‘Bah,’ Nilus said, reaching for some more hard cheese.
‘First Consul?’
A new voice interrupted Nilus just as he filled his mouth and began chewing. Swallowing quickly, he turned to see Eudora, one of his younger and more attractive servants, hovering uncertainly. A slender woman with auburn hair and wide hips, she unfortunately wasn’t as good in bed as she was to look at.
He grimaced as he gulped down the brittle cheese. If he hadn’t had guests, he would have taken her to task; he could have choked.
‘It is late, and I need to go to my mother. May I leave?’
‘I remember,’ Nilus said. ‘Go.’ He nodded at the door and the soldiers made way for her.
He reached for more cheese and frowned.
There had to be something he could do . . .
‘Tastes awful,’ the old woman muttered, talking around a mouthful of mush.
Eudora hovered anxiously, wringing her hands as she watched Sophia attend to her mother. ‘Do as she says, Mother.’
‘Chew it slowly, and then take a sip of the medicine to wash it down,’ Sophia instructed.
The old woman on the stool nodded, grimacing as she chewed the bitter herbs. Kneeling on the cold stone floor, Sophia began to work at the old woman’s fingers and hands. The old woman closed her eyes with relief, tears forming at their corners as Sophia tended to her arthritic joints.
‘The medicine,’ Sophia said with a smile, nodding at the wooden cup. Eudora came forward and lifted the cup to her mother’s lips.
‘Will it get any better?’ Eudora asked.
‘No.’ Sophia shook her head. ‘But if I come once a week, she can live with it.’ She smiled up at her elderly patient. ‘That’s better, isn’t it, Tharis?’
‘Thank you, priestess,’ Tharis murmured.
‘Now,’ Sophia said to Eudora as she kneaded the woman’s hands and rubbed each knuckle in turn. She glanced at the auburn-haired maidservant. ‘Did Nilus mention my father again?’
‘No, he was only talking about Philippos. Lord Nilus was complaining that he is going to lose the election.’
Sophia frowned. ‘Think carefully. Are you certain my father’s name never came up?’
‘I am certain, priestess. I promise. It was just the one time.’
Sophia’s hands were growing tired, but she continued rubbing and squeezing nonetheless. ‘And remind me what Nilus said again.’
‘He said to one of the consuls—’
‘Which consul?’
‘Consul Carolas.’
Sophia nodded. ‘Go on.’
‘He said to Consul Carolas: “Be careful with your loyalties, or you’ll suffer Aristocles’ fate.”’
Sophia pondered as she tended to Eudora’s mother. Nilus had been cold to her ever since her father’s death. He’d never offered her his sympathy, and if he saw her in the city, he would ignore her and turn away, swiftly walking in the opposite direction. She’d managed to force a confrontation once, asking him whether her father had said anything before his heart gave out. Nilus had stammered something about Aristocles being emotional about returning home. The man who was one of her father’s closest friends now spent all his time with the lords Anneas, Leon, and Harod, consuls Sophia knew had been her father’s enemies.
Nilus had mentioned her father’s name in a threat to another consul. Sophia was determined to know the truth. If Nilus did have anything to do with her father’s death, she vowed to herself that she would do something about it.
‘Keep listening, Eudora. If he mentions my father . . . the slightest thing, I want to know.’
‘I will, priestess. I promise.’
Sophia rose to her feet and began to gather her things. ‘I’ll leave more medicine with you, and I’ll return in a week.’
22
At the harbor of Xanthos, where the headlands at each end of the curved shoreline protected his growing fleet, Dion conducted his weekly tour of the shipyards with Roxana.
He usually had an eye for detail, asking her question after question, probing the state of everything he could think of, from the supplies of oak, pine, and hemp to the disposition of the men. He regularly patted the sides of ships and explored interiors, rubbed sailcloth between his fingers, and ate from the mess to check the quality of the food. But today he was enjoying standing on the beach and having an overview, simply taking in all he’d accomplished.
