Tamer of Horses

by Amalia Carosella

  His hand balled into a fist beneath the water. “Antiope speaks much too freely.”

  “She offered herself to me,” Hippodamia said, conscious of the tension in his shoulders, and the cords of muscle standing out upon his arms. “I was not certain the way of it, but much that you did last night could be done by a woman, too. And Antiope cannot be without her own skill in the matter.”

  The water reflected the flash of white-fire in his eyes, and the ceramic cracked beneath his hand on the rim of the tub. When he lifted his gaze, she flinched at the heat of it, the fury and power all directed at her. “Do you think I cannot satisfy you? That you will be so neglected you must turn to a woman for release?”

  “If you are taking your pleasure elsewhere,” she managed, her voice much too thin, “how will you see to mine?”

  He growled, the sound sending a tremor down her spine, and then she was thrown over his shoulder, the movement so fast she knew nothing but a blur of light before his shoulder dug into her stomach and the blood rushed to her head. She pounded against his back, clawed, scratched until blood beaded on his skin, but Pirithous only threw her down onto his bed.

  “Perhaps you need more proof of what I might offer,” he said, half-tearing the kilt from his hips. “A reminder of the pleasure I gave you last night. Or would you have more? The priest says we must wait, but perhaps I would prefer no son at all to being cuckolded after his birth.”

  She scrambled to right herself, to find purchase in the mess of bedding beneath her. The edge of the bed lay just out of reach, and she twisted toward it. Pirithous pulled her back, his body hovering over hers and she brought her leg up. Antiope had sworn he would not force her, but the savagery of his words…

  Her knee connected with his groin.

  “Cronus’s stones, girl!” he gasped, rolling away.

  She struggled upright, for he had fallen to his back, but when she glanced at his face, there was no sign of pain or discomfort, no mark of suffering. His eyes were bright gray with mirth, and when he saw her face he laughed aloud.

  “Unmanning me is no way to get what you want, but you will have to strike me much harder than that to accomplish it, all the same.” He tucked one hand beneath his head, and she followed his gaze to the proof of his words, for his desire had not softened at all. The twist of fear in her stomach melted with another low chuckle. “Tell me again you’d prefer a woman in your bed.”

  “A woman would not frighten me so,” she murmured, shifting away from him. “I thought for a moment—”

  “No,” he said. “Though I admit, my anger got the better of me.” He fell silent for another heartbeat, then two. “Forgive me, I beg of you. It is only the thought of another man between your thighs, or worse, Antiope—if you wish a woman in your bed, I would give you one of mine, but not her, Princess. I cannot stand to lose what little affection you might have for me to her.”

  She shook her head and looked away, for all the pain he had not shown when she struck at him now lined his mouth and eyes. “How can you not see that it is no different for me? I can never be sure of your affections when you leave my bed to return to the arms of one of your lovers. And if they give you a son before I do—if the only children I bear are girls—do you not see how difficult it would become?”

  He stroked a tendril of damp hair from her face, tickling her ear as he tucked it back. “My sacrifice would be your burden, little mouse.”

  “I did not satisfy you.” The words slipped from her lips before she could stop them, broken and heavy in the air. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back. “That was why you left.”

  He barked a laugh, his hand falling away. “Is that what you think?”

  “What else?” she rasped, her throat too thick. She could not cry. Would not.

  He sighed. “Foolishness and pride, Princess. For I am more stubborn than a mule, and more dimwitted than an ox. But I swear to you, I slept alone, though I ached for your sweet mouth and clever hands.”

  “Then why…” The night was a blur of pleasure and need. His mouth lighting fire to her body, his fingers stoking the flame. And she had been near to sleep when he had left her so suddenly.

  Pirithous sat up, frowning out the window. His room was much the same as hers. A large bed and low benches ringing the walls, with a round hearth in the middle, and a table nearer to the door with the remains of a meal, hastily cleared, and stools arranged for guests. Beneath the window, a golden tripod held a basin of water, and a pitcher and towels waited on the bench beside it. His linens were pale blue, and when he shifted, she caught the scent of lavender. Odd that she had not noticed the smell of it before, for it clung to his skin, mixed with his own musk, like dry earth struck suddenly with rain.

