10. Behind the Mask
10
Behind the Mask
Theron
“Majesty?” Her ethereal voice feathered against his ear, breaking the silence between them for the first time since they’d resumed their fast-paced journey.
Theron tightened his hands on the reins as a shiver rolled down his spine.
“Is it possible to stop? Just for a while?”
He set his teeth together. By the position of the sun, it was getting close to two hours. He’d kept a relentless tempo, whipped by his worry for Kalias and pulled by the hope of seeing the messenger at Aganeeios.
But he didn’t want to be cruel to her again. He raised his hand, halting his men, and slowed down.
Calliste’s hands relaxed around his waist.
Theron let Rebel cool down before he brought him to a halt and dismounted, ignoring the surprised looks of his sentinels. “What would you like to do, Calliste?” he asked, briefly looking up.
“Could I march for a while?”
He tried not to wince, but something must have given it away.
“Doesn’t matter,” she sighed, resigned. “Let’s continue.”
All he wanted was to mount Rebel again and keep the pace, but the discomfort in her face told him that she needed a break. You’re tough, I give you that. But I’m pushing you too far. So he reached out to her. “Let me help you down.” With the corner of his eye, he caught Lykos’ mount sidling into his vision, so he kept his expression flat while he met Calliste’s eyes. His despair at having to stop paled somewhat at her radiant smile.
“Thank you,” she exhaled with obvious relief, but then her face dropped to neutral as he slid his hands around her waist to ease her down from Rebel. He didn’t touch her for any longer than necessary, but even that seemed too long. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she smiled again. “We could all march for a little while. It’s good for digestion.”
“But we haven’t had breakfast,” Philon protested.
“That’s not what she means, but it’s a good point.” Lykos rummaged in his saddlebag and handed him a small purse. “Ride on to Aganeeios and make sure there’s food on the table by the time we arrive. The rest, dismount,” he ordered, seamlessly taking over.
“ Polemarchos .” Philon saluted, then nudged his horse and galloped on.
Theron stroked Rebel’s neck, watching Calliste readjusting her hat. Deep down, he knew that stopping was the right decision. He was on the verge of collapsing, with a headache flaming behind his gritty eyes. When he took Rebel by the bridle, even his stallion snorted in relief.
Calliste shot him one more grateful look from under her wide-brimmed hat and then broke into a surprisingly agile stride. If she’d suffered from the ride, she didn’t show it.
A core of steel.
A few moments into their march, Chrysantos and Argyros started a tune—a cheerful, old folk song Theron hadn’t heard for a long while. Their strong, melodious voices weaved through the air, rising above the canopy of oaks.
It eased the tense expression on his face: a heavy blend of worry and fear. He waved at Chrysantos and Argyros to take the lead and flank Calliste, while he dropped past the quiet Kassandros, Drakon and Lykos, longing for solitude.
The dusty road unfurled before them, illuminated by the shafts of sunlight piercing through the canopy of ancient oaks. It widened by fractions, a sign that they were drawing nearer to Aganeeios.
He murmured a short prayer to Hermes, hoping to hasten the messenger’s arrival to Aganeeios, then glanced at Calliste, now several steps ahead.
He rubbed his burning eyes, exhaling, knowing exactly why he’d decided to stop.
I need a break from her closeness.
It wasn’t going as he’d planned. He’d expected to ride with Leontia, not with a woman half her age. He’d done his best to forget that such women existed. It was better that way, and that decision had gone unchallenged by himself so far.
But now that he was forced to dwell with her in such close quarters, some things were impossible to ignore. Like her image from this morning, still inexplicably etched in his mind, clear and sharp despite his worry, exhaustion, and dark nightmares chasing him whenever he closed his eyes.
He shook his aching head, wondering why it persisted.
Perhaps because there was something infinitely soothing about her sleeping form, making him hesitate before waking her up.
Time was of the essence. He knew it. And yet there he was, staring at her pale-golden, bare shoulders and tousled dark-brown hair framing her heart-shaped, dewy face; taking note of her nude lips and decisive brows. She didn’t use any cosmetics the way women at his court did. The only other woman he knew who barely used any enhancers was Eumelia.
The strangest thing was that he’d spent several precious moments searching for that indefinable quality beyond her physical beauty, feeling as though he knew her well already. She had a way of wrapping herself in silence, but when she spoke, her intelligence shone through her hazel eyes. No ordinary woman could claim the title of High Priestess, and that alone made her captivating in an unselfconscious manner. Add to that the scars on her back and the mysterious glimpses of her past… he found this image far more fascinating than he cared to admit.
Until he realized she was undressed beneath the blanket and stilled at the shocking jolt of arousal, a sensation he hadn’t experienced in years . And her question—her godsdamned innocent, practical question—made it even worse. Will you tie me up?
