4. Captured
4
Captured
Calliste
“I take it you cannot ride a horse,” the king said without preambles.
She didn’t reply.
“You’ll ride with me.” His deep voice brooked no opposition. “Come, priestess.” He turned on his heel to descend down the road, and only then Calliste stole a glance at him.
Towering and imposing, he strode as if to crush everything underfoot, yet his gait was surprisingly smooth. His black hair was swept back, reaching down to his neck. A purple cloak swayed with each step, occasionally revealing light-brown legs in black knee-high striders. The lean muscles told her that he likely didn’t spend much time sitting on his throne. A sword hung from his hip, and when his cloak moved, she caught a glint at his belt, probably a dagger.
Clutching her linen bag, Calliste followed.
Where the road trickled into the forest, a majestic stallion with an anthracite-black coat was tethered to a tree stump. He sniffed at the ground, probably searching for something more appetizing than pine needles and dry sand. In the slivers of sunlight, his coat shimmered like burnished darkness.
When he saw the king, he threw his head up, clearly thrilled to see his owner untying the reins and stroking his back.
King Theron turned to her and waited until she was a pace away from him before speaking. “This is Rebel.”
She nodded, fixing her gaze on the king’s hands, waiting for further instructions.
After another beat of pine-scented, windless, hot silence, the king suddenly advanced on her, raising his hand.
A memory flared up, and she reacted instinctively. The knife strapped to her thigh glinted in the sunlight as she drew it in a quick, smooth move and jumped back a quick step.
Before she blinked, the king had also drawn his dagger and assumed a fighting stance, a deep line forming between his brows. “Why in the name of Zeus are you armed? You’re a healer.”
“Don’t you think that women who live alone on the mountain at the edge of the kingdom should know how to defend themselves?” she spoke through clenched teeth, trying to calm her breathing. “It’s not like we can rely on anyone else to do it for us.”
“Defend?” His eyes narrowed further. “What did you think I was going to do?”
Her heart was still racing, and she scolded herself for succumbing to a moment of blind, breathless terror. “I don’t know, but you seemed… dangerous.” Her mouth was dry as she lowered the dagger. I’ve overreacted. He’s not Ariston. She forced herself to push away the nightmares his name brought back. “What were you going to do?”
“Take your bag and ask you to stop sulking.”
She stilled, her fear replaced by indignation. “Sulking?”
“Worse than a spoiled brat,” he specified with relentless fire in his alert eyes.
Her upper lip curled up as she sheathed her knife. “Apologies. I’ve only been waiting nine years for the day of my vow-taking ceremony.” Not the wisest thing to say, but at least it’s out of the way. “Only to be torn away from it without a word of explanation.”
To his credit, something akin to understanding briefly crossed his gaze, but she couldn’t be sure. She wasn’t familiar with the nuances of his expression.
“I’ll explain in due time,” he snapped. “Apparently, you’re a healer. Isn’t it your duty to help those who need you?”
“It goes without saying.”
“So why this attitude?”
Calliste bristled. “Just a certain reaction to certain unforeseen circumstances.”
“What you call unforeseen circumstances could be your destiny. Could it not?” He exhaled, sheathing his dagger, his gaze so intense it threatened to burn her to ashes. “Perhaps it’s what the Fates chose for you at birth. Who are you to object to their will?”
She faltered at his words, wiser than anything she’d expected to hear from him. But the tone didn’t match them… being downright sarcastic. She tried to let go of her resentment, but being robbed of her dreams at the last moment didn’t let her just smile and pretend everything was fine. “If this is my destiny, then I’ll follow you. It’s not that I have a choice. Do I?”
His jaw tightened. “All I am asking is for you to come with me and put your skills to good use, yet all you do is argue about it.”
“It’s not customary for us to travel anywhere. And perhaps I don’t want to return to the outside world.” Where women are their husbands’ property and count for nothing otherwise.
“Why not?”
“It’s not kind to women.”
For a moment, he was silent. Then he replied, “How long have you been isolated… here, on this mountain?”
“Nine years,” she replied.
He scoffed. “Well, that explains it. You’re out of touch with what’s been happening in Hesperis.”
“No doubt. But some things never change.”
“If you truly are the best of what your Sisterhood has to offer”—his tone was both challenging and bitter—“then you’re coming with me.”