  “It seems your companion has arrived at last,” Pirithous said, rising to lean against the window ledge.

  She frowned, jerked from her thoughts. “What?”

  “Your centaur chaperone. Hylonome, wasn’t it?”

  “Hylonome?” Hippodamia stumbled from the bed to join him at the window, and Pirithous shifted to give her room. Had it been only three days ago that Centaurus had brought her? It felt as though a handful of moons had waxed and waned already, and the sight of Hylonome cantering up the path to the palace gates made her smile.

  “Hylonome!” she called, leaning out the window to wave. If she ran, she might be able to meet her at the gate. Hylonome would help her choose the horses Pirithous had promised her. The best of his stables. She spun, intent on her goal, but Pirithous made a strange noise, like a strangled laugh.

  “Wait, Princess!” He caught her elbow, pulling her back. A flick of his wrist and he had wrapped her modestly in one of the linens from the bed, his eyes laughing. “Unless you wished to run naked through the corridors? That is your choice, of course.”

  She flushed. Among the centaurs, she would have thought nothing of it, but she had forgotten he had pulled her from her bath, forgotten she was among a different people, with different customs, forgotten everything but Hylonome.

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  And then she ran.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Pirithous

  He stayed at the window, listening to the startled shouts of the servants as Hippodamia sprinted through the palace corridors, then the nobles as she burst outside, clutching the bed sheet to her chest, dark hair loose and streaming in the wind. She was light as a deer on her feet, leaping over a stray dog that threatened to trip her without so much as altering her stride.

  The wind carried her voice as she called out again to her friend, full of more joy than he could ever hope to give her. She launched herself at the centaur, paying no mind to the limitations of her makeshift dress, but Hylonome caught her and reared, lifting them both into the air in a spin made all the more impressive by the centaur’s size. Hippodamia laughed, clear and sweet and distinct, and the horses within the palace walls all lifted their heads, ears pricked.

  He could not make out the words they exchanged, but Hylonome set her down, and they turned toward the stables. Hippodamia cast one odd glance back at the palace, her gaze sweeping up from the wide porch to the windows until she met his eyes. Her expression cleared almost at once, a smile breaking across her face instead, so brilliant his breath caught. She pointed to him, and Hylonome lifted her head, but he could not tear his gaze from Hippodamia.

  This was the woman who would be his wife, his queen. And one day, he promised himself, she would run to meet him at the palace gate. One day, she would throw herself so carelessly into his arms, trusting him to catch her, full of the same excitement. And when she looked at him, it would not be with the reflection of joy for another’s coming. It would all be for him.

  One day, he would have her love.

  “You did not tell me this centaur-woman was coming,” Antiope said when she joined Pirithous for the mid-day meal. Hippodamia had requested her own meal sent to the stables, where she and Hylonome had spent th
e entirety of the morning. Choosing horses, according to Machaon. Pirithous would have preferred to help her himself, but he dared not impose himself now. Not when all he wanted was to take her back to his bed and finish what they had begun earlier.

  “So Theseus does not always share everything with you, after all,” he replied, leaning back to let a servant pour his wine. “It’s almost reassuring to know the truth of it at last.”

  Antiope’s eyes narrowed. “Jealousy does not suit you at all, Pirithous.”

  “Is it jealousy to wish my bride undisturbed by your advances?” he said, keeping his voice mild. “I suppose among the Amazons there is no precedent for a happy marriage, but I do not believe it begins by giving a man’s wife the idea of taking lovers.”

  “I merely offered her an answer to her concerns. Did you know the centaurs mate for life? Once a male marries a female, he will mount no other. They even follow one another into death, they are so strongly bonded. The poor girl was raised to believe in marriages made for love, and then given up to you at the last, to suffer one indignity after another by your hand.”

