Copper Chain (The Shifting Tides Book 3)

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Copper Chain (The Shifting Tides Book 3) Page 14

by James Maxwell


  She didn’t stand, and her chest was heaving as she looked up at him, each breath pressing her breasts against the material, making him wonder if they would stay constrained, as low-cut as her chiton was. She moistened her lips.

  ‘Please.’ She made space for him on the sofa, even though there were several stools and benches in the room. ‘Sit beside me?’

  He glanced back at the curtain. ‘I am not sure if your father . . .’

  Her smile lit up her face. ‘My father won’t mind, truly.’

  Feeling caught up in a tide of events not of his making, wondering what she was about to tell him, Dion sat next to her, so close he was aware of her body’s warmth and scent as she turned to face him.

  He was surprised when she took his hand.

  ‘Dion. I need to talk to you about what happened on the night of the banquet.’

  He drew a deep breath and nodded. ‘I don’t know what I can say besides I’m sorry . . . I drank too much wine. I’m sorry and . . . thank you for . . . helping me to bed.’

  She squeezed his hand as her lips formed a pout. ‘You are jesting. You must be. Surely you remember?’ She took his hand and pressed it against her breast. ‘You don’t remember this?’ Her expression was mischievous. ‘I remember every moment of it.’

  He felt his face redden. ‘I remember . . .’

  ‘I am with child.’

  His eyes widened and he started to cough. ‘You’re . . . ?’ His eyes were burning as he fought to catch his breath. ‘Did you just say . . . ?’

  ‘The child is yours.’

  Dion pulled away. Putting a hand to his temple, he suddenly realized he’d climbed to his feet and was standing beside the sofa. ‘You’re certain?’

  She gave a little nod, still smiling, but with a small crease in her forehead. She was now biting her lip, looking concerned.

  His head spinning, he sat down again. He stared at her flat belly, as if trying to see a change in her.

  ‘I’m not showing yet.’ She blushed.

  ‘I . . .’

  It was only then that the full import of what she had told him sank in. He was going to be a father. Filled with a sense of awe and wonder, he reached down and put a hand against Isobel’s stomach. She let him, still searching his face.

  ‘We are going to have a child together, King.’

  Dion suddenly grinned and then gulped. He grinned again. He wiped a hand over his face and realized his heart was pounding like a drum. He felt like he’d been holding his breath underwater for an eternity and was only now gasping for air at the surface.

  The beautiful young woman next to him took his hands again. ‘Well?’ she asked.

  ‘Your father . . . Does he . . . ?’

  ‘He knows.’

  Seeing through a shimmering haze, Dion blinked moisture from his eyes. He was the youngest child and his father had always been distant, preferring Nikolas’s company. His father had never seemed to realize that surely every child had something to offer.

  He knew he could do better.

  Warmth and affection flooded through him. He met Isobel’s concerned gaze and squeezed her hands back.

  ‘We should be married,’ he said. ‘I mean, that’s if . . . ?’

  She smiled. ‘I would love to be your queen.’

  Dion’s arm reached around her back. He was reluctant to squeeze her too tightly, but she pulled him close as they kissed. She tasted sweet and her body felt soft, so that before his senses left him he pushed her away, gasping as he stood, pulling her up with him.

  ‘I’m going to have a son,’ he murmured, shaking his head with disbelief.

  ‘Or a daughter.’

  ‘Or a daughter.’ He laughed. ‘But I know he’s going to be a boy.’

  Dion felt so seized with emotion that he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. ‘Isobel, what’s . . . What’s the protocol in this situation?’

  ‘Well, the wedding will have to be very soon.’

  Realization dawned. ‘Yes. Yes, you’re right.’ His sluggish thoughts finally came into focus. ‘Your father. I have to ask his permission to marry you.’

  ‘Dion, you’re a king. And like I said, he knows.’

  He shook his head. ‘He must think I’m terrible.’

  ‘Trust me, he doesn’t. Come. Let’s go and see him together.’

  She led a dazed Dion from the sitting room and down the hallway. As he walked, Dion felt as if his body didn’t belong to him. His mind was so active that he wasn’t sure he was walking properly; he felt like a puppet on strings.

