Sappho watched him silently. The rising of Eris’s lance proved to be the charge in the atmosphere that ignited the docile volcano. Sappho charged without warning. His fist caught Eris in the face.
Eris, on the other hand, remained unaffectedly. He caught his brother’s fist as he prepared another attack and shouted, “Where is Kyra?”
Sappho answered with a powerful kick to Eris’s extended lance. That was to be a crippling blow. Eris doubled over in agony. A red haze of pain blinded him to all around him as he gasped for the precious air that had been squeezed out of his lungs. His lance, now flaccid, throbbed with excruciating pain, radiating in torment to every quarter of his being. He hissed breathlessly, “You injure a man’s most prized possession for no reason, brother.”
“I shall do more than injure your prized jewels, brother. Even now that jewel rears its disgusting head, stiff and beastly, after the destruction it has caused.” Sappho kicked at him again.
Eris ducked the blow purely on instinct. His mind was divided between the pain to his groin and trying to decipher the meaning behind Sappho’s words. For some reason he could not recall the closure of the night. He clearly recalled the many pleasurable moments they had shared, but when he tried to remember the final moments, his mind seemed to hit a stone wall. He dragged his ravaged body a safe distance away from the angered man before him. At least from the fatigue in his limbs and lightness in the sac sagging between his legs, he could safely ascertain he had at least reached climax. “Shall I assume you did not reach your climax to spit forth your seed last night? Is that the reason behind your surliness this morning?”
That was the wrong thing to say to an enraged, highly volatile man. Sappho grabbed the nearest article he could find. Unfortunately it was a prized writing table that Eris had taken months to procure. Equally unfortunate was the fact that atop it lay the magnificent crystal vase he had attained from the queen of another realm after a satisfying night of pleasuring. Both wood and crystal shattered. Eris winced as he watched the articles disintegrate beyond redemption. Sappho stepped onto the broken fragments. His sandals crunched as his footsteps grew threateningly closer. “It is two days past since that fate-less night. And the injuries I have listed are the suffering of an innocent at the hands of your beastly loss of control and lusty appetite—Kyra.”
The air rushed out of Eris’s lungs as though his gut had been pierced. Two days. Kyra was injured. And by his hand. Before Sappho could unleash more of his rage, Eris scooted across the chamber from him. He needed time to gather his scattered thoughts and formulate some sort of sense. Sappho’s insufferable damage to his haggled body was not aiding his cause. Although Sappho named him as the culprit behind the assault upon Kyra, he still could not recall the incident. He shook his head. “I know not what you speak of.” He dove to the floor as Sappho flew at him with a roar of outrage, and scrambled quickly away.
Sappho charged into the empty air that now marked Eris’s quick maneuvering. He turned and hissed as Eris once again retreated beyond his reach. “Of all the women you could have chosen, you chose her. Why would you choose such a callous path? Why?”
Eris watched his brother in confusion. “I did not choose. She did. Recall you not that this pairing was of her choosing?”
Sappho spat out angrily, “She chose a mating. She had no choice in your marking of her.” He deflated as he admitted softly, “You marked the only woman I have ever felt a strong attachment toward.”
The words spun in Eris’s mind with a thunderous roar. He had marked her! He dropped to his knees. His hand unconsciously moved to the snake on his chest. It had chosen its mate, and it had struck. The snake lay dormant now, slumbering blissfully through this unholy turmoil its keeper now faced. The marking of a mate could not be reversed. It could not be undone. His voice left him in a desperate whisper. “This cannot be.”
“It is. You have unleashed your serpent upon her, and she escaped death’s door only by swift action on my part.” Sappho’s eyes burned into him. The depth of his brother’s hurt and anger burned in the form a physical sting upon his chest.
Eris whispered, “No one need know of this deed, Sappho. I shall incur the wrath of the Gods and deny my actions. Claim her as your own, brother.”
Sappho shook his head morosely. “All know. The king awaits your presence as we speak.”