  “I have treated her with nothing but generosity since she was given into my keeping,” Pirithous said. But he could not quite keep from frowning, his gaze traveling toward the stables he could not see. Instead, he saw his steward making arrangements for the evening banquet. Feeding a centaur at his table was hardly ideal, but he saw no way around it, and he would not have Antiope and Hippodamia hiding themselves away again. He only hoped Hylonome was as reasonable as Centaurus.

  One mate for life. It certainly gave perspective to Hippodamia’s objections.

  “She is as afraid of loving you as she is tired of hating you,” Antiope said. “And so she should be, the way you’re likely to trample over her heart. Do not think I don’t know how you shamed her before the priest and her father. Even if she had taken some lover before you, or given her affections elsewhere, it is no business of yours. All that matters is that she came to you willingly as a bride. Surely a son of Zeus needs nothing more than that!”

  He grunted. “Perhaps if I meant to use my father’s gift to persuade her against her will that would be all I required, but what good would that do me during the months I am away raiding? Each fall when I return home, she would hate me all the more, and as queen she would have the power to destroy my people in revenge.”

  Antiope sneered. “Men! Always you think of force first, as if imposing your will over hers is the only answer. From the first moment she wanted to love you, and fool that you are, you punished her for your inability to see! Had you accepted her at once, with a bow and a kiss and a smile, you would not be fighting so hard to win her now.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he admitted softly, remembering her response to him on the plain, and the things she had said after. She had dreamed of a king she might love, and instead he had offended and insulted her. But he had needed to know she was committed to peace, to her people, to him. He had needed to be certain she would not cause more trouble, for Lapiths and centaurs both.

  The cost had been high. But it was not insurmountable. She had softened, and only waited now for him to do the same. It was not as though he did not understand what it was she wanted from him in return.

  “All the same, Antiope,” he went on, “if you would do me the favor of not seducing my bride, I would be in your debt.”

  She snorted. “Then perhaps you might repay me with a horse from your stables. You never did give me a proper wedding gift, after all.”

  “A most expensive favor,” he grumbled.

  But then he smiled. A visit to the stables was just what he needed, and Antiope had given him the excuse.

  Hippodamia sat upon Podarkes’s broad back, her feet tucked up nearly beneath her bottom. The stallion’s thick tail had been braided, and Pirithous sighed. Of course she had chosen his best stallion for her own.

  “Pirithous!” Her smile flashed brilliant and warm, and a moment later she had vaulted from the horse’s back, leaving Hylonome among the horses. “I had hoped you would come. Are there any rooms on the ground floor where Hylonome might be made comfortable? She does not need much more than a straw pallet upon the floor, but I would not have her stabled like a horse.”

  “Of course,” he said, signaling a stable boy to deliver the message to the steward. “I confess, I feared you would insist on housing her within your own room.”

  “Hylonome would never be comfortable so high up in the palace, and there are far too many stairs for a centaur to climb.” She frowned slightly. “Will your people think less of her for it?”

  “Not at all,” he assured her at once. And all the better for his own plans to have Hylonome elsewhere for the night. Centaurus could not have believed his daughter would remain untouched until her wedding night, but Hylonome was bound to take offense whether he invited Hippodamia to his bed or took another.

  “I thought I might stay with her tonight,” Hippodamia went on. “This is all so strange to her, even more than it is to me, I fear, and all the harder for how soon it comes after her own marriage.” Her gaze slid to the mountain. “If I had known, I would not have asked it of her. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been to leave Cyllarus behind, even for these few nights. And he must be half-mad, pacing the tree line, anxious for his mate.”

  He glanced up in spite of himself, frowning at more than just the image she painted of Cyllarus. A half-mad centaur so near to the palace could not be ignored. Peace or no peace, he did not trust the creature to keep its wits. He ground his teeth and returned his gaze to Hippodamia, her soft brow furrowed and her eyes dark with guilt.