  Philippos and Glaukos both stood as Dion and Isobel entered the reception. From their knowing expressions, Dion realized immediately that Philippos and Glaukos were well aware of the nature of the conversation he and Isobel had just had. But the thought didn’t rankle in the slightest; he didn’t care at all.

  ‘Lord Philippos,’ Dion said. He nearly stumbled over the words. ‘I would like your permission to marry your daughter.’

  Philippos grinned broadly. ‘And you have it. Of course you do.’

  The two older men cheered. Philippos and his daughter embraced, while Dion’s uncle gave him a hearty hug.

  ‘I’m going to be a father,’ Dion said.

  ‘You certainly are, my boy.’ Glaukos beamed.

  Then the young king of Xanthos and the next first consul of Phalesia were clapping each other on the back. Someone handed Dion a goblet, and he swallowed a gulp of wine without tasting it.

  Philippos put his arm around his daughter and squeezed her. ‘Now. We have a wedding to plan!’

  Glaukos spoke up. ‘My lord, I hope I don’t speak out of turn, but we must call a priestess from the Temple of Aeris. I’m sure you understand that for the future of Xanthos, Isobel’s health is now of paramount importance.’

  ‘Of course, of course.’ Philippos saw his daughter’s worried face and spoke tenderly. ‘There is nothing to be afraid of, daughter. You shall have the best care there is. After all, you are bearing the heir to a throne.’

  ‘The last day of spring,’ Glaukos said, scratching his chin thoughtfully and nodding. ‘For the wedding, before the lady begins to show her new state. Sire?’ He raised his voice. ‘Dion?’

  Still stunned, Dion turned when he heard his name and smiled. ‘Of course, Uncle. The last day of spring is fine with me.’

  Philippos lifted his cup. ‘To new family.’

  Dion grinned and held his goblet high. ‘To new family.’

  20

  Sophia followed High Priestess Marina as they climbed up to the villa of Lord Philippos, the older woman walking with stately steps, looking solemn in her official robe. Trailing after her, Sophia carried a satchel filled with polished metal implements and packets of powders and herbs.

  They were almost at their destination, and Priestess Marina, a tall, olive-skinned woman with a topknot, turned and looked her up and down. ‘Hold your back straighter, Sophia,’ she said sternly. ‘You wanted to come, and I know you have the skill, but you must also look the part.’

  Approaching thirteen years old, a slender dark-haired girl in a white novice’s robe with blue trim, Sophia nodded and tried to look more priestess-like. But she knew Marina well enough to understand that the rebuke was more a display of the high priestess’s own nervousness than anything else. Their task was one of the most important imaginable: a future queen was pregnant.

  And Dion was the father!

  Sophia was excited for him and had begged the high priestess to let her attend. Everyone knew that Dion had been in love with her older sister Chloe. But then Chloe had left Phalesia to find their father and her body was discovered on the road to Tanus four weeks later, beaten beyond all recognition, with only her clothing and necklace to tell anyone who she was.

  Dion was as bereft as she was. After his coronation, despite his lack of a wife or heir, he’d been too grief-stricken to find another love. Knowing his pain, the pain of loss that she felt herself, Sophia hoped that marriage to I
sobel, and the birth of his child, would bring him happiness.

  Like Sophia, Dion had no parents to shelter him and support him. Like her, he’d lost his only sibling.

  As always, thinking about Chloe made her sad. And then she felt guilt when her thoughts inevitably turned to Nikolas, the man who was clearly to blame for the darkness that had plagued Sophia’s life. Everyone had believed her when she’d told them he’d simply collapsed in front of her. She’d then traveled by ship back to Phalesia . . . where it seemed as if her father’s death was divine punishment for her crime.

  She hadn’t even been present at his funeral and was forced to cry over her father’s tomb. They said Aristocles’ heart failed him, but his heart was always strong. Nilus started acting strange around her, avoiding her rather than consoling her. Amos vanished. Finally, with no home to return to, and no family to support her, she had made a vow to devote herself to the goddess Aeris.

