8. Between the Fire and Night
8
Between the Fire and Night
Calliste
“Calliste?”
The king’s anxious voice jolted her from her thoughts and back into darkness nestled between the firs. She blinked up at the sky peppered with pinpricks of stars. “I’m here.” She slid off the boulder she had been sitting on.
A figure broke away from between the trees. “I thought you’d join us shortly. Then I gave you some time. But then I had to check.” It was difficult to make out his expression in the dark, but he didn’t sound angry.
“Oh, I…” She took a deep breath. “I lost track of time.” Judging by the inky night sky, she must have spent a considerable while here, emptying her mind.
He stopped a pace away from her. “Is that what you usually do? Lose track of time?”
Despite herself, she laughed. “I was recovering,” she explained. “Sometimes, when the events of the day overwhelm me, I need quiet to calm my mind. It’s hard to explain.”
“I wondered if you had run away,” he said.
That chilled her. “I would never run away from helping a child. Please forgive me if I gave you any reason to think otherwise.”
He didn’t reply for a while. “Let’s head to the camp.” There was no tension in his voice anymore.
She followed him with her bag and rolled-up, wet robe, weaving between pines before tackling a rocky incline and finally seeing the glow of fire through the trees. The camp.
All faces turned to the king as he approached. The warriors didn’t rise, but some squared their shoulders. Their respect was evident, but the atmosphere seemed informal.
Interesting.
“Found what you lost?” Captain Lykos’ amused voice greeted her. He lounged by the fire with everyone else. “We were ready to come to your aid.”
“Stop chafing me, you annoying brat.” King Theron gave an exasperated sigh and stepped aside. “This is Calliste, the High Priestess from the Temple of Epione.”
Curious faces measured her up.
Originally, when she saw them between the trees, she thought it was a large group. But now she only counted six, including Captain Lykos. She hesitated, unsure of what to do.
“Sit with us, Calliste.” The king gestured at the blanket on the ground.
She sat down, tucking her legs underneath her and focusing her gaze on the flames.
“This is Argyros, and I am Chrysantos,” said the man with a bewitching, expressive face. His tone was gentle and welcoming as he sat side by side with another equally attractive man. They looked so similar that Calliste wondered if they were brothers.
“Kassandros.” A dark-haired sentinel clad in black gave a curt nod.
The bulky man with short-cropped hair next to him smiled at her. He looked every bit a seasoned warrior. “Drakon.”
“And Philon.” Captain Lykos swung his thumb at the youngest one in the group, so fresh-faced that she wondered how it was possible he was part of the king’s sentinels. “A small, but merry company, currently working out our sleeping arrangements,” he added with a glint in his eye.
Calliste gazed beyond the firelight and noticed two tents looming against the darkness of night. Two? Hmmm. “Is there a problem?”
“It depends on who you ask.” Lykos grinned.
King Theron waved his hand at him. “Take no notice, Calliste. He likes to make a mountain out of a molehill.”
“A common affliction,” she smiled. “Incurable, I’m afraid.”
For a moment, the company stared at her, then chuckles spilled out.
Captain Lykos’ teeth glinted as he shot her an appreciative look.
The king cut her a sideways, amused glance. “I thought you were a healer, not an entertainer, Calliste.”
“I admit, I’m hopeless at juggling, Majesty.”
“You don’t look like someone who’s ever tried,” he replied smoothly.
“You’d be surprised.”
“Have you?” His brows rose. “Intriguing.”
“With potatoes.”
“Potatoes?” He shook his head. “Too heavy. Tomatoes are better.”
“You sound like you have some experience with juggling.”
“Perhaps I do.” A genuine smile lit up his face.
“Do you?” She lifted her brow. “Intriguing.” Is there a woman immune to his smile? Surely not.
The golden hues of the fire brought out the sparks in his eyes. “It was a long time ago, but yes, I did attempt to juggle once. And failed spectacularly. I wanted to make Kalias laugh.” His eyes clouded and he fell silent.
After a long pause, she asked, “And did he laugh?”
The king glanced at her. “He did when one splashed on my foot.”
“Then it was a success.”
He studied her for a moment longer, a mysterious emotion swimming in his impenetrable gaze.
And then she noticed the silence of his sentinels, listening in on their conversation. She cleared her throat, wondering how she ended up swept up in that exchange. “So what’s the issue with the sleeping arrangements?”
“No issue,” the king replied. “You’ll take one tent. Three of us will share the other, three stand watch. One will sleep under the stars.”
“Have I taken someone else’s tent?” she asked.
“No,” dismissed Captain Lykos. “It was simply a mistake on the part of whoever packed the tents, right, Philon ?”
Philon reddened, guilt evident on his fresh face. “I’ll sleep on the ground.”
Captain Lykos waved his hand with a forgiving smile. “Are you hungry, Calliste?”
“A little,” she admitted, struggling to recall when she last ate. Probably in the morning, before the ceremony.
Captain Lykos rummaged through his bag and handed her a small bundle wrapped in linen. “Just some fruit and nuts. We’ll eat better once we reach Aganeeios. This wasn’t exactly a planned trip.”
“No?”
“No,” the king said. “It was not.”
Silence fell over the group.
Calliste dropped the subject and unwrapped the linen, nibbling on figs and walnuts.
Captain Lykos made light conversation again. The others joined in, except for Kassandros, who leaned against the tree with his eyes closed. The rest chatted about the upcoming summer festival in Anthemos and teased Philon about a girl he liked.
As she listened, it became clear that the lighthearted banter was solely for the king. While he sat among them, he seemed disengaged, his profile unmoved, glazed over by the fire.
She didn’t blame him, now that she had pieced together the information, some of it old, some new. His father, King Amynthas, had perished in the invasion, with his wife, Queen Myrhine, following him, claimed by grief. She knew as much. If his son was now seven summers old, then his wife must have died seven years ago.
Thanatos circled the royal family, meticulously stripping it away from the king.
Why? A cold tendril of fear squeezed around her heart. What if I won’t be able to help the prince?