Philippos’s eyes narrowed. His voice was low, but it was swift and incisive. ‘Following my instructions is exactly what you will do. The only reason you even have a chance of being queen is because I made it happen.’
‘Be honest,’ Isobel said bitterly. ‘You aren’t doing this for me. If people in Phalesia see that the king of Xanthos is taking an interest in your daughter, you’ll be certain to become the next first consul.’
‘Listen to me, girl, and listen well,’ Philippos said. ‘There are two different men I can give you to. Either of them will suit my purposes and boost my reputation. One is the young king of Xanthos. The other is Lord Haemon.’
Isobel clenched her jaw. Staring down at the sand, she fought to suppress a shudder. Lord Haemon leered at her, his eyes roving up and down her body every time he looked at her – and any woman her age. She’d hated it when he held her hand in his sweaty palm.
‘At the moment,’ Isobel’s father continued, ‘you are doing well with young Dion. But our visit will soon end, and this opportunity with it. You said you like him . . . It shouldn’t be difficult for you. You must give yourself to him.’
Isobel winced. ‘Father, is that necessary? He likes me and I like him too. I don’t think he’s ready . . .’
‘Trust me.’ Philippos gave a short laugh. ‘Men are always ready. Tonight, my dear. At the banquet.’
Isobel hated him for what he was asking, despite knowing how high the stakes were for him.
She would not do it . . . Then something occurred to her.
She really did have feelings for Dion. For once in her life she wasn’t pretending. If Dion found someone else, her father would marry her off to Lord Haemon.
Her father knew men’s hearts or he would never have climbed so high in the Assembly of Consuls. She despised his cynicism, but every move he made was for a purpose.
And, more than anything, if the gods were kind, and she came to live in Xanthos as a queen, she would never have to take her father’s orders again.
The banquet was in full swing. A lyre, tambourine, and flute player played festive melodies, the three musicians filling the Royal Palace’s great hall with sound. The savory smells of roasting lamb and goat lingered; the attendees’ bellies were already full and only the occasional drunken guest stumbled over to the fire pit to have the servants cut him more meat. Garishly dressed Xanthians gesticulated with their wine cups as they clustered in groups of anywhere from two to a dozen.
Glaukos and Philippos were a little apart from the rest, deep in discussion, while in the center of the banqueting hall, Dion sat on a bench covered in cushions with Isobel next to him, her body tilted to face him. If her previous clothing had been revealing, she now wore a scandalously low-cut chiton the color of gold, matching her necklace.
Dion lifted his cup to his mouth, but saw it was empty. As always, a steward refilled it before he’d managed to decide whether he wanted another.
Isobel laughed. ‘Banquets aren’t your thing, are they?’
‘How did you guess?’
‘The people who drink the most are either the ones who love the noise and the company, or the ones who use the wine to get through it. I’m getting to know you, Dion of Xanthos, son of Markos. You are definitely the latter.’
‘Sorry,’ Dion said. He hadn’t meant to drink so much, but Isobel was right. It made him nervous to have Lord Philippos watching him with his daughter, and to be sitting in the middle of the hall, with people grinning and all eyes on him.
‘Ignore them,’ Isobel said. She put her fingertip under his chin and lifted his head. ‘Look at me instead. So, what do you think?’
‘About what?’
She chuckled. ‘I was asking what you think of the law against slavery.’
‘What I think of it?’ He was surprised to hear himself slur. ‘It was my idea.’
‘Oh.’ She leaned back, but then raised an eyebrow and gave him a smile. ‘There is still slavery in Koulis, and certainly in Ilea.’
‘We’re trying to lead by example. It will end everywhere one day. Ilea will be the most resistant to change.’
‘Have you met their king? They say he’s terrifying, a big warrior, with an even bigger bodyguard who goes everywhere with him.’
Dion thought about the handover of Mercilles’ wife and Jax’s death. Despite the treaties and trade deals between Xanthos and Lamara, he hadn’t seen Kargan since.
‘I’ve met him. He’s the man who captured Chloe.’
