I stopped in front of a low stone bed placed in the center of the room, pointing left to right. The top of the bed was covered with a sarcophagus that resembled the long dead king. After setting the lantern on the closest stone block, I struggled to push the sarcophagus’ lid open. I braced my shoulder against the cold stone and planted my feet against the floor before I pushed once more, straining with the effort.
The stone scraped together, then groaned as it slowly gave way. I wasn’t strong enough to just push the lid off and I didn’t want to break anything either, so I focused solely on getting it open just enough to get inside. It still took me the better part of an hour to reach the point where I had pushed the lid over enough that I could see inside the sarcophagus. I stopped with a ragged groan as I braced both hands against the side of the sarcophagus, sweat making my shirt cling to my back, as I panted. This part certainly would have benefited from having Mathias in the room with me.
The light from the lantern just barely spilled over the sarcophagus and played across a gold death mask. I let out a weary sigh and then nodded, “King Teres, I presume.”
Fortunately, no one answered. I shifted to one side to allow the lantern’s light to better illuminate the sarcophagus. I stopped almost at once as something caught the light. It glinted in the darkness, almost glittering as it captured the light. The Girdle of Hippolyta lay across the old king’s painted robes just above what looked to be his skeletal hands. Well this was going to be oh so very pleasant, wasn’t it?
I started to reach inside and froze when the griffin hissed. Withdrawing my hand, I turned to find it was half-crouched, wings flaring ever so slightly. A shudder ran down my spine as I recognized the signs of an impending attack by a grounded griffin. Ilia’s words from earlier came back to me and I cleared my throat. “I do not come to rob the dead,” I stated, slipping into Turkish out of habit. “I come to exchange and to restore that which was stolen so very long ago.”
A treasure to equal the Girdle . . . Oh, it was impossible. But as the griffin edged closer, I knew I had to think of something. I started to brush my hair out of my face and then froze as an idea hit me. Of course. Even as my heart gave a twinge at the thought, I knew it was the right trade. Reaching under the loose folds of my shawl, I unfastened the clasp from around my neck and drew out the necklace. The sapphire teardrop and simple silver chain gleamed faintly in the lantern’s light as I held it out.
Speaking to the griffin once more in Turkish, I said quietly, “Though it is so much smaller, I offer this, the only link to my past, in exchange for the Girdle. I have no greater treasure to offer than this.”
I turned back to the sarcophagus and carefully placed my mother’s necklace inside. As the chain slipped from my fingers, I knew the little hope that I had long carried of using the necklace to find my parents had breathed its last. But I didn’t allow myself to get distracted. Instead, I focused on carefully removing the Girdle. I didn’t want anything else to come with it.
When I finally had the Girdle in hand, I immediately turned to face the griffin once more. It was watching me closely as though it was not yet certain if it would allow this exchange. I swallowed hard, my fingers running over the length of knotted filament interspersed with jewels. It shouldn’t have lasted after so many thousands of years, but it had and now I needed to finish my part. Meeting the griffin’s gaze, I spoke softly, “I do not take this for myself. I am merely taking it so it might be restored to its rightful resting place.” I gestured to the murals overhead and added, “Even he acknowledged he was not the rightful owner of this girdle.”
The griffin cocked its head and then paced around me, circling to the other side of the sarcophagus. Then with the scraping of stone against stone, it sealed the sarcophagus once more. And with enviable ease to my earlier efforts.
I decided to take that as the griffin’s acceptance of my speech. Grabbing the lantern with my free hand, I walked out of the inner chamber. As much as I wanted to run out of the tomb, I was more afraid of making the griffin change its mind about allowing me to leave. So, I forced myself to walk.
It seemed forever before I emerged from the tomb’s stone walls into the cool night air. A ragged sigh escaped me before I realized Ilia and Mathias weren’t exactly where I had left them. The second griffin who had remained outside wasn’t on the ground anymore either.
