I gaped at him, stricken dumb and rooted to the cobblestones even as he returned my stare.
“Move, girl,” my grandmother hissed as she prodded me in the back. Across from her, Roxana had recovered enough to manage some semblance of a smile, but it was far from pleasant.
Yet I couldn’t very well refuse the command, nor could I stand here slack-jawed like a dead sea bass all day. There was no denying my relief that I wouldn’t wed Alexander with his mercurial moods and fiery temper. Still, to marry Hephaestion . . .
I crumpled the pleats of my delicate wedding robe in two fists and forced myself up the dais. I’d have traded my rock crystal to hear Hephaestion’s thoughts then, but his face was a mask, with no hint of the wink from earlier or his usual obnoxious smile.
I lowered myself stiff-backed onto the carved wooden chair, leaning as far away from Hephaestion as I could manage without falling on my rump.
“I swear on Zeus’ bolts that I don’t bite,” he whispered, the brush of his arm against mine making me suddenly light-headed. “At least not in public.”
And yet my cheeks burned as I remembered the marks his teeth had made on my neck in the Tower of Silence, and how difficult it had been to hide them from my prim sister.
Alexander reached over Stateira to embrace Hephaestion like a brother. “Enjoy picking her lock,” he said, loud enough for even Stateira and Parysatis to hear. My ears flared, for Hephaestion had already picked my lock, as Alexander so eloquently put it. “She’ll be fulsome and bidding as any wife after this night.”
Hephaestion snorted. “You mistake my bride if you believe that to be true.”
Alexander raised his cup to us, nodding to me reverently. “I’ve given you the greatest of wedding gifts,” he said to me. “For Hephaestion is the best man I know.”
“Then you must know few men,” I muttered, prompting a sigh from Hephaestion.
He moved to lift my veil to kiss me and claim me as his own, but I batted his hand away, removing on my own the haze of gold with a tinkle of coins, the sound of all the gods and goddesses of the world laughing at me.
I closed my eyes so he couldn’t read my thoughts, but Hephaestion scarcely pressed his lips to mine, a pale shadow of the passion we’d shared just once. He raised his goblet to the crowd, took a deep pull, and passed the cup to me amid further cheers.
I was a wife now, married to the man I’d already bedded in a fit of grief and lust. So why did my hands tremble like leaves and my heart thud in my ears? And why was I disappointed by Hephaestion’s lackluster kiss?
I startled as his warm hand closed over mine.
“I believe these vows are binding until Hades parts us,” he murmured in my ear. “There’s no getting rid of me now.”
“Then I’ll offer a newborn calf to your god of death tonight,” I snapped, prompting his further laughter.
Apama, daughter of Ariamazes, was married off next, followed by Barsine’s younger sister to Alexander’s general Ptolemy. Alexander drank from his goblet with each marriage and the common soldiers wed their Persian prizes in quick succession, but the swirling maelstrom of my thoughts drowned out all the words exchanged between the women and their new husbands.
“What did Alexander offer you to go through with this?” I finally asked Hephaestion as the last of the couples assumed their places. My hands closed around our goblet, a masterpiece hammered with images of cavorting winged lions. “A great ship filled with gold? A troupe of nubile dancing boys?”
“Actually,” my husband said, without looking at me, “a golden ship filled with naked dancing boys coated in gold dust.”
If I could have hurled daggers with my eyes, Hephaestion would have been a dead man a hundred times over.
He sighed. “Alexander wished me to marry and join his family to mine. In fact, he commanded that we set to work making his nieces and nephews this very night.”
“Nieces and nephews,” I repeated dumbly. The most important happening these past years at Susa had been the arrival of fresh peaches; the events of this day were coming too fast even for me.
Hephaestion nodded, expressionless. “At least a dozen of each, I should think.”
