“As long as she sees to the weaving and the kitchens, she need not be bothered with the rest.” He shrugged, taking a handful of nuts and passing the dish along. “You have your Amazon, Theseus, and I am happy for you if you have found some kind of love in your bed, but not every man desires a wife who thinks herself equal to a man.”
“If the Lapiths were not already in the habit of obeying their queen, perhaps it would not matter what wild woman you married,” Theseus said. “Surely you must have considered this? Or if you did not, tell me at least Dia made some arrangement.”
“I think you worry overmuch, my friend.” He leaned back with his cup. The mint water had cleared his mind, despite his lack of sleep. “I have yet to meet a woman I could not tame, and the Lapiths know me as their king, besides. I am chosen by Zeus himself.”
“Then I shall have to content myself with letting Antiope speak to your new bride. At least then we will know if she means to poison you or slit your throat in your sleep.”
“I had not realized you had brought your wife,” Pirithous said, frowning. “You did not leave her in the megaron, I hope?”
“Surely you do not believe Antiope would stand for it if I did?”
The thought of the Amazon queen running wild among his people did nothing to reassure him. Better to have Antiope sneering at him across the table than causing trouble among the men. Pirithous may have made his peace with Theseus’s choice of bride, but she still presented certain challenges as a guest. His men did not yet know what to make of her, and were liable to insult her without meaning to. He’d lost more than one good spear-man in such a way.
“Tell me at least she will not challenge the centaurs to combat over some slight.”
Theseus threw his head back and laughed. “The look on your face—oh, Pirithous. You need not fear. She is only in the kitchens, doing what she may for Dia’s final banquet.”
He allowed himself to smile at his own expense, any irritation at the jest overwhelmed by relief—and gratitude. Antiope would not humble herself for just any woman. “I can think of no greater honor to my mother, Theseus. My thanks to both of you.”
Theseus’s lips twitched. “Call off your women and we shall call it an exchange of kindnesses.”
Pirithous grinned. The wagering would be even more intense when the women learned Theseus knew of the game. It would make them all the more determined to claim the victory.
“For Antiope’s sake,” Pirithous agreed. “But only as long as she remains at your side.”
Perhaps he would turn one of the larger storerooms into a small megaron for private audience, Pirithous thought as he took his seat in the heavy carved chair that served as his throne. He did not trust the servants not to eavesdrop from the balcony overlooking the main hall, where feasts, rituals, and gatherings were held and justice dispensed.
Pirithous lifted his eyes to the open square above the main hearth, catching sight of several of the palace women leaning over the rail. Sun streamed down so brightly they had no need for a fire, but the hearth was always tended, its flame a symbol of the health of his lands.
Theseus settled himself upon a high-backed chair in the place of honor at Pirithous’s right, looking kingly in his blue linen tunic, embroidered with silver and gold horses at the hem and sleeves. Theseus had always looked the king, even without his crown, and Pirithous could not recall a time that the burden of kingship had weighed at all heavily upon his friend’s shoulders. For all Theseus’s advice that Pirithous approach this betrothal with caution, the king of Athens had always done as he wished—and Antiope was the proof of it. Theseus had risked even the curse of the gods by taking the Amazon queen as his wife, and there were times when Pirithous wondered how much persuasion had been required to keep her.
He smiled at the thought. The gods gave wonderful gifts with their ichor. Since he had discovered his own powers of persuasion and perception, he had never taken an unwilling woman to bed, and the difference it made to his own pleasure was marked. All it took was a hint of his own lust to light a spark in the hearts of his bedmates, which he then carefully nurtured with mouth and hands into flame. No woman left his bed dissatisfied, and soon enough, they needed no encouragement at all. Yes, his father had given him a very fine gift indeed, and if Theseus did not make use of those same divine gifts with his wife, he was as great a fool as he was a king.
“My lord,” the steward said, bowing low before him. “Centaurus and his party await.”
