our ancient homes in Greece. A local guide would prove more beneficial, had already proven himself as such. Second . . . it was the only way I could ensure Lauren’s safety. She was safer now than if we had been alone.
“Mathias, you can’t shut me out like this,” came the furious whisper accompanied by a hand to my chest.
Opening my eyes, I looked down into Lauren’s dark eyes. Even here in the shadows she looked beautiful, eyes snapping with clear frustration and even anger. The urge to pull her into my arms swept over me and my hands started to come up before I caught myself. Forcing my hands back down, I kept my tone cool and distant as I said in a low voice, “I need control, Lauren. You know this.”
She shook her head, full mouth turning down into a frown. “And you need to realize that shutting me out when I have already come this far for you is the wrong tactic. My life is on the line, and I’ve had more than enough of a terrifyingly cold 10 in Scotland. What good is my participating in the Trials if you succumb to the cold anyway because you won’t let me help you?”
She was afraid. I could sense it in her tense stance, the faint trembling in the hand still resting against my chest, and in the unsteadiness of her breaths when she glanced at the space above my head. For the briefest moment I considered using that fear to drive her away, to make her protect herself from me by accepting the distance and the cold. But the thought of doing so . . . I loathed myself in that moment for even considering it.
Reaching up, I dared to touch her cheek. Running my thumb across her silken skin, I felt her shudder in response but she didn’t pull away. I brought my other hand up to touch the opposite cheek. Her lips parted and the desire to kiss them rose, but I resisted. I still needed some control after all.
However, I couldn’t fully resist the need for more contact. Keeping my hands resting on her cheeks, I bent down and pressed my forehead against hers. Closing my eyes, I allowed myself to be still and to focus on Lauren, on her warmth. The cold gripping me eased slightly, allowing me to think more clearly. “I didn�
�t want you to be so involved. I was supposed to rescue you.”
Lauren’s fingers wrapped around my wrists as best they could as she responded softly, “You did that, Mathias. But this? This is . . . it is my turn to save you. But I can’t do it if I am always fretting that you’ve succumbed too far, beyond my reach. I don’t want that.”
My heart ached at the stress underlying her words. I almost asked her why, but I shied away from the pointed question. I didn’t want to know. Not when it could be nothing more than pity. Clearing my throat, I eased back so I was no longer touching her. Keeping my voice steady proved more challenging than I expected when I spoke again. “We cannot be together.”
“Wouldn’t that be considered a failure?” As soon as the words passed her lips, Lauren suddenly winced as she clutched at her right wrist.
Fear seized me even as I grasped her hand and pulled it up as I yanked her sleeve down. The spiral bands of the tattoo glowed softly then died back down until I struggled to detect them in the dark. I ran my fingers over the tattoo, tracing every spiral including the fox’s head. Her skin felt smooth, and I didn’t detect any lingering heat. “What happened?”
“It seems that contemplation of failure is frowned upon in these Trials,” Lauren said a little breathlessly.
I traced over the fox’s head again. “Including my protests?”
Lauren grimaced. “Your questions aren’t really helping my doubts right now, Mathias. Believe me I know how . . . ridiculous it is for me to try to prove myself the equal to a 10 but . . .” She looked away, catching her bottom lip between her teeth, before she sighed. “I couldn’t just walk away, Mathias. I wish you would . . . I wish you accepted the fact that your life is worth something too.”
“You don’t know what I have done over the years. Beginning when I was a child . . .”
“Your past is not what defines you,” she interrupted. She looked at me again, emotions shining in her eyes as the moon came out from behind the clouds to illuminate her face. “You’re the first and only person above a 4 that I have ever trusted.” She shook her head. “I care about you too much, Mathias, to just stand by and watch you let yourself succumb to this coldness. If I am going to keep going in these Trials, I want to know that it will be worth something. Otherwise, you leave me striving to only save my own life and I will never forgive you for turning me into a mercenary.”
I stared down at her. Something long buried stirred harder than it had since I first met the Spotter . . . longing, but it wasn’t purely physical. I desired her, yes, but more than anything I wanted . . . the connection, the bond. I reached out with my left hand to brush the backs of my fingers against her cheek. “I will try.”
Lauren nodded, her eyes wide. “Thank you.” She paused and dropped her gaze briefly. “May I have my wrist back?”
It was only then that I realized I still held her wrist, lightly rubbing my thumb against the underside and over the spirals. I reluctantly let go and dropped both hands to my sides. The urge to pull her close and apologize for distressing her was growing stronger by the minute and pushing back the ice flowing through me.
Lauren cleared her throat and looked away from me. “Supper’s ready. Come and eat before it gets cold. I fixed you some more tea.”
I watched her walk around me and back toward the campfire, thoughts crashing into each other. Lauren drew me in a way no other woman had before, I knew that . . . had known it since Olympia. But this . . . warmth she left me with every time we touched or when I allowed myself to pay close attention to her emotions . . . It was unlike anything I had experienced in the past.
As I went back to the campfire, the name for that warmth crashed through my awareness. Love. Deeper and longer lasting than desire alone. As Lauren smiled up at me and handed me a bowl of soup, I realized I had fallen in love with the Spotter. I almost rolled my eyes at my own brilliant deduction. This was a complication I never truly expected, although it had been inevitable since I first began to lose control. My attempts at denial only hastened the worst of the cold fury and invoked greater danger for Lauren. It appeared I was a bloody moron.
