by Harley James
And someday she’d find out he was responsible for her father’s death.
The first low rumble of thunder rolled down from Mount Taygetos as he entered the fir and black pine forest. He quickened his step, chest tight with urgency. Did the girls’ school teach them how to survive a mountain storm? Why didn’t he know that?
Find her. He hurried through the tree’s understory—no trace of her anywhere—passing through the forest until he emerged onto a rocky meadow.
“Sophia!” He cursed, sending her name into the wind again and again.
He scrambled upon a rocky outcropping to get a better view. The wind whipped through his hair, reminding him of her fingernails on his scalp. He’d replayed those electric hours with her for the last three days, unable to think of much else.
She was excess embodied. A contradiction of Spartan ethos. An overflow of emotion, passion, drive. There was no check on her tongue, her body, her mind.
There was no smooth artifice with Sophia. She was…appalling in her honesty.
And Apollo help him, he was enthralled.
A bright spot of yellow appeared below him to the right, re-entering the forest. It seemed to be her favorite color. He slid off the outcropping and ran as though Hermes had set wings upon his feet. The first sprinkle fell fat and cold on his face when her long, high ponytail came into view. “Sophia!”
She gathered the bundle tighter in her arms as she turned around. And Hades take him, she was more radiant than ever—shining hair, captivating eyes, and skin so soft and smooth he ached kiss her.
Everywhere.
She was feeding the infant from a small, clay vessel outfitted with a leather nipple. Goat’s milk, likely.
“Alexios! What are you doing here?” Her cheerful smile was more welcome than a warm hearth and a hearty meal at the end of a long, bloody campaign.
He frowned at her. “This is a fool’s errand. There are bandits and wild animals about. And can you not see there is storm upon us?”
She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head, not at all intimidated by his glower. “Then I guess we’re both fools since you’re here as well. I must admit, though, I am very glad to see you. Let’s be off. Lydia may have already found a family for this sweet child.”
He stared after her like a daft buffoon for a moment before stretching his legs to catch up to her. More than once his heart shot to his throat at her unsteady progress.
More than once he grasped her elbow to steady her. “Are you ill?”
She shook her head. “It’s not that. My long-range eyesight is not so good, especially when the skies grow black and moody like this. It’s another of my failings according to my mother and the rest of the aristocracy. Of all my flaws, that is what I would most like to change.”
He would change an untold number of things about the goddamned Spartan elite before he’d change one trait of Sophia’s. “Yet you still take rash risks. No wonder they call you witless.”
She stopped and turned to face him, blinking as a sprinkle landed beside her stirring blue eyes, which were now snapping with fire. “I never asked you to help me with these children, you imperious ass. So please take your much-more-rational self back to the barracks and focus on chest-beating, warfare, or whatever else makes you happy. I will request an audience with you later.”
He didn’t remember the last time he’d been so summarily dismissed.
Looking down at her, with that tiny human life held fast to her body—a life that had been judged unworthy to continue Sparta’s gene pool, but now would go on because of her courage—Alexios felt his axis shift.
He swallowed, feeling strangely untethered.
She attached the clay pot to a leather loop on her peplon belt and brought the child up to her shoulder to rub its back. “Well, go along then. What are you waiting for?”
He had no idea. But he was supposed to say something. Or leave.
Why couldn’t he leave? Curse her. And this—whatever it was that took hold of him whenever he was in her presence.
“I don’t like you,” he ground out.
She nodded once, her lips pursing, faint moisture rising to the eyes that he was beginning to see every time he closed his own. “You don’t have to. I’m not so sure I like you right now either. But together we can do great things. Together we will leave a legacy.”
Most of the men in his platoon lacked her single-minded focus. She could even teach his finest soldiers a thing or two about determination.
But he had his own plan for Sparta. One that didn’t require allying himself with a woman with stars in her eyes.
He watched her fingers lovingly trace circles and pats on the baby’s back before he brought his gaze back to hers. “I could marry you, ruin you, and not feel a thing.”
“It’s a chance I’m willing to take. But I don’t think I’ll be too terribly disappointed. There has always been fire between us.”
She moved the baby to one arm, then before Alexios had a chance to react, she stepped toward him and reached up to curl her fingers behind his neck, pulling him down, staring, watching, seeing until her eyes finally closed as their lips brushed together, softly at first.
Layers of her fragrance wove about him, delicate notes of the purple flowers that grew wild on the mountainside mixed with a subtle hint of lemon. Her mouth went soft with sighs as he broke the kiss to rub his cheek along hers, his shoulders widening to shield her and the child from the rising gusts.
A slow drum of thunder rolled through the valley. His eyes snapped open, and he jerked back, hands moving to her upper arms to set her away from him. Her eyes were soft, her lips slick with the sheen of their kiss and the gathering sprinkles.
He ached to pull her back into his arms.
What sorcery was this? He was acting like a lovesick batalos.
He glowered, releasing her to hold his arms out to the baby. “We need to hurry to outpace the storm. Give me the child.”
Her hold tightened on the babe. “If you hurt him, you will need to start sleeping with one eye open.”
