But neither Iolalus nor I are quick enough to imagine how low our cousin will sink. Nor to react in time to stop it.
Eury rips the left guard's dagger from his belt. He holds the dagger up before Iole’s panic-widened eyes. Without a thumb to grip it, the dagger looks clumsy in his hand. I’m certain he’ll drop it, that it will clatter to the dais and he will be made a fool of. But his four remaining fingers find their strength. In a move swifter than the most skilled butcher, he grasps Iole by the hair and drags the blade across her neck.
My world stops. Iole slumps in the men's arms. Blood coats the front of her cloud white gown, dressing her in the maroon of mourning. Eury wipes the blade on his tunic before handing it back to the guard who drops Iole to put the weapon away.
Like air forced through a tunnel, the world comes back to me in a rush. With Iolalus’s dagger in hand I close the distance to my cousin.
“Solon, watch out,” Deianira calls. Eury spins and ducks as lithely as a weasel.
“Seize him,” he commands as he dances aside.
The guards tackle me, slamming me into the ground. My eyes meet Iole's blank but still beautiful face. I want nothing more than to run to the Chasm to meet her there. And this time I will ask Hades to not allow me to return. Let the dead tear me apart piece by piece. It will be better than being in this world without her.
One guard jerks my left arm back forcing me to release the dagger. The other slides off me as he pins my right arm behind me. As if I’m a sack of dirty tunics, they haul me to my feet.
Eury stares at me with a look that is a mix of glee and hatred. Beside him waits Deianira with a small bottle in her hand.
42
HERA
They are all staring at me. Hermes, Aphrodite, Dionysus, and my brother, Poseidon. I’ve dropped the glass of wine Dionysus just handed me and have sent it clattering across the marble floor of the common area. I couldn’t help it. No part of me feels solid, no piece of my flesh feels under my control. Pain tears through my gut and races its way to every scrap of my body.
“My daughter, my child,” I mutter.
No!
It has to be another of my children. Not Iole. Not my beautiful girl. Ignoring my companions’ questioning looks, I turn my vision to Portaceae soaring first over the House hoping to see her in the courtyard tending to the peacocks. She isn't there. Nor is she in my temple. I even direct my vision to Forested Park but see only the big red bull munching on a patch of clover.
“Sister, what is it?” Poseidon asks as he takes hold of my hands. I jerk away. The roughness of his calloused palms grates against my flesh.
“Leave me!” I scream shaking my head and turning away.
“Try the arena,” Aphrodite whispers. She drapes one of her long arms around my shoulders. How can she touch me? How can she rest her limbs on me when I feel as if I’ve turned to mist?
With a lead weight in my chest I view the arena. There she is on the floor of the arena’s dais like a girl’s ragdoll tossed aside after a day of play. Blood still pulses from a wound in her throat. Like a gale wind slamming into a mountainside, a rush of a vision of Eury slicing the life from my baby girl pummels me. My legs weaken and are unable to support me. I slump. Aphrodite’s arm flies to my waist to keep me from dropping to the hard marble flooring.
“Get her to the chaise lounge,” Hermes says and I feel myself being shifted then eased onto a plush couch.
“Since when can’t Hera hold her drink? Already stumbling after only a sip?”
“Enough, Dionysus,” Poseidon snaps. “Something’s wrong. Hera, what is it?” He kneels in front of me, but I can’t find the words to answer his concern.
Turning my vision back to the arena, I see the bastard. No, I mustn't think of him like that. He's proven himself more than worthy of a better name. He assesses the scene on the dais. A dagger already in his hand he tries for Eury, the true bastard, but Herc’s witch of a wife calls a warning and Eury dodges the blade. I curse myself for bringing that woman into Herc’s life.
Struggling under the guards’ grasp, I watch Herc look at Iole. The love still burns in his eyes for her and my heart aches. How long has it been since I earned a gaze like that from Zeus?
