14. A Detour
14
A Detour
Calliste
White bean soup with tomatoes and olive oil, freshly-baked wheat bread, and the local wine cut with water in just the right proportion put the whole company in good spirits.
Chrysantos and Argyros traded jokes. Philon ordered a third helping, making Drakon snort. Even Kassandros, the most distant and quiet figure among the king’s sentinels, lit up somewhat.
Yet the tension between the king and Captain Lykos still hung in the air, suffocating her. The king’s presence beside her only made her more guarded, to the point she wished she could disappear.
She wanted to eat more, but her stomach was tight with thoughts of waking up in the bed scented with him, dizzy and disoriented from a vivid dream she’d never expected to have, only to hear what she shouldn’t have heard. And she was having trouble reconciling her vision with reality.
An hour before, she’d dreamed of him.
In her dream, he lay beside her, their fingers intertwined, eyes locked on her. Not a single word stirred the silence between them. The air between them felt intimate, filled with breathless joy and motes of light. It seemed as if their souls touched.
She rarely dreamed in her life, and never so vividly. Except, perhaps, for the night before her vow-taking. Whether it was a consequence of speaking to the god of dreams, she did not know.
A thud and a muffled argument woke her up. She barely had the time to recover from the shock of waking up in the king’s bed before tiptoeing to the door, only to catch his exasperated growl.
Don’t you dare do anything like that again. All I want from her is to help Kalias. Understood?
His words were icy. Yet the heat of anger underneath them stole her breath—as though her involuntary presence in his bed was an unforgivable offense. It smarted, cutting through her delusions—though gods only knew why she chose to deceive herself, mistaking his attention for genuine interest.
He needs me for his son. She clenched her hands under the table, exasperated with herself. And I am the Head Priestess-to-be. I cannot allow myself daydreaming about the king. She glanced down at her pendant, remembering Hypnos and his cryptic words. That alone sobered her up. She took a deep breath, wishing she had a moment to herself, to think about the words the god of dreams told her and their meaning.
“Calliste?” The king’s voice made her jump. “Where did you want to go before we leave?”
She glanced his way. There it was, his unwavering attention set entirely on her. She could almost fool herself again—except she wouldn’t. “I thought it was a good idea, but I’m not so certain now.” Seeing the question in his eyes, she explained so only he could hear. “A woman from here saved me all those years ago when I had given up hope. I wouldn’t have made it to Mount Hellecon if it wasn’t for her. I want to thank her, but I feel cheap offering her a mere thanks for saving my life.”
“Cheap, how?”
“I thought I might help her with my healing, but what if she’s healthy already?” she snorted. “I wish I had a gift for her. Words… don’t cost much.”
“The words are only as cheap as the intentions behind them.”
Her throat grew thick as she soaked up the wisdom in his words. “Then I’ll go.”
“Let me accompany you,” he said straight away.
Calliste straightened. “I’d rather go on my own.”
Captain Lykos glanced at her, surprised.
“I’ll go with you,” the king said. It wasn’t a question, and certainly not a plea.
She nodded in silence.
***
Even though her memory of Aganeeios was a patchwork of faraway flashes, it had barely changed. With the king by her side, she followed the deeply-rutted tracks of the village’s narrow main road, recalling how she’d clung on to her horse as she desperately encouraged the animal to keep going. But they had both been beyond exhausted.
“How did that woman find you?”
Calliste blinked at the recollection. “She carried water to her home. My horse stopped here with me barely awake and feverish. A few villagers passed me, but only that woman stopped to check on me. When she saw the state of me, she watered my horse, then helped me get to her home. Fed me.” Then, as if in a dream, she walked on until she’d found a small, stony house with narrow windows and thatched roof. That’s the one.
Her heart in her throat, she strode to the door and knocked. Once, twice.
Silence.
She tried again.
Nothing.
She pressed her hand to her temple, a slow, disappointed breath escaping her. But that kind woman could be anywhere right now, maybe tending to her field or garden or getting the goats from the pasture. Avoiding the king’s gaze, she turned around.
A wizened, unfamiliar woman stopped nearby, watching her. She carried a clay jug.
