Oracle of Helinthia: Epic of Helinthia, #2

PROLOGUE

FORLUNA

In the fourth year of the reign of Anassa Iptys

"THE KYRIOI GROW BOLDER BY the day."

Forluna lowered the scroll she was reading, a surveyor’s accounting of land in the northeast corner of the island, and peered at Anassa Iptys lounging on an adjacent couch beneath the window. Oh?

Iptys sighed, crumpling the paper she was reading and flicking it away. It bounced on the throne room’s tiles and rolled toward Forluna, who snatched it up with a mischievous grin.

Forluna smoothed it out on her leg. Charixes, she mused, studying the signature. Isn’t he a member of the army?

Iptys seemed to detect the interest in Forluna’s voice because she rolled her eyes. Yes, a captain.

‘My renown and favor grow daily among the ranks. Every victory I dedicate to you. One day, I will be worthy of you.’

Forluna’s cheeks warmed at the words. He sounds smitten. You don’t find him intriguing?

Iptys bounced her foot as she stared out the window at the city of Ninenarn. Her city. He’s too… I don’t know. Self-absorbed. ‘One day, I will be worthy of you.’ Ugh. Then what? That will be enough for me to marry him?

Forluna shrugged. Should it not be? Isn’t that what men are supposed to do?

Iptys turned to her. These men, every one of these kyrioi, are only focused on themselves, their own aspirations, their own ‘destiny.’ Women are merely the rungs of the ladder they climb to rise higher and higher toward the peak of vain aspirations. Just wait until a man sets his sights on you. He’ll say all kinds of honorable things, swear he loves you, does it all for you, but underneath it all, he would forget you if he thought there was nothing to gain from seducing you.

Forluna fingered the corner of the letter. "But you’re the anassa. There isn’t a man in Helinthia who wouldn’t gain something by marrying you."

Iptys rested her elbow on the marble sill, the squared edges worn smooth by centuries of royal arms, and plopped her chin into her palm. I know.

So, what are you going to do?

Iptys didn’t have the opportunity to answer before a knock on the door interrupted the silence—an assertive knock. The kind that demanded decorum. Iptys rose from her couch and stood with hands clasped. With that, the impassioned young woman transformed into a regal, composed anassa. Forluna followed suit and took her position behind her.

Enter, Iptys commanded.

The large double-oak doors swung inwards, revealing the intricate carving of Ordanus, son of Apollo and first anax of Helinthia. His eyes seemed to gaze directly at the throne from the wood grains, observing in silent judgment how well the current ruler upheld his legacy.

Oracle Eraia, Jaxus, the porter, announced. He bowed his head and stepped aside to allow the visitor through.

An ominous feeling settled in Forluna’s gut. Why was the oracle of Hera here? It wasn’t unusual for representatives of the gods to seek audience with Anassa Iptys, but Forluna couldn’t recall a time when word hadn’t been sent ahead of their arrival.

Silvery strands had pulled free from Eraia’s windblown braids and stuck out in all directions. They created a strange sort of halo in the sunlight filtering in behind her. A layer of dust coated her face, creasing into mud around her neck and elbows. This was not the look of a dignified oracle, more like a harbinger of horror. She stared across the hall at Iptys, eyes wild and forehead furrowed into a determined expression as she hastened around the porter.

Iptys nodded to Jaxus, who bowed again and stepped out, drawing the doors closed behind him. Oracle Eraia. What brings you here in such… haste?

I have a message from Hera. Eraia’s voice trembled, her skin pale beneath the dust.

Anxiety writhed up Forluna’s spine and lodged in her chest.

Of course. Iptys strode forward to clasp Eraia’s hands. Shall I order a bath for you, some refreshment? You must be exhaus—

There’s no time for that. The anassa of gods and mortals demands action, Eraia said. "Swift action."

Iptys dropped her hands and fidgeted with her fingers—an early signal of panic. Despite her four years of rule and countless interactions with important figures, she hadn’t yet mastered confrontation with the gods’ will. Forluna resisted the urge to throw off decorum and stand at her side. Iptys had to carry herself before the oracle.

Of course. What does she command? Iptys pretended to smooth her golden hair out of her eyes to hide her fraying nerves. She tossed a tentative glance over her shoulder to Forluna, who nodded back encouragingly.

