19. The Heart’s Pledge
19
The Heart’s Pledge
Calliste
Over the next few days, as the mountainous landscape around them gradually smoothed out into rounded hills with strips of arable land and farmsteads braided in and they passed Pyrriseum, the closest major city to the capital, she tried her hardest not to dwell on their conversation.
“We should reach Anthemos by midday,” Captain Lykos finally announced as he rode up near Rebel.
She managed a nod, straightening as the captain approached. It was awkward having to lean against the king for most of their journey, but she was too exhausted to care much now. If the capital was mere hours away, it wasn’t likely he’d consider a break at this stage, even after another taxing ride through the night.
Which was just as well. Getting to Anthemos meant they could finally put some distance between each other. It was hard to be so close after he tore off his mask, showing the broken bleakness underneath.
Even though she was familiar with the darkness surrounding him, she was appalled at the shell of a man she had found. It made her wonder if he had ever confided in anyone about the darkest moment of his life, when his wife had died.
She remembered being in that same place once before: trapped, scared, crushed, without a glimmer of hope, stumbling through sunless days and dark nights. But now she knew that it was all necessary to push her toward a path that she would have never considered before. To make a decision that ultimately elevated her above her old life and everything she’d ever believed herself to be.
Whereas the king carried on with the life envied by so many, at the height of his power, while hiding the darkness that consumed him. And there was no mistake about its severity.
She wouldn’t try to break through his walls again.
It was safest this way.
***
And there it was, a few painful hours later.
Anthemos.
When the company paused briefly at the peak of the hill, Calliste scanned the view.
The rugged landscape of cliffs and rocks scrunched the horizon into a jagged line, yet it softened in some places. One such place was the massive valley that held the capital city. Countless gray roads curved through it, already crowded with people and carts.
The main thoroughfare had grown wider than she remembered. She followed its meandering body, steeling herself at the distant sight of the sprawling city crowding the wide peninsula jutting out into the blindingly azure sea.
Its largest part was nestled in the protective embrace of dusty-green hills and hillocks, orchards and vineyards, their image shivering and fraying in the merciless sunshine pouring down.
The Palace’s colorful, high walls glistened in the distance, overlooking the city from its raised position on the top of the Royal Hill, the highest and largest hill facing the sea.
A memory flared up: she had been returning from the market, laden with food and briefly gazed at the glamorous, distant Palace before hurrying off to make Ariston’s dinner. As she rushed home, she prayed that he would be in a good mood and not drink too much wine that night, because it meant he would go easy on her… later.
She quickly looked away, her stomach in knots.
“Is something wrong?” the king asked, casting her a glance over his shoulder.
She flinched. “Your pardon?”
“You’re holding tighter on to me.”
She forced her arms to relax. “Everything’s fine,” she lied, avoiding the sight of the city.
The king slid down from Rebel, then reached out to her without a word.
“Thank you,” she exhaled, dismounting with his help and hiding a wince.
But he’d noticed. “You are in pain,” he said, raking his hand through his hair in frustration.
“Dismount!” Captain Lykos’ deep baritone boomed from above as he stopped his steed and waved at the company.
“Calliste,” the king sighed, kneading the back of his neck. “I’d have stopped if you told me.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said quickly and glanced at the grassy hill, the last one to scale before they’d finally climb down to join the main road. “I take it this is the last chance for a walk.”
“It is,” Captain Lykos said cheerfully, grabbing his horse’s bridle as he rolled his massive shoulders. “But that break was long overdue.”
As they began descending the hill, Calliste was caught between the captain and the king. It felt odd to walk in the middle, so she slowed down to drop back and give them their space.
“What are you doing?” Captain Lykos grinned at her. “Come back. If you don’t talk to me, I’ll have to listen to Theron’s silence. That will certainly kill me.”
“And what a shame that would be,” the king huffed.
A smile tugged at Calliste’s mouth. She caught up with them again, but her thoughts were in a tangle. Part of it was weariness. But for the most part, it was the sight looming in front of her, making her stomach clench into a lump of ice.
Anthemos. I’m back in Anthemos.
The city’s outskirts stretched further than she remembered, washing beyond the rolling hills. It wasn’t a surprise that the restless city had expanded in the years of her absence: it had a busy port and a well-established trade route to the kingdom’s other major cities, and other kingdoms, like neighboring Olynthos.
Still, the view chilled her to the bone. Don’t look.
“Anthemos has changed in the last nine years,” Captain Lykos casually observed from the side. “I wager you won’t recognize most of it.”
Her back prickled. She shot him a careful glance. “How do you know I haven’t been here for nine years?”
