6. Scars
6
Scars
Calliste
She hit the surface of the lake on the exhale, the hiss of her own breath bubbling past her ears. The water whooshed up her nose, causing an excruciating burning behind her forehead. The bitter chill raced down her limbs, making everything from her fingertips to her toes seize up in shock.
Move.
She flailed with no sense of direction. Her eyes, still shut, stung.
Where is the surface? She stretched out her limbs, but all she found was icy water, no fingerhold, no footing.
The intense cold of the lake bit her skin.
Her lungs burned. The water she whipped around her echoed like a roaring thunder. She crimped her lips together.
Air. Air!
Panic screeched in her brain, setting in a blink. She kicked at the water, blindly floundering in the iciness.
Strong hands caught her, righted her, drew her up to the surface. He was behind her, his arm under her armpit. She emerged with a desperate gasp of air, followed by a fit of wheezing cough.
“Calliste.” The king’s voice, thank the gods. “Calm down. It’s fine, I’m holding you.”
“Armed men,” she rasped in between the coughs. “By our camp.”
“Calm your breath first,” he repeated, as if he hadn’t heard her. “Let your body float. I’ll take you to the shallows.”
She obeyed, knowing that giving in to panic was worse than the threat they faced. Her explosive cough reverberated off what sounded like an enclosed space.
He spanned his arm across her chest, his hand firm over her rib cage as he pulled her against his hard frame, tilting her chin up above the water and encouraging her to float. His breath was hurried against her ear, his arm spanning her steely, but not crushing. “That’s it,” he said. “Slow breaths. We’re nearly there.” After a couple of powerful, smooth kicks in the water, he stopped, releasing his hold on her. “You can stand now.”
She probed with her toes and felt sand under her feet. She straightened up. The water lapped slightly above her waist. Her eyes still burning and firmly shut, she bent over, coughing up the rest of the water and waiting for her breath to even out, frantically grasping for her pendant and her knife. Both still there, thank Epione.
She opened her eyes by a fraction.
A chalky wall rose perhaps twenty steps away. Not too high, but still intimidating. She’d never leap from that height voluntarily. A thicket of pines feathered its top. It must have been one of them that whipped in her face, just before the drop. The wall curved around them like a horseshoe, its stony line slowly descending to a sandy beach, and within that space gleamed a forest lake.
“You were lucky to have fallen from that spot,” the king said, still standing behind her. “This is the deepest point.”
“The men.” She cast a panicked look around, scanning the top of the wall. Her heart froze.
A massive, armed man wearing black leather armor stood at the lip of the rock, pushing away at a pine branch, his head tilted at them.
Her hand flew to the hilt of her knife.
“No need,” the king said as he glanced up. Then he stepped in front of Calliste. “Did you have to scare my healer witless, Lykos?”
“I’d have explained,” the man replied, amusement sparkling in his deep baritone. “But it’s hard to reason with a speeding hare.”
Heat rose on her cheeks. Gods, those were just the king’s men, looking for him. He mentioned at the temple that they were half a day away. That was why Rebel reacted to them, while she misinterpreted his behavior. And panicked.
“That nuisance over there is my polemarchos , or my annoying, armed shadow, if you like,” the king said over his shoulder. “Who wasn’t supposed to be here so soon, but he probably thought I’d get robbed and killed on an empty road. So there he is.”
“Here I am.” The captain flashed a dangerous smile, revealing impeccably white teeth. “A long-suffering, under-appreciated yet enduring leader of your sentinels—”
“With a flair for exaggeration,” the king muttered.
“—taking a justified course of action because no, you couldn’t wait just one more night to get to Mount Hellecon so you snuck away before dawn, leaving me a godsdamned insulting note. And then you presumably rode at a break-neck speed to get your priestess, alone , which was such a stupid, stupid move, Theron, that right now, I’m tempted to kill you myself.” He paused, his eyes narrowing at the king. “Speaking of which, where are your weapons?”