Eraia took a deep breath, threading her fingers together in front of her so tightly her knuckles turned white. Helinthia has offended Hera. As recompense, Hera demands that we renounce Helinthia and withhold our sacrifices upon her altar.

Iptys drew back. What? She looked at Forluna in earnest now, brown eyes wide as though needing confirmation of what she’d heard.

Eraia focused her attention upon Forluna as well, fierce and demanding. Forluna’s true nature—that of a nymph, an immortal, one who should be all too understanding of the wrath the gods could mete—wasn’t hidden from Eraia.

The anxiety in Forluna’s chest sharpened, bile threatening to rise up her throat. She averted her gaze to the ground, unsure what to say, or if she should say anything. This was Iptys’ test.

That’s… unusual. Iptys straightened her spine. How did Helinthia offend her?

My goddess did not say.

Forluna detected a hint of fear in Eraia’s whispered tone. Fear of Hera? Or fear that Iptys would not heed her warning? She said only that Helinthia’s conduct was egregious and prideful. To prove that we are not drawn from the same offensive stock, we must renounce her or suffer a famine that will claim the lives of thousands of innocents.

Iptys stepped away from the oracle and walked shakily toward her throne. The cold, hard marble promised little comfort, but she slumped into it anyway. When did she tell you this?

Last night… in the middle of the night. I came immediately.

That explained her haggard appearance.

How long does she demand we do this? Iptys said.

Eraia swallowed. Indefinitely.

Iptys was stone-still for a moment. Forluna wished she could see her face, read what she was thinking. Finally, the anassa spoke, her voice just above a whisper. How long do I have to decide?

Eraia stepped forward, tilting her head. "Decide what? Whether to let innocent people suffer and die?"

Forluna’s gaze jerked up at Eraia’s sharpened tone.

Iptys bristled, the skin of her neck flushing red. "Of course not, Eraia. But I can’t just renounce Helinthia. She’s our goddess! This is her island. Surely, something else can be done to appease Hera."

"Hera is the anassa of Olympus. What could you possibly offer to assuage her wrath? Nothing. Except obedience. Eraia looked again at Forluna, anger and desperation in the depths of her golden eyes. You know the gods. Tell her."

Forluna’s mouth went dry as she heard Iptys draw a sharp breath. Iptys despised being subverted. Decisions of the throne could not come from the nymph, mentor or not, but Forluna couldn’t ignore the dangerous tension taking root, either. She instinctively reached down and squeezed Iptys’ shoulder to stop her from saying something rash. Iptys stiffened beneath her touch, then relaxed.

Forluna thanked Hermes that Iptys had withdrawn whatever reaction was poised to fly off her tongue.

Eraia, Iptys began calmly. "Please do not think I take this lightly. But you have to understand my position. I am the anassa of Helinthia—the island as well as the goddess. I am bound to serve her, as are we all. To make a pronouncement such as this, to abandon her? The people will renounce me."

Eraia clenched her fists, and Iptys scooted to the edge of her throne, quickly raising a hand in supplication.

"I’m not saying no, but I need time to break this to the basilei and the kubernai, to seek their counsel in this matter. They have a right to know and offer their perspectives. If I agree to your demands outright, they’ll think me foolish and weak, that I’m just bowing to any whim."

Forluna inwardly groaned at Iptys’ careless words. A demand of Hera was not ‘any whim.’ I still have so much to teach her.

The oracle had not missed it, either. She drew away in shock and disdain.

Forluna stepped forward, hoping to soften the offense. You’ve carried a serious message to us, Oracle Eraia. That’s undeniable. She turned to Iptys. The Oracle of Helinthia should be summoned to give us answers for this slight. She hoped her deflection onto Helinthia’s oracle would ease Eraia’s temper. But she was wrong.

Eraia’s eyes darkened as she shook her head. She scoffed down at the floor, defeated, but still armed with venom. "You are foolish and weak, Iptys, she muttered. As foolish and weak as Helinthia. Your very hesitancy, this idea that you can bargain with Hera, is absurd. You will bring ruin on us all. She looked up at Iptys again, eyes brimming with tears. I came to you because I wanted to believe that Hera was wrong about you, that you are capable of seeing beyond your own pride and self-righteousness to save innocent lives, even at the expense of your own power. Her restraint cracked. You foolish child! It is Hera who bestows power upon men, and Hera who will take it from you for defying her."