“Blessings.” Calliste strode to her, smiling. “I’m looking for the owner of this house.”
The villager eyed her with suspicion. “What business do you have with her?”
“I… just need to speak to her. I’m a priestess from the Sisterhood of Epione.”
The suspicion was still sharp in the woman’s eyes, even though she inclined her head in recognition. “You don’t wear the green robe.”
Calliste bit her lip. Even if I show her the pendant, she won’t know what it means. Few people did. And the people living in the mountains weren’t quick to trust strangers, to put it mildly. So she tried again. “I’m in my traveling clothes, that’s why. But I truly need to find her. Do you know where she is?”
“In the Underworld,” came a terse reply. “She’s gone.”
The king shifted on his feet, a sigh escaping his lips.
Calliste’s eyes smarted. “Oh… when?”
“Last summer.”
“Did she have any family?” the king asked, garnering the woman’s attention.
The woman’s eyes flickered over his breastplate with golden lions. She backed away. “No family. She lived alone.”
Calliste wanted to ask her name, but it might disturb her spirit in the Underworld. “Thank you,” she said, her throat tight. She turned around on her heel and dragged herself back to the inn.
The king caught up with her.
Calliste squashed a tear with her palm, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
The king walked on beside her in silence.
She wiped away another tear.
“You’ve tried,” he finally said.
“I’ve always waited for her on Mount Hellecon.” Her voice was thin. “I would check for new arrivals, hoping that if she ever came seeking help, I could do my best for her.” Her words trailed off, and she couldn’t say anything else. Then she sensed the king’s hand on her shoulder, jolting her into looking at him.
“Then you did your best under the circumstances.”
“But I never thanked her. I don’t even know her name.” Her throat burned. She had to hold it together, somehow. There was no time for tears and regrets: the king had been generous in allowing her this disheartening detour.
He pulled her to a stop and faced her. “Calliste.” He gently squeezed her shoulder. “I could be standing here till the end of days, telling you of all the circumstances that didn’t play out the way I wanted, and rage against it for good measure, but how pointless would that be? You’ve tried. If she was as good-hearted as you say, you must trust that it was recognized and rewarded in some way.”
Her heart thudded at the confusing warmth in his voice, catching her at the intersection of what she dreamed about and his harsh words to Captain Lykos. But she only needed a simple reminder. He needs me for his son. Seeing the matter in neutral light made it a fraction easier to look him in the face.
For a long moment, he chased the emotions in her eyes. His gaze was soft. Then he took away his hand. “Let’s go.”
***
Soon, they stormed on through the fading warmth of the early evening.
She held on to him, her cheek pressed to his back, eyes shut. The air whizzed past them, the hooves thudded underneath, the forest on the sides skipped in blurs and jolts.
She didn’t feel like her usual self—calm and in command of her thoughts. Her education at the Temple had focused on honing her mind to a razor-sharp focus, but now it reeled out of control.
Each thought was about an aspect of the king, and she couldn’t unravel the contradictory man he was.
The violence that surrounded him when he held Captain Lykos against the wall seemed at odds with his gentle touch on her shoulder as he consoled her after their fruitless detour. The fierceness in his voice as he promised not to return her to her husband didn’t match the broken darkness in his gaze when he spoke of his wife.
And then there was his rare smile, always fleeting and gone too soon.
She was still missing many pieces of him that would only click together when they arrived to Anthemos.
Holding on to him did precious little to push her mind off the subject. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could see his magnificent, honed body, steely under her fingertips. And even though they were separated by his armor, his warmth and scent was just another reminder.
How was it possible that two days ago, she didn’t know him at all, and now he filled up her thoughts and her presence to the brim. He was impossible to ignore. Perhaps that was the answer: her life had been compressed to the Temple, while he ruled the country. No wonder he overwhelmed her on so many levels.
They would have more space between them once they reached his palace in Anthemos, making it easier to maintain distance and control her thoughts.
Yet it would be challenging to forget that once he discovered her crime, he would preside over her trial.
And he may be the one to declare, in accordance with the laws of his kingdom, that she should be put to death.