“Come and get some if you want it so much,” Aridela always replied.
Then came the rush of air and utter silence of concentration as she vaulted over the mighty back of the aurochs.
The god-lover spoke his vow. Together we bring forth a new world. Nothing can ever part us. I will always be with you, in you, of you.
Know me, Aridela. See me. I am with you, even now. My Mother and I are by your side.
The acrid smell of ashes and violent shaking forced her awareness back to Harpalycus. He leaned over her, a scowl marring his handsome face.
“Wake up,” he commanded. “You cannot sleep in your master’s presence.” He crossed to the table and poured some wine. “I’ve had a satisfying day. Eurysthenes of Pylos and I have come to an agreement that benefits us both. His armies will soon be here. Your people cower in their hovels, trying in vain to hide their daughters from my men.” He returned to the bedside. Aridela smelled the wine on his breath as he bent over her. She tried to swallow, but her throat was so parched she couldn’t. “Did we really think Crete invincible?” he said. “You, your country, and everything within it are mine, and always will be.”
“Never.”
He didn’t respond. She must not have spoken. She was so intolerably weary, so weak from hunger and thirst she could hardly tell truth from fantasy. The last time she’d truly slept had been the night of her wedding. Tears trailed from her eyes. “Chrysaleon….”
Harpalycus straightened with an impatient sigh. “Still calling your feeble lover? I expected more from you. When I finish here, I will move my court to Knossos. I mean to bury his skull beneath the road into the palace and take my place as king.” He drank off his wine, shattering the finely crafted, elegant bowl against the wall. Tilting his head as he sat next to her, he ran a hand so lightly along her arm it caused a shiver. “This is the way it should be, for all women, everywhere. You have no honor. We on the mainland have always known this. You claim to be blessed with divinity, but you’re nothing. Necessary vessels, soil in which to grow our offspring. I am the one with true power. I have defeated death, and will live forever. One day, all people, all civilizations, will worship me.” He pressed two fingers over the pulse in her throat. “It took me many years to find the secret and bind it to my will.” His smile widened. “But I succeeded. I cannot die. Do you understand?” He stood, stretching, scratching his scalp. “Is it time yet to untie you?” She watched his eyes narrow as he slit the ropes that bound her ankles and trailed his hands along her calves to her thighs, pushing down between them and forcing them apart.
Aridela inhaled and released her breath. Part of her longed to twist, scream and kick, but she couldn’t muster the strength, and something, something she couldn’t quite remember, advised her to ignore his taunts.
“You don’t struggle.” He lowered himself upon her, parting her thighs again with his knee. “Is the fight at last leaving you?”
His weight crushed her bound arms. One shoulder felt close to coming out of joint. Though she bit her lip until the coppery taste of blood seeped into her mouth, a miserable groan formed in her throat.
He grinned. It was all he needed. Soon he collapsed, heavy and sated, over her body. His breathing rasped into her ear.
Kissing her earlobe like an ardent lover, he said, “Sweet Aridela. I swear by Poseidon I never tire of you. You lie there without protest but I see the hatred in your eyes. You cannot hide it from me. I hope you never lose your hatred. It’s so much more exciting than the sniveling acquiescence other women offer. One day, when you hold my son in your arms, I think you might give yourself to me willingly. I’m not sure that’s what I want at all.”
“I’ll kill any child you make on me.”
He laughed, instantly reinvigorated. It was true, what he said. Her defiance did nothing but add to his strange erotic fulfillment. Many times she’d told herself to say nothing, to close her eyes and lie as though dead when he tormented her. Yet sometimes the old spark, the ‘cauldron of fire’ that used to simmer within her, blazed and wouldn’t be silenced.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a movement. She glanced at Lycus. His shoulders were hunched, his face streaked with tears. The eunuch was there too, staring without expression over their heads.
Say nothing. Do nothing. As she grew hungrier and weaker, it became easier to follow the internal command.