“Show them in,” he said, leaning forward in his seat. The better to catch sight, among the centaurs’ large hairy bodies and clopping hooves, of the woman he would soon make his wife.
Centaurus entered first, of course. Although Pirithous had met Ixion’s son a handful of times before, the appearance of the centaur king never failed to disturb him. He was a large, well-muscled man at first glimpse, naked save for a loincloth and sandals—but from his back extended the hindquarters of a horse, dappled gray and beautifully proportioned. The other three centaurs were not so alarming—more horse than man, for Centaurus had mated with true mares to breed them—with only the head and torso betraying what was left of their humanity. Pirithous had often wondered what might have resulted had Centaurus found a willing woman. But perhaps a woman could not have survived the birth of such a beast, for Centaurus’s children had all been born as large as foals.
Pirithous rose, one king to another, as Centaurus and his people approached the dais. He would not have anyone say he did not grant the centaurs all proper respect, nor would he give his people any excuse to treat them poorly. Not when he meant to take Centaurus’s adopted daughter as his wife. And where was the girl? Surely they had not come so far empty-handed.
Centaurus stopped, and though he did not bow, he nodded. “Son of Zeus and Dia, King of the Lapiths, of the valley and the mountain where we roam, we come to see your mother’s pledge fulfilled. In exchange for peace, we offer you our only daughter, blessed by the gods themselves.”
“Peace with the sons of Ixion was my mother’s last wish,” Pirithous said, his voice raised to carry into the balcony above the hearth. The megaron was full enough that word would travel swiftly throughout his lands. “As such, it has become mine as well, by this means or another. Let me meet this daughter, then pray to Zeus. If my father offers his sign and the augurs and omens agree, I will make her my queen.”
One of the centaurs beside Centaurus snorted, his hide a shining black and his well-muscled chest a rich brown from the sun. He scraped his feathered hoof across the tiled floor, nostrils flaring, and glared at Pirithous with eyes like coals.
“And no doubt the omens will prove ill if our Lady does not please your eyes?”
Theseus stirred behind him, and Pirithous felt his cousin’s amusement, though he did not dare turn to look. Instead of addressing the insolent centaur, he kept his gaze upon Centaurus. “If the sons of Ixion have no faith in me, I fear there is no purpose to any truce.”
“I swear to you, King Pirithous, it is not mistrust which provokes Eurytion, but love for our daughter. He has had the guarding of her from her earliest days, and protects her as he would his own foal.” Centaurus’s back hoof kicked out, catching the black centaur’s flank with a meaty thud. Eurytion stumbled, dancing sideways with a grunt and a clatter. “He allows his affection to cloud his judgment, that is all.”
“My mother, too, inspired great loyalty in those around her,” Pirithous said. He did not care for the way Eurytion’s eyes flashed. No matter what Centaurus said, there would be trouble there. “In a woman who might be queen, it is a blessing and a strength.”
Centaurus stretched out his arm, and a girl stepped forward, hidden until that moment by the centaur’s bulk. She was not so young as Pirithous had feared, though her brown eyes were wide and clear with an innocence belying her years. Dirt smeared her cheeks and the beds of her nails were darkened with mud and filth, but beneath the dirt and stained gown, her skin was clear and healthy and her body lit
hesome, with strong, shapely legs and wide hips. For all of that, he knew he could not be sure of the true color of her dark hair or her sun-darkened skin until she was properly bathed. Her bare feet alone were nearly black.
“King Pirithous.” She lifted her chin and met his eyes. “I am Hippodamia, daughter of Centaurus, and Tamer of Horses. In honor of your mother, I have come to forge a lasting peace between our peoples.”
Zeus help him. She looked as though it pained her to say the words, and the way Eurytion’s tail whipped against his flanks, eyes dark and lips parted, he feared he understood the reason why. That Eurytion wanted her for his own, Pirithous had no doubt. Whether the centaur had taken her already, and claimed her heart besides, he must yet discover. It was one thing to marry a girl, an innocent, to get an heir and strengthen the bonds of an alliance, but another thing altogether to take a bride who had already given herself up to a beast. She was as likely to slit his throat in their marriage bed as do her duty, and then there would be no peace at all.
