by Robyn Grady
Join me in the pavilion. DV.
Bringing the bloom close, she inhaled its perfume then quickly changed and was led through the palace maze. When the girl finally bowed off, Helene spotted Darius sitting beneath the soaring ceiling of a magnificent gilded-roofed pavilion. A bevy of dishes were laid out on a table before him. As if sensing her, he set down the block of papers he was studying and found his feet at the same time as his gaze found hers. His bright smile was a reflection of the sun rising behind him.
She crossed over. He dropped a kiss on her brow and a uniformed attendant pulled out a chair.
“You didn’t wake me when you left,” she said, looking over the array of food and sighing. Her waistline would suffer after two weeks of this.
“You make certain noises when you’re sound asleep.” Seated again, he flicked out a linen napkin. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
Certain noises? “Are you saying I snore?”
He leaned in close enough to steal a kiss. “Not badly. Not all the time.” She slapped his hand, and he pulled away laughing. “I thought you’d enjoy sharing a decent breakfast your first morning here.”
Nodding her thanks as an attendant filled her cup with steaming coffee, she reached for a pastry and teased, “Work not holding your attention?”
“I’ll admit, you are a distraction.” Grinning, he pulled down a mouthful of coffee. “So, how do you plan to fill in your day?”
“If you’re going to be busy…”
“Until early afternoon.”
“I’ve invited Tahlia over.”
He looked vaguely suspicious. “You two are getting along well.”
“I understand her.”
He seemed to consider that before asking, “And what do you two girls have planned?”
“We’re going to read those pages I found in the villa.”
“That should take three minutes.”
“I found more.”
He studied her with a faint grin. “You didn’t tell me.”
“It was a last minute thing.” Very last minute. “I’ll take good care of them.”
“I know you will.”
It wasn’t said as a warning. It was more an endorsement.
“I also might visit Alexio and his family.” She sucked pastry custard off a thumb. “I didn’t see him when we came in. I’ve left a couple of messages but haven’t heard back. I want to let him know I won’t be going back to work for him.”
His chin went up. “So you’ll go home when you leave here?”
“On a high note, remember?” Perking herself up—pushing that other “with child” possibility out of her mind—she changed the subject. “Have you put the figurine away?”
“She’s still in my room.”
“In that case?”
“In an alcove.”
Helene smiled from ear to ear. “You’re not going to lock her away?”
“I haven’t made my mind up what to do with her yet.”
Helene leaned over and cupped his clean-shaven jaw in both hands. “I know she’s precious but special things deserve to be admired.” She tipped back. “Just saying.”
A thoughtful smile eased across his face before he sobered and threw a quick glance over to the attendant, who was heading off with a magnificent vase of flowers into the main building. Clearly he didn’t want anyone to overhear them speaking about the goddess.
He pushed back his chair and dropped a kiss on her brow. “Can you find your way back?”
“I’ll manage.”
He arched a teasing brow. “Don’t get up to any mischief.”
She crossed her heart. “Promise.”
…
Helene asked the attendant to contact Tahlia and ask if she was available to come to her quarters. She’d thought about bringing the pages down to the pavilion so they could enjoy the fresh air and sunshine, but she was paranoid a breeze might catch a corner and whisk a sheet into one of those fountain pools.
Tahlia arrived at the same time Helene opened her quarters’ door. She looked a little flushed.
“Have you been running?” Helene asked as she closed the door behind them.
“Not exactly.”
Tahlia walked over to a window—the one that peered directly out over the stables. Helene joined her. Below, a young man played with Ajax, throwing a stick and laughing as he rough-housed the dog whenever he brought it back.
“Someone special?” Helene asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.
Tahlia’s chest rose and fell on a sigh. “Isn’t he wonderful? Ajax adores him.”
“Sounds as if you adore him, too.”
Tahlia looked at her from beneath those thick lashes and offered a secret smile, but she didn’t elaborate. Instead, she looped her arm through Helene’s and ushered her back to sofa.
“I’m dying to read this story,” Tahlia said. “After hearing the story of how you two met on that island, perhaps you should write your own.”
The night before at dinner, when Darius had explained the circumstances surrounding their unconventional introduction, he hadn’t mentioned the cave incident. Neither had he referred to the figurine, which left Helene feeling a little awkward. If there was any other person in the world who deserved to know that the goddess truly did exist—that she was in fact right here within the palace walls—it must be Tahlia.
When they were seated side by side on the sofa, Helene handed Tahlia the first few pages and straightened the remaining sheets—the ones she’d found in the desk and hadn’t yet read.
“I’ll pass them over as I finish each one,” Helene said.
But Tahlia didn’t appear to be listening. She was already immersed in the story. Settling back, Helene dived in again, too. In front of a rioting crowd, some unknown woman had just thrown herself off a palace balcony.
Princess Acacia slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her horrified scream.
The new queen had said she only wished to talk to the people gathered outside. She’d wanted to assure them of her affection, offer them her deepest regard. No one had expected her to make the ultimate sacrifice and douse those raging fires with her own blood.