Maybe, he wanted to answer. But not like you think. And he paused, still reeling at his own internal response. Why would I—
“So,” Lykos’ overly cheerful baritone rang out beside him, and his lifelong friend surfaced, as he usually did, out of thin air and in the worst moment possible. “I’d like to hear an explanation, Theron. You avoided me last night.”
Of course, Lykos would pounce on the opportunity. True to his namesake—wolf—he never let go once he’d caught a whiff of something interesting. Now he took advantage of their position: behind the singing company and out of earshot.
“Thought you were set on bringing the Head Priestess with you,” Lykos prompted. “What made you recover your common sense?”
“I would gain nothing by dragging Leontia to Anthemos.” Theron scrubbed his forehead. “I can’t tell you more than that.”
Lykos shrugged. “And Calliste?”
“Apparently, she’s the best replacement for Leontia that I could have. Her named successor.”
“The next Head Priestess, huh?” Lykos narrowed his eyes at him. “Then explain to me why you ogled her a few times.”
Theron cut him a dirty look. “I did not ogle her.”
“And… you, juggling? You never told me.”
“You didn’t need to know.”
“What I’m saying is—”
“Lykos, whatever you’re going to say is probably your usual, screaming, needless exaggeration.”
Lykos ran his hand through his tousled black hair. “Theron, I know what I saw.” He cast a look at Calliste marching on. “Though it makes me wonder why a woman like her didn’t end up with a husband and a flock of kids but in the Sisterhood of Epione.”
Theron’s jaw tightened. “She is married.”
“She is ?” Lykos raised his brow.
“Her husband mistreated her. She ran away from him to Mount Hellecon nine years ago.”
“So by law, she’s still bound to some prick?”
Theron exhaled. “Worse. An abusive prick.”
“You’d better elaborate.”
“Last evening, at the lake, I saw scars across her back and pressed her for an explanation.”
“Scars?” Lykos repeated in a foreboding tone.
Theron’s jaw clenched at the memory of three grim scars, each thick like a finger, stretching across her back. A chilling record left by the hand of a sadist. A fire poker . It must have been red-hot. “Scars that make me want to hunt down her husband and watch him die a slow and agonizing death.”
“Well.” A hint of iciness crept into Lykos’s voice. “That can be arranged. Just give me his name.”
Theron sighed. “In case you haven’t noticed, she’s not talkative.”
“Interesting. Did you try your bespoke glare on her?”
“I did. She’s immune to my glare.”
“A woman who doesn’t fear you?” Lykos smirked. “So what do you have?”
“Not much. Just her name and the fact that she lived in Anthemos nine years ago. And that one of her parents was likely from Anthemos, and the other was an islander.”
Lykos rubbed his nose. “That’s a start, because that’s an unusual match. The islanders rarely marry the northerners. It would be easier if I knew her husband’s name, but if her father was a citizen of Anthemos, then it’s just a matter of looking through the right ledgers in the archives.”
“Best of luck. See you in a year.”
“I’ll ask Xanthos to look for it. He’ll seize the challenge and dig through every last dusty scroll,” Lykos said. “It will be worth it.”
“Why?”
The captain sighed. “Because I need to know who you are taking to Kalias.”
Not untrue. “Fine. Involve Xanthos if you like. But whatever you think you saw doesn’t mean anything.”
“She somehow made you laugh. When was the last time you laughed?”
“When you tripped and fell facedown in the mud during your training.”
“Theron, that was last year. And I didn’t mean spitefully .”
“I know better than to chase a celibate of the Sisterhood of Epione.”
“Epione’s priestesses are not expected to abstain from physical relations, my unenlightened king.”
“How do you—” Theron’s breath caught. “You bastard, you said it on purpose.”
Lykos threw him a careful look. “Just checking if a certain thought has crossed your mind.”
“How do you know that healers from Mount Hellecon don’t practice celibacy?”
Lykos shrugged. “From the same source I told you about: Damia, my friend’s wife. He once traveled to Mount Hellecon and found himself under her care while she was still a healer there. Now they’re happily married, and the third baby is on the way.” He paused, thinking. “Or is it the fourth? Anyhow, Damia told me that the celibates at Mount Hellecon don’t make any special vows of chastity, since they never leave their temple. They also have an ironclad rule that forbids them inappropriate relationships with their patients.”
“Hmm. So how did your friend and Damia end up together?”
“She was still a novice, and was granted permission to leave. Then they married. Is Calliste a sworn priestess?”
Theron chewed on his lip, relieved in a way he didn’t want to admit. “No. I interrupted her vow-taking ceremony, right before she made her vows.”