I had nothing to say to that, only flushed and shrank back in my chair. I sat in silence, remembering every kiss and caress from the Tower of Silence, while Hephaestion jested with Alexander and loaves of crusty brown bread were distributed. The bridegrooms withdrew the swords from their belts and cut the loaves cleanly down the middle. Hephaestion handed me my half with a flourish and tore off a hearty chunk with his teeth.
I forced myself to swallow, but the bread may have been milled with spiders and flies, or ground pearls and precious cinnamon, for all I tasted.
Alexander’s own loaf was split in three, for among all these men, only he had taken more than one wife today. He stood and spread his arms in a grand gesture of munificence, his purple cloak spreading behind him like imperial eagle wings. “May the gods bless today’s many unions. Those of you eager for your marriage beds are free to go, and with my blessing. We shall need hundreds, perhaps thousands, of midwives to catch all the babes that shall be born nine months hence!”
This was met with hearty laughter and jeers, although crimson flushes stained the high cheekbones of many of the aristocratic Persian ladies. Some were pulled from their chairs and picked up by their husbands to be carted off to Susa’s bedchambers and tents. My grandmother mounted the dais, whispered something to Alexander, and then ushered my sister and Parysatis from their chairs.
Stateira shot me a commiserating glance over her shoulder as she followed our grandmother, but soon she was gone and I was alone, watching the couples empty from the square.
I waited for Hephaestion to move, but instead, a woman in an exquisite sapphire blue robe and veil bowed before Alexander and then came to stand before us. Barsine’s face was rounder after she’d given birth to baby Heracles, but she was as regal as any queen. I hadn’t noticed her before the ceremony, and was relieved to see her now.
“Many blessings on your union,” she said, kissing my cheeks first and then Hephaestion’s, lingering there for an extra breath. For a moment I wondered if she too had succumbed to my husband’s broad shoulders and lazy smile, but then she pressed her forehead to mine. “Your grandmother must ready your sister for Alexander,” she whispered. “So I volunteered to attend you.”
I squeezed her hand in appreciation, thankful for her calming presence.
“You may meet us at your tent, Hephaestion,” she said. “Return before the sun kisses the horizon.”
“Banned from my own tent on my wedding night,” he grumbled, running a finger along the rim of the wedding goblet. “I knew I shouldn’t have traded Aphrodite for Hestia.”
“That was your choice,” I said, my voice sharp. “Not mine.”
I tried to replicate my grandmother’s dignity as I stood, but failed miserably as the chair scraped loudly over the stones. Part of me thrilled at the thought of what was to come, for I’d experienced Hephaestion’s prowess with bed-sport firsthand. The other part was consumed with such anxiety that it seemed as if a demon had lodged itself in my stomach.
Barsine tutted under her breath once we’d left the square. “Do you know what I think?” she asked.
“What?”
“I think the lovemaking between you two is going to be earth-shattering.”
“Barsine!” I exclaimed, but she only laughed and pulled me through an alleyway to Susa’s main gate, where many enterprising vendors had set up carts of dried fruits and roasted nuts. Beyond that, a handful of royal pavilions had been erected since this morning.
“I can tell just by watching the two of you,” she said, her voice lilting with merriment. “You’d as soon tear each other’s clothes off as strangle each other.”
Our lovemaking had been earth-shattering and my knees gr
ew weak at the thought of Hephaestion’s solid chest beneath his robe, though I’d never admit as much aloud.
Hephaestion’s tent was situated to the right of Alexander’s massive campaign pavilion with three smaller tents surrounding it like moons, one for each of his wives. Hephaestion’s canvas was larger than my chambers in Susa, its white panels striped with orange like the rays of the rising sun. My brow furrowed to see that my yellow dog was already tied outside and he barked in greeting at our approach, his tongue lolling from his graying muzzle and his tail wagging happily. Barsine must have read the question in my eyes, for she only smiled. “Alexander’s wives have their own tents, but you’re to share with Hephaestion, at least for now. Your grandmother ordered your things sent over during the ceremony.”
Not for the first time, I cursed my grandmother’s efficiency.
