15. A Thunderstorm
15
A Thunderstorm
Calliste
The next three days blurred into a repetitive sequence.
They took a different route than she had years ago; as they passed by towns like Kyklos and Mytheora, the names meant nothing to her.
But the king knew an interesting detail about each one and shared them casually. Kyklos is known for their perfectly round vases and pots. Mytheora keeps growing, and they pride themselves in their fantastic cheese.
They rode through the night with relentless speed to avoid the scorching heat of the day. By dawn, they would arrive at the next town or township where they would eat, rest during the day, and then have another meal before continuing on their journey.
Calliste couldn’t help but admire the organized arrangements: an inn always awaited them, with her own personal room.
For an unplanned journey, someone had put in a lot of effort to plan it well, and that someone turned out to be Captain Lykos.
“I’m used to discomfort, but I do like comfort,” he admitted with his disarming ease.
After five days on the road, it was easy to see the dynamics within the company.
Captain Lykos, Chrysantos, Argyros, and Philon were the lively ones, always singing, joking, or chatting to lift the mood. Drakon was quiet, observing from the sidelines. Kassandros was also reserved, but in a different way: he seemed to carry a burden everyone in the company knew about but no one dared to mention aloud.
Calliste wondered if it was a recent loss of someone dear, as he only wore black clothing.
And then, the king. The dark centerpiece of the company.
He didn’t appear to be sleeping well, judging by his increasingly worn appearance, but didn’t seek her help again.
While the tension between him and Captain Lykos had dissolved, the king sank into his own gloom, distant and broody, impatient for a messenger at each town. His countenance would darken with every scroll he unrolled, which always held the same, repeated message, boiled down to one word he hated: stable . He would always toss it into the nearest fire, his face tensing into an angry mask.
The Head Physician of the Anthemosian Court seemed too terse and repetitive.
Eventually, she had too many questions. So she sought an opportunity to ask them, and the opportunity came soon.
***
The heavens tore open just as they stepped out of the inn in Mytheora, about to mount their horses. Fat drops of rain pounded on the dirt of the inner courtyard, quickly turning it into a pool of mud.
Calliste stopped at the threshold of the inn, her back still warmed by the fire, her face suddenly chilly in the blast of iciness rolling from above.
The king scowled up at the sky.
The sky flashed white. A couple of breaths later, the roar of thunder rolled across the black clouds.
Captain Lykos sighed and turned to the company. “Philon, Argyros, Chrysantos. Make sure the horses are fine.”
The warriors saluted and skulked across the courtyard to the stables.
Captain Lykos nodded at Kassandros and Drakon. “We’re going back inside.”
The king threw him a sharp look.
“We’re not riding in the night and a thunderstorm,” the captain said calmly. “It will probably pass soon. Come, Calliste.” He gestured at her to go back to the common room.
She hesitated for a moment.
The king kept glowering at the sky, as if to out-glare the lightning, while Kassandros leaned against the wooden pole beside him, crossing his arms.
Calliste followed Captain Lykos back into the warmth and noise of the busy common room and the wide oaken table they had just abandoned, slipping back onto her previous seat.
“I’ll get us another round.” Drakon adjusted his belt and strode to the counter and the grinning innkeeper.
Captain Lykos made himself comfortable beside her, with his back to the whitewashed wall beside the fireplace. He scanned the busy crowd of travelers scattered at the tables across the common room. “Familiar faces,” he observed. “Those two were with us in the inn in Kyklos.”
Calliste glanced at a man and a woman in traveling clothes, chatting and drinking with their companions two tables away. “Do you think they’re following us?”
He threw them a careful look. “Most likely they’re traveling with a merchant convoy to one of the bigger towns, possibly the capital.”
The man noticed Captain Lykos’ scrutiny and smiled at him. He whispered something to his companion and they both glanced at the captain again.
The king appeared in the common room, alone, his mouth set.
The captain waved at him. “I hope the storm passes soon. I don’t know what’s worse: Zeus’ rage outside, or sitting in one room with fuming Theron.” And then he winked at her.
Calliste couldn’t help but smile at his easy presence. With his chiseled features—an aristocratic nose, twinkling eyes, a quick smile, unruly dark hair framing his face, and an imposing physique—he simply dazzled, drawing longing looks from both women and men at every inn where they stopped.