Isobel looked crestfallen at the mention of Chloe. Dion picked up his goblet and cursed his tongue as he tilted the cup back and drank a large gulp. The evening wasn’t going the way he’d wanted it to. Being on display was causing him to say and do all the wrong things. His head was starting to swim. He was making a fool of himself. He regretted the drink immediately.
‘I think I need to retire.’
A look of disappointment crossed Isobel’s face. Dion stood up, but suddenly sat back down again and put a hand to his forehead. Glancing at his uncle, Dion saw him smiling slightly and shaking his head.
‘I’m sorry . . .’ Dion put his hands at his sides, planting the palms on the bench to steady himself. ‘Perhaps we could get some fresh air?’
‘Of course. Let me help you,’ Isobel said.
Already mortified, he knew he would be regretting his behavior in the morning when he had no choice but to let her help him stand. He was the king, and a multitude of eyes were on him as he was forced to lean on her to leave the banqueting hall. Weaving around stools, he felt a surge of relief when the cacophony of the music grew more distant.
He wondered how Philippos felt about his daughter helping him, but then he was forced to concentrate on placing one foot in front of the other. With an effort of will, he glanced back into the hall and saw Glaukos and Philippos watching them depart, both looking pleased with themselves.
‘Perhaps your balcony upstairs?’ Isobel suggested.
‘Good idea.’ Dion nodded and immediately headed toward the steps that led up to his bedchamber. Unlike the Orange Terrace, the balcony would be far from prying eyes.
Taking the steps slowly, one at a time, Isobel helped him climb up to the palace’s highest floor. She smiled as she led him by the hand, and as he gazed at her he suddenly remembered the feel of her lips. She truly was beautiful. He almost fell when he lifted his leg and found that the floor had leveled, and again when he tried to fend her away and stumble along the hallway, but she was always there to catch him.
‘Sorry,’ he kept saying.
‘Stop saying that, Dion.’
He finally made it to the doorway of his bedchamber and then leaned against the wall, blinking and licking his lips. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to walk in a straight line, heading for the balcony, but then something struck his legs and he realized it was his bed a moment before collapsing onto the soft mattress. With a groan he rolled over and forced himself to sit up. He found himself laughing and shaking his head as Isobel sat beside him on the bed.
But when he saw her serious expression, Dion sobered. He met her eyes. Fortunately, the curtains in the bedchamber were open, letting in a stiff breeze, helping to clear the fog from his mind. ‘I’m going to miss you,’ he said. ‘I know it hasn’t been long . . .’
‘Not as much as I will miss you,’ she said softly.
Dion moved until he was sitting as close as he could to her. Holding one of her hands in his, he leaned his face toward hers. She moistened her lips. His face came closer and closer, his pulse racing as their mouths became mere inches apart. Blood roared in his ears when their bodies pressed together and he could feel her heart beating as fiercely as his own.
Every sensation became heightened as he kissed her. At the same time, he became less aware of where he was, or even his own name. He never wanted the kiss to end. He reached out his arms and pulled her into a tight embrace, supporting the back of her head, caressing the tresses of her golden hair.
Iso
bel suddenly broke the kiss, leaving him gasping, feeling like he’d just fought in a battle or swum to the bottom of the sea. But then she stood beside the bed. She removed the pin holding her golden garment wrapped around her body. The chiton fell to the ground, and she kicked it free. Dion’s eyes widened.
Suddenly Isobel was naked on the bed and her lips were pressed to his. He again pulled her in close, his hands traveling over the smooth skin of her back, feeling the curve of her hips.
‘This is what I want,’ Isobel said. ‘It’s what you want too, isn’t it?’
Chloe’s face flashed in front of Dion’s vision. But Chloe was dead, and had been for a long time. He knew that she would want him to be happy.
He rolled them both over so that his face was above hers. Staring into her eyes, he reached out to move a lock of hair away from her face.
Dion then bent his head down and kissed Isobel again.
