Reports came in daily of whole villages being burnt down to ash and entire cities being plundered and mercilessly wiped clean of its inhabitants. But none thus far had been able to place a positive description of the beast. The descriptions had come. Alas, each description had differed vastly from each other.
Eris suddenly spotted Kyra. She occupied the high balcony together with other great lords and ladies. Of course, the queen occupied the spot right beside her. Kyra sat not within the shelter of the shade provided by the great canopy but remained standing against the guard rail, in the sun. Her hair, neatly plaited and piled high on her head, shone like a precious jewel under the shimmering golden rays. He heaved a deep sigh of relief. She had overcome her injuries quite deftly. The only physical evidence of his loss of control was the slightly darkened area on her throat surrounding the marks of the fangs—his markings. For no logical reason, a surge of pride and fierce possession swept through him.
His eyes narrowed in speculation. The point she sought to drive home as she languished against the rail with a cooling goblet of wine was not lost on him. He recalled the last time he had seen her on that very balcony. She stared down at him defiantly, daring him to repeat his prior feat. Eris, however, had no wish to mount the walls yet again and vault over the railing. By all accounts he preferred to keep his distance from her. He could not resist giving her a mocking bow, however.
She must know by now her own foolishness in the misunderstanding of her eavesdropping. Another would have strove to duck their heads in embarrassment but not Kyra. Oh no. She thrust her chin arrogantly up and stared down the length of her nose at him with no sense of remorse, no shame. She carried herself as though all around her were beneath her, like she was the queen herself.
Eris turned his attention back to his opponent. The lad tested the lighter weapon by flicking a few dangerous arcs into the air. The delicate but lethal blade swished through the air with audible slices. Eris smirked. At least the boy seemed to be more proficient with the razor and this would not be an entirely wasted venture. He swung the weapon of his choice, the sickle, around in swift circles, rotating his wrist with practiced expertise. The circles spun on, whizzing, unending, in a blur of motion. He could not see the expression on the youth’s obscured face, but his posture spoke volumes. He now stood stiff and erect.
The boy charged, heedless of the swinging of his own weapon. Eris ducked, not only to protect his heart from the advancing razor but also to divert the blade of his weapon. The lad was daring and fast but much too eager. He sought to win with not a thought to his own health. Eris ducked out of the way once again as he repeated the plunge forward. Eris raised his sickle and, in a lightning-fast slice, looped the angular curved blade around the razor. He paused only to allow the stunned boy a mocking grin before flicking his wrist up and wrenching the razor out of the boy’s hand. The razor fell to the ground. The boy stared at it in disbelief. Eris taunted him, “Return to your home, lad, to suckle the bosom of your mother. This arena hosts only men, not boys wishing to play the role.”
His teasing was met with a savage roar. The lad grabbed his weapon and charged, once again with no caution and little care for his life. Eris knocked the blow away without much effort. The arena had come to life around them. The spectators were not cheering and shouting encouragements. The movements marked their disinterested leaving. Eris grunted. They had also realized the foolishness of their belief. This boy could not possibly be the great threat they awaited. He cocked his head to the side. “Know you not what would happen to a little pup before wolf?”
The boy wiped his hand over his sweaty forehead and replied with a question of his own, “And know you not that a great wolf can be felled by little fleas?”
Eris laughed. “But what would you pit against a snake?”
The lad answered curtly, “Man.”
Eris grinned mischievously. “However, that is a crossing you have yet to make, boy.”
Eris knocked the razor from his hand once again. “Tell me, little man, why do you challenge me? Challenge you, a little worm, for the elite position of a great snake? Your time may come, but it is not now. I have no wish to severe the life of a virgin who has yet to taste the breast of a women who is not his own mother.”
His remark fueled the boy’s anger. He slashed haphazardly at the air, uncaring that his vision was blinded by the helmet as he gritted out, “I fight for the hand of my true lady love. I shall see you dead before you abuse her ever again.”