Stubborn woman. “Though I don’t share your need to champion these infants, I do not wish to harm them.”
“But isn’t that the same thing? Passive acceptance of injustice undermines a society as surely as outright cruelty.”
The truth of her words swallowed him up like a springtime dive into the river when the snowmelt was at its peak.
Raw, uncomfortable, shockingly invigorating.
Those who called her wooden-headed knew her not at all.
“A valid argument,” he replied, glancing at the sky. She relented, transferring the child to his arms, its weight no more than two swords with their baldrics.
He stared down into the child’s unblinking brown eyes that were so much more aware than he could have imagined. “‘Tis a boy?”
“He is, and wonderfully made.”
How strange that all should start so small and helpless, yet so intricately formed. The baby’s tiny bow-shaped lips quivered once, then smoothed out when Sophia murmured to him and ran her finger across his perfect cheek.
Alexios’s gaze found hers and warmth spread through his chest. He frowned at her before looking back down at the child. He could detect no physical flaws. Why had the Elders left this baby to die of exposure?
A pulse of wind howled, pushing through the treetops, and they resumed their way down the mountain. Alexios ordered Sophia ahead of him so he could watch her navigate the tree roots and larger stones, reaching out to aid her unsteady progress time after time.
How could he not? The woman was goodness and light, whereas he was darkness and vengeance, the blood of her father and so many others a stain on his soul. Association with him would only bring his enemies upon her.
Perhaps enemies not as cunning as Queen Theodora, but adversaries nonetheless. Like Zenon, the helot abuser.
The cold reality of Theodora’s comment this morning stole his warmth. Ultimately, his stepmother would probably leave
him alone, fearful of his father’s wrath, but she’d have no scruples about ‘ending the problem of the rival princess.’ Especially if Sophia threatened the queen’s station…and her vulgar little secret.
The clouds swirled faster, gusts whipping the tips of the trees. Get them to safety. “We won’t reach the city before the heavens open,” he called loudly so she could hear above the wind. “I know a cave not far from here.”
They gathered branches on the way there. At the mouth, Alexios passed the baby to Sophia, then unsheathed his xiphos and entered the cave, prepared to face a bear or cougar. Fortunately, there were neither, and he went back to collect Sophia and the now-crying infant as rain pelted their faces.
Sophia paced in the stone confines, trying to soothe the child who seemed to reflect the growing storm outside. Alexios arranged the branches near the cave’s entrance, then walked to the far left where his stash of tinder lay untouched.
Sophia jiggled the baby in her arms as Alexios started the fire. “You stayed here during the Phouxir, didn’t you?”
He nodded. It was a rite of passage all thirteen-year-old boys endured while in warrior school. She kissed the baby’s forehead, then lifted him to her shoulder. “Do you think our soldiers would be as strong without such a test?”
He shook his head. “Only the strongest survive the trials. Three of my age-cohort died. Sparta is the only Greek city without walls because our warriors are our protection.”
She made a sound of disgust. “You sound like them.”
‘Them,’ meaning the Elder propagandists.
Lightning supplemented the fire’s illumination in the cave, thunder echoing off the walls, joining with the baby’s cries. Alexios stirred the fire, squatting on his haunches. “I told you, princess. I am not the man you imagine me to be.”
She stalked over to him and eased down until her blazing eyes were inches from his own. “Yes. You. Are. Even if you’re too stubborn to see it. Even if it makes you uncomfortable. And even if you don’t love me.”
He cursed as he stood. “Dangerous forces are gathering to quench your ardor for revolution. Especially those of your own social class. If you’re not careful, you might be the next one to face the viper.”
She blanched, but it had to be said. He didn’t want to be part of her ridiculous plan, but he didn’t want her to die either.
When she didn’t say anything for a moment, he hoped that would be the end of the conversation. But she shifted the baby to her other shoulder and set her jaw. “With any change comes risk. And the greater the change, the greater the risk. I’m prepared to face the opposition.”
“You are so naïve. Why make your life unnecessarily hard? You have an existence most could only dream of.”
She shook her head. “So it may seem on the outside. But I care not for fancy homes or titles. I only want to be accepted for who I am. Instead, I am a disappointment to all but my father. Now, I don’t even have him.”
As she turned, he saw that the baby had finally closed his eyes, though his mouth sucked rhythmically on one of his thumbs. Alexios tore his gaze away from the intimate picture of the princess and the baby and stared down at the flames. He wished he could go back and change many things, but especially his careless comment to Mantes that had set off a terrible chain reaction of events. “Your crusade could take everything from you. Even your life.”
Her sandals came into view. “Don’t you believe in anything strong enough to die for it?”
Not anymore. His mother was already dead.
Heat filled his chest and rose up his neck to warm his face and ears. It wasn’t just the fire.
He would become king and dismantle the entire corrupt Spartan government from the inside out. Those who’d killed his mother would bathe the earth with their blood. After that, he’d leave and never look back. Make his way as a mercenary in Persia. Fighting and killing were what he knew best.
He clenched his fists, but remained silent.