I picked my way toward the horses, which were standing almost on the other side of the trail winding in front of the tomb. Then two shadows detached themselves from the masses, and I almost screamed before I realized it was Mathias and Ilia. The satyr was grinning; his bright smile visible in the light of the lantern. But Mathias was almost emotionless, as he looked me over. “Problems?”
“No.” I raised the girdle, its woven jewels glittering with the movement. “I have it.”
“Good.” Mathias blinked and then cleared his throat before he seemed to force warmth into his tone as he said, “That’s good, Lauren. Now, we must make it to Penthesilea’s tomb without losing the Girdle or being captured by Weard’s hunters.”
As unenviable the task ahead, I was far more concerned with Mathias. If the ambush caused him to turn cold again, it would make things touchy for getting through this task unscathed. Well, relatively unscathed. My ribs ached and my shoulders, arms, and back protested the way I had strained against the stone. The ride back was going to be unpleasant, no doubt. But I didn’t complain when Mathias got back on Chavdar. I only placed the Girdle of Hippolyta in my satchel and slung it across my body before I climbed into the saddle once more. Ilia shared my look of concern as we started down the trail that would lead us back out of the necropolis.
* * *
Mathias
The campfire crackled as it burned lower. Ilia was sitting across from me while Lauren was already asleep, resting on her right side with her back to the fire. We had traveled immediately into the foothills of the mountains, avoiding Seuthopolis all together, but it wouldn’t do much good.
Ilia scratched at the base of his left horn before he spoke softly in Bulgarian, “You didn’t tell her. Why?”
I looked from the dying flames to Lauren. She had been moving stiffly when we finally stopped to make camp and rest the horses, but she hadn’t complained once. No doubt, she had been hurt in our earlier confrontation with the mercenaries. I turned back to the fire and poked the end of my stick at the ashes, stirring them up. “She was happy to find the Girdle. I did not want to take that triumph from her.”
“She needs to know.”
“That I failed to capture the hunter who saw us in the necropolis?” I scoffed as I jabbed my stick against the embers with more force than strictly necessary. I rubbed my head. Lauren had insisted on making me tea with the herbal mix again, but it wasn’t enough to stave off this new headache that lingered long after the initial incident in Perperikon. Of course, it had not yet been a full week since the incident so perhaps that would make a difference. “I can’t tell her.”
“As much as we prefer to imagine otherwise, the women in our lives are already aware of our infallibility,” the satyr mused. “Telling yours is a sign of trust.”
“You don’t think she has enough burdens without my adding an additional worry?” I asked. Out of habit, I glanced over at Lauren before lowering my voice as I jabbed the embers once more. She wouldn’t have understood us, but I still didn’t want to disturb her rest. “She shouldn’t need to worry about the fact that I am apparently incapable of protecting her properly anymore.”
“Does being protected by a woman trouble you so much?”
“It is not that,” I snapped. Inhaling and then exhaling a slow breath, I continued in a milder tone, “It is not that I don’t believe her capable. She’s more than proved herself capable these last weeks, and I am grateful for it. But . . . I am a Myrmidon, my very existence is a bane to the paranormal community. The only way I have been able to atone for both my sins and those of my people has been by offering my abilities as a pr
otector. And now . . .” I trailed off before a bitter smile twisted my lips and I scoffed, “Now, I cannot even fight without risking turning into a greater threat than the one I attempt to stop.”
Raking a hand through my hair, I shook my head. Ilia said nothing. Perhaps there was nothing even he could say. A sigh escaped me before I added quietly, “I am glad for her ability to withstand the Trials, however . . . In what world is it right that the weak protect the strong?”
“In what world is it right that there is an imbalance of power between mates?” the satyr countered. He gestured at the stars faintly gleaming overhead as he continued, “The old stories, the ones of the old gods and their dealings with norms and paranormals alike, prove time and again why such imbalances are to be avoided. Nothing good has ever come of such imbalance. You are Myrmidon and she is Spotter, this alone makes your match unlikely to most and unwise for many of the same. Yet in the Trials, balance is restored, no?”
