The Year-god's Daughter: A Saga of Ancient Greece (The Child of the Erinyes Book 1)

by Rebecca Lochlann

  “Refreshing, you mean?” Aridela lifted an eyebrow as though daring her companions to disagree.

  If only, oh, if only Aridela were the oldest. How easy the transfer of power would be.

  The four raced each other, laughing, clambering over boulders, ducking beneath branches, into golden sunlight then back into green shadows. They found the spot where the stream pooled, shady at the edges with overhanging trees and wild myrtle, sunny in the center, where darting fish could be seen. They stripped off their girdles and tunics and leaped in, frightening a couple of frogs. The hound, wagging its tail, jumped in with them.

  “I look forward to a bath and my bed.” Neoma rolled onto her back, her breasts thrusting from the water like pointy-tipped islands.

  “Lazy,” Aridela said. “Why did you come with us, then?”

  “Someone has to convince you to give up this madness you’re plotting.” Neoma righted herself and gave her cousin a brow-lifted, challenging stare.

  “The hand of Athene directs me,” Aridela said, but she looked wary.

  “That’s your answer to everything. Defying Themiste will turn the people against you.”

  Aridela shook her head. “No. That won’t happen.”

  “You’ll sneak out and mate with any man who finds you, against the command of the Minos. You know, Aridela, once you open your legs for a man it cannot be taken back. You’re only mortal, no matter what you might think.”

  “I have no intention of lying with a man.” An unreadable smile played about Aridela’s mouth. “If the Goddess guides one to me, then I’ll know it’s what she wants. If none appear, then Themiste’s order will be satisfied and I’ll know Potnia herself wants me to descend into the cave shrines and shrivel like a walnut.”

  “You don’t mean to tell anyone where you’re going?”

  Selene noted the furious stare Aridela sent Neoma. Something was going on. Neoma had knowledge of something Aridela didn’t want known. And of course Neoma would use the power ruthlessly.

  “Minos Themiste and our mother have forbidden it,” Iphiboë said. “But you’ll do it anyway. You have no fear, not of Minos, not of Athene. I’m grateful, Aridela, but I fear the trouble it will cause. I’ll be blamed.”

  “A queen has to be bold, Iphiboë, not fearful,” Aridela said. “That’s why, at the next bull dance, I mean to enter the ring.”

  Iphiboë and Neoma gasped in unison.

  How neatly she changed the subject from the grove rite. Selene almost laughed.

  “Not again, Aridela,” Neoma shrieked. “Have you forgotten what happened last time?”

  The water was so clear that Selene saw Aridela press her palm to the crescent-shaped scar beneath her ribs— a permanent reminder of her first and only bull dance.

  “I still have the dream,” Aridela said. “I leap over the back of a huge black bull. Everyone cheers. I’m covered with flowers. It’s come even more lately. Potnia is telling me to try again, and I mean to follow her guidance.”

  “You aren’t trained,” Selene said, but even as Aridela turned toward her, she knew what the princess would say.

  “I’ve been training secretly with Isandros.”

  “This is going too far,” Iphiboë cried.

  “The only better way to serve Athene would be for you to join the bull dance, as Kaphtor’s next queen.” Aridela no longer tried to disguise her annoyance.

  “I would never defy our mother’s commands. She’s forbidden the bullring to both of us.”

  No, Iphiboë would never do anything daring or rebellious. Aridela would always be the one to seek magnificence. It was she who possessed a queen’s boldness.

  The task Helice laid upon Selene’s shoulders was heavy, yet it occurred to her as she clasped Iphiboë’s arm and drew her away from the others that Helice never entertained the idea of Aridela and Iphiboë changing places. Helice believed her eldest daughter would overcome her aversion and exceed herself. She and Aridela saw strength within Iphiboë no one else could.

  “Blessed Iphiboë, who every woman emulates,” Selene said. “Do you know how they dream of living your life, at least for a day?”

  Iphiboë shivered. “If that’s true, they’re fools. Common people marry as they please, yet I must bond with stranger after stranger until I’m dead.”

  “Who will be the strongest, swiftest of men, princes all, heroes, in heart if not bloodline.”

  “Don’t try to trick me with those children’s tales. I cannot make the smallest decision for myself, even to whom I give my own body, or who fathers my children.”