She squared her shoulders. “Leontia is the best. I’m simply the only one who could go with you.” Think of him as a wounded lion. Leontia’s warning made her cast him a careful glance. Bloodshot eyes and a heavy mask of tiredness on his face hinted that he either didn’t sleep much or was completely exhausted. Or both. She wasn’t doing very well, prodding the beast. “But I will do my absolute best. You have my word.”
He let out a long breath, but tension still crackled between them. “I sincerely hope so.”
“I will.” She took a calming breath. If she was to ride with him, it was best if he wasn’t riled up. She couldn’t afford another headache. “I didn’t expect this day to turn out like this. It’s hard to see things in the light you paint them, but perhaps you’re right.”
“ Perhaps I’m right?” he asked with cold disbelief.
Clearly, he didn’t believe he could ever be wrong. She kept her face neutral and didn’t elaborate.
“Let’s go,” he finally said, his voice carefully smoothed down. He reached out slowly, eyes steady on her. “Your bag.” He took it and slipped it in the saddlebag. “Let me hoist you onto Rebel. But first—”
“Just a question.” She glanced up at him. “Are you truly King Theron? Theron Amynthasides?”
His hands fell by his sides. A hint of amusement battled with the sternness of his expression, softening his features for a brief moment. “Do you think Leontia would let you ride off with a random imposter?”
“Of course not. But it’s dangerous for a king to be on his own.”
He winced. “Gods, you sound just like Lykos.”
“Who?”
“My polemarchos .”
“ Polemarchos? ”
“The captain of my sentinels.”
“Ah. I don’t need to be him to find it strange that you’d risk a lonely journey.”
“And this is coming from a woman living on a mountain at the edge of my kingdom?” Sarcasm tinged his voice.
“I know how to defend myself,” she parried. “But my life isn’t as important as yours.”
“I also know how to defend myself, so I don’t need guards around me all the time, especially since I’ve made sure that the main roads in my kingdom are safe for the travelers. My men are half a day away. We’ll meet them later today.” His dark gaze swept over her. “I forgot your name.”
“Calliste.”
“Calliste of…?”
She lowered her gaze to the tangled roots of pines at their feet, swallowing dread. “Of Mount Hellecon.”
“This is Mount Hellecon. You weren’t born here. You don’t even look or sound like anyone from this region.”
That took her aback. “How can you tell?”
“I know my country and its people.” He said it in an undertone, with a measure of pride.
An icy shiver crept up her back. “Then you can make an accurate guess.”
“I’ve made it already. Just need to know if it’s right.” When she didn’t reply, he shrugged. “The brown hair and your features tell me you’re from the north, but not entirely. It’s as if one of your parents is from the mainland north and the other from elsewhere in Hesperis. The slight tilt of your eyes and your dainty nose hint at the islanders. Which is a blessing,” he added, rubbing his typical, bold northern nose. “Your accent is clearly from the north, though slightly softened, likely from your time spent here in the south. But I’d say you still speak with at least an educated Anthemosian accent.”
She stared at him. “You may be correct,” she choked out.
“Which part is incorrect?”
“Does it matter?” She hedged. “You wanted a healer and you have one. My origin and life outside of the temple don’t matter.”
“I am taking you to the heart of my court. It shouldn’t surprise you that I need basic information about you.”
“You said Leontia vouched for me. Isn’t that enough?”
“No.”
Her mind worked fast. “As a High Priestess, I don’t have a past other than the one in the Sisterhood.”
“I don’t have time for that, not when we have a fourteen-day journey ahead of us.” You will not dismiss me like this, his gaze told her clearly.
“Fourteen days?” Her stomach dropped. Fourteen days on a road with a mad king?
“We must reach Aganeeios by nightfall to start with—”
“It’s already past midday and Aganeeios is a day away,” she pointed out.
“By cart, I take it,” he scoffed. “Let’s set out. But before that—”
“May I ask the purpose of this journey?” she asked.
“A purpose other than the obvious? I need your healing skills.”
“For what?”
“For healing, damn it,” he grated out. “Since you refuse to be honest with me, I have no obligation to explain anything right away.”
Her cheeks stung, as if he’d slapped her.