Iptys remained still as a statue, but the reddening hues of her neck and face betrayed the anger boiling underneath.

Forluna’s heart pounded in her ears. No one had ever spoken to the anassa like this.

Then she noticed something, someone, move from the shadows behind Eraia. Tall and regal. Her breath hitched as the figure came closer. Forluna’s mouth opened, but only a raspy wheeze emerged. Eraia bore it no heed. Her voice was rising as she continued her rebuke.

"I should have gone to the Library first. Told the scholars. They would have listened. They will listen. They have to. The island must know of this."

Eraia… Iptys’ words were lost as the figure caught her attention. It glided up behind the oracle.

Forluna gasped. Helinthia.

Eraia’s eyes widened in fear as the goddess’ hands circled her neck and lifted her up. The oracle choked, kicking for the ground her toes could no longer reach. She clawed at the hands squeezing her throat.

Iptys grabbed Forluna in terror. Forluna returned the tight embrace. Fear constricted every limb.

With a snap, Eraia went limp. She fell, slapping against the tiles in a crumpled heap.

Iptys screamed, nails digging into Forluna’s shoulders as they clung to one another.

You will tell no one what Hera’s oracle has said, Helinthia announced, her tone cold, commanding. "And you will not abandon my altar."

Frantic voices from outside.

Iptys’ scream had been heard.

Do this, and you will have my favor, Iptys. Helinthia turned and sauntered back into the shadows, fading into obscurity as the doors flew open. Jaxus and two guards rushed in.

Iptys burst into sobs, clinging to Forluna, whose own emotions lodged painfully in her throat. Her knees weakened and she sank to the cold floor, bringing Iptys down with her like a puddle of melted wax.

What happened here? Jaxus cried, kneeling to examine Eraia’s body as the guards fanned out to search the shadows for an assailant, swords drawn. The porter sank back on his heels, shaking his head. She awaits the ferry, Anassa.

The guards returned empty-handed, and the porter nodded to them. "Summon the archon and the priest of Hermes."

The guards sheathed their swords and sprinted from the room.

Jaxus closed Eraia’s lids over her vacant eyes, shaking his head in bewilderment. What happened? His low voice was urgent.

Iptys choked down her sobs, rubbing her eyes and nose on the shoulder of her chiton. She swallowed and looked at Forluna, stricken. She came with a prophecy… Iptys halted as she looked back at the dead oracle. But…

What was the prophecy? his tone was soothing, but firm.

Forluna’s stomach clenched into a painful knot, heart pounding in her ears. Offend Hera, or Helinthia? Could a more impossible choice exist?

Iptys stared into the shadows, where the silhouette of Helinthia lurked, watching.

Calling it a choice was too generous.

Jaxus followed the anassa’s gaze curiously, but Forluna knew he couldn’t see what she and Iptys saw. Only an immortal, or one with immortal blood, could see the gods. He looked expectantly at his anassa.

Iptys straightened her shoulders and smoothed invisible strands of hair away from her face. She collapsed before she could give it.

From the shadows, Helinthia smiled.

CHAPTER 1

LITHANEVA

In the eighteenth year of the reign of Anax Charixes

SUNLIGHT TEASED LITHANEVA’S EYES OPEN. The smell of olive blossoms prickled her nose. The cheerful coo-coo of a cuckoo on the roof and the screech of some far-off bird of prey carried through the window, borne on the wind rustling through the garden trees.

She filled her lungs with its sweetness, then froze, aware of the body lying beside her and the arm across her stomach. She turned her head slowly, hoping she was the only one awake.

Sensations of the previous night flooded her mind. Long hair tickling her thighs, lips crushing hers, experienced hands coaxing waves of pleasure from every inch of her, beads of sweat gathering from the heat of their bodies and breath.

Lithaneva pressed the plush pillow down with her hand to see her lover’s face, and a slow smile tugged her lips.

Helinthia’s eyes remained closed, the blanket pulled up to her ears. For a goddess, she seemed a little cold-blooded, unable to sleep if more than her ears were exposed, even on warm nights.