A collective gasp escaped the crowd at the same time Acacia’s brother rushed to the balcony. A moment later, his anguished cry roared through the night while the wispy curtains waved in the breeze like a pair of angel’s wings saying good-bye. Her heartbeat galloping high in her chest, Acacia knew she must act. Take control. But as her brother’s wails withered, she found she couldn’t move.
To her bones she knew that tonight one life would not be enough.
She heard a voice—her nephew’s nurse, the same woman who had cared for Acacia and her brother when they, too, had been young. Acacia’s gaze shifted lower. In the nurse’s arms lay the little prince suckling a thumb as he slept.
“You must leave,” the nurse said. She shot a glance toward those doors and held the six-month-old tighter still. “The mob is quiet now but they will stir and rise again.”
When trouble had started much earlier that day, the four had gathered in this room. Guards stood firm outside the door as they did on the grounds down below, but the nurse, Drew Doukas, was right. The madness would bubble and grow again. This child’s life was in danger, not to mention the king’s.
“Get provisions.” Acacia held out her arms. “I’ll take the baby.”
“If they fall upon us and he’s in your care, there’s no doubt. They’ll do harm to you both.”
The nurse’s eyes brimmed, but Acacia had no room for emotion, especially her own. She swallowed the bitter pip swelling in her throat and lifted her chin as her mother would want her to do.
“Go now,” Acacia said. “Collect only enough food for two days.”
She wasn’t certain what lay ahead, but they’d need to travel light.
Careful not to wake him, Acacia scooped her nephew close. This baby was her responsibility now. The king’s too, of course, but her brother wasn’
t strong or particularly wise like their father had been. Risto did love his wife, however, and would not want to abandon her even in death. He would rely on the guard to protect him, but history told many stories of lines being broken, of kings being killed.
Gazing down at this darling baby now, Acacia scolded herself. She ought to have been stern with her brother. It didn’t matter whether the woman he loved was a good and true person, whether royal blood flowed in this child’s veins. A sacred law was ignored and the omens had been cruel. People were scared and angry. Acacia understood their concerns.
She’d understood the queen, too: a reserved woman grateful to have found real love in this lifetime. She’d been gentle and naive and a good friend to the princess. Now Acacia would repay that friendship the only way she knew how. The King’s Chief Aide had left on an unscheduled trip this morning. If he were here now, she would have turned to him for guidance. As it was, from this point on decisions would need to be her own.
With the babe in her arms, Acacia moved onto the balcony. Wearing a uniform decorated with regal brocade, her brother lay in a ball with his head in his hands and his body shaking from grief and shock. While the rabble’s murmurings grew again, Acacia knelt close and tried her best to reason with him.
“Risto. She would want us to go.” He didn’t move, so she tipped closer, spoke louder. “Did you hear me? If we stay any longer, it will be too late. Do you understand? Your son will die too.” They all would.
The king lifted a blotched face. His hopeless stare sent an ice-cold shaft spearing down Acacia’s spine. He studied his son and blinked slowly once. Then, a defeated man, Risto sighed.
“Take him away. Take him for the both of us.”
Acacia’s stomach knotted. She wanted to shake him. This child needed his father, now more than ever. Couldn’t he give himself at least half a chance?
Still, she could never hate Risto. He was a good brother, a kind husband and father. But he was not a king. Why had fate not been wise enough to make her the son and heir to the throne? But these past months, of course, that reason had become clear.
If that were the case, she could never have given her heart to Leandros. When he returned, he would find her gone and the island in chaos. She’d hoped for a future, a family of their own…
For one bittersweet moment, she closed her eyes and remembered his kiss, the tenderness and sweet longing. Would she ever see him again? Feel the strength of his lean body pressed hard against hers? Hear his words of love, of hope…?
A shout from the crowd broke the spell. Blinking back tears, Acacia schooled herself.
The nurse called from the balcony doors. “Men have scaled the walls. The guard will fire, but that mob has weapons too.”
On cue, shots rang out like whip cracks bouncing off the black pelt of night. Both women jumped. The crowd roared. Over the following barrage of shots, the giant gates rattled, and Acacia’s once perfect world fell further apart. While the baby stirred, the king found some courage and unsteady feet. He shepherded all three back inside.
“You know where to go, Acacia,” he said. “Don’t return. Promise me. Don’t ever come back.”
Risto dropped a lingering kiss on his son’s soft brow, hesitated a heart-wrenching moment, then strode back to the balcony. Over the din, Acacia thought she heard him address the people who had once revered this family. Then more rifle fire rang out, the crowd cheered, and the walls of the palace seemed to sob and shake.
With a supplies-sack over one shoulder, the nurse flung open the door then stumbled back as if shoved. Edging forward, Acacia studied the scene outside in the hall. All was quiet. Too quiet. Staff would be huddled in their quarters or gone home. But where were the guards? Helping their colleagues on the ground—or allowing the ramble inside?
The nurse maneuvered the bag of supplies over Acacia shoulder. The princess asked, “What are you doing?”
“I’ll stay with the king. He has no one now.”
Tears sprang to Acacia’s eyes as she clung to the baby. The words burned her throat. “Risto is dead. There’s nothing you can do.”
