11. Aganeeios
11
Aganeeios
Calliste
The king didn’t insist on riding as fast again, so Aganeeios—the terraced village nestled on the side of the sprawling Mount Peliosa—finally came into view as the sun reached its peak.
“Ah, finally,” Argyros smiled, his elegant profile tilted up. “A proper rest for a couple of hours.”
Calliste surveyed the sun-bleached, hunched stone houses with slanted, red-tiled roofs, the ancient olive trees dotting the landscape, chickens roaming the narrow road among the junipers, and the threads of pathways winding up to the village. “Did you stop here on your way to Mount Hellecon?”
“Of course not.” Chrysantos snorted. “We galloped past it.”
“Fast,” added Argyros.
The low stone wall marked the border of the village, as if in contrast with the soaring mountain wearing frosty crowns over its sharp peaks.
Calliste glanced at the simple stone figure of Hestia at the entrance, vaguely recalling it from her own hazy memories from nine years before. The sticks of burning incense in front of the goddess assured the travelers that the folk of Aganeeios observed laws of hospitality, but the truth was that the village was used to hosting travelers on their way to and from Mount Hellecon, with some innkeepers relying on it for business.
This much she knew. Although the Sisterhood was self-sufficient, they sometimes traded their goods in Aganeeios.
The company strode down the narrow main thoroughfare to the marketplace where Philon waited for them outside a large, wooden double gate with a knocker shaped like a goat’s head. The gates were open, showing a simple, wood-and-stone, two storey building with small windows framed with ivy.
Philon looked much happier than before and saluted at their sight. “Good food here, at Chiron’s,” he said with a cheeky smile, imitating the broad accent of the region and stroking his belly. Then he pointed at the stables to the left. “A decent place for horses, too.”
Captain Lykos nodded. “Tack the horses. Rebel first.” He passed him the reins, then he and the king went through the archway into the small courtyard with a fountain in the center, while the rest took their horses to the stables.
The wiry, tall, narrow-eyed owner already waited in the doorway of the house. “Welcome,” he said, his shrewd eyes resting on the king. He bowed, but didn’t drop to his knees. From his casual stance, Calliste guessed that Philon didn’t tell him he’d have the ruler of Hesperis dining at his table. It wasn’t exactly a planned journey, she recalled Captain Lykos’ words from the previous evening.
The king didn’t seem to mind.
“This way.” The owner led them across the empty common room to a large table in the corner. “I’ve prepared a lot of food, as your man requested. He also told me that you won’t be staying for the night.”
“Correct,” Lykos nodded. “But we might need one room for a few hours.” He gave the king a pointed stare. “As some of us need to catch some sleep.”
“I only feed the travelers. Most of them sleep in the stables.” The owner bowed again. “But I have one guest room. It’s yours should you need it.”
The king frowned at Lykos. “I don’t think I’ll sleep.”
“We’ll talk about it later.” Lykos waved his hand, striding to the table and surveying the food. “Let’s eat first.”
The owner raised his brows at Calliste. “Will this woman be eating with you?” he addressed the king.
Calliste faltered. After all those years in the Sisterhood, she’d entirely forgotten that in the outside world, women ate after the men had finished. That used to be her husband’s expectation, too. And while the villagers probably knew what Epione’s healers looked like, she wore her white peplos , not the green one, with her pendant hidden underneath it, with nothing to show her station. With her hair loose and ruffled from wind, she didn’t look like a wife, either.
The king halted on his way to the table and turned back. “Yes, Calliste will be joining us at our table.”
“Oh?” The owner eyed her with curiosity, then glanced at the king with a wide smile. “I can see why you chose her. Nice figure, pretty face. Bet she knows a trick or two to make a man happy at night—”
Frozen by the assumption, she couldn’t choke out a word, let alone frame a scorching answer he deserved.
But the king had already whipped forth in a barely detectable movement, grabbing the owner by the front of his robe and lifting him up. “What in the pits of Tartarus did you just imply ?”
The owner squeaked, his eyes wide and panicked.
Kassandros and Drakon appeared in the doorway and strode across the common room to the king, their hands on the hilts of their swords, glancing up at Captain Lykos in confusion.
“At ease,” muttered the polemarchos , also scowling at the owner.
“What made you think you could speak about her that way?” the king continued coldly, looking ready to tear the man to pieces. “She’s your guest, and the High Priestess of Epione besides. Not a wench. How do you intend to make it up to her?”
The owner’s eyes widened and flickered to Calliste. “My lady, I apologize—”
The king released him. “It will sound better if you get down on your knees.”
The owner blanched. For a moment, it seemed like he wanted to protest, but after a glance at the four armed warriors, he lowered himself to his knees. “Forgive me, priestess. I didn’t mean to insult you.”
Her face still stung. I don’t look like a maiden or a wife, therefore I must be a whore. But the mortification warred with another complicated feeling in her chest.
“I’m so sorry,” the owner continued from the floor. “I have the highest respect for Epione’s healers. One of them delivered my youngest a few weeks ago, even though the local midwife said it would likely be a stillborn.”
Calliste blinked. “Is your wife’s name… Ino?”
“Yes, my lady, how do you—” The owner blinked up at her. “Oh. You’re not a priestess named Calliste, are you?”
“She is,” the king replied.
There was a brief silence as the owner stared up at her, getting redder in the face.
