“Send her away,” he said.
“No, she’s right. We must go.” She pushed at him and sat up, drawing her hair over one shoulder and turning her back on the bull-god’s uncomfortable stare.
“Princess Aridela.” Her lover grasped her arm fiercely.
She shivered in a wash of relief. He knew who she was. His words of possessive desire were meant for her, not Iphiboë.
He clasped a lock of her hair and kissed it. “I will see you safely back,” he said, and stood, making no effort to hide his nakedness. He picked up his tunic, pulled it over his head, and fastened his belt.
A flurry of pebbles fell off the ledge by the entrance, echoing as they landed. Leather soles grated on stone.
The lion-god dove for the scabbard on the floor, but too late. A blurred flash speared the air like a streak of lightning and sank into his left bicep. Had he not moved so swiftly, it might have slipped between his ribs and into his heart.
He staggered, grimacing. Lifted his hand to the engraved hilt of a dagger protruding from his arm.
Selene shoved Aridela behind her even as the bull-god leaped to his feet. Grabbing the torch he’d brought into the cave, he shoved it into the nearest lamp, lighting it again. He thrust it into Selene’s hand and backed away, melting into the shadows as she lifted it high, sending a flare of light through the cavern.
Aridela’s lover pulled the heavy dagger from his arm. He threw it down and seized his sword in his good right hand.
More dust and pebbles tumbled over the ledge. Light from the torch illuminated a man standing at the edge. He gripped an unsheathed sword. His lips stretched over bared teeth like a snarling dog’s.
“Harpalycus, the prince from Tiryns,” Aridela whispered.
Selene pushed a resistant Aridela farther back. “How did he find this place? How did he know we would be here?”
Aridela shook her head. “How did any of them know?”
Harpalycus sprang off the ledge. He levied his blade in an arc toward Aridela’s lover, who parried it even as blood soaked an ever-widening swath down his bare arm. The sound of clashing metal was deafening in the enclosed space.
Harpalycus thrust again, shouting something in the language of the mainland.
Would this man, who so delighted her, who offered mysteries she longed to explore further, lose his life before she discovered his name? Never before had Aridela experienced such helpless fear for the life of another.
“He knows how to fight,” Selene said with a hint of admiration.
Aridela pinched Selene’s shoulders in an agony of frustration. “Let me go. I want to help.”
“Maybe we can.” Selene searched for a rock, muttering that she would bash Harpalycus’s skull, or at least knock him unconscious.
Before she found one, the blades paused. Harpalycus stepped back, breathing hard.
The wounded foreigner stared him down.
“I heard you were here.” Harpalycus spoke in the mainland tongue, his voice harsh and furious. “Aren’t you afraid of losing to me?”
“You see how afraid I am,” the foreigner replied in kind.
“A thief. A coward.” Harpalycus raised his blade. “Hiding in the day, sneaking through the night. You dishonor the princess.” He cocked his chin towards the women. “Do you even know you picked the wrong one?”
Aridela watched her lover, fascinated even in the face of danger. She discerned a tic pulsing beneath his eye. His jaw muscles clenched as his sword-point touched Harpalycus’s. “Come test my cowardice.”
Before he could, Selene’s love partner stepped into the light, the point of his sword aimed at Harpalycus’s belly.
Looking from one to the other, Harpalycus backed toward the ledge, his sword blade wavering between the lion-god and the bull. Fury grimaced his face.
“Someone always watches over you, Chrysaleon,” he sneered. “You’ve cheated the holy rites. How did you find them?” His lips whitened as they closed over his teeth.
“How did you?” Chrysaleon returned.
“She told me. She wanted me to come.”
Punctuated with a cynical laugh, Chrysaleon replied, “The finest fruit is early plucked. Have you not yet learned that?”
“Stop.” Aridela stepped around Selene, standing with her back as stiff and straight as she could make it. The three men turned toward her in unison.
“He who found me did so at the command of Athene. If she had chosen you, Harpalycus of Tiryns, nothing could have kept you from finding me first.”