  “Send Hylonome to fetch her husband,” he said. “Better to have Cyllarus bedded down with his wife within the walls than outside them, frightening our people with his bellowing all night long.”

  “But Antiope—”

  He smiled. “Antiope can hardly fault another female for loving her husband. And I would have you in my bed, besides.”

  Her head snapped back to stare at him, surprise, outrage, and pleasure all mixing together into a muddle of confusion. He spoke again before she could settle on a response, angry or otherwise.

  “How else can I be certain you are not tempted to bring another to your bed? Until you have given me a son, it is clear I must keep you satisfied in mine.”

  “And after our son is born?” she asked.

  “It is my hope we will reach some accord when that time comes, agreeable to us both.”

  She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing, but he did not miss the flash of relief that flooded through her body, nor the confusion that followed. “I would think upon your offer.”

  He bowed. “Come to me tonight and I will know you have agreed to it.”

  She bit her lip and turned her face away. But he already knew what she would say and he had no need to press her, to negotiate further. Not yet. And she would not press him either, too unsure, anxious that he would withdraw the offer altogether.

  “Go to Hylonome, Hippodamia. Fetch her husband and return. The rest will wait.”

  For a breath, she hesitated still, then took one step back to Podarkes, two, three. Her fingers wound into his mane as she clutched the base of his neck, and then she stopped, glancing back.

  “Among the centaurs, I was called Mia.”

  “Mia.” The name tasted sweet as a kiss upon his tongue.

  She leapt upon Podarkes’s back, and rode off, calling to her friend.

  Pirithous grinned. Housing two centaurs in the palace was a small price to pay, and with any luck, he would have a son before the next summer solstice—provided he kept control of himself these next few nights. Because she would come to him, he was certain of that. She would come, and he would teach her every pleasure he knew, until she dropped to sleep half-dead from exhaustion, and then he would wake her with more of the same as the sun rose. He would sate her into delirium and leave her too tired to so much as think of any other in her bed.

/>   He went in search of Machaon and a horse fine enough to gift to Antiope that his bride had not already claimed.

  His Mia.

  Night would not come soon enough.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Hippodamia

  “So he is not as cruel-hearted as Eurytion would have us think!” Cyllarus said, grinning down at Hippodamia after she had extended Pirithous’s invitation. “I should have known the son of Dia would have more sense.”

  “He has sense enough,” she agreed, leading Podarkes behind her as they started back down the sloping path to the palace. “But he’s stubborn as a stallion scenting his first mare. And far prouder.”

  Hylonome snorted, nearly prancing in her joy to be with her mate. “A true son of Zeus.”

  “Centaurus said the Horse Lord’s son stood as witness to your betrothal,” Cyllarus said.

  “He did,” Hippodamia agreed, trying not to see the way Cyllarus looked upon his wife. She flushed to see his arousal, though it had never embarrassed her before. Centaurs hid nothing of their emotions for their mates, and lust and desire were as natural as childbirth, but she had never known quite so well what came as the result. She found her thoughts straying to Pirithous—his mouth on her body, his fingers teasing her until she cried out, aching for more.

  “Mia?” Hylonome prompted, and not, she realized dimly as she shook her head to clear it, for the first time.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “Theseus is very noble. A true son of the Horse Lord. His wife has been very kind to me as well. An Amazon daughter of Ares, Antiope.”

  And kinder still, had she wished it. Hippodamia frowned slightly. Should not Pirithous have been glad that she would take a queen as her lover, and not just any woman? But it had offended him nearly as much as if she had spoken of a man. Not that she truly wished to take a lover at all. Pirithous had more than satisfied her, awakening a hunger she had never realized she possessed. And if he wanted her in his bed, and her presence there kept him from bringing his other women to it instead, perhaps by the time their son was born, he would be satisfied just as fully. But he had not promised to take his pleasure only from her. Nor had he extracted such a promise from her, in return. More and more it seemed to her his generosity did not extend beyond rich gifts, and if he believed he could simply buy her forgiveness with gold, silver, horseflesh, and pleasure…