She turned, clapping her hands. “Out. Leave them alone.” She shooed at Chrysaleon’s attendants, rather like an impatient mother with misbehaving children.
With much grumbling, the men offered lewd advice as Laodámeia herded them from the chamber.
The door closed. The hearth-fire crackled. Someone somewhere plucked at a lyre, a pretty yet haunting tune.
Chrysaleon’s grin lingered, but he remained where he was, swaying a little.
Aridela shrugged off the fox-skin blanket, stepped from the bed, and crossed to him, returning his smile.
He stopped her at arm’s length. Gripping her shoulder with one hand, he grasped her hair in the other, drawing her head backward so her face was illuminated in the firelight.
“Do you love me, Aridela?” he said. “For myself, not because I won your Games.”
Shadows thrown by the fire leaped behind him, making him seem tall, though the prince of Mycenae was in truth more hefty than tall. Aridela traced the scar on his left bicep where Harpalycus had stabbed him that night in Velchanos’s cave. “I loved you before you even came to Kaphtor,” she said, so startled and shy of the truth beneath her words that she tried to turn her face away, but he kept his grip firm, and prevented it. “We are united by divine will. I have waited for you, Chrysaleon. Waited for you to come to me.”
He studied her, squinting. She felt him probing the depths of her mind through her eyes, her expression. He leaned forward suddenly and kissed her, hard.
“You and I will be together… forever,” he said. When he said ‘forever,’ he blinked and his brows lifted slightly as though his own words surprised him. “For as long as the pyramids stand in Egypt,” he added, more firmly.
He picked her up and carried her to the bed.
She fought back tears as she twined her arms around his neck. Why did he say that? He knew his future. When Iakchos next rose, he would die, and she would take the man who killed him into her bed.
How… where would she find the strength?
As he joined her in the cushion of fox-skins and brought her close, the bright flicker of the hearth fire reached out and seized her gaze.
It seemed, just for an instant before she blinked, that Immortal Athene’s face was there, in the reddish yellow flames, staring at her. Tears of fire fell from her eyes, hissing as they struck the embers.
Thou art the earth, blessed and eternal, yet thou shalt be pierced, defiled, broken and wounded, even as I have been. Thou wilt generate inexhaustible adoration and contempt. Until these opposites are united, all will strangle within the void.
Aridela shut her eyes and feverishly returned her lover’s kisses, locking away tomorrow and its unendurable possibilities. She would embrace every instant of happiness. She would fill the bull-king’s days and nights with joy. Chrysaleon would never regret accepting the title and the doom of Zagreus. This she vowed as the daughter of the god of lightning, Shàrihéid, euan Velchanos Calesienda, even as the face in the fire whispered the question she could not shut out and could not answer.
Will you fulfill your obligation to me?
Aridela stared sleepily into the dark. Next to her, Chrysaleon gave a muffled snore. That must have been what woke her.
She stretched, careful not to disturb him, smiling a little at how he’d thrown off the fox skins though the chamber was chilly. He lay on his side, his back to her, his hair, his cheek, and his shoulder illuminated by faint ember light.
Her mind wandered ahead to morning, to the celebration of the grapes, to the dancing, offerings, and pleas for abundance that would consume the day. It would be her first grape festival as queen. No doubt she would be tired, for much of this night had been spent in ardent lovemaking rather than sleep, but that didn’t matter. She would lead the people of Natho to the clearing beside the vines and stand upon a boulder covered with sheepskin. She would blow the conch shell as her mother and every queen had done before her. Girls would climb into the vats and crush the grapes while couples vanished into the hills in search of privacy. She hoped a bit of sunlight and warmth would grace the day.
The hearth drew her sleepy gaze. The fire had subsided into mesmerizing, radiant embers, the heat glowing black, red, orange and yellow, all in perfect silence.
Faint luminescence played over Chrysaleon’s shoulder like a lover’s touch, fingers of light. Opening one hand, she held it above the curve of his cheekbone, not touching, not wanting to wake him. She slipped her hand down, careful not to touch but close enough to feel the heat from his skin. She followed the contours of his shoulder, his waist, his hip and thigh.