Rushing forward, he grabbed his brother’s arm, “Deny it. No one would dare question the word of two gladiators.” He latched onto his brother’s other arm and shook him. “It was but us three in the chamber that night. I did not do this deed rationally or intentionally. That must count for something. Do you not understand? I did not plan this. I do not even want her. By all that is holy, brother, I swear to you I had no hand in the choosing of her.”
Sappho sneered at the snake upon his brother’s chest in disgust. “Your beast has marked its course—its territory. I will not accept one who bears the venom of the snake coursing through her veins. Likewise, I shall not stand idly by and allow you to dishonor her. You shall honor your actions.”
Eris implored, “My snake takes liberties were it is not warranted. Surely we should not bear the brunt of the beast’s actions, acted on without the instruction of me, its master. Think, brother. You ask me to accept what I do not want. You ask yourself to deny yourself what you do want. We both ask Kyra to embrace without question.”
His brother broke free of the constricting hands. “Your snake is your burden. Bear it. And cease to call me ‘brother.’”
Eris drew back in horror. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he whispered desperately, “Do not say it, brother.”
Sappho stared at him defiantly. “You are no brother to me.”
Eris roared in pain as the snake upon his chest suddenly reared back. Its jaws opened, gaping wide and fierce, fangs bared, and tongue flickering in uncertainty. The tail came up suddenly. The sting upon it wavered. Eris pleaded, “Do not.”
Sappho’s voice rang with determination, with finality, “Eiste nekroi se me’na o adelfo’s. You are dead to me, brother.”
Eris fell forward with a wail. His hand clutched desperately at the sting upon his chest. His fingers failed to grasp onto it as it faded. Sparks of shooting agony pierced the area that now lay barren, bare for the first time since its coming into existence. The tail writhed aimlessly. The snake suddenly coiled its long length, keeping its tail well concealed, hiding its shame. Eris lowered his gaze. He knew, while Sappho still stood erect and strong, the scorpion was likewise ridding itself of the mark of the snake, the tail of its twin. The hatred in his brother’s gaze was more then he could bear. But he could not hide from the emptiness that filled him. A wide, yawning hole opened in the pit of his stomach. For the first time he felt utterly alone.
He looked down at the snake, curled and trembling. He could do nothing for the beast, but he had to offer comfort in another quarter. His twin was lost to him because of a woman. But this woman could not be held responsible. Worse still, she had come to harm by his hand. He would have to see to her immediately. Dread pounded through his body with each footstep as he staggered out the chamber. He would have to face the consequences of his lack of control.
* * * *
Kyra swayed slightly. The poison had been drained from her, but the fever that had raged through her body left her fatigued and dazed. She panted, desperately trying to fill her lungs with precious air, as her ribs throbbed in a roaring protest against each sluggish footstep she took. Her ankle had lost the initial purple bruising and now appeared a hideous black and angry blue, swollen and trembling, threatening to give way beneath her unwelcome weight. She bit hard on her bottom lip and forced her way forward. She had endured more than her fair share of bleeding at the hands of medicine women wielding sharp knives until she felt they drained more blood than poison from her body. The overpowering scent of thick smoke-producing incense sticks they demanded be kept lit still assailed her tortured nostrils. There was no telling when
again she would be able to breathe in the sweet freshness of untainted air without the tinge of the heady, heavy, and intoxicating stench she had been forced to endure. She had lain still and weak as they had plied her with stinging hot poultices, alternating with the sudden confusing application of wretched cold water-filled bags. Worse still, they had not allowed her a single morsel of a decent meal, professing she would become violently ill upon consuming any food thicker than watery stew and pungent herbal teas. She felt drained, abused, and starved. She had to find a way away from this place of torment and torture. She had to find her only salvage—Sappho.
Her strong willpower and sheer determination finally paid off. She heard his voice ring out clearly beyond the door, which stood right before her, slightly ajar. All sense of privacy and propriety fled as her body was engulfed in desperate relief. She had calculated her chances of finding him in this gigantic palace, riddled with chambers and dark passages, as impossible. Yet she had overcome and endured—succeeded. The door pushed open under her weight less forcefully than she expected. She took only a second to recognize the head of red, glossy locks of the king seated far across the chamber before thanking her weakened state for her less pronounced entry.