Lithaneva slid her hand beneath the fur blanket to stroke Helinthia’s thigh with the backs of her fingers.

Mm. The goddess stirred and scooted toward Lithaneva’s touch, inching her face closer on the pillow until their noses brushed.

Good morning, Goddess, Lithaneva whispered, drinking in her perfection. She kissed Helinthia’s nose and pecked her lips, dreading the ache that would consume her when this moment was gone.

It’s too early, the goddess pouted, pulling Lithaneva closer until their bodies were pressed together. She buried her face in Lithaneva’s dark curls and nipped her ear before growing still, ready to slip back into slumber. Suddenly, her eyes opened wide and she sat up, training her gaze on the window like an eagle spotting a rabbit in the brush. What is that?

The blanket slid down Helinthia’s shoulders, exposing her lush breasts. If the goddess hadn’t seemed so disturbed, Lithaneva would have pulled her back down, captured those provocative lips with her own, and explored her naked skin inch by smooth inch all over again.

What is what? She drew her gaze up to study Helinthia’s face, still angled toward the window. Lithaneva tilted her head, listening, but all she heard was birdsong. The cuckoos? They’ve been stalking a sparrow’s nest under the eaves, I think.

Helinthia was still for another breath before she shook herself, as though snapping from a trance. I’ve stayed too long, she muttered.

Reluctance writhed in Lithaneva’s chest. The goddess was right, of course, and Lithaneva had her own priorities to tackle. My father arrives today. Branitus expects me to prepare the hospitality.

Ugh. Helinthia rolled away and stood. I hate them both. I could just kill them and be rid of them.

Lithaneva giggled as she untangled herself from the sheets and planted her feet on the cold tile floor. Hera would know we cheated.

Helinthia snatched her chiton from the floor with such aggression Lithaneva was amazed it didn’t tear.

Unsure it was safe to show amusement, she hid her face behind her own garment as she threw it over her head and slid her arms through the sleeves, still fastened at the shoulder with the broaches she hadn’t had time to unclasp last night. Besides, she went on, her tone cautious, Branitus isn’t so bad.

Helinthia cut her a glance, eyebrows pinching together as she set her antler crown on her head. The thought of him touching you makes me want to crash this entire island into Poseidon’s domain.

Lithaneva shook her head and closed the distance between them, cupping Helinthia’s face in her hands and planting a kiss on her lips. Branitus has his own conquest. He never wants me.

The memory of catching Branitus in the throes of passion with the dancer from their wedding banquet teased a smile across her face. Branitus was in love, and not with her. She couldn’t be more thrilled.

Helinthia swept Lithaneva head to toe with a possessive look that sent a jolt of pleasure down Lithaneva’s spine. He’s not pressing you for a child?

No, she answered, dreading the very idea. To have a child was to place shackles around a woman’s ankles.

That’s probably why my father is coming, she thought, sitting on the edge of the bed and slipping her feet into her soft rabbit-skin boots. It was the most unoriginal plan to prevent her from reinserting herself into the politics of Ninenarn, but it would be effective if successful.

Helinthia sat beside her and strapped on her golden sandals, unsatisfied, but willing to let the matter drop.

Lithaneva leaned over and pressed a kiss to Helinthia’s forehead. My father will be watching me closely. She couldn’t bear to say the rest: I can’t see you tonight.

Hmph. Helinthia’s temperament could be fickle, jealous, impatient, angry, even reckless. But that was true of every god, wasn’t it?

Biting her lip, Lithaneva slid her finger along the goddess’ jaw and turned her face to look into those deep maroon irises. They were bright and fierce as ever, as though on the cusp of unleashing some pent-up fury, but there was something new in their depths that hadn’t been there the night before: anxiety, or fear?

She’s afraid my father will try to hurt me. And he would certainly try, but no matter how many times Lithaneva reassured Helinthia that her father’s callousness no longer cut her, Helinthia didn’t seem to believe her. It was no use making another attempt now.

I love you. She melted her mouth against Helinthia’s, gently nipping her bottom lip as she pulled away.

She stood and strode across the room, glancing back when she reached the doorway. She tightened her fingers around the door handle to keep herself from running back.