For today was different; he felt that he was seeing the world through new eyes. He would soon have a babe, gurgling in his arms as he pointed out his mighty warships and merchant vessels. The babe would become a child, the child would grow, and he would have someone to share his passion for the sea with, to pass his knowledge down to. A son or daughter, tottering by his side and then walking, growing, standing tall, and making him proud.
‘The work goes well,’ Roxana grunted. ‘We’ll have six serviceable triremes by summer.’
Dion nodded absently.
Roxana raised an eyebrow. ‘Am I boring you, sire?’
‘No, sorry.’ Dion smiled as he swept his gaze over the harbor. He saw an older fisherman with a youth who could only be his son, struggling together to get their net into their boat. The father patted his boy on the back when their task was accomplished.
Roxana’s gruff voice brought Dion out of his reverie. ‘She’s really got you by the heartstrings, hasn’t she?’
‘It’s not just her, it’s . . .’
Dion clamped his words down. No one could know that she was with child until after the wedding, or the child’s legitimacy would be brought into question. The only people who knew besides Dion and Isobel were Glaukos, Philippos, the high priestess, and Sophia.
‘She’s very beautiful, and I’m excited to be married,’ Dion said lamely.
‘And she’s far away in Phalesia, and you can’t wait to take her to your bed.’ Roxana smiled and gripped his arm. ‘I’m happy for you, Dion.’
He grinned as she slapped him on the back. ‘Sorry if I’m distracted. You were saying?’
‘It’s nothing that can’t wait.’ Roxana gazed at the horizon. ‘Have you heard from Fort Liberty lately?’
‘I’m sure Cob is fine.’
She harrumphed. ‘Of course he is. I was merely asking about the men.’
Now it was Dion’s turn to smile. ‘Roxana, can I ask you something?’
‘You’re the king, and you’re asking me if you can ask me a question?’
‘When did you last take some time off?’
‘Eh?’
‘Time away from ships,’ he said. ‘Just a short stint. Why don’t you take the Calypso, sail to Fort Liberty, and surprise Cob? He’d be happy to see you.’
Roxana’s eyebrows shot up. ‘The Calypso?’ She shook her head vigorously. ‘No, I couldn’t. She’s your personal—’
‘She’s a pleasure to sail, and don’t tell me you haven’t had your eye on her. Tell Cob I asked him to show you the view from the cliffs. I’m thinking of installing a lookout and I want your opinion.’
‘Well’—she tilted her head, frowning—‘as long as it’s important.’
‘It is.’ Dion fought to keep mirth from his expression. ‘I’ll keep an eye on things here.’
‘Sire!’
Turning, Dion saw a steward hurrying over from the direction of the palace, getting sand on his sandals as he approached. ‘Lord Finn . . . He’s asked to see you. He said it cannot wait.’
‘Some matter of trade, no doubt.’ Dion clasped Roxana’s shoulder. ‘Give Cobrim my best.’
‘Well?’
Finn jumped as Dion found him in the banqueting hall, not far from the Flower Terrace, a place where colorful blooms were tended with more care than anywhere else in Xanthos. Dion’s mother and father had met their end there, and the fragrant flowers dispelled the dark memories that clung to the terrace like foul odors from the grave.
Finn’s long hair was brushed and parted in the middle and he wore an orange tunic fastened with
a bright-blue sash that hugged his slender frame. Standing over a door-sized slab of wood, he turned, blocking Dion’s view, and his expression was deadly serious.
‘Finn?’ Dion frowned. ‘What is it?’
‘Dion . . . Do you remember when we returned from Malakai? You asked me to find anything I could about ancient Aleuthea: relics, statues, anything.’
‘And?’ Dion felt worry sink into his gut.
‘All manner of dross came my way, and I was thinking of asking you if I could call off the search.’
‘Go on.’
‘And then this arrived.’ Finn nodded at the wooden panel, but he was still obstructing it with his body. ‘One of my agents found it in the Oracle’s temple in Myana. Well . . . found it . . . stole it?’ He shrugged. ‘Be careful with it. It takes eons for solid teak to decay, but it’s still delicate.’
‘It’s authentic?’
‘The glossy red color comes from Aleuthean Crimson, an indigenous dye. It is genuine . . . I’d stake my life on it . . .’