“Within reach.”
“I hope so. Don’t make me go down and check.” From below, he seemed like a giant, his shrewd, dark eyes missing nothing as he settled them on her. “Apologies for scaring you, healer.” Then he glanced at the king, his brow lifting. “Though I thought Head Priestess Leontia was older.”
“Eagle-eyed as always when it comes to women.” There was an undercurrent of sarcasm in the king’s voice. “This is Calliste. A different priestess.”
“What of Leontia?”
“Unavailable,” the king replied tersely.
Captain Lykos scrubbed his hand over his face. “Right. Any orders?”
“Get ready. I’ll finish here and we’ll ride. I’m hoping to reach Aganeeios by night.”
Captain Lykos whistled. “An excellent plan.” There was absolutely no reverence in his voice. “If your goal is to exhaust our horses completely . Don’t you scowl at me, Theron, it won’t change anything. Here’s what we’ll do: pitch camp here and catch a few hours of proper rest. Then we can ride out before dawn and make good progress before the day gets too hot. We stop at Aganeeios, wait out the worst heat, and then continue. There. A much more realistic plan.”
The king sighed again.
“I know,” the captain said in a serious tone. “But we have to think about the horses. They’re drained. I’m surprised Rebel is still standing.”
“Fine. Pitch that camp, if you must.”
“It’s being pitched, Majesty. In the meantime, can I offer any other assistance?” There was a meaningful overtone to the captain’s voice.
Only then Calliste registered that the king in front of her was bare. The water only partially obscured his body below his waist… not that she was looking in that direction.
And then she felt heat rising to the roots of her hair.
She was half-naked, too. She must have lost the pins holding the top of her robe together—both of them—while she thrashed in the water. Her belt held her robe from the waist down, but her upper half was bare, with only her wet hair obscuring her breasts.
“It’s nothing I cannot handle myself,” the king replied smoothly. “Though an extra towel would be welcome.”
“I’ll leave it next to your things.” Lykos gave a salute which looked suspiciously like a mock salute and disappeared, the pine branch swinging back into place and swaying for another moment.
The king slowly turned to her.
Calliste pressed her hands to her chest, her pulse racing, uncertain what to do.
“Looks like you’ve lost your pins. Do you want me to find them?” the king asked in a neutral tone.
“Yes, please,” she said, her gaze fixed on her hands.
He pivoted and swam forth in smooth movements, and then dived underwater.
In shaky movements, she started pulling at the front and the back of her robe to tuck it underneath her heavy, wet hair. The heat from her face alone was enough to warm her up.
He was gone for a long time, and then he reappeared perhaps three paces away from her, waddling through the water to stop in front of her again. One of his hands was clenched.
He’d found them. And something of an admiration made her exhale as she remembered his impassioned control in the water.
“You do realize Lykos won’t give me a day’s peace over this incident?”
She looked up, taken aback by his tone. It was light, almost jesting, as if he’d found this whole situation amusing. “I don’t normally panic like that. It’s just… I didn’t realize who they were. They were armed. And you were here on your own.”
“True. I forgot to warn you.”
“You mentioned it earlier, I remember now. I just…”
“Overreacted?” he supplied, the corner of his mouth kicking up. “I’m surprised you didn’t try to take them on yourself.”
“Knowing when not to fight is just as important as knowing when to fight.”
“Correct,” he said, scrutinizing her face as if seeing her for the first time.
And then, her attention strayed. In that unguarded, close moment, she’d noticed a map of nicks and scars, marking his golden-brown, forged-in-steel torso. His heavy-lidded eyes caught the glints of light from the water and glowed bronze with a hint of copper.
“I wouldn’t leave you there if I wasn’t certain it was safe. I was supposed to meet Lykos and others at that spot, but I didn’t expect them until another two hours or so. Typical Lykos, he probably rode the horses to exhaustion and now tells me we cannot continue.”