She turned her head away, lying still and silent until Harpalycus lost patience and struck her in the face.
“Wash her,” he said to the eunuch. “Put new bedding in her cell. I’m sick of these ugly fleabites.” He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers over her thigh. “If she can ever learn humility,” he said, almost gently, “and how best to please me, she will find her life much easier. She will be the mother of a line of kings. If she does not, I will hand her over to my men and see how she likes that.”
He motioned to his guards. They grabbed Lycus and pulled him from the room. The once-famed and adored bull leaper stared at her as he was dragged away. She returned his gaze, her eyes slitted with venom.
If only she could die.
But wishes for death were cowardly. As long as there remained the slightest chance she could free her people, she would suffer any agony to that end.
“Aridela? Please, wake up.”
She started. A hand gripped her shoulder. She felt the close presence of another being, but in the dark, she could see nothing.
“Aridela,” he said again, low, and she recognized the voice. She hadn’t seen Lycus in days, not since the last time Harpalycus had made him watch while he raped her. How could Lycus, as much a prisoner as she, be here, unbound, alone, in what must be the middle of the night? She couldn’t muster a great deal of curiosity.
“Is Harpalycus with you, traitor?” she said. “Are you here to watch again?”
His grip tightened. He made choked sounds.
“I don’t blame you,” he whispered. “I—I was mistaken in my trust.” He fumbled with the leather knots at her wrists.
“Mistaken in your trust?” She laughed, infusing it with all the contempt she’d been harboring. “What are you doing?”
“Helping you escape.”
“Get away from me.”
“I promise you. I’ve planned this since the day he imprisoned me. I dug my way out. I have a knife. I took it off a soldier while he slept. These mainlanders are lazy and careless, and always drunk.”
Aridela felt herself growing more alert. For the first time since she’d been captured she felt a spark of hope. She feared it.
“You’re lying. Where’s Harpalycus? He’s watching, isn’t he?”
“No.” Lycus shook her. “If we’re caught he’ll kill us both, and we’ll suffer before we die, do you understand? This is our only chance. I could have gone by myself, but I won’t, not without you. Do you want to come with me or stay here?”
She tried to judge his honesty but without any light, unable to discern his expression, she couldn’t.
He freed her wrists and rubbed her cold hands.
“We must hurry,” he said. “Your guard will return. I’ve been waiting for him to leave. He won’t be gone long.”
She struggled through exhaustion to sit up.
He kept talking as he rubbed her arms and calves.
“He fooled me. He promised neither you nor your mother would be harmed. I only wanted to see Chrysaleon ousted.”
“Idiot.”
He helped her rise. Weakness forced her to lean against him. Not since the bull gored her, nearly seven years ago, had she felt so helpless.
“How did you do it?” she asked. “Tell me that at least. I want to know how you and Harpalycus overthrew us.”
He sighed twice as if trying to build his courage. “We planned it before he left Kaphtor. After the Destruction, I thought he must be dead. But two of his men came to Kydonia on a tender and learned where we were. They rowed around to Natho and found me. We made arrangements. I sli
t the throat of the watchman the night of the celebration. Harpalycus did the rest. His father’s armies overthrew every major harbor in just a few days.”
She gritted her teeth to keep from spitting on him. “What did he offer to make it worthwhile? Gold? Were you not wealthy enough already?”
“What I told you,” he mumbled. “He promised to rid Kaphtor of Chrysaleon.” His voice lowered further. “He promised me your hand.”
She could only growl her disgust.
“Listen to me,” he said. “You must know, if we—if we’re caught. Has he said anything about what he can do? Things no mortal should dare?”
She fought to keep from collapsing as they made their way across the room. “He claims he cannot die. He’s a madman.”
“He may be mad, but he does possess power,” Lycus said. “Proitos taught him.”
He supported her around the waist. Aridela clenched her teeth to stop their chattering.