Eris stared at the boy, puzzled. “You seek to raise my ire by screaming challenges through the streets so that you may have a playmate? You are either very brave or very rash. But either way very foolish. I do not recall tangling the sheets with any babe young enough to garner your interest. You have a case of mistaken identity.”
The boy panted heavily under his fruitless attacks, but he strove on. He grunted out, “There is no mistake. She is no lass, nor babe. She is a woman, full bodied and lush, and she shall suffer no more at your hand. I shall save the fair damsel and claim her as my own.”
Eris allowed the boy to continue his erratic attack. He said simply, “Then lay claim to this maid with womanly curves you seek. I stand not in your way.”
The boy stopped abruptly. He pushed the helmet up and peered through the narrow gap. “Truly? You wish to surrender your claim on her and acknowledge me victor?”
Eris bellowed out a great laugh. “Truly. Now go forth and pledge your undying love to your lady love and return to the folds of your mother. Mayhap this young woman shall return with you and tutor your awakening as a man.” The boy blinked. Eris could clearly see the indecision in his face. He prodded him on, “Go on then. Call to your love and let us take our leave of this baking sun.”
The name tumbled off the boy’s stunned lips at first in a whisper. “Kyra.” Before he could shout it more loudly, Eris grabbed him. This youth spoke of Kyra. He fought for his Kyra! He spun the boy toward the balcony and ripped off his helmet. It came away with a startled squeal from the lad. Eris searched Kyra’s face for her reaction. Nothing. She showed not a flicker of recognition. He held the boy’s head stiffly within his cupped hand and faced him firmly toward her. She showed no reaction at all.
Eris was unsure how to proceed. He had to find out if this boy knew of her past. Had this lad come in response to the message sent to the land of Pandora? He kept his eyes trained on her, evaluating her features for any sudden recognition as he asked, “How know you of Kyra? Where do you hail from?”
Before the lad could still his tremors at the sudden change in Eris’s attitude and find his voice to answer, Kyra acted. Eris stared at her. But it was not the reaction he awaited.
She dipped her two fingers deep into her goblet. Maintaining eye contact with only him, she lifted her fingers and deliberately licked the tips. Her eyes glimmered mischievously, searing in his as she plunged her two fingers deep within the crevice of her tight, hot mouth and sucked decadently. Eris’s nostrils flared. His breathing grew harsh. His body grew tight and rigid. He watched, mesmerized, as her fingers slid slowly out of the wetness, glistening with moisture. His shaft pulsed and strained beneath the constricting bands of material holding it imprisoned between his thighs. He hissed.
The boy remained still long enough to realize that this was his chance. He raised his razor and pierced Eris’s side. It took Eris a moment to recognize the attack. His attention was fully occupied. But as soon as he realized the pain in his side had nothing to do with lust ravaging his body, he reacted. He pushed the boy away. The razor, still firmly in the hand of the boy, and submerged in his own side, ripped a jagged tear toward his back. Had the angle been better or the strength of the lad’s hand greater, this would have been a mortal wound. However, the blade had not pierced too deep into his skin, only enough to draw a fair amount of blood.
Eris yanked the boy up angrily, knocking the razor free of his grasp. He raised the boy high, allowing his feet to dangle free of purchase. Th
e weight of the armor lifted with the occupant as easily as would a feather. He held him elevated for a long length, enough to witness the widening of the boy’s eyes and the opening of his mouth in a silent scream. He tossed the boy to the ground. While his body had landed on the soft earth cushioning the ground, his head unfortunately struck against an area of unforgiving, tightly packed earth. The sands sucked greedily at the blood seeping from the wound at the back of his head, staining as many grains as it could in the glorious crimson. The boy lay still, his face ashen, pale. Eris roared in rage. This innocent boy had suffered at his hand. His anger had been misdirected.
He looked up at the railing of the balcony. All eyes were focused on him, wide and unsure. But the source of his anger was nowhere in sight. He roared his anger to the heavens. The snake upon his chest raised its head and hissed. The passageways shook with the echoes of his savage roar. “Kyra!” The snake was awake, and it sought only one thing—to hunt.