My dog jumped up on me, decorating my silks with dusty paw prints, but I ruffled his ears and kissed his muzzle before stepping inside. The tent’s interior walls continued the white and orange pattern and there were shelves and crates of books everywhere. I recognized my cedar toolbox near the door and my chests of robes. An ornate copper lamp hung from the center, illuminating the golden braziers, the low table, and the eating couches. I ignored the wide bed beneath the lamp with its plush mattress and elegantly woven bedcovers.
Behind me, Barsine cleared her throat. “Sit,” she said.
“What shall you do now?” I asked as she removed the golden veil from my hair. I wondered whether it had pained her to watch Alexander take two wives today, an honor he’d never offered to her.
Barsine answered, “My father and I shall retire to Pergamum now that Alexander no longer requires our services. My son is well cared for, but Alexander has made it plain that he wishes him to be raised away from his court, so as not to muddy the succession.” She coaxed several strands from my intricate knot of hair and twined them around her fingers before arranging them loosely down my back.
“You’ll garner respect wherever you go,” I said, “the woman of a king and mother of his son.”
“I prefer it this way,” she said. “A quiet country life away from the intrigues of court shall suit me. After all, no one cares about an aging mistress and her bastard son.”
“Take me with you?” I asked feebly, but Barsine only smiled.
“You’ll be happy with Hephaestion,” she said, dimples cleaving her cheeks as she smiled. “If you let yourself, that is.”
She nodded toward a package wrapped in pale silk the color of clotted cream and tied with a bit of string. There was a tag attached with my name written in both the flowing Persian script and blocked Greek letters. “I believe that’s for you.”
“From Hephaestion?” She nodded, and I poked the package. “It’s probably a viper or scorpion.”
Barsine laughed. “Open it!”
I removed the silk wrapping and revealed a carved box, a work of art in its own right with its flock of hook-beaked Homa birds along the edges. But the contents of the box were the true treasures.
Barsine peered inside as I lifted the lid. “Is that an ax?” she asked in the same tone she might have used if it were a pile of dung. “And a chisel?”
I nodded and removed the tools with more reverence than if I were holding baby Heracles. Hephaestion’s gifts were plain and utilitarian, lacking embellishments of gemstones or gold. Yet their blades were different from the iron I was accustomed to, likely some strange sort of metal he’d encountered while on campaign. “Hephaestion knows my penchant for tinkering,” I said.
“Either that or he wished to provide you with the weapons for his own murder,” she quipped, motioning for me to stand before her. “He’s a brave man.”
I replaced the tools in their box and spread my arms so she could unclasp my golden girdle and remove my outer robe with its dusty paw prints. I let her finish preparing me, then squeezed her hands as she kissed my forehead one last time. “Be kind to him,” she admonished me. “You might surprise yourself with how happy you can be with Hephaestion, if only you’d stop sniping at him long enough to find out.”
I sat alone on the bed once she’d gone, staring at the olive and laurel branches hung over the doorway—a traditional Greek wedding decoration—but within moments Hephaestion ducked inside as if he’d been waiting for Barsine’s exit, his sheer size suddenly making the tent feel cramped.
“I see you found your gift,” he said, his eyes flicking to me in my diaphanous robe before darting away as if he felt scalded or repulsed. My heart fell. He gestured to the ax and chisel, saying, “They’re Damascus steel, harder than any iron.”
“They’re lovely,” I said, wishing I could duck into an old robe and stuff my elephant hide hat over the perfect curls Barsine had rendered. I felt like a half-dressed fool for all the notice Hephaestion seemed to take of me. “I don’t have a gift for you,” I nearly growled.
Of course I didn’t have a gift for him, considering I hadn’t known I was going to marry him when I woke that morning.
“I’ll take the fact that you didn’t demand to marry someone else on the dais this afternoon as my gift.”
“Was that a choice?”