“I’d do the same for you in a heartbeat.”
“You’ll come with us…”
“No. Go, and hurry. This is my time.” The nurse grabbed the door handle. “Find happiness, dear love, and live for us all.”
When the door closed in her face, Acacia imagined her old nurse crossing to be with the king. Then more muffled rifle fire echoed through the walls, and she flew down two flights of stairs with her nephew in her arms. She swung open the library’s heavy wooden door. In a far corner, beneath a portrait of Acacia’s proud grandfather, she carefully set the baby down on a sofa and the supplies down on the floor.
Sweat beading on her brow, she gritted her teeth and, pushing, begged the shelf to budge. The waking baby grumbled before the bow of his lower lip wobbled and dropped. A heartbeat later, a crash—the breaking of the palace doors?—threw Acacia’s heart into the air. She prayed to her mother, father, and to every ancestor or sympathetic entity who might deign to listen.
Spare this baby. Keep him safe.
More crashing—furniture tossed against the walls—filtered in. As she pushed again, Acacia worried. Why hadn’t she made certain this route had been tested? Why hadn’t she paid heed to the warning signs and planned this escape well ahead?
Groaning, she exerted every ounce of force her body and soul possessed. As the crashing outside drew nearer, and torchlight bobbed closer through the tall arched window, the bookshelf finally grated against flagstone then slid as if on ice.
Acacia collected the baby, darted through the opening, and set him down on the cold stone floor while she rolled the shelf back in place. Looking around, she shivered. Her heart and mind might be racing, but this corridor was as still as death and just as dark. Feeling around the dank walls, she found a torch hanging nearby, but she wouldn’t ignite it yet. The rabble could reach the library any second. She wouldn’t take the risk of light bleeding from beneath the bookshelf’s base.
The baby squeaked. Acacia picked him up and edged away from the secret doorway. Listening to the crashing sounds grow louder, she suddenly remembered and turned cold.
She’d left the sack outside.
Acacia’s legs all but buckled. Every royal house had tunnels, corridors through which to flee in times such as these. How long before someone put the sack and the convenient bookshelf together? How long before they were caught?
But she couldn’t go back. She had to push on and hope. Pray.
Her vision adjusting to the shadows, she advanced two steps then a half dozen more. Squinting, she made out the nearest of the torches lining the walls. She could see the baby’s face now, innocent, curious, listening. Then a realization struck, sharp and sure as an arrow’s tip. Trembling, she peered down the corridor.
Around the far bend, along the only way to freedom, light from a distant torch drifted near.
…
Leandros had been striding down the secret tunnel for some time when he glimpsed movement ahead. Squinting, he pulled up sharply and, senses tingling, listened. But he heard only his heartbeat booming in his ears while sweat trickled down his face and his back. If someone waited farther down, there was every chance he would be shot as a trespasser—or perhaps more likely, lynched as a sympathizer to the royals.
As a boy, his grandfather had discovered the entrance to this tunnel hidden at the rear of a forgotten pomegranate orchard close by the palace grounds. Curious, he had investigated, journeying down this dark winding tunnel until he’d come to its end. He’d even slid aside the furniture that disguised its access from the palace library. His grandfather’s dark eyes had twinkled when he’d confessed that, luckily for him, the king had not been reading that day.
Leandros had promised never to divulge this tunnel’s secret location. Clearly this was a route via which royals could escape in times of danger—exactly the kind brewing outside the palace tonight.
Now, when he glimpsed the movement again, Leandros brought his chin and torch higher.
“I am unarmed,” he said.
Out of the inky shadows, something shot toward him. Leandros snatched the knife sheathed on his belt at the same time as a rat, as big as his neighbor’s gray cat, scurried over his foot and up his leg. Cringing, he swore and batted it away. The rodent thumped the wall.Its screech rebounded before it vanished into the dark. Whipping the torch around, he made certain no more lay in waiting before striding on.
Other noises crept in…more rats scurrying, water trickling. And something else. Leandros threw back his shoulders. Were the shadows playing tricks? Then his ears pricked again. Thrusting the torch out in front, he edged forward.
“Is anyone there?” he called and braced himself, waiting.
He was about to move on when a faint whimpering filtered back. Then came a halting question.
“Leandros…is that you?”
“Acacia?” he asked, moving forward. Then he saw her, standing small but regal in his halo of light.
He flew to her, wrenched her close, dropped his face into her sweet-smelling hair while he thanked God over and over, and she murmured his name. He felt weak as a newborn wren yet strong and enduring as the sea. She was alive. Unharmed. He vowed on his life they would never be parted again.
Acacia pulled away and, in the flickering light Leandros drank in her incomparable beauty as her glistening eyes smiled into his. She looked down and Leandros took in the wide-eyed baby she held.
“The young prince,” he said, cupping the child’s small warm head.
Nodding, Acacia ground out, “Both his parents are gone.”
Leandros drew up to his full height. It had been the queen, then, who had leaped from the balcony earlier. Now, it seemed the king was dead, too.
“They’ve broken into the palace,” she went on, and at that moment, an almighty crash echoed through into the tunnel, followed by a louder, nearer smash that made her jump.