For a long moment the only sound was Harpalycus’s harsh, rapid breathing. Thoughts and emotions curled over her like blanketing smoke. She fought to keep a calm stance as she realized neither she nor Selene had a weapon.
“We didn’t ask you to come here,” she said. “Return to your country if you wish, but don’t interfere with our ways.”
Harpalycus’s nostrils flared and his chin lifted. “As you command, my lady,” he said, bowing stiffly. “I only wanted to protect you from a man I know to be dishonorable.” One more glance did he send Chrysaleon as he sheathed his sword. “My sister will hear of this,” he said then turned, leaped onto the ledge, and vanished into the night.
The two remaining men glanced at each other. Aridela now saw that the oddity she’d glimpsed before on the bull-god’s face was a disfiguring scar, but there was no time to dwell on it, for he scrambled up the ledge after the prince of Tiryns.
Aridela approached her lover. “We must halt this bleeding. Selene, fetch cloths and balms from the lower chamber. You’ve lost much blood, my lord. Come with us to the palace. Our healers can stitch it up.”
“No.” He gave a definite shake of his head. “My man will tend it.” Yet his face was losing color.
Giving him a blatant stare of warning, Selene went off to gather the supplies.
Long dark lashes shadowed his eyes as he stared down at Aridela.
“‘Chrysaleon,’ he called you,” she said. He was taller than most of the men she knew. Packed more solidly too, with muscles trained to wield heavy shields and throw spears long distances. She leaned against him, trembling in the aftermath of the attack, the cara, and the long, sleepless night. “Who are you… Chrysaleon?”
His good arm slipped around her. Strong and supportive, it made her feel she could close her eyes and relinquish every obligation to him, at least for a moment.
“I am the man chosen by the Lady to find you and love you.”
“It is odd,” she said, savoring the scent of his flesh. “How you found this place over every male Kaphtor has nursed to manhood. I was uncertain what fate Goddess Athene set for me tonight. I thought I was prepared, but this. I never expected this.”
“She took pity. She knew I would overturn every hill and dig up every cave on Crete to find you.” His voice softened. “No man will have you but me. I vowed it the first time I saw you.”
His words were sacrilege, yet rebukes died unspoken and she simply nuzzled closer.
He added, low and private, “For as long as the pyramids stand in Egypt.”
Was he part of the divine course Athene designed for her?
His gaze didn’t waver as he bent his head and kissed her on the mouth.
How far would she follow him?
Did you sleep, isoke?” Helice asked as her daughter entered the breakfast hall.
“A little.” Aridela accepted a cup of milk from the maid. “What of Iphiboë?”
“She’ll be along soon.”
No man will have you but me.
The cave lover’s words kept calling her back to the forbidden adventure, rousing memories, desires, and a lurking fear that she might never again see him. For as long as the pyramids stand in Egypt. Legend claimed the pyramids were as old as the earth itself. Surely such a promise as that would construct a way to reunite them.
Helice tore a hunk of bread and stared at it. Making sure there were no serving maids nearby, she said, “This is the last time. I’ll refuse a
ny more requests from her to take part in these rites. I fear Iphiboë shall never lie with a man.”
“Even so, she can turn things to her will if she has the courage.” Aridela shrugged. “Her consorts can lie with surrogates. The children will be as honored as if she bore them herself.”
“Yes.” Helice sighed. “If she is courageous. Many things can be done, right or wrong, by a leader with courage.”
Aridela, hearing a strange note in her mother’s voice, remained silent.
After a moment, during which the queen frowned at her bread, she abruptly asked the maids to leave them. When they were alone, she turned the full force of her discerning gaze on her daughter. “I waited all day yesterday for you to tell me the truth. How long do you intend to lie to me?”
“I—how have I lied?” Aridela cursed the betraying squeak in her voice.
Helice waited no more than the intake of one breath before she said, “The prince of Tiryns, Harpalycus, had words for me yesterday morning after he returned from the cave.”
Aridela’s heart skittered. “She begged me to go with her. She was afraid.”