He ignored me to rake his hands through his thick hair. The beginnings of black stubble darkened his jaw, although I noted a few gray bits had crept in. “If you’re not careful, Drypetis, I swear you’re going to make me regret asking for you.”
“What?” My eyes widened. “Why would you ask for me?”
“Because against my better judgment I wanted you!” he answered in a rush of frustration. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Coming from the man who insults me at every turn?” I stood now, flustered and angry. “The same man who has made my life a living hell since we first met outside my father’s tent at Issus?”
Hephaestion’s face darkened like an oncoming storm. “Would you prefer that Alexander asked which woman I wanted from Persia’s stables and I offered to take you to spare him the trouble of breaking you? Do you prefer that version?”
My heart juddered hard against my breastbone. “Would you like to measure my teeth to make sure you made the right choice?”
“What I’d like to do is gag you,” he said. “But I have a better idea.”
Before I had time to react, his lips were on mine, hard and demanding. My hands came up to push him away, but a burst of heat exploded below my belly at his touch, spreading to my fingers and toes like bolts of flame so that it was impossible to care about anything save the scent of his skin, the magic of his hands, and the intoxicating taste of his lips.
I wanted him. By Mithra’s eyes, I wanted him more than I had in the Tower of Silence when I’d felt so lonely and empty that I’d wanted to die. And I could have him.
“It’s time for bed, wife,” he murmured, his warm lips tracing the delicate skin up the base of my throat and making me shudder with pleasure. “Don’t you dare argue or I’ll drag you there myself.”
“Shut up, husband,” I said, pulling him down onto the bed with me, my lips managing to find his even as I loosened the kamarband of his robe with impatient hands. “You talk far too much.”
And Barsine was right.
It was earth-shattering.
CHAPTER 20
Susa, Persia
Hephaestion
I’d anticipated my bride gouging my eyes out on our wedding night, or at least threatening to embed her new ax in my skull. Instead, Drypetis surprised me, so much so that I planned on repeating several of those surprises when she woke.
I had no water clock with which to mark the time, yet I lay on the plush bed listening to my wife’s even breathing in the flickering lamplight. Zeus help me, but I grinned like a besotted idiot then, recalling the gasps of pleasure I’d teased from her full lips and the way she’d pulled me deeper inside her. Her fearless approach to lovemaking had been th
e same as if I were one of her machines, experimenting until she found just the right place and correct use for her fingers, her mouth, or the slick cleft between her long legs. The simple remembrance made me grow stiff with wanting again, and I almost roused her awake so I could push us both beyond the heights of pleasure once again.
Instead, I stood and poured a goblet of wine, swirling the crimson liquid before taking a deep draft. Drypetis lay on her side with her hands folded beneath her sharp chin and her knees tucked up under her. The bronze lamp above cast enough light to accentuate the sweep of her lashes against her cheek, her barely open—and slightly bruised—lips, and the curves and valleys of her breasts and hips beneath the silk coverlet.
Drypetis had changed since those first days after Issus. She was still temperamental but no longer the knob-kneed, reckless girl responsible for the wild chariot escape at Gaugamela and attempts to foment revolts in the streets of Babylon. The years of captivity in Susa had filled her out, softened her body if not her temper. I pushed a stray tendril of hair from her forehead and smiled as she swatted my hand away in her sleep.
And it struck me then that in all my thirty-two years, I’d felt this overwhelming pull for only one other person.
Alexander.
It was damnably inconvenient that no matter how many singers Alexander murdered or how many cities he burned down, I would always love him. And he would love me.
Yet there was more to life than just Alexander. . . .
I stood silently, drinking in the sight of Drypetis until I could stand it no more. I crouched naked beside the bed, letting my hands wander while teasing her nipple with my mouth through the thin silk coverlet, feeling it turn hard and taut even as she groaned with pleasure.
“It’s cold,” she whispered, her eyelids fluttering as she opened the blanket for me, revealing the glorious length of her naked body. “Come warm me.”
I knew not what the future would hold for us, but I knew one thing for certain.
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