  Lost in thought and unnoticed, she bowed when she needed to as they arrived at Lord Philippos’s villa and the priestess asked to see Isobel. While the high priestess and the lord spoke, Sophia looked for Dion and saw him outside, touring the gardens with his gray-haired uncle. He was smiling broadly as he said something, waving his arms with enthusiasm.

  Soon Sophia was following High Priestess Marina down a hallway, entering a sitting room at the back of the villa. As the high priestess greeted Isobel and seated herself, Sophia was careful to stand behind and to the side, holding the satchel, ready to serve if needed.

  She’d seen Isobel before, of course – all the novices thought she was the most beautiful woman in Phalesia – but they’d never actually spoken. Now that she knew Isobel was going to be Dion’s wife, she found herself inspecting her with interest. She was undoubtedly attractive, slim as a willow, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

  Isobel was tense, twisting her fingers in her lap as the high priestess matter-of-factly probed the soon-to-be queen about her health.

  ‘When was your last cycle?’ In these circumstances, the high priestess tended not to use titles.

  ‘Six . . . Six weeks ago,’ Isobel said haltingly. She dropped her eyes.

  ‘And when were you and the king together?’

  ‘Nearly . . . four weeks ago.’

  ‘When did you notice that you had missed your cycle?’

  ‘It should have come ten days ago.’

  ‘Have you experienced any morning sickness?’

  Isobel nodded.

  ‘And how do you feel generally? Would you say you are in good health?’

  ‘I’m a little tired.’ She gave a slight smile. ‘But we were all up late last night, and I’ve been working hard to help my father with the election. Is . . . Is everything all right?’

  High Priestess Marina gave Isobel a series of examinations, and then finally broke out in a warm smile. ‘Everything is as it should be, and both you and your future husband are young and strong. Come to me if you notice any change in your health, but otherwise, I will see you in a month.’

  ‘What’s going to happen to my body?’

  ‘Nothing that isn’t natural, my dear.’ The high priestess stood. ‘The time will pass swifter than you think. Before you know it, you are going to be a mother.’

  Isobel let out a sigh of relief. She looked up at Sophia, and Sophia couldn’t help herself returning her bright smile.

  ‘The priestess is leaving now. We can go back inside the villa,’ Lord Philippos said.

  Dion nodded and began to follow him, but then with surprise he saw the novice following in the priestess’s footsteps.

  ‘Sophia!’ he called, hurrying over.

  The imposing priestess bowed at Dion, her hands clasped together, buried in the folds of her robe. ‘May the goddess be with you, King.’

  ‘High Priestess,’ he said with a nod and a smile.

  She glanced at Sophia. ‘I will leave you two to talk.’

  A moment later they were alone and Dion was smiling down at Sophia. Her hair was longer than he remembered, and after the deaths of her father and sister, there was now a darkness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before.

  ‘Sophia, how are you? I haven’t seen you in a long time.’

  Dion’s heart reached out to her. She’d lost everyone she held dear. He wondered if she was happy.

  ‘I’m well enough,’ she said. She blushed. ‘King Dion.’

  ‘It’s just the two of us here,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I’m so glad it was you who came today. I know we have to keep it quiet until after the wedding, but’—he grinned—‘it’s exciting news.’ He suddenly looked worried. ‘Isobel . . . Is everything the way it should be?’

  Sophia smiled at his discomfort. ‘The high priestess said she’s fine.’

  ‘Good, good. Are you happy at the temple?’ Dion asked, frowning. ‘I can’t imagine how hard things have been for you . . . after Chloe . . . and your father. And Sophia . . . I hope you don’t blame yourself for Nikolas’s death. Just remember, you’ve done nothing wrong.’

  At the mention of Nikolas, Sophia looked down at the ground. ‘The temple keeps me busy.’

  ‘Listen, you know that I . . . You know that you can always come to live with me in Xanthos. Your father . . . He was always good to me. He’s the reason I made it back home. You and your family . . . You’re . . . special to me.’

  ‘Thank you, but no. Phalesia is my home.’

  ‘If you ever need anything, anything at all, you only have to ask.’

  For some reason Sophia looked as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. But then she suddenly hugged Dion, her head buried in his chest, before pushing herself away.