Keeping his mouth close to her ear, Lycus said, “I’ve heard Proitos learned his craft from a master. I tried to find out his name, but I only know he is close to Chrysaleon.”
They stopped at the doorway. Lycus listened, looking both directions, before helping Aridela into the corridor. “Hurry,” he said.
They stumbled along, trying to be quiet. “You don’t know anything,” she hissed. “You lie to serve your own ends, to discredit my consort.”
She began to feel a little stronger, and shoved free of Lycus’s supporting arm.
“No, Aridela.” Lycus caught her hand and led the way down a set of steps. “I’m not lying. It troubles me that I couldn’t learn this man’s name. He could be here right now with Harpalycus. This man is someone to fear. He possesses an unholy power.”
They entered another corridor and slipped along the wall. Aridela was groggy from exhaustion and furious at Lycus’s insinuations. Instead of these back stabbings and accusations, they should find the fastest way to escape. She stared into shadows, trying to identify their location even as her mind leaped ahead to the gathering of an army that would bring down Harpalycus.
“I hated you.” Lycus’s grip tightened around her hand. “You can’t know how much, for giving yourself to him.”
She twisted until she freed her hand from his.
“And such a love,” he continued. “So consuming. You forgot about everyone else. Chrysaleon was all that mattered. By the Lady, I hated you.”
“Why are you helping me then?”
Lycus guided her to a door. She shook her head. “That isn’t the way out.”
“Yes, it is. I’ve mapped it. Trust me.”
She shrugged and they passed through. Blackness encased them. They felt along the walls. Finally Lycus stopped, searching until he found what he was looking for.
“Here it is,” he said, throwing open another door.
Aridela heard the wash of the sea as they stepped onto a pillared terrace. She and her mother had breakfasted here in better days. Tears blinded her as she breathed the air of freedom. Never again would she take such a thing for granted.
Snow covered the flagstones, drifting in the corners to knee height. Icy wind howled against them. “How long have I been in that room?” she asked, remembering the fine warmth and sunlight she had reveled in the day before the ceremony that made her Chrysaleon’s wife.
“A month. Winter came early, as we feared it would. Eurysthenes will use it as another excuse to delay sending the armies he promised. Hurry.” Lycus seized her hand again. “I found a set of stairs. It leads both into the hills and down to the sea. Only a little farther.” He turned as he pulled her forward. Faint moonlight revealed a hesitant smile. “Remember how it used to be? Do you remember that day in your mother’s arboretum?”
“I wish not to remember it.”
His smile faded. “I’m not evil; I know that now. Harpalycus is evil. I’ve only been stupid.”
“The dead cry for vengeance because of your stupidity.”
“And they’ll have it,” said another voice, a voice Aridela recognized, coming from behind them.
Terror sent Aridela onto her toes as Harpalycus emerged from the open doorway.
“Quick—” Lycus hissed. “Down the stairs. Hide in the rocks. Find the caves—”
They backed toward the stairs. Harpalycus walked toward them, smiling. “I knew you’d escaped, my old friend,” he said. “You think yourself clever, but you always do exactly what I predict. I’ve won my wager with Proitos, who believed you too cowardly to try.”
Lycus pushed her away from him then faced Harpalycus. He held up his stolen dagger.
Aridela watched as Harpalycus took three long, quick strides, raising his sword. Lycus threw his dagger, but the blade flew wide. It sank into the snow. Still smiling, Harpalycus took one more step and thrust his sword into the renowned bull leaper’s stomach.
Lycus doubled over. Aridela glimpsed his wide-eyed shock.
Turning, she raced for the steps, hearing Harpalycus shout through the strangled screams in her head.
Arrows struck around her. One grazed her thigh. She descended, slipping on ice, gasping, clutching the stones on either side. Blood ran down her leg, leaving black streaks in the snow.
Warriors ascended before her, blocking her way forward. The high stone wall surrounding the steps prevented any escape to the side. She turned and fled back the way she’d come.