“The words you’re looking for are: I am a fool ,” the king growled.
“I am a fool and I’ll never make this mistake again,” the owner whispered.
“Calliste?” the king prompted. “Is that enough?”
“Your local midwife should come over to us to brush up on her skills,” Calliste said to the owner as she turned away from him. “Difficult doesn’t mean impossible.” Still, she felt bitter as she walked away to the table.
The king stepped beside her. “It never crossed my mind that someone would speak to you like that.”
She looked up at his tired, tight face. “You have more important matters to worry about, Majesty.”
“Still, this shouldn’t have happened.”
“You cannot control what people think,” she said quietly, keeping a neutral expression. “But I think he’s learned something.”
He exhaled, then gestured for her to sit beside him at the table.
“Let us dine.” Captain Lykos’ calm voice was like sunshine slanting through the narrow windows of the common room. “At least he’s made an effort here.”
Calliste glanced at thick slices of fresh spelt bread, green and black olives on the clay saucers, a fragrant slab of cheese with herbs, figs drizzled with honey, and plenty of wine and water. Then, with a sigh, she adjusted her pendant so it was visible over her robe.
Even the sitting arrangement seemed pre-planned. She wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that the king traveled in secret. Captain Lykos sat beside the king with the wall behind their bench. Chrysantos and Argyros were seated on one side of the table. Kassandros and Drakon flanked the other side, their path of sight clear to the door.
As the meal progressed, she also noticed that the king barely ate, his bloodshot eyes constantly straying to the entrance of the inn, until he jolted to his feet, pushed past Captain Lykos, and rushed to the man who appeared at the entrance.
“Who’s that?” Calliste asked Captain Lykos.
“Our messenger. Theron arranged for a messenger to meet us at each stop with news of the prince.”
“But we’re days away from the capital. Won’t the news be outdated by then?”
“No.” Lykos shot her an appreciative gaze. “A chain of messengers keep bringing in the latest reports. That’s the latest one.”
She watched as the messenger handed a small scroll to the king, who nodded his thanks as he unrolled it.
Her heart lurched as he read it.
His jaw tight, the king returned to the table, his gaze unseeing.
Lykos pried the small piece of rolled parchment out of his hands and scanned it, then he blew out a frustrated breath. “Always the same word.”
“ Stable ,” the king spat. “Damn it,” he growled, retreating into fuming silence.
His company returned to eating, their faces morose. Once they’d finished, they excused themselves one by one, leaving the king alone with Captain Lykos and Calliste.
The king’s mouth was a straight, hard line.
Captain Lykos shifted to sit to the side of the table, rubbing his chin in frustration. Then he glanced at Calliste. “Do you use that word? In the healers’ jargon, what exactly does it mean that someone is stable ?”
The king cut her a look.
Calliste lowered her gaze to the crumbs of cheese on her plate. “I don’t know the meaning of this word among the Disciples. To me, it means: not worsening.”
“He’s been using that damned word all the way throughout,” the king snapped. “I’m glad he’s not worsening, but I want to hear something else.”
Her meal turned into lead in her stomach. “I promise I won’t use it.”
His eyes brightened up for a heartbeat, but that light dimmed and died. “Thank you,” he said, his gaze abstract again, faraway.
Calliste took a sip of water. “Majesty, I suggest you go and rest. You mustn’t deprive your body of sleep for so long.”
“Wise words,” Captain Lykos leaned back, crossing his arms. “Not like he hasn’t heard them before.”
The king sighed. “You think I haven’t tried? There’s no cure for my nightmares.”
“Can I help?”
The king glanced at her. “Help?”
“If you allow me.” She hoped her offer wouldn’t come out wrong. “I could help you sleep.”
He waved his hand. “I appreciate the offer, Calliste, but Panakeios has already tried. He prescribed mandrake wine. It gave me nightmares, and I was lethargic for long after that.”
“Mandrake wine?” Calliste pursed her lips. Such an extreme measure. Was he careful with the dose? “How long have you gone without sleep?”
“Since Kalias was taken ill,” the king replied.
“For over six weeks?” Calliste asked, horrified. “Please let me try. No potions.”
The king hesitated, glancing at his polemarchos .
“Well, why won’t you give it a chance?” Captain Lykos cocked his brow. “Afraid that you’ll actually sleep?”
“We don’t have the time.”
“On the contrary, Theron. It’s past noon. We won’t be wearing out our horses in this heat, so we have three spare hours.”
The king’s jaw tightened.
“Our Majesty hates not being in control.” Captain Lykos winked at Calliste. “Or maybe he’s just worried about his smell after the ride.”
“I washed and changed this morning, Lykos,” the king growled. “So I’m not half as filthy as some.”
“I’m sure your manly scent suits you well, Theron.” The captain grinned.
Calliste tried to keep a straight face. “I’m not going to do anything you don’t agree to, my lord.”
He cast her a dark gaze. “I’m just not in favor of inducing sleep.”
“Whereas I’m in favor of anything that will stop you from being such a cranky pain in the arse—” Captain Lykos cleared his throat, glancing at her. “Your pardon, Calliste.”
“I’ve treated worse pains.”
Captain Lykos’ brows shot up, humor twinkling in his deep-blue eyes. He leaned against the wall, tilting his head at her. “You’re a fascinating woman, Calliste—”
“Fine,” the king cut in suddenly, glaring at his friend. “Let’s give it a try.”