I kept watch through most of the night, too haunted by the revelation of the true depth of my feelings for Lauren to seek out sleep. The sky was just beginning to lighten with the coming dawn when Lauren joined me at the edge of the plateau. I could feel her gaze as I continued surveying the barely visible forest below. “You sure you’re going to be able to climb without tearing anything?”
She breathed a faint laugh. “As long as I don’t attempt hurdles, I think I’ll be fine.” Her hand crept up to clasp the necklace she always wore, her thumb tracing over the sapphire teardrop as she looked out over the valley. “Everything okay here? No hunters?”
“None so far,” I replied simply. I didn’t share my feeling that the hunters would eventually find a way to cross our paths. Lauren had enough to worry about as it was, and I did not think they would become a problem again until we crossed into Greece if only because Weard often had hunters deployed to the birthplace of so many paranormal races. As a precaution against the more troublesome races, such as the Lamia or Gorgons.
I glanced down at Lauren who was still playing with her necklace. “Is that important to you?”
She startled, dropping the pendant so it fell back against her exposed skin, and looked up at me with a sharpness that made me guess I was not supposed to have noticed her necklace. Or at least not ask about it. I opened my mouth to apologize for prying, then Lauren’s quiet answer filled the silence. “It was my mother’s. One of my few clear memories of her was when she gave this to me . . . right before she told me to go play with some other kids and not to say anything about the numbers. When I went back to find her and my dad, umm, they were gone.” She reached up to touch the pendant once more and a soft sigh escaped her as she added, “I’m not even sure why I’ve kept it all this time.”
“You had hope they would come back for you,” I stated firmly. “That’s not a foolish thing, Lauren.”
She gave a little smile and shook her head. Hugging herself, she glanced up at me and asked, “So now we’re at Belintash, what do I need to do?”
I didn’t protest the change in subject, if anything, I welcomed it because it allowed us both some distance. I nodded toward the upper platform. “You’ll have to climb up there. Alone.”
“Okay, that almost sounds easy,” she murmured more to herself than to me. “What exactly do I need to do up there?”
“Find Heracles’ arrow. My people would tell stories that the arrow pointed the way to the Golden Hind.”
Lauren nodded. “I can do that, especially since I don’t have to . . .” she trailed off as she darted a wide eyed look at me before she abruptly turned around and headed for the upper platform.
I watched her go and followed more slowly. I wasn’t certain what she had been about to say, but it was clear that it had embarrassed her. Ilia was up and tending to the tea when he waved to Lauren. My attention shifted from the two of them to the edge of the upper platform. It wasn’t a steep climb if she stayed on the path but part of me wished I could accompany her. However, I knew I needed to step back. The Trials demanded it . . . and so did Lauren. As much as I disliked the idea of letting her face the challenges alone, I had no choice but to trust she could do them on her own.
* * *
Lauren
I stared up at the upper platform, Mathias and Ilia standing on either side of me. The satyr turned to me with a cheerful grin as he gestured to the faint steep trail I needed to climb to reach the top. “That way is quickest. Watch your feet at top, eh, might fall in sacrificial pit for the old gods.”
That wasn’t exactly what I wanted to hear right now, but I still managed to offer a faint smile. “Thank you for the warning.” I paused and then added, “We have rope, right?”
Ilia chuckled. “Have plenty.” He patted my shoulder. “No worries, eh, you have good luck.”
“Thank you, Ilia.” I
glanced at Mathias. He didn’t say anything and only offered a slight nod that I chose to think of as encouragement. No use putting it off any longer.
The climb wasn’t as treacherous as I feared. I managed to get up the narrow trail; even the few narrow stretches where I was practically hugging the stone to keep my balance. My left foot slipped into a hole and I sat down hard, gasping, as I clutched at the raised edges of rock to keep from sliding forward as my left leg dangled over the pit.
“Lauren!”
Mathias’ sharp call cut through my momentary panic allowing me to regain control. I pulled my left leg up and found solid footing again before I slowly stood. Mathias’ lean frame was halfway up the trail when I leaned over the edge. I waved an arm as I called, “I’m okay. Stay down there!”
I waited until Mathias jumped back down to where Ilia stood. Only then did I straighten and turn back to the platform. The large round hole I had nearly fallen into was certainly large enough to make me see why Ilia called it a sacrificial pit. There were several others situated around the platform as well as carved trails, niches, and even steps. It almost looked like some sort of map . . . perhaps of the constellations.
Edging around the hole, I carefully made my way toward the center of the platform. Studying the carved trails, I remembered again my gratitude that I wasn’t going to need to do some sort of ritual dance while wearing nothing but my birthday suit. My cheeks heated at the memory of how close I had come to sharing that worry with Mathias.
I gave myself a shake and focused on the task at hand. I had to find Heracles’ arrow. Feeling there was only way to make sure I didn’t miss anything, I started walking slowly across the upper platform to create my own version of a grid search. I went south first, skirting around holes and divots that threatened to wrench any wrongly placed ankles, but I didn’t find anything that remotely resembled an arrow.
Working my way back to the north end of the platform, my attention was called to the far corner where a series of steep steps were carved into the rock. I hesitated only a moment before abandoning the grid search in favor of heading directly to the steps. They were narrow, barely wide enough for my feet, so I ended up crawling more than climbing up them. Once I reached the topmost step, I could see a long narrow carving in the rock. It looked like a shaft. Pulling myself up a little higher, I was able to make out the vague shape of a weatherworn triangle at one end of the carving. It looked like an arrowhead to me and it was pointing . . . west.
Trials by Numbers Page 5