“Oh, I’m thankful you were there, for Iphiboë’s sake, yet I wonder, Aridela, if you are capable of ever learning obedience. Now tell me. Are you still untouched, as Themiste commanded, or did you lie with that man Harpalycus said was in the cave with you?”
So the queen didn’t know everything. Aridela thought rapidly. Harpalycus had come after the four were awake and dressed. He could only guess what had transpired; she could deny whatever accusations he may have spoken.
“No, Mother.” For an instant she felt guilty, then defiance burned it away. Neither Helice nor Themiste felt guilty about tossing her against her will into the cave shrines, leaving her to wither while she memorized boring prophecy and spoke endless prayers. The world would soon forget she’d ever been born.
She wasn’t sorry for what she’d done. At least she would have a memory to savor.
“I did nothing to be ashamed of,” she added, allowing her chin to rise slightly.
Helice didn’t notice; her gaze veered from the skylights to the bread slowly being shredded in her fingers. Her brow crinkled. “Who was this man in the cave? Harpalycus didn’t say yet I sensed he knew. Do you know him?”
“No.”
“Themiste mustn’t find out what you did,” Helice continued without pause. “Do you understand?”
This wasn’t right. Queen Helice was famous for getting to the truth in all matters. Aridela had never seen her mother collude in a lie. Shocked disquiet flared.
“The prince of Tiryns worries me,” Helice said. “His slaves are terrified of him. Oneaea saw, as I did, what a dangerous, reckless man he is, in thrall to his own rage. Our efforts to calm him failed. I was at the point of having him confined, but his eunuch, Proitos, managed to bring him to reason at last.”
“Why was he so angry?”
Helice blinked and dropped her gaze to the table. A flush rose through her cheeks. “I—I don’t know.”
Aridela stared, certain her mother was hiding something. But what?
The steward entered the morning room, followed by three hesitant serving maids who assured the queen they’d tried to prevent his interruption. The steward waved them away and bowed as he announced, “Our runner brings news, my lady, from Amnisos. Two men approach. Royalty from Mycenae, he says.”
“Mycenae?” Helice’s attention veered to the steward. “Could it be Idómeneus? Surely he wouldn’t come without my knowledge. Do you remember the king, Aridela?”
Aridela shook her head, relieved at this convenient distraction.
“Of course not; you were a baby when he last visited. Perhaps he means to offer advice on the plots of the Kindred Kings. Go ornament yourself in your finest garments. You’ll give the greeting in Iphiboë’s place. I’ll send an escort to meet them.” Abandoning her untouched breakfast, the queen began issuing orders; serving-women followed her like a trail of ants.
Aridela chose a blue doublet and seven-tiered skirt woven with spangled silver and ivory disks. She fingered bowls and pots while one maid painted her eyes; another fitted her with a diadem of silver and lapis lazuli, and her arms with worked silver bands.
“Is something wrong, my lady?” her handmaid asked.
“No.” Aridela twined her fingers to keep them still.
Her cousin Neoma, already dressed, entered the chamber with an airy greeting. She went out to the balcony and climbed the ladder to the roof so she could keep watch for the arriving guests.
Though all of yesterday was quiet so the celebrants could rest and recover, sleep had eluded Aridela. Her mind wouldn’t settle and instead went over and over the events in the cave.
After cleaning Chrysaleon’s wound, she and Selene retrieved Iphiboë from the lower chamber. Her sister listened to the story of how two men entered the cave. Weeping, she repeatedly hugged and thanked Aridela. Chrysaleon carried her to the cart and accompanied them to the palace on his mainland stallion. They encountered no one on the trek home, not even Harpalycus or Selene’s lover.
The sun had cleared the summits of the eastern mountains by the time the foursome returned. Aridela, keeping her hood close around her face, slipped to her bedchamber and into her bed without rousing Themiste or the nurse, though her dog’s welcoming whine made Themiste turn with an unhappy-sounding sigh. Later, Aridela pretended to be asleep when Themiste woke; after the oracle left, she dismissed her nurse so she could wash Chrysaleon’s scent from her skin in peace and privacy.
“Here they are,” Neoma called, interrupting Aridela’s thoughts. “Come see their helmets and shields. And the horses. Aridela, they brought horses and chariots.”
