The Goddess

by Robyn Grady

  “Fine,” Darius said. “Good.”

  But then, watching Helene exploring in the distance, apparently innocent of any wrong-doing and probably having worked hard all morning in the sun, he reconsidered. He eyed his glass, pondered the villa’s ample supplies, then recalled the intriguing hue of her eyes. The passion in her voice.

  “Actually, no,” he said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Don’t send a crew just yet.” Helene balanced on an elevated rock now, face tilted toward the sky, arms out like a bird, sarong and flaxen hair flying in the breeze. “I’ll call again and let you know when.”

  “You’re aware of tradition, Your Highness. This time is to be spent alone.”

  “With that tradition already breached, another few hours won’t hurt.”

  Setting his cell aside, he sipped again, waiting for his temporary guest to turn about. Instead she crouched—to check out a rock pool or, perhaps, a cut from an oyster shell on her foot. When she remained low, out of sight, his gaze narrowed. Finally he let out a growl.

  A freak wave hadn’t swept her out to sea. And she couldn’t have magically passed through that rock wall. There was a way into the ravine that lay on the other side, but its entrance was well-hidden.

  He couldn’t take a chance on anyone finding out what was concealed beyond that point. If Helene found it—dropped it the way she’d dropped that bucket—

  Darius raced out the door.

  …

  Several minutes later, out of breath, he stood before the cliff wall where she’d disappeared. At ground level on this particularly low tide, he discovered an area of the rock had eroded through to the other side. While a man of his build could never struggle through, someone of Helene’s petite stature would fit.

  Darius strode inland until he came upon a particular groove in the rock. Using his shoulder, he pushed with all his might. Finally a rock louver grated open barely wide enough for Darius to squeeze through. On the other side, he sprinted down the pebble-filled corridor until he came to the obscured entrance of a cave. He cupped his mouth and called into the tunnel, “Helene Masters!” then threw a glance to his right. By design that path, too, was blocked by a cliff wall. No one was meant to find this entrance, although dainty footprints marked in wet sand confirmed Helene had somehow managed it.

  Many years ago, he’d ventured inside this cave with his father. Later, together, they’d pored over a map. This place was a maze, and meant to be. He only hoped Helene hadn’t wandered in too far and gotten hopelessly lost.

  The scent of moss and salt suffused his senses. All around, dank air pressed in. Farther down, amid misty light, a craggy three-pronged intersection appeared. Following his mental roadmap, he took the left path where domed walls seemed to shrink and crowd in. His surroundings began to glow, the result of a mineral in the rock. The constant eerie trickle of water down limestone echoed all around him.

  He took three more turns and finally a svelte silhouette came into view. The shadow was reaching for a waist-high ledge. Horrified, Darius let out a booming cry.

  “Nooooo!”

  Helene jumped back with a loud yelp. Although these walls, too, gave off a luminous quality, the chamber was draped in near darkness. Now she leaned forward, squinting to see.

  “Your Highness, is that you?”

  His bare feet slapping cold puddles, Darius strode forward. “Helene, what in the name of Zeus are you doing here?”

  “Exploring.”

  He could make out the fall of her hair, the sweep of her curves. But this minute his interest lay not in the feminine form. He glanced at the ledge—or not the flesh and blood kind.

  “Isn’t it amazing?” she asked, indicating the stone figurine that sat on that ledge. “I think she’s the real deal. I mean thousands of years old.”

  When she reached out again, Darius lunged and his hand snapped around her wrist. As soon as skin met skin, volts hurled up his arm. From the jump she gave, Helene felt it, too. The sensation was intense. Electric. Obviously a by-product of adrenaline overload.

  Her expression was one of dawning understanding.

  “You knew she was in here, didn’t you?” she said. “You knew about this figurine and this cave.”

  Releasing her, Darius turned to the ledge. Outwardly the figurine was a rudimentary piece: its shape was embellished with heavy breasts and ample hips, thighs, and belly. But she signified a great deal more than that.