Theseus had not been wrong in the slightest about the trouble she might bring him, though he hated to admit as much. Pirithous narrowed his eyes at the girl, refusing to turn his head to see his friend’s knowing smile.
One king to another, he would never hear the end of it.
CHAPTER THREE
Hippodamia
She had expected darker hair and an older face. Out of everything she had heard of Pirithous, nothing had led her to believe he would be so engaging. Even Eurytion’s outburst had not ruffled him. Without so much as a blink, he had turned the centaur’s insult to his own advantage. But after so long at sea, could he not at least have had a worn look about his face? Some hint of salt-scoured lines instead of an expression that spoke of laughter and good humor? No wonder Eurytion had bridled. After seeing Pirithous, she could hardly blame the centaur for his anxiety.
“You honor me, Hippodamia.” Pirithous certainly looked like a king as he bowed over her hand. Worse than that, he had the grace of one, pressing his lips to her fingers without any hesitation for the grime that coated them. Eurytion had worried what it would mean if she married Pirithous, feared she would fall in love with a man who would never return her affections, but it was not until that moment that she understood why.
Hippodamia did not so much as glance at her friend, shifting her gaze instead to the man who had risen to stand beside Pirithous. Tall and broad-shouldered, just like the king, with darker hair and bluer eyes. He took her hand when Pirithous let it go, and smiled.
“My lady queen has come to give you welcome to this hall, though she has been made busy preparing Dia’s banquet. It is our hope you will accept my welcome in her place. I am Theseus, King of Athens and son of Poseidon Earth-Shaker.”
“Son of the Horse Lord,” Gryneus murmured, behind her. She knew without looking that he had bowed his head, touching his fist to his silver-furred chest. Poseidon of the Horses was their most honored god, for without the mares of Magnesia, Centaurus would have had no offspring at all. It was a great shame Theseus already had a queen; not even Eurytion could have objected to a marriage to Poseidon’s son, and she could see in his face Theseus possessed a humility Pirithous had yet to discover.
She dropped to one knee before him, pressing his hand to her forehead. “I beg your blessing for my people, King Theseus, and upon my union with King Pirithous.”
“I dare not speak for my father, Princess,” he said gently, the pressure of his hand around hers urging her to rise. “Please, girl. You need not kneel to me.”
She rose obediently and met his eyes, the color of the sea. “It is enough that you speak for yourself, my lord, if you will give your blessing to our marriage.”
Theseus pressed his mouth into a thin line, his eyes dancing, and exchanged a strange look with Pirithous. “For whatever worth it might hold, you have it, Hippodamia. I can think of no better way to honor Dia than with this peace. But the decision belongs to the gods, not to me.”
“I am certain the gods will give a favorable sign,” Centaurus said. “Let us go to the shrine directly, that we might know their answer and see this matter concluded at last.”
Pirithous nodded, and it seemed to her as if he swallowed a smile. “I would not dream of delay.”
Pirithous insisted upon escorting her personally, expressing concern for her on the rough track to the shrine. Hippodamia did not think it appropriate to remind him she had spent her whole life on the mountain, tripping and traipsing after the centaurs on paths much rougher than the well-trod climb through the trees to Zeus’s altar. But when he reached to steady her unnecessarily, cupping her elbow or pressing his hand flat against the small of her back to guide her forward, her skin prickled and her cheeks flushed.
“It is not much farther,” he said, his voice low enough that it would not carry over the hoofbeats of her kinsmen. “But I do not think Eurytion will be so pleased to arrive.”
She nearly tripped over a tree root then, staring at Pirithous instead of where she placed her feet. “My lord?”
“It is clear he does not favor our marriage,” he went on, his gaze fixed on the path ahead.
She let out a breath, her stomach unknotting. “It is only as Centaurus said—he would not see me slighted. Perhaps if he were allowed to remain as my guard it would ease his fears.”