* * * *
Kyra gave a startled gasp as the queen advanced but remained adamantly mute.
The queen sighed and sat beside her on the garden bench. “That was really not well done of you at all, my dear.”
Vasiliki Akantha assessed her. Caution was clearly evident in her eyes. Kyra stared back at her steadily. If the woman thought she was about to flee again, she would be greatly mistaken. Kyra had had her share of cowardice for the day. Finally the queen appeared to understand this and relaxed against the stone. Kyra returned to her perusal of the overflowing wild flowers and lush greenery around them. The tranquil sound of a sparkling stream flowing close by filled the air with soothing, hushed tones.
“You have managed to find a remarkable spot of sanctuary for one who does not know the lay of this land so well.”
Kyra scowled at her. “I had to make do with what I could find. I could not find your temples.”
The older woman nodded curtly. “We keep our sacred places of worship well secured. Had you been able to stumble upon it by accident, I can assure you, you would not have been allowed admittance.” She sighed heavily. “For some reason, through the history of this people, the people of my noble husband, whenever an enemy was sent forth from the bowels of Tartarus, the underworld, under the command of the dreaded Cronus, they always sought out the temples and places of worship first. They acted so in order to first vanquish the hopes of the people before totally destroying them.”
Kyra kept her gaze stubbornly uninterested. She had expected the queen to demand an explanation regarding her undue interference in the battle that had taken place in the arena. But the older woman seemed to have simmered down. Kyra was thankful. She could think of no appropriate explanation for her earlier actions. Simply to irk Eris was not an appropriate reason at all. But an innocent had paid for her rash actions. Before she could consider her next words, they slipped from her lips. “Is the boy well?”
Vasiliki Akantha smiled indulgently. “There was never any question of his health. The snake’s strike is lethal, but it is always just. The boy rests and will awake in the morning with a raging headache.”
Kyra’s shoulders slumped in relief. She had stayed long enough to witness the spilling of blood before her fleeing feet had urged her away. Eris’s cry of outrage had followed her through the hollow hallways, resonating and vibrating in rage. She whispered, “Perhaps there was no doubt in your mind, but I have been on the receiving end of the snake’s strike. There was nothing just about that.”
The queen stared at her. She blinked in surprise. “Do you really believe Eris acted purely on his surrendering to his baser needs? That he chose the path that resulted in your hurts?”
Kyra sighed heavily. She levered herself up from her seat. Her body ached from uncomfortable stiffness resulting from the many hours she had sat still. She paced impatiently, allowing the blood to flow freely into her numb limbs to alleviate the pinpricks of pain piercing her feet. She strode also to alleviate some of the frustration and aggression that simmered and broiled within her. “What else am I expected to feel toward a man who has hurt me? His actions were not an act borne of lovemaking but of inflicting pain and seeking to instate his masculine dominance.” She turned furiously away from the queen and shook her head. She stared at the far-stretching horizon, strewn with vast plantations of golden crops, as parts of the fields darkened in the shadows while others glorified in last dredges of this day’s rays. Her voice left her in a whisper, devoid of the heated anger of her earlier words. “He did not give but simply took. That is not the art of lovemaking.”
“As to that statement, I find it totally unbelievable. Are you being honest to me when you say you derived no pleasure at his hand? Are you truthful with yourself when you utter that you derived no passion by his lance?” She tittered in disbelief. “Mayhap you could fool one who is less apt in the art of lovemaking. However, you speak not to such at present. I was one of the first whom Sappho called out to for assistance, and what I witnessed cannot be denied. Bruised and battered you may have been after that session in the bathing chamber, but pale you were not. Even in sleep, the heated flush of contentment kissed her cheeks. Besides, the screams that had echoed through the hallways prior to his marking of you were quite lusty.”
Kyra blushed at the queen’s words, but she argued nonetheless, “Asleep I was not but put into that unconscious state by a man who could have easily killed me.”