  “That isn’t so.”

  “If women truly knew my life, they would thank the Lady they aren’t me.” Iphiboë’s defeated shrug sent water rippling. “Which one will succeed? What will he be like? A dirty potter boy with clay in his hair? A toothless, stinking old man?” She stared into the twined forest, no doubt picturing the ugliest, smelliest men imaginable.

  “Iphiboë,” Selene said, “you know an old man cannot win. The Games are demanding and difficult. The winner will be young and strong. He’ll be charming, elegant, and courageous. Just think back to your mother’s consorts. Has any one ever been repulsive?”

  Iphiboë didn’t seem to hear Selene’s logic. “They don’t see me— not me. Only what they’ll gain. The jewels, the crown, the fame. They wonder how much pleasure they’ll have off me. They want me to bear their offspring.” She turned her head up and stared blankly into the forest. “If only I could give my life to the rites and worship.”

  Selene put her arms around Iphiboë’s shoulders, kissed her on the temple, and smoothed the princess’s wet hair off her cheeks. “A man can give as well as get pleasure, you know. Your mother must have felt much the same in the beginning as you do. Since then her confidence has grown; she has loved and enjoyed many royal males.”

  “And put them to death,” Iphiboë said. “It seems wrong somehow.” Fleeting guilt passed through her eyes at Selene’s shock, but she went on stubbornly. “The people are told my purpose is great, but never has Potnia given me signs as she has my sister.” She broke off to gaze at Aridela and Neoma, who were laughing as they tussled and splashed each other. “Lightning didn’t strike anything when I was born. Lady Athene sent no visions or prophecies about me. If Themiste sees a successful reign in the smoke and entrails, she hasn’t told me. You know as well as I that Aridela would make the better queen.” Tears filled her eyes and one trailed over her cheek. “All Kaphtor knows it.”

  “They want to believe in you.” Selene kissed the tear, tasting the salt of it. “Show them how strong you are. Wasn’t it Minos Charmion who named you Iphiboë, ‘Strength of oxen?’ She saw it in vision. These things do not come about by happenstance.”

  Ah, the way Iphiboë gazed at her, with such ardency. Her brows wrinkled as she examined Selene’s words. Iphiboë wanted to be brave and wise, loved by everyone in the same way as Aridela. Somehow, Selene vowed, she would help her achieve that, now that she heard the longing in her voice, saw the despair on her face.

  But she must be careful in her choice of words so the poor girl wouldn’t be overwhelmed.

  “How do I do that?” Iphiboë asked.

  “We’ll find a way.” The faint yet singular snap of a twig sent Selene’s attention to the trees lining the bank. “Did you hear something?”

  Iphiboë followed her gaze. “Many creatures live in the forest.”

  “True, yet…. Is someone there?” she called.

  Her voice echoed. Silence followed, as though even birds and insects paused to listen.

  “I’m imagining things.” Selene pulled Iphiboë toward the bank. “Put these troubles from your mind. Only Immortals see the future. Have we not honored Potnia in every way? Tomorrow will come, and the day after. I will stand with you. I’ll be there, at your side, as will Aridela. We love you. We’ll never leave you to make even the smallest decision alone.”

  Iphiboë rewarded her with a tremulous smile.

&nbs
p; They climbed out of the pool, shivering. Neoma continued to swim with the hound, splashing it in the face, laughing when the dog growled and snapped at the water.

  Evening fell. Aridela built a fire. They roasted a hare and begged Selene for stories.

  “When I was little,” Selene said, “my kin traveled to yearly festivals on the strand by the sea.”

  All three turned eager faces to her.

  “The tribes came together. We built bonfires and feasted on game and fruit. We shot targets with our arrows. The fittest among us stood upon our horses’ backs and leaped from one to another while they galloped in the sand. I miss horses.”

  Her audience made sympathetic noises. Horses came but rarely to Kaphtor, and were always taken away again. The people of Kaphtor preferred to get about by litter.

  “Many brought wild animals they’d caught and tamed.”

  “Yours was a falcon.” Aridela leaned forward, fondling her dog’s silky long ears. The firelight made her eyes shine. “Tell us how it became your friend and killed game for you.”

