by YatesNZ, Jen
Eyes clouded with visions, her sire was estimating her value to him. She'd always known she meant no more to him than any other Child of the Dragon but it had never occurred to her his lack of feeling would go so far as to consider her a mere instrument of profit.
The seed of rebellious self-determination already sprouted, strengthened. She'd find and cultivate that cold and mercenary part of him that was embedded in her own psyche and ensure what she was called upon to render was worth the prize. He'd also been trying to penetrate her thoughts. She knew by the tightening of the deep lines across his forehead.
‘For what was a Princess of the Realm put in solitary confinement?’ he demanded as if she'd mentioned nothing else.
The resentful fire of injustice blazed in her belly but as quickly as it flared, Gynevra extinguished it and returned her sire's inquiring stare with a flat, hard one of her own.
‘I stole my sister's Goddess essence by going out-of-body with King Cadal Isidor during the first Joining of the Gods in the Spring Fertility Rite.’
The King raised one dark brow. A hint of censure smoldered in his gaze but Gynevra maintained the high tilt of her chin and the steady modulation of her voice. She'd not admit to guilt or shame, however darkly it burned within her.
‘I was in solitary confinement for one tonn and during that time learned absolute control over my mind.’
A small, hard smile curled the perfectly sculpted mouth common to many Sons of the Blood, then the King grudgingly conceded, ‘You learned well, it would seem.’
He considered her lingeringly, and when she continued to stare uncompromisingly back, he said, ‘I hear impressive reports of your healing powers, Princess. I'm told but for your skills, the Prince of Trephysia would be lost to us.’
She knew he was trying to get her off balance so he could penetrate her defenses, but she'd created an invisible shield of energy from which his probes bounced like arrows off stone walls. The longer she held the energy the stronger it became.
Showing herself unfazed by his ignoring of her request she inclined her head and said, ‘Healing comes from the Goddess, Sire. It's universal energy. I'm merely the channel through which it flows. Nor was it his time to go. If the Gods had decreed otherwise, nothing I did would've made any difference. Thanks are due only to the Universe, to the Gods.’
‘It's being taken care of. However, we also thank you, Princess. You will accept a Gold Dragon as recognition and appreciation from your King and the realm.’
Dipping his hand into a gilded box proffered by a courtier, he withdrew an exquisite golden dragon that breathed ruby fire and hung from a circlet of beaten gold.
Unprepared for the honor he was bestowing upon her, tears she'd refused to shed in anger or bitterness came perilously close to the surface. Almost, Ianthe was able to pierce her mind. Slamming her inner gates against the intrusion she was rewarded by a whitening around her mother's lips and a smoldering light in her fine dark eyes. She'd be wanting to remind her daughter of the prophecy and her daughter didn't care if she never heard of the breara prophecy again. Bending her knee, Gynevra leant forward to allow the King to fix the precious accolade round her neck.
He was about to speak as she arose when his eyes fixed on the tiny obsidian bull, which slipped from the neck of her gown.
With a smile that made Gynevra shudder to her toes, he asked, ‘Why do you hide that which should be worn with pride?’
Pushing the bull back out of sight, Gynevra glanced at Ianthe's expressionless face, drew in a breath as if to answer, then stilled. After all what was she to say?
‘Do you not realize you've joined with the greatest warrior Atlantis has ever known?’
‘I do, Sire.’
The King clearly expected her to say more but knowing the less she said on the subject the better, she remained silent.
‘Do you not understand the honor of that?’ he demanded.
‘I don't believe honor actually came into it, Sire.’
A small part of her wanted to laugh at the thought of honor in connection with that joining in the grotto, but the far greater part of her suddenly wanted to weep oceans for a sister lost, a lover scarcely known. Neither emotion could she indulge, but must close her heart lest it compromise her mind.
Her father's virescent gaze smoldered over her silently for some time, then a slow smile blazed across the regal features that reminded Gynevra suddenly of Gotham whose smile had ensnared every priestess who'd come within his orbit in the Healing Temple. It had that same luminous, entrancing quality designed to entirely disarm its recipient. She was neither disarmed nor enticed to drop her defenses.