Beauty and tranquility were scattered by the memory of Athene’s face in the fire.
Will you fulfill your obligation to me?
Of course she would. She didn’t dare do anything less. But she couldn’t bear to think of it.
Red circles of light flickered across the wall. The embers were far too low to cause such a reflection. Just as her tired mind began to wonder on the cause, a scream pierced the night, jerking her upright. She sniffed.
Smoke.
Leaping from bed, she threw open the wooden doors at the balcony. She stared, dumbfounded.
Every building along the cliffs below the balcony was on fire. As she watched, a roof disintegrated in an avalanche of sparks. Flames glowed in the window openings of the nearest villa. Far below, in the harbor, fire shimmered on the surface of the water as it crept across the decks of two ships. She heard screaming and the crash of collapsing structures.
“Chrysaleon!” Backing into the chamber, she found that her voice refused her command. The name she meant to scream escaped in an inaudible squeak. She lit a lamp, her fingers shaking so violently that it took several tries to achieve a spark.
He shifted with an incoherent mutter.
“Chrysaleon!” This time she uttered his name with purpose. For added measure, she ran to the bed and shook him.
He heaved onto his elbows, blinking and squinting.
“Fire!” Aridela swiped at a flood of bitter tears. More punishment. More suffering. Nothing they had done had appeased Athene’s rage.
“Fire?” He seemed not to understand. She shook him again.
“Natho burns,” she cried. “The village is on fire. The ships in the harbor. Everything.”
His eyes widened then he leaped out of bed and shrugged on his discarded kilt. He ran past her to the balcony.
She heard him curse as she donned the sleeping tunic that had fallen to the floor earlier. Hesitating only an instant, she belted a dagger around her waist.
Chrysaleon returned. They gazed at each other.
There was no sound of alarm. No beating drums.
Aridela shivered. “Why is it so quiet?”
“Come,” Chrysaleon said. “Perhaps a storm blew through and lightning ignited these fires. We’ll sound the warning.” He held out his hand.
As their fingers touched, the chamber door flew open and crashed against the wall.
Aridela cringed at the cacophony of stamping feet, clink of metal, and glare of torchlight.
Chrysaleon shoved her behind him. There he forced her to remain with a relentless grip on both her forearms.
“No. This will not do,” a familiar voice said. “You’ve had her long enough, my brother-in-law. Far too long.”
Aridela leaned to the side and peered around Chrysaleon’s arm.
“Take her from me if you can.” Chrysaleon’s grip tightened.
“You offer your life for this girl?” Harpalycus rubbed his palms together. He wore the fancy wolf’s head breastplate she remembered, and his cloak sported a magnificent crest of crimson-dyed hawk feathers across the shoulders. In every detail, he embodied a powerful, ruthless monarch. “Surely that isn’t part of your father’s plot to conquer Crete. But it makes no difference to me whether you die now or later. I have no need of you, and my sister might thank me for freeing her.”
The soldiers in the doorway moved aside to allow another
man into the room. He hesitated as he entered, glancing from Harpalycus to Chrysaleon.
“No,” Aridela cried. “No….”
Lycus tilted his head and smiled. “Long days have passed since I have seen you, my lady. I feel neglected. I had to invite myself into your bedchamber so I could offer congratulations to you and your new consort.”
Harpalycus laughed.
Chrysaleon backed up, moving Aridela with him, but the chamber wall stopped their retreat. Aridela slipped her dagger into his hand.
He lunged, slitting the nearest warrior’s throat before the man could raise his guard.
Lycus took a hasty step back and Harpalycus scrambled behind one of his men.
The terror and grief coursing through Aridela’s limbs heated into rage. Harpalycus. The evil prince, returned.
And somehow, Lycus was part of it. He had helped Harpalycus start these fires, and no doubt they’d already killed many.
Yet another betrayal by one of Athene’s own.
The warriors surged forward. Chrysaleon stabbed at one as another aimed a sword toward the vulnerable flesh beneath his ribs. Aridela leaped against the warrior’s arm, throwing him off balance. He pulled her down with him as he fell and she sprawled across his torso, wincing as his bronze-inlaid armor bit into her.