They caught her at the top. Her arms were seized. Sword blades pressed against her chest and the back of her neck. She could hardly breathe, much less move.
“Take her to my chamber,” Harpalycus commanded. “Tie her tightly.” He stepped closer. She smelled blood and that other scent she had grown to associate with him. The caustic stench of smoldering ashes.
“Killing makes me lusty,” he said as his soldiers pulled her away. “What happy fortune that I’ve a whore in my bed.”
Prince Chrysaleon has at last awakened. Neoma brought him a hot strengthening brew made of ox bones. She feeds him with the patience of a mother tending a sick child, which shows how different she is since her own visit with the shadowlands.
When we took him from his prison cell, his flesh was gray and sunken; he hardly breathed. Two men carried him here, to the holy cave of Velchanos, where I believed he would soon expire. I admit I’m surprised he didn’t.
I cannot help but gloat over Harpalycus losing not just me but his most hated enemy as well. I sense the rage behind his promises of extravagant rewards if we are returned. His warriors came to the cave yesterday and stumbled around the outer cavern while we laughed in the back chambers. Does he think we don’t know how to conceal ourselves?
All we must do now is free Aridela.
Though he is skeletal and weak as a newborn, Chrysaleon’s eyes shine. His mouth is tranquil. He looks as he did the first time I took notice of him, dusty and elated after winning the footrace at the initial trials. On that day I learned the meaning of his name. I knew he had come to Kaphtor by sacred design.
When I explained where he was, he gave me a smile of such brilliance it almost stopped my breathing.
“This is where Aridela and I….” He didn’t finish. I knew he was remembering the first time he lay with her.
Then he added, frowning, “She needs me.”
His voice sounds younger. His face, too, is different, perhaps because he came so near to death and defeated it. He seems changed from what he was, more thoughtful, maybe a little less reckless.
Every time I look upon our handsome Zagreus, Aridela’s vivid memories of their mating, which occurred in this cave, return to me. I should let these recollections go. They do not belong to me. But I haven’t. I confess they leave me desirous for that which I cannot have.
Before Chrysaleon came to Kaphtor, I used to dream of the vision in which Damasen appeared. He lay upon me, gazing into my face as we merged, flesh to flesh, soul to soul. The memory is sweet yet amorous, and roused passions that were difficult to quench, but they were always
touched by divinity, somehow removed from this world.
Chrysaleon has intensified those longings but in a very mortal, earthy fashion that heats my skin. I turn away from him and try to feign indifference. I am afraid of betraying myself.
He dwells upon his death-experience. I understand. Sometimes I wake from a vision certain it was truth and this world false. I recognize the questioning confusion in his face. He asks if there are hidden corridors beneath Labyrinthos, under the prisons. My denials agitate him. He claims Kaphtor was embroiled in an ancient war, and creatures such as dragons, lizards, and gryphons live in a world beneath our feet. He insists I am the one who revealed these legends to him.
I hope his journey to death and back hasn’t damaged his mind.
Themiste watched Chrysaleon sleep. She couldn’t help it. Her gaze roamed over him, and in her imagination, her hands followed.
She lost track of time, which was easy to do in the cave, where all light came from clay lamps. When he woke, with a sharply indrawn breath, his arms flailing, she didn’t know how long she’d been there, but her back was stiff and her neck hurt.
“My lord,” she said soothingly. “You are with friends.”
“Themiste.” His voice hadn’t yet regained its old strength. His weakness made her feel protective; his use of her name made her smile.
She brought her stool closer. “I have broth. It’s still warm.”
“I don’t want any.” He frowned.
“Just a sip,” she said, hoping to tempt him as she brought the bowl closer. She would like to lay her hand upon his cheek, to feel the warmth of his skin, and maybe, if only she could, touch his lips, once.
His frown deepened. Clasping her wrist, he pushed the bowl away but kept hold of her. “No,” he said. “But I am happy you’re here, my lady. I have questions.”
The Thinara King Page 17