‘There was honor in it for him at least,’ the King persisted in a knowing drawl. ‘Such elaborate black obsidian light-tokens are rare—and there are many who wear the black obsidian light-token. You and he would seed magnificent Dragon cubs. Do you wish to unite with King Cadal Isidor?’
Gynevra couldn't allow herself even a fleeting vision of how life might be with the mighty warrior of Nyalda. Her feelings where he was concerned were far too volatile.
‘No, Sire, nor he with me. Though he has pledged me his siring services should I require them.’
The regal eyelids drooped a little, hiding the knowing eyes.
‘Are you seeded by him now?’
‘No, Sire. I’m a priestess. I may not—’
‘A pity,’ he interrupted, waving her to silence.
Over the hum of comment that broke out Ianthe leaned forward, and in a cold, imperious voice said, ‘I would speak.’
King Ahron turned and stared at her for a moment, one eyebrow slightly raised.
‘I'm sure your comments are of no consequence, Lady, since the Princess has indicated her desires which are obviously contrary to your own.’
Gynevra had never seen Ianthe treated as anything less than a supreme being and forgot herself enough to imagine sharing the sight with Phree and Mery, then cursed at the inner pain. What was she doing here when she wanted nothing so much as to bury her head in her clagren and cry?
What she was doing, a calm inner voice reminded her, was claiming her future and the only way to achieve that was to eschew the past, which now could not be changed. Her future depended on how she acquitted herself in the present. Firmly closing her inner doors yet again, she looked directly at the Archinus. Two spots of color rode high on her cheeks and a spark of fury lurked in the depths of her eyes but she appeared completely calm and unaffected by the King's repressive comment.
‘She must continue studying at Qrazil to eventually take my place as Archinus,’ she stated coldly.
‘You can't be asking me to believe you train only one initiate to Archinus capability?’ the King scorned.
‘No, Sire. But we have to remember the respected Lady Electra's prophecy—‘Should the line of the Archini of Poseidonia descended of her bloodline be broken, then would Atlantis cease to exist’.
‘Electra was on her deathbed, her mind sick and wandering,’ Ahron noted scathingly. ‘I'll have no commerce with the dead making rules for the living. There’s another female child of your line, is there not?’
Ianthe nodded, nostrils flaring slightly but showing no other sign of reaction to the King's rebuke.
‘Alienor, sired by Prince Gotham. She’s nine years old.’
‘Does she show any aptitude?’
‘Perhaps. But Gynevra has the gift of sight, as did Lady Electra and already she’s held in high esteem by the priesthood generally for her healing powers which are nothing short of phenomenal in one so young.’
Words of praise were rare from the Lady Ianthe's lips, such fulsome ones unheard of. Gynevra dropped her eyes, and her heart, to the floor. The Archinus would play every string to her lyre as it were, to achieve the music of her desire.
Fight or submit were her only choices and whoever heard of a Child of the Dragon submitting?
Caressing the golden dragon at her throat and the obsidian bull below it, Gynevra rai
sed her chin and looked her sire straight in the eye. The energy of gold carried balance and positivity; useful enough in this situation but the vibration of obsidian encouraged clear-thinking and plain-speaking. Obsidian also offered protection against negative energies. Her resolve wasn't wavering, but Gynevra knew she’d stand little chance of achieving her objective should she be faced with the combined opposition of the King and the Archinus. He must therefore know her decision hadn't been lightly reached, nor would she be moved to change it.
‘What is your plan for your Life Path, Princess?’ he asked, his voice spuriously gentle in an attempt, Gynevra understood, to breach the formidable facade of the Archinus.
Recognizing the importance of the moment, Gynevra allowed her vision to turn inward, the dreams to unfold as they had so many times during her Life Path meditations.
‘As a Daughter of the Dragon, I'm well endowed with the desire to mate,’ she stated, knowing this wasn't a time to wrap facts in pretty euphemisms. ‘I know I need more than the infrequent sterile altar couplings available to the Archinus. I wish to join my life with a Son of the Dragon, to experience life outside the Temple. At the same time I believe I could continue to be a healer and undertake the Initiations into the Deeper Mysteries which would enable me to hold the position of Archinus should it ever become necessary.’