  “This figurine is integral to my time here,” he replied. “I’ll take her with me when I leave.”

  “Why?”

  His annoyance spiked. “Ms. Masters… ”

  “You called me Helene before.”

  Groaning, he conceded. “Helene—this is not a game.”

  Carefully, he reached for the figurine.

  He expected the stone to feel cold against his palms and yet her surface was warm. Some thermal activity in the rock, he supposed. He tried to lift her but the base stuck. Gentle rocking didn’t help. Would he need to come back with a pick? His ancestors would roll over in their graves.

  “She’s your goddess, isn’t she?” Helene asked. “The one with all those powers to seduce and hypnotize. A fertility statue. I studied history in college. Lots of people all over the world still believe in these things. There’s a huge market for replicas on eBay.”

  He had less than no interest in forgeries.

  With his gaze adjusted to the shadows now, he scanned the ancient stone curves and a sense of destiny overcame him. Helene needed to appreciate the gravity of her find. She needed to understand that this place must remain secret.

  “The eldest Vasily child enters this cave three times in his life,” he explained. “Once as a boy, later to retrieve the figurine in manhood, and a third time when his bloodline is assured, to show his oldest son the route and return the goddess to her home until she is needed again. If the figurine were to be broken, it is said the Vasily line would be broken, too. To restore and retain her powers she must return again and again here to this cave. Only kings, their eldest sons, and the most senior palace aide in each generation know of her hiding place and whether, in fact, she is merely myth or truly exists.”

  “Except now I know.”

  His focus darted back to his awed companion.

  “You must tell no one. She doesn’t belong on the black market or in a museum.”

  Helene looked appalled. “Of course not. I won’t tell a soul.”

  In the trickling quiet, they both studied the goddess for a long solemn moment while the statue’s sightless eyes gazed back.

  “When you return to the main island,” Helene said, “where will you put her?”

  “A special vault. The villa here has one, too.”

  She blinked at him. “Oh.”

  He frowned back. “What?”

  “Nothing… Except, well, it doesn’t seem fair. She finally gets out of this cold dark cave only to be locked up again?”

  He was about to state the obvious; this piece was made of stone and wouldn’t know the difference. Instead he stopped. Listened. The sound of water running down limestone had suddenly grown louder.

  Beneath the bare soles of his feet, the ground seemed to shift and the echoing trickle swelled more. At the same time as his muscles locked and his gaze flew toward the tunnel entrance, the walls began to shake. When the ancient ceiling rumbled, Helene Masters jumped and threw her arms around his middle.

  A heartbeat later, the first boulder fell less than a foot away. With a final agonized glance at the goddess, he swept Helene into his arms and bolted toward the exit. At that same instant, the roof buckled and caved in.

  Chapter Three

  With boulders dropping and barely missing their heads, Helene held on as the prince bundled her in the sling of his arms and shuffled away from the chamber’s exit. When an almighty crack ripped out overhead and an even heavier rain of rock fell, dust plumed and all light was snuffed out. They were trapped in the dark
, cut off.

  Alone.

  After what seemed like an eternity—but which was more likely a few seconds—the sky stopped falling, and deafening silence crept in. Helene felt numb. Hands. Heart. Brain. She tried to scan the scene but the world had turned black. The air was clogged with dust and stirred-up moss that stuck in her nose and throat. She hacked and coughed. When she’d settled, Vasily set her down.

  Neither one spoke. Helene guessed he was listening for creaking—noises that might lead to another cave-in. But the only sounds were the echoing trickle of water and her own ragged breathing.

  His deep steady voice drifted over. “Are you all right?”

  When his big hand found hers and squeezed, she exhaled and squeezed back. “This is bad, isn’t it?”

  He grunted and his fingers slipped away from hers.