“Because I cannot function as her protector?”
“Because she must show her own strength, not only to you and your people but to herself. Would you want a mate who can deny you nothing? A woman who cannot check you when you veer to the wrong, to the cold?”
“Myrmidons don’t respond to such weakness,” I snapped. “We would not be in this situation if that was how Lauren acted or how I thought of her. She has been . . . different from the very beginning. But, she shouldn’t be the one shouldering all of this without even being able to rely on the knowledge that I will be there to protect her.”
“She knows you are willing to protect her, and she desires to protect you in return. What is so difficult with accepting that?”
I dropped my gaze to the fire that was little more than glowing embers now. My grip on the stick tightened. “In protecting me, she has exposed herself. Not only to Weard, but to the remaining elders of my people and to a dragon prince.”
“A royal dragon would have known her in any case. And, Weard is the source of her exposure.”
“If I had sent her away as soon as I knew I was becoming attached to her, perhaps there would have been a way to save her without all of this exposure. Without adding the burdens of dealing with a Myrmidon suffering from the Biting Ice, with the Trials of Achilles, and being constantly hunted.” I ran my thumb over the rough skin of the stick as I added, “We have no way of knowing if the dragon prince will change his mind about the wisdom in letting a Spotter go. If, as Lauren says, the draconic royal families have agreed with the Fae courts to blacklist Weard, then there will soon be a great demand for those paranormals with the skills to identify threats before they are enacted. Seekers, Seers, Spotters, all of them will become a commodity again.”
“Even more so than one with your skills?”
I looked up at that. Ilia’s expression was half-hidden by shadows, but there was a serious set around his mouth. I tapped the stick against my palm before I responded slowly, “I am the last of my generation, and the last of the pureblood Myrmidons. If anything, the dragon-born and other . . . less savory paranormals will come into high demand. Weard moved against the Spotters to flush out the last of them.” Pointing the stick at Lauren, I added, “She could very well be the last of her generation too. All of the Spotters Weard identified and captured were a generation or two older. She shouldn’t be here, Ilia. We both know it. Even she knows it.”
“You do not give her love for you enough credit.” Ilia paused and then asked with deliberate care, “Or is it that you do not give your own love enough credit? You fear that she will come to resent you after she has completed these Trials, hmm?”
I opened my mouth to refute the ridiculous idea only to close it again. My grip on the stick tightened until the wood splintered. Tossing the broken pieces away from me in disgust, I wiped my hands on my jeans before I said stiffly, “You’re wrong on both counts. I know what it means for her to be here. She hates and fears the high numbers, rightly so given what’s known of her people’s history. Yet, she is here for the sake of a man whose number is a 10. And, she has been forced to expose herself to many other high numbers including three 9s. One of whom was a royal dragon. She should have run as soon as she knew there were dragons in residence or at the very least kept her head down. Instead, she went into the lair of dragons and for what purpose? To save me because I made the foolish assumption that the calming tonic offered by your wife was of the harmlessly ineffectual variety.”
“My Galina is a strong woman,” the satyr stated abruptly. “She is a healer who could have gone to Bucharest or Vienna or even into Athens or Paris and made her name famous. Helped thousands more people. When I met her, I was newly pledged to serve in the dragon prince’s court. The elders of my village considered this a great honor but not conducive to winning the heart of a dryad, not when I had yet to establish my service as a trade. In pledging my service to the dragon prince, I was constrained to the limits of his territory, Thrace.”
Ilia’s beard cracked with a smile as he mused, “When we first met it was after I was kicked by a frightened horse. Galina was not impressed with me at all and I . . . I was in awe of her. She lived in Stenímachos at the time and her plans were to leave to apprentice with the great healers in Greece, with the dryads and centaurs of Thessaly at the School of Asclepius and Hippocrates. But I convinced her to give permission for me to write. We exchanged numerous letters the four years she was training in Thessaly. I talked too much about my Niseans and my intention to lead the efforts to revive the unicorn herds. And yet, I always told myself that it would be wrong of me to ask Galina to stay tethered to Thrace, so I never asked her to come back even though I loved her. Then the third time I went to Stenímachos to offer my services as a guide to Perperikon, I was hired by Galina. We had reached Perperikon before she finally had enough and slapped me. Then, she told me that if I wanted her to come back, I should’ve just asked instead of suffering on the altar of presumed nobility.”