  “When I found her, her foot was broken.” There was a glow about the child. Aridela could never know how much it hurt Selene to speak of that green, fertile land on the shores of the Black Sea. Yet underneath the pain, Selene felt such fierce love course through her that she realized it was worth the price of leaving. She belonged here, with this wild, moon-blessed girl. Sometimes she exaggerated her stories to prolong that expression of entrancement.

  “No, tell us about lovemaking,” Neoma said with a giggle. “About men.”

  Selene smiled. “There was a village of farmers not far from our home. At the rites of spring, or whenever our tribe needed babies, we visited them on the night of the full moon. We lay with the strongest. I remember my first. He was tall, his shoulders wide from his labors. The first time I took part in the rites was the year I left my home to come to you. He was gentle, and smelled sweet as new-cut hay. Many wanted him so we couldn’t linger, but as I left, he spoke his name in my ear. ‘I am Polygonus,’ he said, ‘and I will remember you.’”

  Iphiboë’s dark eyes were fixed on her.

  “I’ve never forgotten him,” Selene added.

  Aridela’s dog scrambled to its feet. Ears cocked, it stared into the forest.

  “What is it, Taya?” Aridela asked.

  The hound, with a gruff bark, leaped forward, its form ghostly as it vanished into the trees. They heard another bark as the dog gave chase to some beast.

  “She’ll return when she tires of running,” Aridela said.

  “What of sex?” Neoma giggled again. “Tell them what it feels like. They’re always pestering me about it. I’ve told them it’s indescribable, and someday they’ll know for themselves.”

  Neoma was silly, a troublemaker. Selene often wanted to wring her neck. She sensed Aridela’s annoyance, though the princess made no comment. Neoma acted superior about everything she experienced before her cousins, who were far more sheltered. She’d first entered the grove rite four years ago, and gleefully lorded it over Aridela at every opportunity.

  But the important thing right now was Iphiboë. “Oh, yes,” she said. “With the proper male, lovemaking is wondrous.” It can be a nightmare with a clumsy or selfish lout. May the Lady spare you that, Iphiboë.

  “And the birthing?” Neoma asked.

  Phrygia’s birthing customs would only reawaken Iphiboë’s dread. “It’s late,” Selene said. “Time to rest.”

  “No,” Neoma and Aridela cried in unison.

  “You think I’ve forgotten?” Iphiboë said. “I’ve heard your stories before.”

  Selene replied, “Our women give birth with courage. Those who die are honored as heroes.”

  “Any who cry out from pain are dishonored, their babies put to death,” Iphiboë said in an accusatory tone.

  Aridela peered at her sister, frowning. “What’s wrong with you? Selene’s customs are not ours. When you have a child, you may scream as much as you wish. Bring down the pillars of Labyrinthos if you want.”

  Iphiboë bit her lip and turned her back to them, yanking a fleece over her head and pulling it tight under her chin.

  Aridela poked at the fire with a stick. It flared, illuminating tiny flames in her eyes. “Selene, on the night we go out with Iphiboë….”

  “Yes?” Selene prompted when she didn’t continue.

  “I’ll meet you at the entrance to the tunnels. Do you know where I mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “From there we can go wherever we want without being seen. I believe Potnia wants us to go into the Cave of Velchanos. Three times I’ve dreamed this in the last month.”

  Iphiboë pulled the fleece off her head.

  “That’s too far to walk,” Selene said, “but I could bring a cart.” She tilted her head as she pictured it. “Only a male guided by Athene would even think to look there, so far from the palace.” She paused. “Do you agree, Iphiboë? Shall we go to the Cave of Velchanos? Perhaps there, we will meet the destinies woven for us before we were born.”

  “I think the three of you are crazy,” Neoma said, pompous as usual. “No man will ever wander so far in the night, not when there are willing women right outside the walls of the palace. And those caves are sacred. You know how men fear such places. You’ll spend the whole night alone and bored, the queen will be angry and disappointed, and Iphiboë still won’t know what all the fuss is about. It’s a terrible idea.”

  “I think you’re wrong,” Aridela said, “but if the night grows old and no one comes, we can return early enough to find a man for Iphiboë in the oak grove.”

  Iphiboë covered her head with the fleece again.