“Rebel is tired.”
“I know. But not knowing what is happening with Kalias right now…” He didn’t finish. The light in his face was already snuffed out. “I want to get to Aganeeios as soon as possible. My messenger will likely be waiting there.”
“Today?” Now his relentless rush made sense.
He sighed. “No. Likely tomorrow. Lykos is right.”
She nodded. “May I have my pins?” she asked lightly, doing her best to keep a calm expression.
He strode another step forth. “Certainly. I can hold up the back of your robe if you want me to help. Just turn around.”
Her breath hitched. If she did that, he’d see the scars on her back. And then he’d question her. Gods.
“Are you cold?” the king asked, his eyes fixed on her. “You shivered.”
“I’m not,” she said quickly.
“Am I making you uncomfortable? I only wish to help.” He turned as if to circle her to help her with the robe on her back.
She whipped around to face him.
He stilled, pale suspicion flitting in his narrowed eyes. “You’re skittish all of a sudden, Calliste. What’s wrong?”
“Other than me being half-naked in front of a bare king?” She forced a laugh. “Practically nothing.”
“I wouldn’t think a naked human body makes you nervous.”
“It doesn’t,” she retorted, indignant that he completely misinterpreted her behavior. “I’ve seen plenty of naked men before.”
That stilled him with alarmed disbelief in his eyes. “You have ?”
“In my practice as a healer, yes,” she supplied, so he didn’t get a wrong idea. “I had to learn the workings of the human body first. “
“Right.” He crossed his arms. “So if you don’t exactly faint at the sight of a naked man, why are you suddenly so nervous?”
She lifted her chin. “I am not.”
And then, in a blink, his face turned darker. He exhaled. “Enough of that. Turn around.”
“Why?” A jolt of fear shot through her.
“Because I’m hoping that what I’ve glimpsed on your back isn’t what I think it is.” His tone was steel.
Her throat grew dry. And even a newly-minted High Priestess couldn’t disobey the ruling monarch of the kingdom. She turned around and braced herself.
In truth, she didn’t know what her scars looked like. Leontia wouldn’t tell her, except her eyes were always full of horrified disbelief when she treated them. They took a long time to heal.
His fingertips felt hot against her skin as he slowly raked aside the hair plastered against her back—the curtain revealing the horror.
“Well?” she asked flatly, even though her heart knocked against her ribs as she plunged toward the inevitable. “Does that satisfy your curiosity?”
He muttered a coarse swear word.
It sent a shiver down her spine, not only because of its intensity. Ariston would spew the same word every evening when he was drunk, along with a handful of others, never sparing her his favorite.
Good for nothing.
The memories rushed back, as searing as her wounds once had been. Is nine years not enough to forget? She thought she blocked the nightmare of her previous life, but now one swear word punched a hole in the walls, and they crumbled, that harrowing evening coming back.
Ariston, drunk and vile in equal measure, the worst she’d ever seen. You’re useless. No good. A bane of my life. On and on he went, gulping wine and spitting insults. He wanted to provoke her, even though he was never short of reasons to lash out.
But that night… something had finally snapped in her, worn to the bone by three years of his ever-worsening treatment. For the first time since they wed, she screamed back at him. She didn’t remember her exact words, but it was something about leaving him. Even though the idea was ridiculous and impossible for a wife who was her husband’s property, it cut through his drunken haze. She could still recall his twisted, incredulous expression. Leave me? he slurred, grabbing the fire poker…
Calliste exhaled a shuddered breath. “Seen enough?”
The king’s silence lengthened, heavy and hot, like the iron Ariston branded her with. It seemed to make her scars stand on fire. Then he strode around her to face her, his eyes blank. His breath was a cold fury. “Who did this to you?”
Don’t tell him the truth, Leontia’s words echoed in her head. But she was never one to lie—and to lie to the king’s face was beyond her capabilities.
“Calliste?” he growled.