Someone is pressing a glass into my shaking hands. I clasp it in both hands and take a sip. The wine, a recent vintage from Dionysus’s polis, should taste of cherries and smoke but no flavor pierces my tongue. I take another swallow before meeting the eyes of my group.
“Iole. She’s dead.”
Why had I not let her rid my polis of Eury when she had the chance? Damn my hatred of Herc. If I hadn’t been so determined to see him fail, Eury would have been ousted. This never would have happened if I’d only controlled my vicious jealousy. Damn me.
Aphrodite, already sitting next to me with her arms around my waist and shoulders, hugs me tighter. Dionysus snaps his fingers and my glass refills. Poseidon, never one to give word to his emotions, storms over the edge of the temple and in an instant a downpour fills the common area with the sound of a raging waterfall.
Hermes face shows nothing but curiosity.
“But she’s immortal. She’s your daughter.”
My mouth feels dry as a blanket and I gulp down half my wine. A snap echoes through the temple and the glass fills again.
“We had a bargain. If she kept her vows, she would remain immortal.”
“You’re her mother. Don’t you know what she has done?” Dionysus asks.
I shake my head. In the motion, tears overflow my eyes and drizzle over my cheeks. I have not allowed myself to pry into Iole’s private life. She wanted free of the world of Olympus with its rivalries and lack of privacy and, until Herc Dion, I had no reason to doubt she would stay faithful to her vows.
She loved him and, despite his indiscretion with the Amazonian, he her. But what had their love been? Had she broken her vow? Would she still be one of us?
She’d only been a little girl when she left Olympus. We had argued. Gods be damned I can't even remember what the row had been about. I can only remember her words: “I want to live with the mortals.”
I told her she didn't know what that life would entail but she swore she didn’t want a life with bickering gods, jealous gods, gods who ignored their spouses.
She wanted a family.
And so we made a pact. She would live her childhood with a mortal family. She would choose her own name. Upon adulthood she would enter the House of Hera and serve me. Already then I decided she would advance quickly. I would not have my daughter serving under a common Herene.
“But,” I had cautioned, “should you break your vows as a Herene or leave their service, you will give up the gods’ gift. You will cease to be immortal. If you are fool enough to give your body to any man—or any god for that matter—thinking he will love you, you are as foolish as any mortal and will be no better than them. Is that understood?”
“Yes, mother.”
“If you are truly setting life on Olympus aside, you must give up your given name. You will take a new name into your new life. What will it be?”
I can still see her now, scrunching up her face, looking up to the sky in thought until she settled on a choice.
“Iole.”
It took me years until the new name slid easily off my tongue, and even now I still falter and call her by the name I gave her when she was born.
She was happy with her family—a couple who had been childless. Had I known she would form such an attachment to her rescuer or that she would carry her admiration of him throughout her life I would have ensured he was not there the night of the fire. The family would have died, but she would have been safe, her immortality would have saved her. Now she lies in a pool of her own blood and I have no idea how physical her attachment and admiration became. I have no idea if she will join me on Olympus or be taken in as one of Hades’s tenants.
My head swirls and someone eases the glass from me. I drop my face into my hands and a sob h
eaves through my chest.
As the downpour continues to pound against Olympus, Aphrodite pats my back and says, “We’ll know soon enough.”
43
IOLALUS
I’m too stunned to move. This is madness. Eury has killed a Herene in front of an arena full of people. Yet Herc is the one in custody. Iole knew Eury’s secrets and had threatened to take his power. She had every scrap of the law behind her to depose him. But for no reason Maxinia nor I could guess, she had waited too long. And now she is dead. My heart aches at the sight of her lying on the dais with blood staining her perfectly white hair.
Dear gods, if only she hadn’t waited.
In the stands, the crowd roars with angry threats. The cheeks of men and women are streaked with tears as their faces pull into masks of sorrow. A rush of people from the eastern side of the arena presses forward trying to get to the arena floor, but vigiles order them back. What Eury has done is more than enough to incite the coup we have planned, but not here, not at this moment. With so many confused, distraught, and angry people it would be a deadly mayhem.