Aridela pushed aside the mirror in her maid’s hand. She ran to the balcony and climbed to the roof, peering across the palace, over the curved bull’s horns rising above the north entrance. A procession of helmeted men approached on the paved road from Amnisos. In front cantered a pair of matched blacks, pulling a gilded chariot that contained two men in white kilts and feather-plumed helmets.
Neoma shaded her eyes with one hand. “They remind me of your mother’s peacocks.” She laughed. “Puffing out their feathers to attract a mate.”
The men did seem to be on display. The driver’s grip on the reins not only caused his lively steeds to fight the bits as they pranced, but made the muscles in his arms and shoulders stand out.
“Could that be Mycenae’s high king?” Neoma asked.
“I can’t tell.”
The chariot disappeared behind the palace walls as it neared the sloped north entrance.
The handmaid came to the bottom of the ladder. “Your escort is here, my lady,” she said.
The royal ladies of Labyrinthos, dressed in colorful gowns and headdresses, chattered and laughed as they accompanied Aridela and her cousin down the wide stone staircase.
Aridela rested her palm against a pillar and squinted into the courtyard. Sunlight glared; heat radiated from the paving stones. The men from the chariot had left their rig outside and entered on foot. Aridela’s mother, aunt, and two royal uncles were welcoming them. One of the men removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm as he clasped the queen’s hand. The other stood a few steps back, straight and still, faceless in his menacing headgear.
“That cannot be the king of Mycenae,” said Neoma. “He is too young, surely. He must be an ambassador or something.”
Aridela’s aunt Oneaea inclined her head regally as the visitor spoke and saluted her.
Kaphtor’s royal women stepped out from under stone awnings into bright sun, and fanned out around Aridela.
Both men turned.
Neoma jerked Aridela’s elbow, making her realize she’d stopped walking.
Memories revived in a wash of sensation as daylight cemented fantasy into reality.
The one closest to Helice was her lover. Chrysaleon.
She’d told herself the cave lover was Velchanos. Now it ap
peared a mortal—a barbarian of Mycenae—had coupled with her in the sacred cave. Yet, rather than disappointment, joy shot like loosed arrows. The dream from Mount Juktas was real. Her lover was real. He’d found her. He’d searched her out.
What a strange omen, one she couldn’t begin to fathom.
“This is my younger daughter, Aridela.” Helice beckoned. “My heir and eldest cannot greet you, Prince Chrysaleon. She is injured and bedridden.”
“I regret to hear it,” Chrysaleon replied. “Greetings, Lady Aridela.” His accent was charming, perhaps because the sound of it returned memories of whispered words against her face.
No man will have you but me.
Helice squeezed Aridela’s hand, digging in her nails to remind her of her manners as she announced, “Chrysaleon, son of Idómeneus, prince of Mycenae.”
The chains on Aridela’s diadem tinkled as she fought for composure. “Wel-welcome, Prince Chrysaleon,” she managed. “All we possess is yours.”
For as long as the pyramids stand in Egypt.
He saluted her, back straight, solemn-faced, head held with unbending pride. Then one brow lifted and the corner of his lip twitched, subtly, so that only she would see it.
Helice clapped her hands. Her cupbearer brought forth the welcoming bowl, glinting with carvings and jewels. Taking one sip, the queen passed it to Aridela, who drank and passed it to Chrysaleon. His dusty face seemed younger in daylight. His eyes laughed, making her want to grin in return. She fought conflicting urges to run away from him and to draw him away with her.
He accepted the bowl from her. Their fingertips touched.
Softly at first, the air filled with a sound like muffled drumbeats.
Instead of dying away, the sound grew louder. The prince’s guard gripped the hilt of his sword and drew it partway from the scabbard as he peered up at the looming walls and balconies surrounding the courtyard.
Hundreds of clamoring birds lifted as one from the eaves, diffusing the sky with their bodies.
Sharp, sudden, a deafening crack of thunder rent the air.
The Year-god's Daughter (The Child of the Erinyes) Page 26