‘Is that possible?’ the King asked, turning to Ianthe.
‘It's not been done since Electra‘s time. An initiate commits her whole life to the study of the Mysteries. Training and practice is on-going over many years, which has been my own path. As each Mystery is mastered there’s another waiting. You know yourself, Sire, one must constantly practice with the powers learnt, or they’ll be lost again, just as an athlete must continually train to remain fit.’
Ianthe's voice was hard and unrelenting.
‘But we don't know it can't be done,’ Ahron persisted cunningly. ‘A daughter of the Paramount King and the Archinus of Qrazil, who's also a grand-daughter of the inimitable King Isidor and great-grand-daughter of the legendary Electra, who at a mere seventeen has achieved the status of hexad, must have greater potential than any other. Think you not, Lady?’
‘I don't feel comfortable leaving the fate of our people to such a chance,’ the Archinus almost snapped.
‘So, you believe Electra's words to be more of a curse than a prophecy,’ the King stated sharply.
‘No!’ Ianthe's denial was quick. Too quick? ‘The Lady Electra wouldn't have done such a thing.’
‘But you're asking me to overturn the Law which gives every Atlantean the free choice of Life Path, to use my authority to force Princess Gynevra to accept a Life Path of your choosing? The Law is as old as our beginnings, Lady. You wish me to overset it?’
Eyes locked together, King and Archinus communicated silently as if there were no one else present. Gynevra longed to know what passed between them but knew better than to try to intercept the thoughts. Her hexad brain would probably fry from the excess of energy. It was plain however, from the way the King's lip curled and his eyes smoldered that he wasn't happy with Ianthe’s response, however privately delivered.
Just when it seemed they'd spend the rest of the afternoon locked in ocular combat, the King spoke, his voice as soft as the breeze riffling the wall drapes and as cold and hard as the stone of the walls.
‘Only the Princess has the choosing of her Life Path. She has stated her desires. So be it. However, Princess Gynevra, since you have the potential to become a great Adept we request that you agree to share alternate quarters of the year between the Temple and your sacred partner. This would be a condition of your contract.’
The silence following the King's ruling was taut and brittle. Gynevra immediately sank gracefully to her knees, bowed her head and said, ‘I so agree. Thank you, Sire.’
‘The most suitable Sacred Partner for you, after King Cadal Isidor, is Prince Gotham of Trephysia. I believe he'll go no more into battle on account of his wounding. Therefore the logical next step for him would be to take a Sacred Partner, return to Fyr Trephyr and prepare for the time when he will rule. Would you have us approach him in this matter?’
Gynevra swallowed against the leap of her heart. It was becoming more and more difficult to maintain a state of emotionless control. She'd not dared to think gaining her objective would be so easy. Or so cruel.
‘Ta’a, Sire.’
With that one word of assent she'd added crime to crime and severed forever any hope of reconciliation with Phryne. Not only had she stolen her sister's Goddess energy but she'd now agreed to take as sacred partner the one man Phryne deeply desired.
‘Lady Ianthe, you will request the Prince’s presence here tomorrow. If he accepts the proposition then will you need to take steps to ascertain he's still capable of functioning as a sire. His injuries came close to putting that in doubt.’
‘As you will, Sire. Will that be all?’ Ianthe's eyes were black and totally expressionless.
‘Until the Autumn Joining of the Gods when I expect to meet you on the altar in the Plaza, Archinus. It's time the people were reminded of the power of their Great Ones.’
In the act of rising, Ianthe froze for the merest breath, quickly gathered herself and smoothly dipped her head in obeisance. As they backed from the room Gynevra noted an evil gleam brightening the depths of her sire's green eyes. That the Archinus threatened his power was obvious from the way he took every opportunity to belittle her, and in what better way than by ordering her to perform in the most public of the altar festivals now her body was past its youthful perfection?