  ‘I’d best be going,’ she said. ‘I’m happy for you.’

  21

  Nilus, first consul of Phalesia, was at his villa, hosting his closest allies. The loftiest in the city, Nilus’s residence crowned a hill close to the agora, and the view from the terrace was unrivaled among all the homes in the city. His home was elegant and understated, with two stories – one for the lord and his family and a downstairs level for the servants – and flowering plants framing both sides of the winding path that led to the streets below. It had significance in the minds of the people he ruled.

  He’d always loved this villa . . . had desired it for himself. He’d spent many evenings here as a guest before it finally became his.

  It had once belonged to Aristocles. But Aristocles was dead, and now Nilus occupied his home.

  A plump, round-faced man, he had a short crop of neatly trimmed gray hair on his crown and wore a white tunic and a belt that matched his heavy gold necklace. He knew he was supposed to be slimming down, and he also knew that after his guests left, his wife would be nagging him, but he was anxious, and when he was anxious he ate and drank compulsively.

  ‘Slow down, First Consul,’ Consul Harod said. A big man with a gray beard, he reached out and tapped the side of the goblet in Nilus’s hand.

  Nilus scowled at him and tilted the cup back, taking a large swallow of sweet Sarsican red wine.

  ‘Lord Harod has a point. The people do like a good-looking candidate,’ Consul Anneas said. A haughty, athletic lord with fair hair who claimed that exercise sharpened the mind, he raised an eyebrow.

  Consul Leon, a shorter and plumper man even than Nilus, pulled his seat forward. ‘Ignore them, First Consul. Life is to be lived.’ He picked up a bunch of grapes and lifted them high, biting them off the stem one by one.

  The pleasure Nilus usually felt at hearing his title on other men’s lips was tainted by the guilty secret he shared with these men. By habit, he glanced at the doorway, checking to see that his guards were posted and at attention. Two on the inside. Two on the terrace. A further pair at the bottom of the steps.

  Nilus turned to glare at Anneas. ‘I don’t think I’m going to be making any sudden changes in my weight in time for the election.’

  Anneas shrugged. ‘It is never too late to sta
rt.’

  Nilus took another gulp and then smashed down the goblet. ‘Philippos is handsome, with a beautiful daughter, whereas I have no children. You all know it – now that Isobel is marrying the king of Xanthos, I am almost certain to lose the election.’

  The idea filled him with panic. As first consul he could station guards where he pleased, but what about when he could no longer command the city’s soldiers?

  Nilus swept his gaze over his companions while he waited for someone to speak, finally reaching forward and slapping a sausage into some bread.

  Seated across from him, Leon ate a series of sea urchins, one after the other, speaking with his mouth full. ‘You’re missing out, Anneas. These cost two silver pieces each.’

  Nilus’s scowl deepened. How would he afford to host these banquets? His friends would desert him. His guards would leave.

  ‘Don’t worry, First Consul,’ Anneas said, looking down his long nose. ‘Philippos’s proposals don’t meet the approval of everyone. He plans to institute a land tax and to extend the moratorium on slavery. Both are unpopular with the nobles.’

  ‘Like you, eh, Anneas?’ gray-bearded Harod said. ‘Not everyone owns a thousand acres.’

  Anneas spread his hands. ‘How do you like paying wages to slaves?’

  Leon shrugged. ‘There will always be another election,’ he said. ‘And then another. And another.’

  ‘Have you never heard of something called mortality?’ Anneas snorted.

  ‘We are not here to talk about other elections,’ Nilus snapped. ‘We’re here to talk about this election.’ The three consuls all leaned back, eyes wide as he brought silence to the room. ‘My father always said that once a loser, always a loser.’

  ‘A wise man, your father,’ Harod said, nodding sagely.

  ‘Shame about the son,’ Leon quipped.

  ‘You are a fool. Do you realize that?’ Harod glared at the little man.

  ‘Enough!’ Anneas growled at them. He turned back to Nilus. ‘Surely Philippos has a weakness? What about his daughter? I hear she was so eager to become queen that she threw herself at young Dion.’

 

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