Her forehead struck the side of a wooden coffer, hard, and she knew nothing but dizziness and a scatter of sparks.
“No. Don’t kill him yet,” she heard Harpalycus say.
One of the men yanked her to her feet. A splinter caught the delicate chain at her neck, snapping it; the charm she’d worn since she was a baby dropped to the floor.
She searched for Chrysaleon. He lay on his stomach, unmoving. Blood seeped from an unseen wound.
Athene had guided the Gold Lion from over the sea. She’d given him victory in the Games. Was it only to see him killed on the first night of his long-delayed triumph?
Don’t take him from me. Not yet, my Mother. I beg you.
She turned her gaze upon Lycus and seared him with her contempt.
Fear and guilt passed across his face. Then he lifted his chin and smiled.
Harpalycus motioned; two of his warriors pulled her from the chamber.
The men bound Aridela’s wrists so tightly that her hands lost all feeling. They pushed her along a narrow corridor, down many stone steps, and shoved her into one of the villa’s underground storerooms. She stumbled, landing full force on her shoulder, and lay still, too saturated by pain and despair to move.
Dim shafts of moonlight crept through several cracks in the wall, creating slices of pale radiance across the floor. Other than that, only the faintest glow from the wall sconce in the corridor found a way through slits in the door.
The air was close and fetid, smelling of mold, dirt, damp wood, and underneath, hints of wine.
“Aridela.”
“Mo-Mother?” Aridela jerked upright and peered into the deepest shadows.
An indistinct figure in a torn nightdress broke away from the impenetrable blackness and crept forward.
Aridela fought back tears. “Have they hurt you?”
“My arm is broken, I think. It doesn’t matter. What of you?”
“They attacked us in our chamber. Chrysaleon was bleeding….”
With her good hand, Helice worked at the knots binding Aridela’s wrists. “Themiste is confined nearby.”
“Themiste, too? Is she—?”
“I’m unharmed.” Themiste’s voice floated through the dark to them. “Did they hurt you, Aridela?”
The knots loosened. Aridela flexed her hands to return the flow of blood. “No, Minos,” she said, though the forming bruises on her chest and stomach made breathing painful. “Harpalycus. Lycus. Did you see him? It is they, Mother. What could make Lycus do this? What will become of us now?”
Helice struggled to her feet. She limped the breadth of their cell, passing between rows of enormous clay jars and wooden coffers before slumping back to the cold dirt floor. “It’s my doing,” she said. “I brought Kaphtor to this unhappy ambush.” She closed her eyes and keened, scratching at her cheeks.
“My lady,” Themiste cried from the other room.
Helice pressed her face to the wall. “I am undone.”
“They cannot triumph,” Themiste said softly. “As soon as your brothers hear of this, they will come. They’ll bring armies. This is only a little village. These men couldn’t have conquered all of Kaphtor. Their invasion is futile.”
Aridela rose and crossed to her mother. “Why do you blame yourself? How could you have caused this?”
“The night you defied me and accompanied your sister to the cave of Velchanos, I saw you and Iphiboë speaking to Harpalycus at the feast. You confessed you found him handsome. I thought that, as always, what you admired, so would your sister.” She drew in a ragged breath. “Memories of Damasen were strong within me that night. I fancied him at the edge of my sight, nodding approval. He was a foreigner, yet he gave himself to Kaphtor. I had other notions, absurd ones, I know now. I had an idea that if Harpalycus and Iphiboë loved each other, it could strengthen ties with his father’s kingdom, and help protect us in these violent times.”
“Mother, what are you saying? I don’t understand.”
“May the Goddess forgive me, I sent him to the cave, for Iphiboë, thinking he might please her. I thought his difference from all she was accustomed to might spark her passion.”
“You sent him….”
“Iphiboë was so frightened of men. He was handsome. Charming. Why would Athene begrudge Iphiboë this insignificant pleasure, if afterward she gave her whole life to her duty? And Damasen—”
“But the Goddess makes the choice.”