I stared at him for a long moment before my gaze was drawn once more to Lauren. “Is it suffering for the sake of presumed nobility when being together could sign her death warrant? The Trials . . . They do not have to end in marriage. If Weard has truly abandoned its attempt to take Lauren alive in favor of unleashing a Myrmidon’s cold justice on the norm and paranormal communities, perhaps it would be better if we did not see this through to the assumed outcome.”
“She would not forgive you for abandoning her.”
The words struck truer and deeper than the satyr could have known. Every memory of Lauren’s slowly earned trust, every memory of the hurt lingering in her eyes or etching through her voice when she spoke of years relying only on herself because of past abandonments marched through my mind. She had risked everything and still I contemplated throwing it away. “I don’t deserve her.”
“We never do. That is love.” Ilia stood and stretched before adding, “It is not a case of the weak protecting the strong, friend. It is lover protecting lover, equals not in sharing the same skills but in using their individual skills to the best of their abilities. The woman has faced elders, dragon-born, and royal dragons, oh and griffins. Not because she equals your fighting skills, but because she put her heart into you and used that to fuel her own strengths. You should consider returning the favor, then perhaps you would not be so cold after a fight.”
I watched him walk over to the horses, murmuring to them, before I turned my attention back to the dying embers. Resting my elbows on my knees, I leaned forward as I pressed my mouth against my clasped hands. An almost forgotten prayer for wisdom came to mind, and I found myself mulling over it as well as the satyr’s words. When the cold wasn’t clouding my thought processes, I would often indulge in games of strategy. Running through the various scenarios now, I had to admit that Ilia was right. Knowing Lauren, the chances of her reacting to the news of my failure with fury or despair were rather slim. Still it pricked my pride to be forced into this situation.
“You okay?”
I opened my eyes at the soft whisper. The sky overhead was beginning to lighten, and my body protested the hours of remaining in a single sitting position when I lowered my arms to rest my hands on my knees. Lauren was sitting up, combing her fingers through her hair, pale green shawl draped across her lap but her focus was on me. I nodded to her. “I’m fine.”
Lauren’s eyes narrowed at that. “No, you’re not. Something’s bugging you. What is it?” A frown appeared as she asked, “Did something happen while I was in the tomb?”
“Did Ilia tell you to ask me that?”
She tilted her head slightly. “Ilia is still grooming the horses, and we haven’t talked since last night. Logically, the only time for something to happen that I didn’t know about already would have been when I was in the tomb. However, the fact that you assumed Ilia’s involvement in my asking about it confirms something happened. What was it?”
I ran a hand over my face feeling the stubble covering my cheeks. “There was another hunter. She found us in the necropolis.”
Lauren stiffened, her fingers going still, as she stared at me. “You killed her. Is that why you and Ilia weren’t where I left you? You killed the hunter then moved her body?”
“No. It would have been better if that were the case, but unfortunately it is not.”
“I disagree about killing being the better outcome,” she murmured. Plucking the shawl out of her lap, she set the wide end on her head just behind her hairline before she added, “Then what did happen?”
“She got away. I didn’t notice her until she had already started to run, and then I couldn’t catch her because I let her draw me too close to one of the tombs. The tomb’s guardian attacked, and I was forced to retreat. By the time the griffin returned to its post, she was so far ahead I couldn’t catch her.”
The words of dismay or censure that I still half-expected didn’t come. Instead, she rose only to come over to where I sat and sit beside me, her arm brushing against mine. Taking my hand, she threaded her fingers through mine before she stated quietly, “So you think Weard’s hunters will converge on Seuthopolis soon.”
Trials by Numbers Page 14