“It was my husband,” she replied, meeting his eyes without flinching.
His eyes widened. “How?”
“Fire poker.”
A dark cloud swept over his face, drowning out the light and lighting up dangerous glints in his eyes. “His name?”
“He no longer has a name.”
“Is he dead?”
Her stomach twisted as she grappled for an answer that wouldn’t have her sentenced to death straight away. “He’s dead to me. ”
“You ran away from him. From Anthemos.” He strung together the facts with ease that startled her. “Nine years ago, was it? To Mount Hellecon?”
“Yes.” She fixed her eyes on her hands, clutched to her chest, reduced to mere begging. “I know what the law says. I know you have to uphold it, but please, don’t force me back into this marriage.”
“That’s why you didn’t want to go to Anthemos,” he said in wonder.
“How do you know…?”
“I heard you shouting it to Leontia as I was leaving the Grand Temple.”
“I ran away from my husband on the night he did… what you just saw.” Her throat was tight as she spoke. “I needed help, but I didn’t have money to pay a Disciple of Asklepios to treat me. The only place I knew would help was the Sisterhood of Epione.”
“How did you get to Mount Hellecon? It’s a considerable distance, and you were wounded.” His tone betrayed nothing. He wanted to know the rest of the facts.
She exhaled. “I traveled there once before, so I knew the way.” With Ariston’s encouragement. He hoped the priestesses could restore what was wrong with her. But her condition proved incurable. “I stole my husband’s horse.”
“He didn’t chase you?”
A sudden prickling heat flared up in her chest again. “He was blind drunk.” Please don’t ask me more.
Thankfully, he accepted the explanation. “You could have been robbed. Or worse.”
Nothing worse than I already knew, she wanted to say, but stopped short. “But I was not. I don’t remember most of the journey. Kind people helped me along the way. In Aganeeios, a woman offered me shelter for the night. Fed me, too. I still owe her a debt of gratitude, even though she merely honored the sacrosanct laws of hospitality.”
The king listened in silence.
A long exhale later, she continued. “That fire poker was… filthy. So the wounds festered fast. By the time I arrived at Mount Hellecon, I was on the brink of death, and it took the healer of the highest skill to save me: Leontia. She said that if I came a day later…"
“And you stayed?” A genuine interest sounded in his voice.
“As Leontia tended to me, she discovered I had healing powers. She said it was entirely possible that I unconsciously used them to keep myself better during the journey. Which explained how I traveled such a distance with festering wounds and survived. She offered me shelter and training. And I couldn’t be happier. And then the war broke out.”
The forest rustled around them. The sun dipped lower, the shadows grew longer, as if the mere mention of the war darkened the world. As much as the Temple did not get involved in the outside world, the news of the war was too weighty to ignore, especially when King Amynthas—King Theron’s father—died defending against the aggressor.
“Perhaps your husband is dead. He might have perished in the Siege of Anthemos,” the king said.
“Perhaps.” That dread in her chest persisted. “To me, he’s been dead for nine years now.” Her hands shook as if in fever. “I know that in the eyes of the law, I belong to him and it’s my duty to be by his side and not… elsewhere.” She spoke quicker now. “That I had no permission or right to leave him, no matter what he did. And that you should take me back to him… but I want to forget him and never face him again. That’s all I ask. Please, don’t force me back.”
“You’re not going back to that monster.”
She stilled, surprised by his terse reply. Then she met his eyes again, her heart skipping a beat at the fierceness in his gaze. He didn’t have to add anything else for her to know that he just gave her his word and would keep it. She breathed easier, though that lead weight still sat at the bottom of her stomach… because she didn’t tell him the whole truth.
But it was wiser to leave it as it was.
He circled her and lifted the back of her robe, so she could pin it with the front.
“Thank you.” She was about to move to leave the lake, but he caught her by the wrist. “Majesty?”