“Oh, Aridela. Are you still such a child? Have you not yet realized that rulers cannot leave their countries and people to function on whim and prayer? I’ve manipulated many rites during my reign. I always felt I did so with the blessing of Athene. It seems I finally went too far. I have brought Kaphtor to ruin.”
Aridela had believed chance brought Harpalycus to the cave. But chance had been Helice. In truth, the rites were outraged, not only by herself and Chrysaleon, but Helice as well. “Chrysaleon and I completed the rite before he got there,” she said.
“I didn’t know that until the day we told Chrysaleon you would be dedicated to the Great Marriage. Perhaps that was the true reason for Harpalycus’s rage, but if so, he said nothing to me. When he returned to the palace, he shouted curses and vowed revenge upon Chrysaleon. He accused me of sending Chrysaleon to the cave as well, and I couldn’t convince him I hadn’t. He believed I sent them both there hoping they would kill each other.”
Aridela placed her hand on her mother’s shoulder. “How could you have known?”
“There is more,” Helice said. She rubbed her knuckles over her eyes. “My crimes are many.”
“No, Mother.” Aridela knelt next to her. “You’ve given your best. You must know that.”
“When Chrysaleon won the footrace, I couldn’t accept that Idómeneus’s son, the crown prince of Mycenae, might become Iphiboë’s consort. I was certain trickery was involved. Athene forgive me, I defied her wishes. Surely it is time for me to die.”
“Stop.” Aridela seized Helice’s hands. “Never say such things.”
“I had poppy put into his wine. I feared the consequences of such a match. I wanted Lycus to kill Chrysaleon in the labyrinth. Idómeneus could not have blamed us.”
“Mother, no.”
“When Themiste told us she wanted you to remain untouched, I was pleased. It’s hard, my child, to put consorts to death, men you have loved. It is so hard. I wanted to spare you.”
The heavy door at the top of the corridor steps squealed as it opened. Helice stiffened. “What will happen now?” she whispered.
They heard the distinctive high voice of a eunuch. “Your father will be pleased that you captured the oracle, my lord. He has often expressed his desire to
see her, such is her renown.”
Footsteps passed by their cell and stopped some distance beyond.
“Who is it?” Helice whispered. Aridela didn’t answer, but rose and went to the door. She leaned against it, listening.
“She wasn’t defiled, thank black-horned Poseidon,” the same man said. “I have never seen hair that color. And her eyes, my lord. So mysterious. The rumors were not exaggerated.”
Aridela’s heart pounded with such violence it nearly drowned out what was being said. Her hands closed into fists. The scent of smoldering ashes drifted through the slits in the door.
Harpalycus.
The usurper finally spoke. “Are you well, priestess?” he asked. “Have the guards fed you?”
Themiste remained silent.
“Come, lady,” the eunuch said. “Do not be angry. You must realize how your rich island tempted us. We’ll rebuild. All will be returned to its former greatness. This island will become a wondrous shrine, wholly dedicated to Lord Poseidon.”
“You will all die,” Themiste said.
There was a space of silence. Themiste’s words seemed to cling to the invisible layers of air, heralding some inescapable destiny.
“I will have you,” Harpalycus said. “I don’t care what my father wants. Why should he reap every benefit when I have taken all the risks?”
“Listen to your future,” Themiste said. “Can you hear it?” Her voice dropped so that Aridela had to strain to catch her next words. “Your meddling takes you to realms you cannot imagine. You are ignorant and foolish to believe you control anything.”
The eunuch’s laughter was high and shrill. “If we wish, we can open this door and allow every warrior in the city to take his pleasure on you until there is nothing left but bloody pulp. How is that for control, oracle?”
“You could. But you won’t.”
Another long pause. Aridela pressed her ear closer to the slits in the door. Athene, my Mother, I beg you. If my pleas mean anything, don’t let them harm Themiste.
“Pray, priestess,” Harpalycus said. “Perhaps your goddess will save you, but I doubt it. My father wants a redheaded concubine. That’s the only reason you remain untouched. The oracles you speak from now on will glorify your conquerors.”
The Thinara King Page 12