  A few feet away, she heard a sizzle, and then a flash went off. The scent of sulfur permeated the air and swirls of yellow-blue flame appeared before Darius Vasily’s face. His brow, cheeks, and what she could see of his bare chest were smudged with sweat and grime. She studied the yard-long torch he held. He could have plucked it out of the middle ages.

  “Where’d you get that?” she asked.

  “Torches line this chamber’s walls. Matches are always kept on the ledge.” Slipping the box into a pocket, he stopped to study the figurine from head to toe, back and front, until his shoulders rolled back.

  “She’s unharmed.”

  Helene slumped. With all due respect, she felt that was the least of their worries.

  “A person can survive without food for a time,” she said, “but what about water?” Then she remembered. “When Alexio gets here and can’t find anyone, he’ll send out the alert.”

  In the flickering light, she read his bleak look. If they could be dug out at all, it could take days. Or weeks.

  Finding her hand again, he led her between chunks of rock to the far wall. He gave a simple instruction.

  “Sit.”

  He meant on the cold rocky floor? “Thanks. I’ll stand for a while.”

  In a halo of torchlight, she watched him find a seat and get settled.

  “It’s soft,” he said, “if that makes a difference.”

  She made out some cushions fringed with gold brocade. “This cave is furnished?”

  “Just this ledge.” He leaned back. “A small comfort during times of meditation.”

  She joined him.

  After setting her sandals down beside her and brushing away pebbles from under her thighs, Helene’s jangled nerves settled a little, and clenched muscles began to relax. She squinted at the figurine, but, from this distance, even an outline wasn’t visible. It was a miracle that no one, including the goddess, had been harmed—yet.

  When an icy ball settled in the pit of her belly, Helene couldn’t contain a shiver.

  The prince asked, “Are you cold?”

  “Not really.” She pulled up her legs to hug her knees. “Just edging a little toward terrified.”

  He held the torch and its light a foot above his head. “Watch the flame. It sucks back. Oxygen isn’t cut off completely. If air can get in, there’s a way out. Even rock wears away over time. Your doorway into that ravine is proof enough of that.”

  She dropped her feet to the cold uneven ground. “Well, let’s get started.”

  “We’ll gather ourselves first. Catch our breath.”

  That would have been fine, except she hadn’t felt this claustrophobic since she was a kid when she’d been grounded an entire month for sneaking out to see an R-rated movie. Back then, being cooped up had seemed like the end of the world. Talk about gaining perspective.

  Her focus shifted to Darius. His brow furrowed in concentration; he, too, was surveying the chamber and calculating their chances. Which were good? Slim? Non-existent?

  A low-pitched creak sounded overhead, and both their gazes shot up.

  After an interminable time with her fingers gripping the seat’s lip, she summoned the courage to ask, “Have there been other cave-ins?”

  “None I’m aware of. Soon as I get back, I’ll have the structure reinforced.”

  She arched a brow. “I thought this cave was meant to be a big secret.”

  “I’ll need to cut out the tongues of all workers involved, of course.” When her jaw dropped, his dark eyes glittered, reflecting the torchlight as he grinned. “Don’t lose your sense of humor, Helene. We’re going to need it.”

  After a time, when the constant trickle of water began driving her mad, she asked, “Do you think the rock’s settled yet?”

  “No way to be sure.” He went to say more but cut himself off.

  In the torchlight’s relief, she studied his profile—that proud hawkish nose, a muscle pulsing high on his smudged cheek, the tight line of his mouth. What was he hiding?

  “If you have something to share, go ahead. I won’t fall apart.” At least she’d try not to.

  “If we poke around,” he finally said, “the rock might be disturbed again.”

  “If we don’t, we’ll dehydrate and…” She didn’t need to spell it out.

  “We’ll wait. Let more edges settle into place.”

  She wanted to argue and get this show on the road, but she couldn’t explore on her own. Irrespective of going nuts simply sitting here, wondering how this might end, what choice did she have?