It was the first time Gynevra had seen the Lady Ianthe bested in any way. The Archinus had sold her soul for the power of her position, yet before the King she was as powerless as any other subject. As if she gazed through a mirror to the future, Gynevra saw herself as she would be in years to come if she followed Ianthe as Archinus. What purpose all the knowing and spiritual power, if she could still be pre-empted by the King? Better by far to have no face to lose.
More determined than ever to break free of the Temple she lifted her head, straightened her spine, and marched from the King's Receiving Hall amidst her retinue of ladies before the Archinus could regain her composure enough to waylay her. Maintaining a semblance of control had cost her dearly. She needed to hide herself away in Ist's Grotto for a while to replenish her armory for the days ahead.
What she hadn't counted on was the Archinus ignoring her completely, as if she'd ceased to exist. And though Gynevra couldn't find that her movuon had made an actual decree, within the walls of Qrazil her power was absolute. Even those who'd acted as her retinue now turned quietly away.
She was alone indeed.
King Ahron had decided to make the occasion of his daughter's union with Prince Gotham, heir to the throne of Trephysia, more than just a celebration. It was to be a show of his regal eminence. The entire royal house of Poseidonia had been transported by sumptuous imperial barge to the City of Glass, capital of the far western Province of Trephysia.
Built on the gradually rising ground of the northern bank of the River Trephyr, the crystal light shining from within the great glass structures had caused them to shimmer and dance like mountainous mirages in the gloomy volcanic dust as the travelers made their way up the river in the early morning. This same light now enclosed them in a bright energy that could be felt prickling on the skin as they climbed the wide steps to the Palace. Even fresh air in Fyr Trephyr was created by crystal power. The energy was tangible.
Desiring to pull the hood of her cloak close about her face Gynevra couldn't even cover her head for fear of dislodging the elaborate coiffure Queen Agapa's ladies had created for her. The local population didn't seem to be bothered by the energy. Perhaps one got used to it.
During the procession from the landing up steps and terraces paved with marble of different hues enhanced with onyx and orichalc, Gynevra longed to stare everywhere at once. But Ianthe, her eyes dark and cold, had
given her a terse little homily about majesty and consequence. At least, Gynevra told herself that's what the Archinus had meant by her stiffly uttered, ‘You've chosen the venal luxuries of state living over the honor of serving your people in the Temple. It's not a life you’ve trained for. Stand erect, look neither right nor left and make eye contact with no one.’
Pride forbad she fail in any way before her movuon this day. She'd already been judged and found wanting.
The royal flotilla had anchored over-night in a small sheltered bay just inside the river mouth and the morning had been spent under the hands of Queen Agapa's maids. They'd bathed her, massaged her body with scented oils, brushed her hair, sprinkled it with gold and crystal dust and affixed gold and emerald ornaments among the carefully arranged curls. Then they'd dressed her in the beautiful, transparent Gown of Joining and declared her a Sacred Princess fit for any Prince.
Gazing at the effect in the Queen's full-length silver mirror, Gynevra had mused aloud that wearing a transparent gown was no different to dancing the latreia or performing naked on the altar. She'd laughed for the first time in days when Lady Arian, Keeper of the Royal Gerlain, had told her to ‘walk as if wandering through a meadow where the spectators were merely the bovine ruminants dining on the pasture.’
Thank you Ist for the irreverent Arian, she thought now, and the temporary concealment afforded by the soft emerald woolen cloak, which also protected her against the intense crystal energy of the Glass City. Hostility flowed in waves from the females of the welcoming party. She suspected there’d be numerous occasions in the future when it would be helpful to think of them as `bovine ruminants'. Her sensitivity to the thoughts of others was more of a curse than a blessing.
When at last she stood side by side with Gotham in the Palace Reception Hall her heart thumped and every doubt that had entered her mind over the last tonni crowded it all at once. The Prince seemed more concerned with capturing the pomp of the moment and being seen to the best advantage than in acknowledging her in any way at all. His upper body had been oiled and dusted with gold to highlight the perfect definition of muscle and tendon. Clad only in soft leather calf-boots and the fine white linen kirt of the Paggi with a wide hem of exquisite gold embroidery as befitted a royal pazanon on his joining day, Gotham of Trephysia held every female gaze.