Helinthia had turned back to the window.

I’ll come to your altar if I can, Lithaneva said. Only the smallest of nods acknowledged she’d said anything at all. She closed the door behind her and hurried from her apartment. Her heart ached at the distance she was creating between her and Helinthia. But love for the goddess propelled her to Branitus’ room. She knocked once, then barged in.

Branitus bolted upright, instinctively raising his hand to shield his eyes as Lithaneva threw open the window. Sunlight burst into the room, and Branitus groaned. Why?

A second form wiggled beside Branitus, burrowing further under the covers.

Lithaneva lifted a brow. Have you forgotten what day it is? She smirked at Branitus’ red face, then tilted her head at the lump beside her husband. Good morning, Larxes.

The cover slowly drew down, and Branitus’ handsome lover peeked over the furs. His hazel eyes blinked blearily at her, his black hair a disheveled mess of curls. Morning, Princess.

Branitus yanked the covers back up over Larxes’ head and looked sheepishly at her. He still seemed quite confused as to why she wasn’t upset with him over his infidelity. Perhaps he’d heard so many stories about jealous wives that her apparent calmness worried him more than her overt fury might have.

It was thrilling, knowing this simple thing invoked such a reaction in a man known for being brutish. She couldn’t help the small smile that lifted her lips.

He saw her amusement and scowled. I know what day it is, and I’ll rise when I’m damned well ready. He slumped back down on the bed and rolled away from her—toward Larxes.

Lithaneva gritted her teeth. If she couldn’t be alone one more moment with her lover, she’d be damned to wander the bank of the Styx if Branitus did not make the same sacrifice.

Shall I let my father wake you, then? Oh, but he’ll be furious to find you in bed with someone other than his daughter.

Branitus growled in exasperation and threw back the covers, almost leaping to his feet and glaring at her before picking up his tunic from the floor. He slid it up over his shoulders, then reached for his cloak slung haphazardly over a couch. I thought your father hated you, he snapped, resentment dripping in every syllable.

He does.

Branitus stopped, then looked at her with narrowed eyes.

She clasped her hands and smiled sweetly at him.

The red in Branitus’ face spread down his neck and across his chest as his shoulders began to tremble. He threw back his head and let out a bawdy laugh that seemed to shake the beams on the ceiling. He strode toward her as he tossed his cloak over his shoulders. How fortunate that my wife isn’t as vindictive as her father, he said, bending to plant a kiss on her cheek.

Not yet, she answered, leaning into the kiss and allowing her voice to don a playful, yet urgent, tone. Though she had no sexual desire for her husband, she couldn’t deny a growing affection for him. It was a shame having to mislead him, but she held no delusions that he would support her if he learned of her plans to overthrow her father.

Larxes propped himself up with a sculpted arm to watch their exchange. Shall I dance tonight? he asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Branitus grinned and opened his mouth, but Lithaneva spoke first.

No.

Branitus’ thick brows pinched. Why not? We’re having a feast, aren’t we? What’s a feast without dancing? And for the anax, no less.

Lithaneva rolled her eyes. If my father sees you ogling Larxes, he’ll end our alliance. She knew Branitus took it as a joke, but there was truth behind her words. If there were any doubt that Branitus’ attentions lay elsewhere, Charixes might begin to wonder what Lithaneva did with her time. And that might prove bothersome.

I suppose we should pretend we’re husband and wife, then, he grumbled. Her own lip curled at the thought. Fine. Let’s go. He sighed, throwing Larxes a wistful look before focusing his attention on her. I’ll see to the guard. You do the menial wife things.

She patted his shoulder and stepped away to head to the kitchens. Her mind raced with questions. Why was her father coming here? Official business could be conveyed by a courier, or even the chancellor. A personal visit indicated that whatever he had to say couldn’t be trusted to another.

She rubbed her hands together and grinned with anticipation. No doubt her father hoped to frighten them with a personal appearance, but she had every intention of disappointing him. He might be able to intimidate most men with a shift of his eyes, but not her, and hopefully not Branitus, either.