‘Finn,’ Dion said in a low voice. ‘Let me see it.’
Finn stood aside and Dion looked down.
It was an ancient panel painting, the artwork covering the entire piece of framed timber. It had faded, but the colors were still vibrant, the lines between the shapes distinct.
Finn crouched by the painting and brushed his fingers across the surface. ‘It was formed by skilled hands; a master craftsman made it. See the finish? It feels smooth. It’s been glossed with a transparent lacquer to preserve the paint.’
Dion was too engrossed to reply.
The painting depicted a stormy sky filled with dragons, hundreds of them, some massive and in the foreground, others wheeling in the distance. Wings like bats, thin as a ship’s sails and just as big, flashed in a radiant sun as the creatures soared. Each set of wings curved and met at a lithe, reptilian body, covered in diamond-shaped scales. Powerful forelimbs gave way to sharp, finger-sized claws, outstretched and ready to rend and tear. Hind legs were stronger still: thick and muscular, tucked in under the body. Huge, wedge-shaped heads with sweeping protrusions behind them tapered to vicious jaws. Some of the dragons’ jaws were parted, revealing rows of sharp teeth.
But these weren’t the dragons that Dion was used to.
The dragons in the painting, rather than being silver, as all eldren were when they changed, or black, as Dion knew he became, were uniformly blood-red. Their scales were the color of fire, or of bright arterial blood.
‘I don’t understand it,’ Dion murmured. He knelt and examined the painting, glancing at Finn. ‘These dragons are red. Why?’
‘I thought you might have the answer.’
‘Me?’ Dion shook his head. ‘No. Perhaps Zachary might be able to explain it . . .’
‘Do you know what that is?’ Finn pointed out a glowing arch in the background of the painting, standing tall and proud on a hill. A small robed figure near the arch held a staff, appearing to be half the height of the strange artifact beside him. It wasn’t a stone arch; it was rounded, and all of one piece.
‘I have no idea.’
Dion continued to stare at the painting. ‘This is troubling. They don’t look like they’re supposed to be threatening. It’s almost as if they’re being . . . glorified.’
‘What does it mean?’ Finn asked, perplexed. ‘See the staff? Like the woman you saw in the palace.’
Dion met Finn’s worried gaze. ‘Is this the power Palemon came back for?’
‘What do we do?’
‘Keep searching. I don’t care how much you have to pay, if you find anything else like this, bring it to me.’
Dion stared at the painting for a time longer before flicking a glance at Finn. ‘Well?’ He jerked his chin at the exit.
Finn left Dion muttering as he examined the painting.
‘Red dragons. An arch . . .’
It had been a week since Sophia’s last visit, and she was again at Eudora’s mother’s house. Nilus never released Eudora from her duties until late in the evening, and Sophia stifled a yawn as she crushed herbs and pounded at powders with a mortar and pestle.
She helped Tharis drink her medicine and rubbed the old woman’s hands, feeling her own shoulders ache, but knowing she was bringing relief. Finally she heard footsteps and Eudora entered the small house.
‘I am sorry for being late, priestess. Lord Nilus was hosting another group of consuls.’ The pretty but careworn servant looked exhausted.
‘It’s fine,’ Sophia said without pausing. ‘She’s improving. Aren’t you, Tharis?’
‘It is better.’ The old woman nodded.
‘Thank you, priestess,’ Eudora said. She watched Sophia for a time. ‘I have some news. Something unusual happened two days ago.’
Sophia looked up sharply. ‘Something to do with my father?’
‘No . . . It was something else. A strange man visited Lord Nilus.’
‘Strange?’ Sophia asked. ‘In what way?’
‘A hunchback. Is that what it’s called?’ Eudora bent forward, ducking her head into her shoulders and stooping.
Sophia frowned. ‘I understand what you mean. Go on.’
‘He wore odd clothing: trousers and a tunic with buttons down the front. He was pale, with dark hair and thick eyebrows. He spoke with an accent I have never heard before.’
‘A foreigner?’ Sophia wondered what business he had with the first consul, but then her father had occasionally met with representatives from Tanus or Sarsica. ‘That’s not strange in itself. What did they discuss?’