Just as she thought this, the couple who had been stealing glances at Captain Lykos approached their table, each holding a cup of wine. The man was slender, spruce even in his traveling clothes, clean-shaven, with neatly styled hair that fell over his shoulders. The short woman with curly hair beside him beamed at them.
“Evening,” she chirped.
Captain Lykos shot her his easy smile. “Evening.”
“We saw you and your friends in Kyklos. Are you traveling to Anthemos?”
The captain tilted his head. “Who’s asking?”
“I’m Erinna,” she said, flushing, then gestured to her companion. “And this is my dearest friend, Meliton. We’re on our way to Anthemos.”
The captain merely nodded.
“We’re setting out soon.” Erinna smiled at Calliste. “You’re welcome to join us if you want. We have six armed men with us, and we all know how to fight. It’s always safer in a larger group.”
“Not untrue. Thank you for the invitation, but we’re fine,” Captain Lykos answered.
Meliton raised her cup at the polemarchos . “You could at least tell us your name.”
“Lykos,” he replied.
With the corner of her eye, Calliste saw the king watching the scene with a raised brow.
“Lykos. Nice.” Meliton sipped from his cup. “And your wife’s name?”
Lykos shot him an amused look. “You can ask her yourself.”
“I’m not his wife,” Calliste said before realizing this was exactly the information they had come here for.
“No?” Erinna grinned wider. “Forgive us our hasty judgment.”
A young boy jogged up to Meliton, tugging at his hand. “Come on, brother. Alexos says we’re leaving.”
He looked down at him with a smile. “In the rain?”
The boy shrugged. “He said we’re going, now.”
“Damn it. Typical Alexos, always ruining the fun.” Meliton sighed. “Our leader is burning to reach Anthemos without any delays, and it makes him excessively ill-tempered.”
“Sounds just like my leader,” Captain Lykos said wryly.
Meliton laughed. “Impossible. No one can outdo Alexos in grumpiness.”
“Except for the man I serve, I assure you.” Lykos smiled with the corner of his mouth. “An undisputed king of being a pain in my rear.”
“Well.” Meliton tilted his head at Lykos. “It’s definitely a subject worth discussing. If our paths cross again, we’re hoping for a longer chat, Lykos.”
“Safe travels,” the captain replied with a nod.
They both watched him for another moment before returning to their table with smiles on their faces.
Captain Lykos grinned at her. “Apologies for being associated with me.”
Calliste laughed. “Are you actually married, Captain?” she asked just as the king stopped by their table.
He shot her a surprised look. “Er, no. Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity.” With the corner of the eye, she sensed the king’s intense gaze on them.
“No, not married. Too busy for that.”
“Too irresponsible,” the king scoffed, lowering himself next to Calliste and crossing his arms.
“See, Calliste.” The captain gave a theatrical sigh. “Witness me habitually passing on the countless opportunities for having my own life to work tirelessly as a long-suffering—”
“Under-appreciated,” the king supplied, rolling his eyes.
“—Yet enduring polemarchos for our sulking Majesty over there. And this is my payment.”
“Your handsome payment is questioned by Kassandros every single month,” the king replied dryly. “He thinks you’re being obscenely overpaid for what you do.”
“Jealous snake.” Captain Lykos grinned, glancing at Kassandros, who made it back to the common room and joined Drakon at the counter. “Surely, I don’t earn more than him?”
“Who knows?” the king said in abstraction.
Calliste raised her brow, struggling to follow the conversation. “Why would Kassandros question it?”
“Oh, you haven’t seen him fussing with his abacus and papers during the stops?” asked Captain Lykos. When she shook her head, he elaborated. “He’s one of the finest warriors we have, with an exceptional head for numbers. He’s the Royal Treasurer.”
“And he hates when you call him that,” the king observed.
“He hates it more when I call him your treasure.”
Calliste laughed again. “No, I haven’t noticed. Why is he riding with us?”
The king and his captain of the guard exchanged glances.
“To take his mind off things,” the captain replied, at length. “He’s not in a good place at the moment.”
The king frowned at the wooden, weathered beams above them.
A commotion in the middle of the room caught her attention. Erinna and Meliton’s party was leaving, with both of them smiling at Captain Lykos. They raised their hands in a wave to him, and he nodded in return before turning away.
Calliste glanced at the king. “Majesty?”
He looked at her from over his thoughts.
“Is Panakeios the only physician who treats your son?”