“What about Sparta?” she persisted.
He refocused his gaze on hers. “What about it?”
“When you leave on campaign, you know you’ll either return with your shield or on it. If you can commit to that exacting of a vision, surely you also long for a way to make our city-state strong for generations.”
“One’s duty is not the same thing as one’s dream.”
“You’re right, Alexios. It was not your duty to come and find me in the storm, yet here you are. Will you share my dream?”
This was his chance to push her away. To tell her he had a hand in ripping away the one person who loved her the most. Confess your wrongdoing.
Here was his chance to keep her safe by making her hate him.
The words stuck in his throat.
She closed the space between them again. Her eyes—gods, her eyes—were filled with something he didn’t deserve.
But craved.
Craved more than he’d ever wanted anything else. Maybe even more than the blood of those who’d murdered his mother.
No. Nonono. What kind of man would he be if he didn’t avenge his mother’s murder? He would have his revenge and find the peace he craved. This woman was a momentary distraction.
A dangerous interference.
His heart stumbled. Don’t say it, a small voice pled.
But he had to. “You already know the viper that killed your father was put there by Mantes. But what you don’t know is that Zenon was meant to receive the bite. And Mantes put it there…because of me.”
Chapter 10
Sophia froze at Alexios’s admission, her blood going cold. “What are you saying?” The baby stirred and began to cry again.
Alexios stood, his shadow from the fire’s light casting a monstrous slash against the cave wall. “Several fortnights ago, I was sharpening my blades. Mantes caught me in a foul mood. I said how fitting it would be for a slithering coward like Zenon to meet his end with a viper’s kiss.”
He laid another branch on the fire. “Everyone suspected that Zenon’s planned visit to the Delphic Oracle to offer sacrifice for a good harvest was another ruse to continue raping the priestess. However, I didn’t know Mantes had taken my speech so literally until he returned to the kleros, frantic that your father had insisted on going in Zenon’s place. By the time we got to the temple, the serpent had already struck the king.”
“No.” Sophia tucked her cheek against the baby’s head as she slumped back against the cave wall and slid to the ground, her bravado and optimism suddenly dried up.
She envisioned her father again, legs twisting in the sweat-dampened bed sheets as the snake’s toxin invaded his body. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing her mind to wash itself with white. To remember her father whole and healthy.
To wish away the awful fact that her father would still be alive if not for Alexios.
How could she forgive him?
The infant’s cries echoed in the emptiness inside her.
Papa’s death had been a mistake.
So pointless.
“Damn you and your careless words.” Her gaze pinned Alexios and saw his regret. How could he be both the root of her deepest pain and the answer to her purpose?
His hand rose and fell despondently. “If I could go back and change it, I would.”
As would I.
Why had it happened this way?
Why not? some part of her mind whispered. Or was it Hermes, that trickster god, patron of thieves and the inventor of lying? Surely the Olympians would have protected her father if they’d wanted him to live.
At least, that’s what she would accept if she still trusted in the gods.
She wasn’t so sure she could anymore.
Only Artemis—with her retinue of gentle nymphs—had ever interceded for her. Had ever showed she cared.
“You came to find me today out of guilt.” Not affection. She’d been foolish to believe otherwise. Especially when he’d told her he didn’t want anything to do with her every sing
le time she was with him.
The baby was crying so hard his face was red, his body stiff with anger. She rose to her feet, shifted him into a cradle hold, and hummed a nonsensical melody. Nothing helped. She felt as brittle as the tiny glass sculpture her father had brought home for her after his trip to Athens last summer.
“That’s not why I searched for you.”
She raised her head and stared at Alexios, but said nothing in return.
He laid another log on the fire, then approached where she paced with the baby. “Your radical ways and proposed alliance with me has made you some enemies, Sophia. You need to be careful. Talk to your brother. He can arrange a guard—” He stopped abruptly and held his hands out. “Give him to me. I cannot think with all his keening.”
Sophia handed the boy to Alexios. She’d failed in so many ways. Failed her parents. Failed at her dream before it even grew wings to soar.
She couldn’t even provide for a baby’s most basic needs.
Now here she was feeling sorry for herself. Pathetic all the way around.
“Have you any more milk?” Alexios nodded toward the clay feeding vessel at her waist.
She looked down at the terracotta pot warmed by her body and the fire. The bad of the morning becomes worse by night. Since the beginning of time, careless words had broken more people than the fiercest weapons. What other storms might break upon her this day? “The milk is no longer fresh.”
He reached out for the vessel. “It will do.” As he fed the baby, he began to sing.
Sing.
A lullaby.
She swiped away her tears and listened to Alexios’s soft, deep voice. The boy lay so tiny in the warrior’s arms, now fed and gazing quietly up at the man who sang to him a song of protection. Of freedom. Of flowers and birds and the warmth of the sun upon his face his whole life long.
As Alexios’s last stanza faded amid the torrent of rain outside the cave, Sophia stood and held his gaze a moment before moving toward her pack. She disassembled two of the blue wreaths and laid a blanket over the feathers to make a bed for the baby.