The king did not acknowledge the sudden shift at the door and continued his discussion with Sappho. The back of his dark head showed clearly above the back rest of his seat. Kyra was about to make her presence known and demand a safe passage from this place under the escort of Sappho when a sudden voice made her freeze. The unwelcome voice came from the darkened corner—Eris.
Kyra weighed her options. As much as she wished to be away from this place, she wished even less to face the beastly man who bore the blame for her haggled body and bedraggled appearance. She scooted as subtlety as her ailing body parts could manage, steadfastly overcoming their screaming protests, and slid behind a wide, smooth marble pillar to her right. Unfortunately that direction placed undue stress on her injured ankle, but she bit down hard against the sudden pain that shot up her leg. She sank blissfully into the welcoming darkness, melding herself tightly against the cold stone. She listened.
The king threw back the liquid contained in his goblet and bellowed jovially. “I believe congratulations are in order. May I be the first to toast you on your forthcoming venture?”
The voice that answered him was strained with barely contained impatience and tainted with undeniable venomous rage. “That would be rather premature, sire. Let us not place the mule before the cart.”
Kyra scooted slightly more toward her right to watch Eris. He appeared disgruntled and rather bedraggled in appearance himself. She swallowed down her snort of disgust. He had probably attacked the very next wench he could find with the lethal lance that hung between his thighs while she lay abed suffering in agony at his hand. She scooted back as the king’s voice rang out once again.
“A deed done in the presence of man, a challenge screamed to the Gods. Come now, Eris, there is no need for you to be bashful.”
Eris groaned his disgust. “A bashful snake is a dead snake.”
The king responded swiftly, “And a stubborn man can become equally dead.”
Sappho chose that moment to interject, “I have given thought to Eris’s proposal, and I wish to declare my decision before you, sire. At first, anger and frustration blinded me, but I am now willing to stand in his stead and accept the responsibility he blatantly chooses to ignore.”
Kyra drew back in irritation. She was well aware they discussed her, haggling and trading back and forth as they would a heifer. They had sampled the milk she offered and now sat discussing her ownership. The insult left a sour taste at the back of her mouth. She swallowed down equal doses of pride as she held her tongue. Shouting her rage now would offer her no victory. Her survival remained in plotting a devious course and well thought-out plan. The restraint she was forced to show, even as her mind and body raged for a war cry, left a bitter taste that filled her entire mouth. She scooted again as Eris responded, interrupting the comment the king was about to offer. “I do believe I have also had a change in heart. I withdraw the offer.”
Sappho sprang up from his seat, lashing out at his brother, “You undecided ingrate. You shed your moods to act as swiftly and callously as your beast would shed the skin of its cold body. Shall we settle this on the battle arena?”
Eris remained calmly in his seat and grinned cunningly. “I see no wish to fight for what already belongs to me.”
Had the king not interjected at that precise moment, Kyra was sure all the men would have heard her gasp of outrage. Fortunately he did intervene, and her presence remained unnoted. “Enough. The matter has already been decided. Eris, you shall fulfill your obligation.” He raised his voice threateningly as Sappho made to argue further. “It is so ordered, Sappho.”
Kyra drew back with a startled gasp. She was going to be handed over to a beast of a man without even a consultation. She imagined the life she now faced. It would be long and drawn-out, enduring the ravenous lusting and harsh hand of a man she wanted not. While his body had brought her unimaginable pleasure and erotic dreams that still plagued her mind, the painful reminder of her tender bruises overcame any fantasies she might hold. The touch of the man was not tender. He was brutal. Poison. She bit down hard on her fingertips. There had to be a way out of this. While these men were ruled under this king, Vasilis Amyntas was no king to her. She was not of this realm. She would not fold under the pressure of unfair dictatorship.