Pirithous’s hand tightened on her arm and he glanced at her sidelong. “As your husband, it is my duty to guard you. I hope you do not mean to imply I am incapable.”
“No, of course not! It is only—” She bit her lip, stopping herself. She must trust her father. Centaurus would never give her to a man who would abuse her, no matter what Eurytion believed of Pirithous. And it was not his fears which twisted her heart, besides. “Forgive me, please.”
Pirithous studied her openly for a moment, his hand gentling on her arm. “It is only what? If you fear me, I would know it now, that I might find some way to prove myself.”
“No,” she assured him, quickly. “It is not that. If you took me to wife only to treat me poorly, there would be no purpose to marrying at all. You would not dishonor your mother in such a way.”
His lips twitched. “I am relieved to hear it.”
She flushed at the dryness of his tone. “It is unkind of you to mock me.”
“Forgive me,” he said. “If I mock anyone, it is only myself. But go on, please. You still have not said what you fear, if it is not me.”
He gazed at her so earnestly, his storm-gray eyes searching and kind. If she had needed some proof of his nature, he could not have given her better. She had not expected his concern, or even his attention. No doubt Pirithous had more women than he could count, beautiful and practiced and happy in his bed. Taking another for his wife should have been nothing to him.
She should have been nothing to him.
“I have lived my whole life among centaurs, my lord,” she said. “And though my father has done his best to teach me, your people and customs are strange. Is it so odd that I might want to keep one friend at my side?”
“If he were only your friend, Hippodamia, I would not hesitate.” His hand fell away from her elbow and he glanced back at the others before going on. “But I am not so great a fool as to believe it is only friendship Eurytion wants of you. If peace is your purpose, surely it is not your intention to begin this marriage with betrayal?”
She stiffened and stopped, staring at him. That he could believe her so dishonorable, when she had given him every benefit, every consideration— “How dare you!”
“What’s this?” Theseus asked, appearing at her side. His expression was fixed with a smile, but it did not reach his eyes. “A lovers’ quarrel already?”
“There are no better words to describe it,” Pirithous agreed, his lips curving. He looked as though he might laugh, and it only outraged her more to see it. “But I believe we understand one another better now.”
Her nails bit into her palm, she had fisted her hands so tightly. To thi
nk she had believed him kind a moment earlier! But it had not been kindness that had prompted his interest, only his pride. She was nothing to him, after all, and the realization stung her all the more for having believed otherwise even so briefly.
“Yes,” she said, lifting her chin. “We understand one another much better now. And in fact, the mistake was mine. I will never be so foolish as to think you capable of consideration or kindness in the future.”
The laughter faded from Pirithous’s face, his eyes hardening to stone. “You might yet be spared a future at my side, Hippodamia, if the thought is so offensive to you.”
“Come,” Theseus interrupted, shooting Pirithous a warning look. “The shrine is only beyond those trees, and the gods will settle it soon enough. There is no worth in arguing at all until then.”
She let Theseus guide her the rest of the way, and for the first time since she had learned of the agreement and the part she must play to fulfill it, she prayed the omens would be ill.
Pirithous offered a kid to the old priest for sacrifice, but Hippodamia did not watch as the stooped man sorted through the entrails for some sign from the gods. Instead, she watched Eurytion, noting every stamp of his hoof, every shiver of his glossy black hide, every undisguised glare and insolent look when his gaze fell upon Pirithous. No matter the truth of his feelings or hers, she could see clearly why the king would not suffer Eurytion as her guard. At every turn he offered insult, and though Pirithous refused to take offense, it still wore upon what little patience and forgiveness the Lapiths had granted them.
“Even now you delay,” Eurytion sneered. “The auguries are clear. I saw the eagle myself as we traveled, but of course you would not trust the word of a centaur. And when the entrails do not give you the answer you seek, what then? Will there be another ritual that must be performed, another way in which you might slither free of our agreement?”
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