  Passing minutes cobbled together, dragging by like weeks. Gradually Helene’s vision adjusted. Across the way, she made out the figurine’s shape while her companion’s steely presence grew clearer too. She took comfort in his regular breathing and in the rhythmic rise and fall of his broad bare chest with its sheen of sweat. He held the torch with two sure hands and the stem between his opened thighs. Despite it all, she couldn’t help but imagine how hard those thighs might feel beneath her fingertips or the slow steady slide of her palm.

  If they’d lived in another time, the man sitting beside her would have led armies.

  She shivered again. The torchlight gave off some heat but not nearly enough to stave multiple goose bumps. Raising her legs, she hugged her knees again. When her teeth began to chatter, air crackled as the torchlight arced over to one side and a strong arm looped around her.

  Helene’s eyes widened and her cheeks flashed hot. She hadn’t expected the contact. But she was a thousand times grateful for the immediate comfort…for this incredible skin-on-skin heat.

  She eased her breath out and settled her cheek against the perfect plateau of the prince’s naked chest. Her ear picked up the beating of his heart while the vibration thrummed through her body and her blood. Her drawn-up legs gradually moved to rest lightly against his lap. Fisting a hand under her chin, aware of his palm stroking her arm to generate warmth, she snuggled in.

  After a time, he asked, “Is that better?”

  Her eyes had drifted shut. “Way better.”

  “Your skin is like ice.”

  “Yours is like fire.”

  “The perfect complement then.”

  Perfect is how she’d describe it.

  As his palm slid up and down and his scratchy chin lowered to lightly rest upon her crown, she began to thaw quite a bit and rather quickly now. Minutes ticked on and Darius continued to warm and stroke her. Reality faded away, time seemed to turn in on itself, and Helene swore she felt another presence here, waiting right along with them.

  The goddess?

  As much as she enjoyed the stories, she didn’t believe in witches and goblins and magical powers. But weren’t legends in some way connected to fact?

  “Tell me more about your goddess,” she said.

  “She isn’t my goddess. She belongs to our history. And our future.”

  Helene’s lips curved against his gorgeous hard chest. “You really believe in her, don’t you?”

  “I believe in her the same way I believe in the blood that flows through my veins.”

  “So you think her powers are real?”

  “
We give power to a belief through our faith. You must have things you believe in, Helene.”

  Her stomach swooped—he wondered if she had faith. Cloaked in this darkness, why not be honest? “After my dad died, I stopped believing in a whole lot of things.”

  The stroking on her arm slowed before starting up again. “It’s difficult to lose a parent, I know.”

  “He’d just gotten back from overseas,” Helene explained. “He got sick all of a sudden. Weakness. Fever. That was ten years ago.”

  After feeling lost and hurt and angry for so long, she’d accepted that her dad would have wanted her to live her life rather than blame the world. She began planning a future. Started dreaming again of the adventures the two of them had once talked so much about—adventures her mother would say were foolish. Filled with unnecessary risks. She couldn’t imagine the reaction when her mother heard about this escapade. If she lived to tell the tale.

  “My father died last year,” Darius said. “A stroke. My mother died six months later. They said it was of a broken heart.”

  Helene’s own heart rolled over. Her mother might drive her crazy but she couldn’t bear to think of losing her. Her mom was all the family she had.

  “You have siblings, don’t you?” she asked. “I always wanted a sister.”

  “One younger brother, Nikos. A bright, strong man. I’m very proud of him. And, yes, I have a sister, too.”

  She grinned to herself. “Do you lord it over them like big brothers do?”

  “Not if they do as they’re told.”

  She smiled and imagined that Vasily was smiling too.

  “My brother’s finishing a medical degree in the UK,” he said.

  “And your sister?”

  “A teenager who can be a handful at times, to say the least.”

  So his sister was a bit rebellious like Helene had been at that age. “Does she look like you?”