Eris looked up quickly. He peered around into the darkened corners. The king asked quietly, “What is it, Eris?”
* * * *
Eris stilled. His senses flared, receptive to all motion around him, searching out the unwanted presence he suddenly felt. The snake did not stir beneath his tunic. The presence posed no threat. Yet the distinct feeling of being watched refused to leave him. Acting purely on instinct, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. His breath caught in his chest. His eyes opened as his lips twitched slightly at the corners. He spoke offhandedly, “I had thought I felt the presence of another.” He raised his hand in restraint as the men stirred uncomfortably. “But have no fear, for the snake does not stir from its slumber. This presence is not harmful.” He smirked in quiet amusement. “In fact, it is inconsequential, of no import to our conversation.”
His smile broadened as he felt the sudden shift behind him. The air felt electric and stirred with silent torrents of restrained rage. He waited patiently, keeping the men’s concentration on himself with irrelevant chatter, until he felt only a gaping emptiness behind him. He turned and watched as the door shut silently. His eyes narrowed. He did not know how long Kyra had remained in the shadows, eavesdropping on their conversation, but once he had detected her presence, his senses had honed in on her, clear and certain. He was sure it was her. Another thing he was sure of, judging by the pulsing air waves that had radiated from behind him, she had misjudged their entire conversation. He ran the conversation, with silent precision, in his head and suddenly laughed out loud. She had misjudged gravely. The vain woman believed they spoke of her.
He turned to the bewildered men once again. They watched him curiously, unable to see the cause of his amusement. Eris spoke curtly, “Tell this arrogant yet somewhat foolish challenger I shall meet him in the battlefield when the sundial strikes midday. I suddenly have no reservations about giving the lad a sound thrashing for his imprudence. His challenge is accepted.”
* * * *
It was quite apparent that the suit of armor was causing more of a hindrance than assistance. The helmet, featuring the brightly colored feathers of peacocks, constantly fell forward, blinding the eyes, defeating the purpose of the head protection. The interlinking steel bands of the chest guard fell past his hips. In fact, it fell all the way to his knees, rattling noisily and impeding his movements. The sword, his choice of weapon, dragged on the ground beside him as he walked, its weight too great for heaving. Eris scowled as the figure approached him. A
ll credit had to be given to the daring lad. He never once broke eye contact with Eris, until he fell. One moment he was staggering forward, weighted down by his burdensome protective apparel, and the next moment he was lying with his face in the dirt, sputtering and coughing up clouds of dust. The lad scrambled up quickly, or at least as quickly as the overlarge armor allowed. He crouched down clumsily to retie the straps of his sandals that had come undone.
Eris grunted in impatience. Yesterday had dawned with the arrival of this rather bloodthirsty young boy. The sun had been baking down upon his bare back as he’d stood awaiting the scheduled battle. Only his opponent had seen fit to make him wait. The shadow extending on the sundial clearly displayed the passing of midday. Eris could understand his tardiness now. It must have been a mission simply gearing up. As the lad, no higher than his shoulders, approached, he asked, “Are you quite certain you wish to embark on this task? I would implore you to return to your realm and allow time to aid your sprouting a bit more.”
The lad chose to answer the insult with action rather than words. Unfortunately the sword he tried to lever never let the ground. It dragged a wide arc before him.
Eris winced and shook his head. He shouted for the guard at the gate, “Hand the boy a razor. And remove this sword, or we shall be here all afternoon. And the arena would be scrapped clean of all sand.”
As the guards rushed to do his bidding, he assessed the people streaming into the seating area of the arena. It appeared there was not much work to be done this day. For some reason, a rumor had made its way around that this youth was the dreaded attack everyone awaited from Cronus. While he expected the attack to come any day now, judging from the reports of attacks of cities and villages ever nearing Argos, he strongly doubted the boy who now stood before him was the anticipated instrument of destruction. There could be any number of reasons for the lad’s loud and proud challenge, not that Eris could easily name one.
Tangles and Temptation Page 6