  The fire mesmerized them into meditative silence. Neoma fell asleep. Iphiboë lay wrapped in her blanket, staring at the flames. Selene pondered her duty, Iphiboë’s problem, and this land she loved. Shadows crept closer, eating up the ground as the fire subsided into a quiet crimson eye. Night breezes pricked the tree branches and rustled the leaves.

  You’re the same the world over, Mother Athene, no matter what title people use. On the mainland you rule with white-armed Hera, Mistress of the Games; here you’re Eleuthia of the Fertile Womb, Dictynna holding the Nets of Plenty, and Lady Britomartis of the Wild Beasts. You’re Potnia and Gorgopis, She of Many Names, whose face shines in the moon. In my homeland you are Mâ, the Mountain Mother. You bring the dew and the sun, and you see all that will happen. If only Iphiboë would trust you. What man will you send her? Please make him kind.

  The waning moon, still gibbous, left speckles of ivory upon the leaves of the oaks. Selene touched the miniature silver dagger hanging at her throat, a parting gift from her mother and the only memento from her childhood. “Twelve years have passed since I last stood upon the soil of my homeland,” she murmured, “yet I clearly remember the day Kaphtor’s royal messenger landed. Your mother’s envoy gave us gifts of precious metal and praised our tribe as she recounted stories she’d heard of the strength and courage of our warriors. Would our queen, my mother, consider sending someone she trusted as a teacher for Iphiboë, Kaphtor’s princess? This woman would be treated with honor and respect. My mother chose me, fifth of her seven daughters. Royal, yes, which Queen Helice would expect, but unnecessary.”

  She closed her eyes, breathing in not campfire smoke but the sweet scent of pine forests in her native land.

  “You’re necessary to us.” Aridela clasped Selene’s hand.

  “Yes.” Iphiboë grabbed her other hand.

  The hound returned, a hare dangling from its bloody jaws. It flopped down on the far side of the fire and nosed its trophy.

  “You took the best side, selfish Taya, away from the smoke.” Aridela said. The dog merely glanced at her before returning its attention to the dead hare.

  There was a faint hum. Something like insect wings brushed Selene’s cheekbone. The surrounding trees seemed to bend toward her, speaking into her ear in ticklish vine-like whispers. Her spine
shivered and hairs rose on the nape of her neck.

  When Aridela is blinded to truth, then will she need you, Selene of Phrygia. Guard and protect her when she takes the throne of Kaphtor, no matter which paths she chooses, for she follows the will of her Mother. Her role in this world must not be thwarted.

  Selene leaped to her feet, seizing her bow and an arrow from the ground. She searched the shadows as she lifted the bow and notched the arrow.

  Taya, whining, crouched low, hackles lifting. Backing up several steps, it turned and ran off, tail between its legs.

  Aridela whispered, “What is it?”

  Neoma rolled over, sighing, but didn’t wake.

  “I’m not sure,” Selene said.

  Iphiboë peered in every direction, keeping her blanket close around her head as though it could protect her.

  Aridela stood, bringing her bow with her. “You heard something?” She, too, notched an arrow.

  “A voice, telling me to guard you.” Selene methodically pointed her arrow in each direction. The back of her neck shivered; she felt as though they were being watched.

  “From what?” Aridela asked.

  “I don’t know,” Selene said impatiently. “‘Protect Aridela,’ this voice said, ‘when she takes the throne of Kaphtor.’”

  “Who said this?” Aridela kept her voice low. “Did you fall asleep? Was it a dream?”

  “No. It was the grass. The air. The trees.”

  Aridela stared at her.

  A premonition touched the back of Selene’s neck, bringing her around, bow lifted and ready, before she realized what startled her.

  Iphiboë.

  Humiliation grimaced the princess’s face. The shock of betrayal. She scrambled to her feet, clutching her fleece, and fled into the darkness after the dog as Selene cursed herself for the words she’d so thoughtlessly uttered, and ran after her.

  * * * *

  The nearby firelight reflected something in Menoetius’s eyes that Chrysaleon had never before seen. Such confusion— no, pain— demanded Chrysaleon’s wary regard and pulled his attention away from the tableau. He stared at his brother, trying to decipher something he wasn’t even certain he’d glimpsed.