This is not how it was supposed to happen. Damn you, Herc, if you had only listened. I bide my time waiting for the chance to roll my plan into action. Waiting for things to calm so Eury can be arrested without anyone else getting hurt.
After several moments, the vigiles have the crowd under control. Eury passes an arrogant, defiant look over his people as if they have quieted just for him.
“Deianira, come forward to your husband,” Eury says. She strides over, her bony hips doing their best to sway sexily, but the attempt only makes her walk like a drunkard. Herc glares at her and rightly so. Her warning has put him in custody. Her words have kept him from doing away with Iole’s murderer. Her alert could mean her husband’s death sentence.
Deianira performs a low curtsey to Eury then stands in front of Herc. Her hands clutch a small vial to her chest like a child holding a treasure she doesn't want to lose.
“I believe you have something for your husband?”
“I do. A love potion.” She strokes Herc's arm but he jerks away, his eyes wide with fear. I don't know what sort of deception this is but I know that no potion unless given straight from the gods could ever make Herc love this woman.
“Then give it to him and he will be yours.”
Herc is already pulling his head back as Deianira pops the cork from the vial. She raises it to his lips but he pinches them shut.
“Take it husband and you will forget her. There is no use loving her now.” She speaks kindly, pleading with him.
“Poison,” he says.
“No. Love.”
Herc watches her face, his eyes flick to the body of Iole. The pool of blood has stopped growing. He returns his gaze to his wife with a look of resignation. A familiar smell drifts to me. Something about it, something I can’t quite place jolts my gut.
“Do it then,” Herc says.
She raises the bottle to his lips and tips it.
The scent. Like rotted cherries. A vision of riding the writhing water serpent blasts through my head.
“Herc, no!”
But my warning is too late. Lerna’s blood is already in his mouth. It can’t be more than a sip. With a disgusted expression, he tightens his lips again before she can stop pouring. Some of the potion dribbles a black stream down his chin.
“Poison,” I yell. “She's poisoning him.”
Herc gasps. He can't breathe. Deianira, truly confused, flings the bottle from her hands as if suddenly realizing she’s holding a viper. The bottle shatters against the blade of my dagger that the guards forced from Herc’s hand. A waft of foul fruit from the tiny pools spattering the dais fills my nose until I can almost taste the poison myself.
Herc’s massive hands claw at his neck. Blood sprouts from under his nails. His eyes find me and I can only imagine the horror, the distress he sees there. I run to him, trying to support him as his legs give way. Clutching onto me, his mouth is at my ear as he forces one hoarse word out of his constricting throat: “Lead.”
As his head slumps, he directs his final gaze at Iole before collapsing into a heap beside her. The guards seize Deianira and Eury struts about the dais as if he has just defeated the Areans single-handedly.
Iole’s murder, Herc’s attack on Eury, and Deianira’s betrayal have completely knocked my plan off course. Orpheus was to play the video, I was to denounce Eury, the vigiles stationed just off the dais were to arrest Eury, and Herc was to become Solon. But Herc is dead. Iole is dead. More than ever the people of Portaceae need to learn what their leader truly is. I look to the control box. Orpheus stands at the window. I wave my signal. The motion sends a piercing pain through my shoulder, but Orpheus gives me a thumbs up and the screen flickers to life.
The screen shows half of Eury’s head and his upper back. He faces Iole who is speaking.
“You've still yet to post the funds you promised into the treasury. And yet—” Her voice rises. “And yet, your household expenditures appear to show an increase.”
She slides a piece of paper over to him that he quickly glances over.
“Those are private numbers.”
“You are the Solon. You serve the people of Portaceae. Your numbers are their numbers.”
“If the money is gone, what can you do?”
“The law says many things can be done. The Herenes have not employed them in the past because we foolishly believed your never-ending promises, but it is getting to a breaking point—”
As Iole continues I keep my eye on Eury. He stands frozen, shocked by what he is seeing on the screen, but I know it won’t last. Glancing quickly to the Herene’s box, I catch sight of Maxinia and give a small nod. She disappears from view. She will be hurrying down the stairs now to get the centaurs in place to prevent Eury’s escape.