16
Eiric’s gaze traveled the length of the defensive embankment. It was little more than a wall, waist-high, hastily formed by piling rocks one on top of the other. Half a mile long and curved, it blocked any access to the Blackwell Mines on the upper slopes, for on all other sides, steep cliffs plummeted to the green lowlands below.
Every few feet a silver-haired eldran stood behind the embankment, warily watching the thick forest at the base of the hillside. The humans’ camp was just inside the trees, and despite the fact that it had been days since an assault, the soldiers of Tanus could come at any time.
Eiric turned around and looked up at the mines. Wide, deep holes, they gaped in the hillside as if the earth had laid a trap to swallow whoever entered. His eyes narrowed. He had no interest in the mines; the Tanusians were welcome to the metallic ores found within. But the trees around him did care when the humans slashed and burned for no other reason than to lug their precious ore to the road more efficiently. This was his homeland. He could feel a connection with Sindara in his blood and in his bones. As king, the plant and animal life communed with him. He knew the way the humans saw the situation, but this wasn’t a border dispute, to be resolved by negotiating over some lines on a map. The miners, loggers, and soldiers of Tanus didn’t belong here.
‘This is ridiculous,’ a deep voice said on Eiric’s left-hand side. ‘The humans think we’re afraid to attack them. King Eiric, our hesitation is causing more suffering than if we acted decisively and drove them out once and for all.’
Eiric glanced at the man who’d spoken. Short but stocky for an eldran, Caleb had a broad, muscular torso and thick arms and shoulders. He was younger than Eiric, but had never shirked from danger or failed to support his king when there was dissent. Of the men and women who’d once served Triton, he was Eiric’s most loyal ally. And he was magically powerful. In battle, he was a force to be reckoned with.
‘Caleb, your king has already spoken,’ Dalton said. ‘If we assaulted their camp and slaughtered them in numbers, they would return in force. Tanus would call on the rest of Galea, and they wouldn’t stop until we’d been driven from Sindara. We’ve all learned the lesson from long ago. We must tread a careful line.’
Standing on Eiric’s other side, Dalton was always cautious, but like Caleb he was steadfast – even when he disagreed with what Eiric was doing. He was so old his hair was almost white, and he had wrinkled skin like parchment.
‘You both know my reasons,’ Eiric replied. Taller than both of his companions, he was slim but broad-shouldered, with golden eyes and skin so pale it was nearly translucent. Towering over them, he looked at each man in turn. ‘I wish to avoid loss of life. On both sides. If I could have captured the mines without killing their soldiers, I would have. If we hold this place long enough, in time their will to rush this blockade and throw their lives away will fade.’
‘But we are far more powerful,’ Caleb protested.
‘Yes, and if they become afraid of us, eventually they will even the odds,’ Eiric said. ‘We can rush their camp and destroy them. Tactically we can win the fight. But strategically we will lose the war.’
‘King Eiric, I still maintain that there is another option,’ Dalton said, his ancient voice thin and reedy. ‘We can talk. Our friends in Xanthos can broker—’
‘Friends?’ Caleb’s lip curled. ‘Humans were never our friends.’
‘The king of Xanthos is half eldran.’
‘That’s enough from both of you.’ Eiric glared at his two companions. ‘We will stand our ground. If they try to take our position, we will fend them off. But we will aim to kill as few of them as possible. Caleb, I’m looking at you to control some of the firebrands among—’
‘They’re coming,’ Dalton said softly.
Soldiers with the brown cloaks of Tanus on their shoulders were leaving the trees, row after row of hoplites marching forward and then coming to a halt. Sling and javelin throwers formed up on both sides of the main host, while archers brought up the rear. An officer with a brown-crested helmet of horse hair rode a black stallion along the front of his force. He pointed his spear up at the mines. The soldiers began to slap their spears against their shields, creating a threatening rumble that rolled up the hillside to the eldren watching from behind the blockade.
Eiric and Dalton exchanged glances. ‘There must be a thousand men down there,’ Dalton said.
Eiric again looked along the length of the embankment. He had close to a hundred men and women ready to follow his lead. At present the eldren, slender figures with thin limbs and silver hair, appeared completely outclassed by their opponents. That would soon change.