She entered the kitchen and instructed the douloi on what to prepare for the menu. Charixes hated goat meat, and goose was his favorite, so she instructed the cooks to prepare a roasted swine with boiled barley and carrots—a middle ground to avoid immediate conflict. She slipped a few coins to the doula, Torine, to go through the town and command every merchant with a goose to display it in plain view of her father’s entourage. Torine eyed her as though she were mad, but didn’t question it.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur, her mannerisms and directions to the douloi automatic. Prepare her father’s apartment. Wash and dry the linens. Weave fresh laurel crowns. Hang olive blossoms on the windows.

By midday, Lithaneva’s blood tingled through her limbs, the unwelcome combination of fatigue and anxiety. The thought of Branitus all over her, even if it was just an act, turned her stomach.

She rubbed her aching neck and rolled her head to the sky. At least she wouldn’t have to hide her hatred of her father. He knew full well of her feelings. She straightened her spine. This was for Helinthia.

Helinthia. She needed to see her. Just one more time before she was plunged into a world of misery. Lithaneva’s footsteps carried her into the courtyard toward the temple of the goddess. She ached to touch her, feel her warmth under her palm. A drop of her blood, and Helinthia would know she wanted her.

Her body warmed beneath her chiton as her thoughts ran wild with passion. Hunger.

She was almost at the steps of the solitary temple when something dove in front of her. She leapt back, eyes widening at the writhing cloud of feathers and dust before her. A screech, and then a hawk righted itself and stared up at her with a golden eye.

Lithaneva froze. Had the animal fallen, or had it dived on purpose?

The bird fluffed its feathers, blinked at her, then pecked at its underbelly.

Something was on its leg. Something unnatural.

She knelt slowly. The hawk raised its head. It didn’t fly away. It just stared at her.

Lithaneva squinted at the object, heart beating furiously in her breast. From behind her, she could hear a commotion growing so loud the cuckoos had ceased their songs. Hoofbeats. Cheers. My father.

He was early. No doubt hoping to catch them unprepared, but she knew his tricks too well for that. They were ready for him. Branitus would be expecting her presence on the portico to greet him as Basileia of Thellshun. An urgent shiver raced up her spine.

She eased her hand toward the bird, her breath burning in her lungs. Would it try to strike her? Thrash her with its wings? Her instincts told her to flee. She didn’t. The object’s existence called to her, practically pulled her fingers toward it.

The hawk blinked its golden orbs. Daring her.

Lithaneva slid her fingertips beneath the hawk’s soft belly and grazed the thing around its leg. Paper, tied with a linen thread. This bird is trained. It had to be. She leaned forward on her knees to get closer and pulled the string. The scroll came free.

Immediately, the hawk sprang into the air, flinging dust and feathers. The force of its wings nearly knocked her on her rump, but she hardly cared.

Lithaneva unraveled the paper and scrutinized the tiny letters.

We found it.

~G

Air flooded her aching chest. Unprovoked tears stung her eyes. G… Must be Gadnor. They found the heir! She turned the paper over, frowning. But who is it?

Behind her, the commotion had dimmed. Charixes would be inside the villa now.

No matter. She would learn the heir’s identity later. She stood and hurried the rest of the way into the temple and flung the paper onto the coals of Helinthia’s altar. Her offering of devotion.

The flames licked it greedily until it was ash.

Lithaneva grinned up at the marble statue of her goddess. The first step of their plan was complete. The heir is alive. She resisted the urge to leap for joy and settled on hugging herself tight.

I will win back your island, my love, she whispered, brushing her fingers along the cold marble toes of Helinthia’s image before spinning quickly and bolting toward the villa.

Basileus Dargos and the awkward, lesser-known son of Basileus Raleon of Golpathia had upheld their end of the agreement.

Now it’s my turn.

CHAPTER 2

GADNOR

THE TENSION AROUND THE TABLE was becoming an all-too-familiar occurrence. That didn’t make it any easier to sit through. If anything, it made it even more challenging to walk into this room meal after meal and day after day and take a seat, pretending everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t, not to anyone present.

Especially since Gadnor knew he was the reason for their discontent.

He stared at the grains of the wood table at the center of the room, waiting for the tension to snap. It wouldn’t, not yet. But the anticipation made him want to flee.

He chanced a glance up at his five companions, trying to gauge the likelihood that this meal might be different from all the rest of the last week.