“Perfect timing, huh? Sounds like your typical storming in, stomping your foot and flouncing out?”
“Well…” Theron hesitated. “I’m not proud of what I did there.”
Lykos raised his brows. “ That bad?”
“Worse than bad.” Theron massaged his forehead, not exactly willing to admit the truth. He’d been too exhausted yesterday to think clearly, but that didn’t count as an excuse in his eyes. “She doesn’t appreciate me dragging her all the way to Anthemos and now I see why, even though… Well, I don’t think she has any idea of how much it’s changed. But right now, she certainly doesn’t like me for it, and no, I did not ogle her. Rein in your imagination and stop being a pain.”
“I’m anything but a pain.”
“You’ve been a pain right from the cradle.”
Lykos laughed. “Only someone as old as you can remember that.”
“Say what you like.” Theron readjusted his grip on Rebel’s bridle. “Outside of the Sisterhood, she’s married, Lykos. Other than that, she’s Leontia’s successor. I’m taking her to the Palace to help Kalias. End of the story.”
For a while, they marched shoulder to shoulder, silent. But Theron knew Lykos merely digested everything he’d heard, and would be back with more questions. That man never gave up.
“I hope this wild chase for her was worth it,” Lykos eventually said.
“Of course you do. It was your idea.”
“It was a suggestion, Theron, from someone who was tired of watching the shadow of you wandering the hallways.”
“Leontia sang her praises. I saw her healing herself, too.”
Lykos narrowed his eyes at Calliste. “If she can heal herself, why didn’t she make her scars disappear?”
Theron slowed down for a few heartbeats, confusing Rebel, who tossed his head and snorted. “I don’t think she knows how horrific they look.”
“I’d kill the bastard with my bare hands.” Lykos’ eyes glinted like steel. “But if he’s alive, her running away doesn’t change a thing. In the eyes of the law, she is still his wife first, so you should—”
“I know what I should do, but I promised her that I wouldn’t,” Theron growled. “And I won’t.”
“Glad to hear that.” Lykos shot him a quick glance. “But her presence at the court will raise questions.”
“Excellent foresight, Lykos. It’s a bit too late to worry about it.”
“You were supposed to bring Leontia with you, if I’m not mistaken.” Lykos snorted. “Calliste is much younger, so I can see Panakeios pushing back against her. You didn’t mention anything to him, did you?”
Theron cleared his throat. “Why would I? Surely, both orders have the same goal. To heal people.”
“Wrong. Since divine Epione is Asklepios’s wife, the Disciples of Asklepios consider themselves superior to the healers from Mount Hellecon. But the division lies deeper than that. Historically, the School of Asklepios has been connected to the capital. They’ve never established anything outside of the region, so they’re associated with our city. That’s one. Two: the School of Asklepios is male only. And they call themselves physicians, not healers. They consider the Sisterhood of Epione… well, folk healers, to put it kindly. Also, they charge their patients, whereas Epione’s healers rely on their charity.”
“How do you know all that?” Theron winced at recalling how he threatened Leontia with outlawing her order.
“Damia loves reminiscing. I probably know more about the Sisterhood of Epione than I’d like to, but here we are. And even though Damia and her husband live in Anthemos and can afford a physician, whenever one of her children is seriously ill, she packs everything up, takes a fat purse of gold, and drives straight to Mount Hellecon. As you can imagine, her husband doesn’t object.”
Theron sighed. “It’s great that you’re telling me now. Even so, I expect Panakeios and her to work together.”
“Does Solon know where you’re headed?”
Theron shrugged. “I’d tell him if he were sober enough to remember his own name. I only told Xanthos.”
“Of course you did. Because Xanthos wouldn’t try to stop you.”
“No. But he was surprised to hear that it was your idea.”
“A suggestion. Was he? I can’t see why.” Lykos sighed. “Kalias is like a son to me. I’d try anything.”
Theron’s eyes stung badly. Lack of sleep, he told himself, even if he knew it wasn’t exactly true. “I don’t have a choice. Do you honestly think Panakeios knows what he’s doing?”
“Honestly?” Lykos’s face darkened. “The only reason I supported this insane journey was because Damia had told me so much about the Sisterhood that I thought it was worth trying. Do you think I can just sit and watch how Panakeios won’t admit that he doesn’t know what’s going on with Kalias? And I don’t exactly like the fact that he won’t let another physician near him. The stakes run higher than his godsdamned pride.”
The heavy mask pressed back on Theron’s face. “I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t try everything.”
“I’ll hope that Calliste is the miracle we need.” Lykos said, at length, his cheerful exterior crumbling. Sadness was a rare guest on his face. “I wish I could do more than that.”
Theron braced himself against the familiar, dull, heart-twisting dread. “As do I.”