‘It’s going to be difficult to keep the casualties low,’ Eiric murmured.
‘But we must try,’ Dalton said.
A trumpet sounded. The soldiers began to run.
Hearing the trumpet, Gorlax nodded at the men around him. ‘It’s time.’
He had twenty men with him, all lightly armored, wearing leather breastplates, skirts of hide strips, and wooden spears strapped to their backs. Unwieldy swords had been left behind, but they were Tanus’s elite, trained since birth in combat, their skills honed fighting wildren back in the days when they regularly preyed on their city’s livestock and populace. Even without their usual equipment, they would succeed at the task the general had set them.
Gorlax tilted his head back, gazing up the cliff. He and his men had already planned their route. It looked sheer, but Tanus was a city surrounded by mountains, and they all had years of experience climbing similar faces. It was a difficult ascent, but not impossible.
‘Remember,’ Gorlax addressed his men. ‘When you’re climbing, you’re on your own. Never scale below another man. When you reach the summit, scout the area and form a defensive perimeter until all of us are up. If you’re slow, we won’t wait for you, and if you can’t make it up, we’ll see you back at the camp. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the soldiers murmured.
‘Once we’ve assembled up top, our plan is to stay hidden as we come at them from the rear. We’ll pass the mines. Then, while the shapeshifters are distracted fighting the main force, we single out their king. You’ve all seen him. He’s bigger by far than any of them. They’re like animals. Wolves. When the alpha male is dead, they’ll lose their cohesion. We have one goal only. To destroy the eldran king. Any questions?’
Gorlax met the eyes of each man in turn, before giving a sharp nod.
‘For Tanus and the queen,’ he growled.
‘For Tanus and the queen!’
Gorlax was the first to walk to the base of the cliff, his men fanning out around him as he began his ascent.
Arrows filled the air, arcing before the sharp iron heads dragged them down. A multitude of shafts descended on the stone wall. Death rained on the eldren, who stood grimly, staring up at the sky.
But then mist clouded the entire length of the embankment. Winged creatures flew out to the left and right. When the arrows plummeted down, they sank harmlessly into the dirt or bounced off the wall.
<
br /> Furies and dragons wheeled like birds, swooping down from above. Descending on the front ranks, they took dozens of men by surprise, enclosing arms, clawed forelimbs, or wide jaws around screaming soldiers and flying up again, before dropping the soldiers on their comrades. As the archers nocked new arrows and retrained their aim, the winged creatures descended again, but this time they landed in a thin line in front of the embankment. Thoughts flashed from one to another, coordinated by Eiric. Together they changed shape once more. Now a row of roaring ogres and bellowing giants stood to face the charging host.
With shattering force, the two groups collided.
Twice the height of any soldier, the ogres swatted spears aside and plucked up armored men to throw them sailing back the way they’d come. Head and shoulders taller than the ogres, the giants swept hoplites away in groups of three and four. The blows were strong enough to break limbs and knock men unconscious. The fear the eldren inspired caused more than one human to turn around and flee.
One golden-eyed giant, bigger than any other, fended off a spear, but the soldier was determined and dodged to the side, trying to bring the point up under his chin.
Eiric weaved his head to evade the next blow and reached forward to grab his opponent by the leg. Straightening, he leaned back and threw the man into two more of his fellows, sending the group into a flailing heap. An arrow stung his flank, but he brushed it away, glancing down at the small triangular wound it left behind.
Another stocky giant ahead of him – Caleb – was throwing himself deep into the enemy ranks, his arm wrapped around a human that he clutched to his chest, using the man as a shield. His free arm held a club the size of a small tree trunk. Careful to follow Eiric’s orders, he was smashing the soldiers’ legs, leaving broken bones and howls of agony in his wake.
Eiric reached down and swatted another group of hoplites out of the way. Glancing to his right, he saw Dalton, an old ogre with an enlarged jaw and wispy white hair, struggling against three swordsmen who were trying to encircle him.
Copper Chain (The Shifting Tides Book 3) Page 11