Kelric sat with arms folded loosely across his chest, his gaze wandering frequently to Gonivein sitting beside him. She looked as far away as Gadnor wished to be. Her shoulders slumped forward as she stared at her frail hands in her lap. Dargos fidgeted with his thumbs at the far end, and Gadnor could almost see the careful arguments he planned to lay out swirling behind his furrowed brow. Forluna was just to Dargos’ left, watching everyone as intently as Gadnor was. She offered him an encouraging smile when their eyes met.

Gadnor averted his gaze, feeling like a scolded child awaiting his parents’ sentencing. Except neither of his parents were alive, and he hadn’t done anything wrong. Yet.

The cook, Euanthe, entered from the kitchen with a large platter of roasted chicken and set it down on the table.

No one moved a muscle. The shuffling of her sandals across the tiles and the swish of her chiton as she returned to the kitchen was the only break in the stillness.

She returned a second time carrying a platter in each hand, one with bread and one with roasted potatoes and carrots. She set them down beside the chicken and eyed the ensemble dubiously. Her left eyelid twitched, something that only happened when she was irritated. She turned to Kelric, laying a wrinkled hand on his bare shoulder.

Shall I fetch anything else, Basileus? By the sweetness of Euanthe’s tone, one would never guess that she was bothered, not unless they’d known her for as long as Gadnor had. She had been their cook since before he could remember.

Kelric smiled up at her and patted her hand affectionately. No, thank you, Euanthe. You may go.

The fine lines around the woman’s eyes crinkled as she beamed down at him. She looked at Gonivein. "I’ll prepare your bath, Kyria," she said, before sweeping out of the room.

Once she was gone, Kelric immediately tore into the chicken, breaking off a leg and piling two plates high with the variety of food before them. He pushed one plate over to Gonivein.

She offered a weak smile and angled her head at him, but her eyes didn’t quite reach Kelric’s before they dropped back to her lap. She made no move to touch the food.

I asked Euanthe to add a pinch of coriander to the dough, just as you like, Kelric said softly.

Gonivein’s eyes shifted to the piece of bread before she took a small nibble and set it back on her plate. This seemed to satisfy Kelric enough to turn his attention to his own portion.

So… Dargos began, finally ending the silence.

Here it comes, Gadnor thought.

Kelric glared at Dargos, releasing a loud sigh. "Can we have one meal where we don’t discuss this? I have more important things on my mind today."

Forluna flinched and stuffed a potato into her mouth.

"You know it’s too late for that. Your wedding is tomorrow," Dargos answered.

"Can’t I celebrate one day—a day I’ve waited five years for—in peace? Why must you sabotage everything?"

This can’t wait, Dargos insisted. You owe Gadnor your answer.

"I’ve given my answer enough times to bore Echo to tears. Gadnor isn’t ready to take on the responsibility of the strategos. Kelric chomped into a bite of meat. He’ll never be."

Dargos’ dark eyes flashed beneath a furrowed brow. Then who? Who will you appoint? If you pick someone else, you risk them overshadowing Gadnor’s efforts. You know the strategos gets credit for the battles won.

And he gets blamed for the losses, Kelric spat. "Trust me, I’m preventing Gadnor from making a colossal fool of himself and leaving our polis vulnerable."

There won’t be any losses. You and I will be here to guide him.

Gadnor sank down in his seat, wishing Hermes would throw a cloak of invisibility around his shoulders so he could escape this nightmare. The argument was always the same. Sometimes the words varied, but the outcome never changed. Gadnor doubted a decision would ever be reached about elevating him to strategos, leader of Golpathia’s armies, decision maker of battle strategy. It was a title Kelric had held for years as their father’s eldest son. Now that Kelric was Basileus, the position was vacant.

Gadnor never wished he had been born someone else more than when he was placed in the middle of this tired argument. He understood Dargos’ perspective. To win renown enough to marry a princess required extreme measures, but Kelric wasn’t wrong to question his readiness for the role. Gadnor had no experience wielding authority over anything. Dargos’ confidence made Gadnor willing to try. If only it would be as simple as Dargos suggested.

Dargos ripped his bread in half, started to take a bite, but then waved both pieces in the air. Who else would you trust with this?