‘He arrived late at night and asked to see Lord Nilus. He then said something to him, and suddenly Lord Nilus asked everyone to leave the villa, even the servants. We had to wait out on the terrace while they spoke. When his visitor left, Nilus seemed pleased.’ Eudora shrugged. ‘It was probably nothing.’
‘Probably,’ Sophia mused. ‘See what you can overhear. I’ll return next week.’
She didn’t want to read too much into it. But then again, anything that made Nilus pleased could be something to be worried about.
23
With just one week remaining until his wedding, Dion knew he should be focusing on the rituals and festivities, and the presentation of his new queen to his people, but instead all he could think about was the painting.
It was late at night, and he again stood in the banqueting hall, crouched in front of the wooden panel, staring at the dragons. He examined the distant glowing arch. The descendants of Aleuthea had returned and claimed Malakai, which was close to the site of the sunken city. What did it all portend?
‘Dion.’
He glanced up to see his tall, gray-haired uncle approaching. He was surprised to hear himself addressed by his first name, something Glaukos did only when he was being gravely serious.
When he saw Glaukos’s expression, Dion straightened, immediately concerned. His uncle’s face was as white as a sheet. In all the time he’d known him, Dion had never seen him look so disconcerted.
‘Dion . . .’ Glaukos said again. His mouth worked soundlessly.
‘Uncle?’ Dion rushed to his side. ‘What is it?’
‘You have a visitor. Out . . . Outside . . . On the Orange Terrace.’ He shook his head with apparent disbelief. ‘You . . . need to go.’
Dion felt his heart beat out of time at his uncle’s reaction. ‘Who is it?’
‘I’m . . . I’m sorry, lad. I’m sorry things had to turn out this way.’
Now truly alarmed, Dion left the banqueting hall and reached the Orange Terrace via the throne room. Though it was late, the fruit on the trees was bright, lit up by the flaming torches on tall poles. As always, the ocean breeze carried the smell of citrus, rustling the branches, with the backdrop of waves crashing on the shore forming a staccato rhythm.
He walked quickly, following the winding path past the stone table and continuing toward the rail facing the sea.
He came to a sudden halt.
It w
as a cloudy night, but he could see a woman dressed in a white chiton, standing and facing the sea. The wind was blowing her dark hair around her face and ruffling her clothing against her slender figure.
He knew his imagination was deceiving him. In a moment she would turn around and she would look nothing like the woman he thought she was.
She moved slightly, her face now in profile. Strong sensation, like pain mixed with grief, gripped a cold hand around Dion’s stomach. It couldn’t be her. Her name formed on Dion’s lips, but he couldn’t say it out loud; there was no way this was the same woman, for she was long dead. His heart threatened to leap out of his chest. Blood roared in his ears. He put a hand out, supporting himself on one of the orange trees.
She turned around to face him.
‘Dion,’ she said with a smile.
‘Chloe?’
She moved a little closer, and as the flickering light from the terrace caught her face, it no longer felt like he was staring at an apparition. It was her. She had the same almond-shaped eyes, triangular face, and wide mouth with ruby-red lips, the same sharp nose and flowing dark hair. She was real, flesh and blood. She was standing in front of him, as beautiful as ever, just a couple of paces away. He had dreamed about her, had nightmares about her death. He met her brown eyes and looked into them, and he forgot all about the sounds of the sea and the ocean breeze.
He took a step toward her. ‘Is it you?’
She came closer, moisture brimming in her eyes.
He took another step, and then he was suddenly moving. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. Their lips pressed together and he lost all sense of where he was, only knowing that the woman he loved was alive. The kiss was urgent and strong. It went on forever. As he clutched her to his chest, she kissed him back just as fiercely. He felt her tears on his face, and realized that he was crying as well. His heart pounding, he used every sense to tell himself she was real, inhaling deeply, holding her as tightly as he could.
‘Chloe.’
‘Dion,’ she breathed, her chest rising and falling, her warm body pressed tightly against his.
Copper Chain (The Shifting Tides Book 3) Page 15