“I’d like to know your husband’s name,” the king murmured, but then his gaze drifted over her shoulder, and he let go of her wrist.
She followed the line of his gaze to see Captain Lykos, frozen in a strange pose, as if he wasn’t quite certain what to make of the scene in front of him. He had a roll of linen in his hand—the towel he’d promised to bring. Then she noticed he held her bag in his other hand.
Sighing in relief, Calliste walked out of the lake, crossing the sand mixed with tiny, piebald pebbles, until she stopped in front of the polemarchos .
He was younger than the king, just as tall, with a robust frame to match. Definitely the type to turn heads wherever he went: a towering man with a strong jaw dusted with a stubble, an aristocratic nose, full mouth, and deep-blue eyes that glinted with humor and shrewdness at the same time. His tousled black hair fell to his shoulders, with a stylish curl to it. “Here you are, Calliste.” He passed her the towel, then the bag, his tone neutral. “I gathered you probably needed your clothes to change. And I found a comb, which I believe is yours and not Theron’s, and put it in your bag.”
“Thank you, captain.” She smiled at him, even though her stomach was still clenched from the exchange with the king.
She shook open the towel and dried her face, but it was only an excuse to hide her expression from the captain. By almighty Zeus, what is he thinking?
“My pleasure.” His warm voice changed to jesting. “The camp is pitched, Theron. How much longer do you intend to spend on pampering yourself?”
“Thought that was what you wanted,” the king grumbled, splashing the water as he approached them. “For me to waste my time here.”
Calliste’s back prickled. He would emerge naked. She made certain she didn’t turn around.
“Splashing in the water never takes you that long.”
“It takes as long as it takes.” The king’s grumpy voice was now closer, perhaps three paces away.
“Testy today. What a refreshing change,” quipped Captain Lykos. “But at least I see a dagger strapped to your thigh, so I’ll let you off. Towel?”
Now it sounded as if the king was just behind her. “It’s getting crowded in here, Lykos.”
The captain laughed. “I’m heading for the camp, then.” He shot Calliste another shrewd glance before leaving.
Calliste wrung out her wet hair.
There was a rustle of clothes behind her, the clicking of metal, a swish of straps: the king was getting dressed.
She wrapped herself in the towel, feeling the first lick of the evening chill and waited for him to go, so she would have privacy to change. But then she stiffened as he faced her, fully dressed and strangely determined.
“Your husband’s name, Calliste.”
“Must you know it, Majesty? I don’t wish to speak it. I’ve been doing my best to forget it.”
“I’d like to know.” The king shifted on his feet. “Perhaps not now, but certainly at one point.” Then he added in an undertone. “I’m sorry I reminded you.”
“I reminded you about the pain from your past, too.” She had to apologize again for her careless remark about his wife. “And I am sorry for that.”
He scrubbed his face. “You didn’t say it in malice.”
“I feel awful all the same. Healers are not supposed to cause pain.”
He didn’t reply. Perhaps he didn’t want to. “I’ll go to the camp. Don’t stay here too long.”
“I’ll change and join you.”
The king threw her the last, careful look, then walked off, disappearing between the pines.
Left alone, Calliste dried herself and shrugged off her soppy robe. She wrapped herself in her green peplos robe, painfully aware that she definitely hadn’t packed enough clothes for the journey. She let her hair loose so it dried quicker and wrung out her wet robe. Then she sat on the boulder, reining in her restless thoughts.
She didn’t permit herself to dwell on her past. No point. Nothing to be changed.
Her mind drifted to the king.
Only this morning, King Theron was nothing more to her than a distant, fabled ruler of her kingdom. In a span of barely a day, during which he turned her life upside down, she’d seen enough contradictory facets of him to squint in confusion.
Stubborn. Demanding. Uncompromising. Yet gentle. Quiet, too. No, not quiet. Detached. It would be too early to judge who he was beneath it all.
But she was certain of one thing: the king was consumed by suffering—enough to shatter a soul.