I honestly haven’t decided yet, Kelric grumbled. I’ve had other things on my mind. As you pointed out, my wedding is tomorrow. He cast a hopeful look at Gonivein, but she was too busy picking at the flakes on her bread to notice his look of desperation, never mind come to his aid.

The wedding feast is the best time to do it. All your important kyrioi—your councilmen, will be present and in good spirits.

Kelric rolled his eyes and took a big bite of his chicken breast.

Dargos dabbed his bread over the juices on his plate, taking Kelric’s silence as encouragement to continue. Gadnor is your brother. No one will find him taking your place surprising. Some are probably expecting it.

Kelric sneered at Gadnor. Most of the city doesn’t even know who my brother is. Those who do have few kind things to say about him.

Heat rose in Gadnor’s cheeks. How he wished he could dispute those facts.

Dargos’ vehemence softened. He leaned forward, and a shiver rolled down Gadnor’s spine. "Keeping you out of the public eye did its job well. Too well. Undoing that is the task before us. His lips curved in a reassuring smile. Giving you command of Golpathia’s armies will put your name on the tip of every tongue in Helinthia."

And make him the target of every arrow and spear our enemies hurl at us. Kelric flung his bare chicken ribs down on his plate.

Gadnor’s heart hammered against his chest as the shapes of food on the table twisted and distorted into a raging army. His entire life, he’d been taught to avoid crowds, punished for drawing attention to himself. The very suggestion of going against this upbringing broke him out in a cold sweat, but since learning he was the heir of Anassa Iptys, he knew he must overcome these anxieties. Recovering his birthright as anax was the only way to restore peace among the gods and prosperity to Helinthia. Though, he’d anticipated having a little more time to do it and a more gradual rise to fame.

His apprehension must have shown on his face. Dargos’ smile widened, crinkling the lines around his eyes. You’re more prepared than you give yourself credit, Gadnor.

Dargos looked again at Kelric, who was chewing furiously and glowering at the carrots as though they were the ones responsible for this nuisance.

The hawk has been sent to Lithaneva. Now that she knows we’ve found the heir, she’ll be expecting him to follow through with what we promised her. Making Gadnor your strategos is the best place to begin. And it needs to happen tomorrow, when your entire polis is assembled. We have no time for doubt and rumors. His appointment must be definitive.

Kelric chewed in silence, and Gadnor could see the frustration building in Dargos’ expression at his lack of response.

Perhaps you could assemble the Council after the wedding to discuss this more privately? If your men feel consulted, they may receive this announcement more favorably, Forluna offered.

Hope fluttered in Gadnor’s gut as he met her gaze. Her eyes were reserved and calm, yet the way they flickered around at his companions suggested she was trying to hide her fear. She’d spent nearly two decades hiding him from the world, so he wasn’t surprised at her hesitation to this plan. 

Dargos stopped mid-chew to consider her, a sudden tenderness in his gaze that was impossible to miss. Normally, I would agree. But I’m concerned about what might happen if we give them an opportunity to object. He sighed. "I wish we had more time to accomplish everything in a way suitable to everyone, but we don’t. All we have is what the gods have given us. Golpathia needs a strategos to plan for war. The longer we wait to challenge Charixes, the more we are complicit in his atrocities, and, I fear, the less the gods will see fit to give us anything. He glanced down at his plate. I have plenty of blood on my conscience for not doing enough."

Troubled lines etched into Forluna’s ethereal features. She knew more than any of them what a monster Charixes was, had witnessed the destruction he caused more than once. She’d been there the night he sacked the citadel and killed Anassa Iptys, the night she fled with Gadnor in her arms, a helpless babe. Yet she still hesitated to agree with this plan.

Why?

Kelric grabbed his wine goblet, drained it in three gulps, then clunked it down loudly on the tabletop. The hawk hasn’t returned, has it? He looked pointedly at Gadnor for an answer.

Gadnor shook his head. Tor had expected the hawk to return days ago. So far, the skies had brought no signs of the majestic bird. Tor was on watch for it now.

See? Kelric shot Dargos a withering look. For all we know, someone ate that hawk for dinner and the princess has no idea of anything. That’s assuming she hasn’t had her motivation plowed out of her by her blubbering new husband.

An awkward