His gaze sharpened. “He’s always been the royal physician.”
“Does he know that you’re exploring other possibilities?” she asked carefully.
His mouth tightened. “No.”
Captain Lykos drummed his fingers on the table. It seemed like he was ready to say something, but something held him back.
Her breath slowed in her throat as she worked out the ramifications. I have to make him aware. “The Disciples aren’t fond of Epione’s healers, even though we serve the same gods. Panakeios might think that you’re questioning his skills and position—”
“No doubt I’m questioning his skills, and my son’s health is more important than his position,” the king growled.
“What I’m saying is that I’d like to be spared harassment from him.”
“Harassment?” Now he watched her for longer. “There will be no room for that. I’d like you and Panakeios to work together to help my son.”
She stopped herself from saying it out loud, that even something as weighty as the illness of the only heir to the kingdom was unlikely to erase the Disciples’ centuries-long animosity to her Sisterhood. But she couldn’t stop a heavy breath escaping her mouth.
“Why are you worried about it?” the king inquired.
“It dates back to the history of both orders,” she said quietly. “The founder of the Sisterhood, the healer who first took the name Leontia, established the monastery after she was driven away from Anthemos, centuries ago.”
“Who drove her away?”
“The School of Asklepios, who wouldn’t accept a female physician and also ostracized her for her belief that people can be healed in a manner other than medicinal potions. She was an exceptionally talented healer, devoted to helping people by exploring different ways of healing.”
“But when you speak of other ways”—the king fixed his eyes on her pendant—“what do you mean?”
“Some women carry an innate gift for healing, which the School of Asklepios was quick to brand as witchery.” She shuddered. “Mainly because they couldn’t understand it.”
“But what is it exactly?” Captain Lykos asked, stretching his legs under the table.
“It’s…” Calliste pondered, remembering asking Leontia the same question. “It’s borrowing a fraction of divine powers from our goddess to restore the human body back to its perfect balance. Sometimes the process is long, sometimes short, but allowing the body to recover through gentle intervention is the essence of what we do. Sometimes we bolster it with our herb lore.”
“It’s different to what I’ve been told,” the king admitted, at length.
Calliste cut him a brief glance. “You should always ask at the source, my lord.”
“Huh.” Captain Lykos snorted. “Not untrue.”
The king seemed pensive. “So… does it mean that once you become the Head Priestess, you’ll have to change your name to Leontia?”
Calliste shot him a surprised look. “Yes. It’s a hereditary name for the Sisterhood’s leader.”
Something close to amusement thawed his features for a moment. “Your own name suits you better.”
Captain Lykos glanced at the king with curiosity, but then he grinned at Calliste. “I second that.”
A thread of warmth in her chest didn’t surprise her at all, but she dropped her eyes to her pendant, which caught the fire from the nearby hearth. “I’ll have to relinquish it in line with the tradition of the Sisterhood, much in the same way Panakeios had to give up his original name when he took over the duties of the Head Physician.”
“That’s true.” The king rubbed his nose. “He used to carry a different name, but I’ve never paid much attention to it.” Then he grew pensive again. “I also wasn’t aware how much animosity runs between both orders.”
“Not animosity,” Calliste corrected him. “The Sisterhood stays out of the way. We do not interfere with their practices and let the people decide. Which is why we’re not too well-known in the capital.”
The king reflected for another moment, his eyes fixed on the flickering light of the oil lamp on the table. Then he cut her another look. “Are you saying that the cooperation between both orders is impossible?”
She lifted her gaze to his face. His words sparked a daring thought in her mind. I’m the first priestess of Epione to be back in the capital in… centuries. What if I come back to Mount Hellecon as the one who’s made the step toward reconciliation? “Perhaps this will be a new beginning for both orders,” she breathed out.
The king’s intense gaze burned into her. “What did you say?”
Her heart kicked in her chest. “That I’ll do my best to work with Panakeios.”
“You will?” he asked, an incredulous note to his voice.
“Of course. This is no time to hold on to old grudges.”
There was a shift in his face. For a moment, he sat straighter, a desperate hope in his face laced with an emotion she forbade herself to even contemplate. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely.
“Wine,” Drakon said at the same time, slapping a couple of clay mugs on the table.
Captain Lykos grinned. “There’s something to drink to.”
Calliste cast him a quick look.
He winked at her. “The storm has passed.”