“We’re wasting time here,” he continued. “Let me hoist you onto the saddle. But first, your dagger.” He extended his open hand.
She shook her head. “I’m keeping it. If there’s any danger, it’s better that we’re both armed.”
The king blinked slowly. “Are you suggesting I allow you to keep a weapon, so that I can spend the journey wondering when you might try to slit my throat?”
“I agree, that does sound exciting,” she muttered. “But it’s just a medicinal knife. As you aptly observed, I’m a healer.”
“ A medicinal knife? ”
“I use it for cutting herbs and performing minor surgeries. It only becomes a weapon in extreme circumstances.”
“A knife’s a knife.” His jaw ticked. “I’ve just seen you draw it unprovoked.”
She bit her lip. To him, it may have seemed that way, but she couldn’t explain right now. Or ever. It wasn’t something she ever wanted to talk about and certainly not with him. “I simply overreacted and… it won’t happen again. But I’m not riding unarmed.”
“You’re riding with me .” He sounded offended.
She took a deep breath, feeling the power of her pendant slumbering against her chest. “I’d be grateful if you allowed me to keep my knife as a sign of respect for who I am.”
“This doesn’t strike me as a sign of your profession.”
“To become a High Priestess of my order, I had to hone my skills to a fine edge. It might just as well be an appropriate symbol.” She glanced at Rebel. His saddle had an extension attached, clearly for another person, and a blanket secured for comfort during the ride. Probably for Leontia. At least he had taken it into consideration.
“Fine,” the king bit out after a moment, glaring. “I don’t have time to argue about symbols, but I cannot guarantee your safety if you draw it again like this in the presence of my sentinels. Especially Lykos.”
“Your… polemarchos ?”
“The one who will likely personally strangle me when he finds out I allowed a weapon on someone I’m riding with. Steady, Rebel.” He patted his steed on the neck. “I know I’m testing you, but be a good boy.” He untied the reins from the tree and swung smoothly onto his saddle, then nudged the horse next to the tree stump. “Use this as a step. I’ll lift you into the saddle. You’ll need to ride astride, by the by,” he added, matter-of-factly. “We’ll ride fast.”
“In the heat of the afternoon?” She squinted at the sun above them. The mixed canopy of pine and oak branches offered some respite from the most oppressive heat, but midday wasn’t the best time for a crazy ride.
“We’ll take a short break halfway between here and Aganeeios.” He dismissed her concern once more, waiting for her to climb on to the stump. “Up you go,” he said, effortlessly lifting her up and hoisting her behind him onto the saddle.
She settled into the saddle, adjusting her robe around her legs.
The king bent over, untying one of his saddlebags and searching for something. Then he sat up straight again. “Hands on me,” he threw over his shoulder. “At all times.”
She secured the woolen hat under her chin and couldn’t avoid it any longer. She placed her hands around the king’s waist, feeling the hardness of his leather breastplate and catching a whiff of his scent. Leather, spices, and a hint of sea breeze.
She only had a moment to process it all before she felt him taking her hands, crossing the wrists and spooling something around them. A breath later, she had no doubts. “You’ve tied me up?” she seethed against his back.
“I can’t risk riding with someone who might stab me on a whim,” he said without looking back and took hold of the reins.
She tugged at her binds. “You have no right to do this!”
He stilled, then slowly turned his head to squint at her from the corner of his eye. “In the Kingdom of Hesperis, I decide what is right and what is wrong, priestess.” And then he simply motioned Rebel to go.
She ground her teeth, incredulous at his arrogance. But as Rebel jolted forth, she twisted her neck to catch a glimpse of Mount Hellecon and her temple rising behind the protective walls and wavering in the heat.
She’d only seen it from this vantage point when she first arrived here—fevered and with blood trickling down her back, blinking away the shadowy form of Thanatos, the god of death, from the corner of her vision.
The first time that she sensed him was when her life rested on the edge of death.
It was Leontia who ripped her away from Thanatos’ grasp.
And I’ve been defying him ever since.
Rebel stomped forward, and branches fractured Calliste’s view.
Her wrists ached. Fuming, she held on tightly to the king, and shut her eyes against the afternoon sun, falling into the rhythm of Rebel’s movements. The pounding of his hooves was the only measure of time as they rode into the terrifying unknown.