The queen nodded. “But he did not.”
Vasiliki Akantha joined Kyra at the edge of the garden. “You speak of the incident as though you were the lone victim, Kyra.”
Kyra bristled. “And was I not? Pardon my ignorance, but as I recall it was just me who lay abed, wounded and fevered for days.”
The queen kept her gaze straight ahead as she replied, “You lay abed a complete four days’ span. Eris would have been abed just as long were he not forcibly awoken. Kyra, Eris was abed two days as well. He spent most of his wakeful hours outside your chamber. The medicine women refused him admittance, but he stayed at your doorway until he was satisfied by your recovery.”
Snorting inelegantly, clearly unimpressed, Kyra argued, “Then that was of his own hand. At whose door could he have possibly laid the blame at?”
Vasiliki Akantha turned to her suddenly. “The beast.”
Kyra frowned at her in the dimming light. She was not about to allow the callous actions of a man be dumped upon a mere marking on his person. The beast indeed! She hissed in impatience. “And should I choose to mark myself with the juices of the henna plant with the mark of a tiger, it would give me plausible excuse to ravage those around me? Speak not of the beast as a living thing, capable of controlling the actions of its possessor. Eris acted of his own accord.”
The queen shook his head patiently. “Did he indeed? I will tell you something, Kyra. You may choose to believe as you will. Eris was as much a victim that night as you were. What transpired is something new to you, but it is a blessed occurrence for the legends calling themselves gladiators.” She watched Kyra with shining eyes as she reached out and touched the tender wound at her throat. “He has marked you.” Before Kyra could ask for an explanation, the queen grabbed her arm. Her hold was not harsh, but it remained firm. “Come. I shall show your eyes what your ears refuse to accept.”
* * * *
The pathways they followed were twisted and narrow, riddled with shadowed passages and cold stone walls. Kyra lost her sense of direction after what she assumed was the fifth right turn. She clutched the torch she held in uncertainty. The queen she followed without question could wish her harm. There was no real warmth between them, and Kyra could be effectively removed from existence without anyone being the wiser. Her footsteps slowed in indecision. Was she walking heedlessly into a trap?
“Come along. We are not far from our destination.”
Kyra watched as the queen moved forward without pause. Surely if the woman had wanted her dead she would not have to be so specific about location. She could have carried ou
t the deed many turns ago in these dank, deserted tunnels without a single pair of eyes to witness the crime. Kyra swallowed down her trepidation and stepped after the fast-disappearing figure. Furthermore, she surmised, should she lag behind, she would surely be lost, possibly for all eternity.
Finally they reached a solid wall. Kyra stopped and scowled at the barrier. The awaiting queen smiled faintly and disappeared into a darkened corner. Kyra quickly held her torch high and desperately searched for her. Her heart began to pound in her chest. Was this the plan then? Was she to be left here, deep in the tunnels of the palace, to wander the rest of her days aimlessly lost? She surged forward after the woman. She would allow this to happen. But just as her torch lit upon the queen, who hadn’t gone far at all, and noticed her hand withdrew from a dark corner in the wall.
A rumbling sound rang out, deafening and terrifying. Kyra covered her ears and stared at the wall before her. It moved. She screamed as the movement picked up speed. Was she to be buried alive?
But the walls did not close in on her. They did not trap or secure her. They opened. Kyra stared in wonder. The queen had not sought to plot some nefarious deed against her after all. The doors before her stretched wide and high. The yellow solid gleam could only mean one thing—gold. Her fingers trembled as she reached out and stroked the cold, smooth surface. The sight of her tiny hand on the great structure reminded her of looking upon an ant on the bark of a massive oak. She felt immediately diminished in size. She stared in awe as she caressed the panels in wonder.
The older woman stepped up to her side. “Wondrous, is it not?” She also placed her hands flat against the surface. But she did not caress, she pushed. “Help me, Kyra. This door of solid gold will not budge unless your lend aid.”
Tangles and Temptation Page 7