On the screen, Iole is dealing her blow.
“Eury, I've called you here today with this man as witness to charge you with neglect of the polis.”
On the screen and on the dais, Eury does not respond.
“You do know what the law of neglect is, don't you?” Iole asks after a pause.
In a burst, the on-screen Eury bolts from the chair.
“You dare threaten me?” He pounds his fist onto the desk and on the screen I move into the shot ready to protect Iole.
“It's not a threat. You have a choice to fund this polis with the money and forces it needs to build, maintain, and protect itself or I will seek your replacement.”
“I'll see you dead before you do any such thing. And you won’t die a virgin.”
At his cue, Orpheus shuts off the screen and I step forward, angling myself to keep Eury in my sight.
“People of Portaceae, your leader has swindled you.”
My eyes dart between the audience and Eury. Realization has finally settled in and he now looks more like an angry bull than Frederic could ever dream of. I need to speak quickly and get the vigiles out here before mine is the next body on the dais. The scrawny Deianira certainly doesn't need two guards on her and no doubt Eury will soon have one or both of them on me. Thankfully, they are too dumb to act unless Eury tells them what to do.
“Everything Herc Dion did was for Portaceae.” Eury steps back. Is he going to flee? “But this man,” I point to Eury who stops, “took every drachar from every gift and kept it for himself.” Eury’s eyes fill with malice. “Iole knew this. She was about to depose him. That is why she is dead.”
Eury charges. From the corner of my eye I can see vigiles rushing from the stands toward the dais. My position at the edge of the platform is a stupid one especially with my bad leg. With Herc and Iole’s body in front of me and Deianira’s guards to my side, I’ve left myself nowhere to go but a dangerous drop to the arena floor. Still, a broken leg will be better than death at Eury’s hand.
I’m about to leap. I take in a deep breath and steel myself for the pain. In my pause I see Eury grope for my fallen dagger on the
dais. His struggle to grasp the weapon distracts me from escape.
His hand. What in the gods’ names happened to it?
It was no secret that Eury had lost a thumb. Some rumors said one of his servants had finally had enough and chopped it off, others say Adneta had bit it off mistaking the stubby digit for his manhood, and still others insisted he paid the blood price to the Oracle with his own blood. But regardless of how he had lost it, the wound had closed and completely healed over. When he had clutched the dagger to Iole’s throat, I couldn’t take my eyes off his hand. I had expected him to lose hold of the knife. But he held tight to the hilt with a four-fingered hand that had only skin resembling a puckered, toothless mouth where a thumb should be.
But now, that puckered mouth is no longer pinched tight. As if stuck in a scream, the mouth gapes open exposing blood, bone, and bandy tendons. Eury seems not to notice. He still tries to grip the dagger in his right hand. With no thumb and with anger blotting out reason, Eury fumbles with the weapon. It clatters to the dais. He lunges to retrieve it.
I move a step away from the edge of the dais. With the limp, my movements are awkward, but I hope to move slowly enough to stay out of his notice as he focuses on the dagger.
In his haste to reclaim the weapon, Eury slips in the blood that has flowed from Iole’s neck and lands hard on his hands and knees. In a heartbeat, he scrambles for the dagger, clutches it in his complete hand and jumps to his feet.
From the tunnel behind the dais comes the clip-clop tattoo of centaurs’ hooves. Eury makes a sweeping lunge at me. I arc my body away from the blade that narrowly misses my abdomen. The motion unbalances me and I swing my arms to steady myself. I curse as pain rips through my shoulders. Eury lifts the dagger, holding it ready to stab. I wish I could run. Without the injuries to my joints I could have easily darted to the side and been out of his reach. Instead, I take one limping step back, back to the edge of the dais. I glance over my shoulder to the arena floor. Several vigiles stand ready to catch me.
The Trials of Hercules: Book One of The Osteria Chronicles Page 39