“For Zeus’ sake, restrain your wagging tongue, Lykos,” the king groaned. “Forgive me, Calliste. I mentioned that to him.”
Yes, I know. She walked on without a word.
The familiar icy fear crept back. It reminded her of what she had done and what might await her for it, if the king ever searched for the truth. She stubbed out that thought before it showed on her face and tugged at her robe snatching on the long blades of dry grass.
“Theron cannot keep a secret from me,” Captain Lykos’ cheery voice carried on. “Probably because we know each other from the cradle. That is, he knows me from the cradle. He’s older than me. By… a few summers.”
“And you never waste the opportunity to remind me, as if that mattered,” the king grumbled.
“See how funny he is about his age?” A delighted, wolfish smile glinted on the captain’s face. “It makes it worth the tease. Every. Single. Time.”
Calliste gave a weak laugh, grateful for distraction, suddenly aware that Captain Lykos was purposefully prodding the king, attempting to lighten his mood—with greater success than earlier during their journey. The king may have responded because the end was in sight, and his friend clearly wanted to keep this going. So Calliste joined in. “From a healer’s viewpoint, an elderly individual who takes care of themselves already triumphs over a youth who indulges in gluttony and wine.”
“I’m not an elderly individual ,” the king muttered, sounding needled.
Rebel snorted.
“But your mind is young, Your Majesty.” Sparks of delight danced in Captain Lykos’ eyes. “Interesting what you said, Calliste.” He tapped his finger against his lips. “My friend’s wife mentioned the exact same thing. You might even know her. She left your Sisterhood to marry. Her name’s Damia.”
Calliste stared at him. “Damia?”
“She married a friend of mine, whom she first treated at Mount Hellecon. I’ve always wondered if it was much of a scandal in the Temple.”
The king seemed to be listening.
“A scandal?” Calliste laughed. “No. There have been a few such occurrences in our Sisterhood’s history. She chose to be a wife and mother. Leontia honored that decision. In any case, she had left the Sisterhood before taking the vow, and she would always be welcomed back if she changed her mind.”
“Were you friends with her?”
“No. I was under the vow of silence for the first year, so I couldn’t speak to her. And she left a couple of months before my trial finished.”
“A vow of silence for a year?” The king tilted his head at her. “Sounds… challenging.”
Calliste thought about the first year, one of the hardest she faced. “I chose the length of the vow.”
“Why a vow of silence?”
“To understand the power of words and to learn how to listen.”
“How many trials did you have to pass?” Captain Lykos asked with a genuine interest in his voice.
“Several.” Calliste smiled at how easy it was to be nonchalant about it now that she’d completed them. They had seemed grueling and inhibitive at the time. “They are there to ensure that only the most dedicated succeed.”
“Makes sense.” The king still appeared interested.
“That’s why we take the vow after extensive preparations.” She fiddled with her pendant, avoiding the sight of Anthemos. “Once taken, it cannot be broken without incurring Epione’s anger.”
“And those trials took you nine years ?” the captain asked, incredulous.
She looked up at him, but the sun-showered Anthemos pulled at her gaze. This city had stood there before she was born and would remain for centuries to come. A chill swept over her back, more pronounced this time. It’s been nine years. And there was no forgetting that one of the reasons she dedicated her life to healing others was nothing more but an atonement.
“Calliste?” The king’s voice reminded her that Captain Lykos asked her a question.
She tore her eyes away from Anthemos. “I could have taken my vows once I’ve qualified as a healer, but when Leontia chose me to become the next Head Priestess, I decided to wait until I’ve completed all the trials,” she replied, fighting the odd, choking feeling surfacing deep within her.
“I see,” the king said. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the ways of your order.”
A small smile touched her lips. “I’m certain you have other things you need to be familiar with, Majesty.” And then she made a mistake of looking directly at the district right beside the docks, looking for Ariston’s house.
Her prison.
At once, all she could see was the door.
The one she slammed shut against the screams.
She felt the lashes of heat across her back.
Running.
Stumbling.
Crawling.
Crying.
Running again.
The fire burning in her wake, bright in the night.
She didn’t look back.
Her chest tightened as if it were bound by metal bands. She couldn’t draw another breath.
“Calliste?” The king’s concerned voice seemed to be coming from high above her.
She was on her knees. Her breaths were rapid, tight flutters. It felt as if she was at the bottom of a narrow well, fighting the coldness and murk that sucked her in without mercy. A chill swept over her while sweat poured out. “No,” she gasped, her lungs collapsing inside her chest. “No. No.”
Her words frayed like threads of air.
“Calliste.” Again, the king spoke; his presence seemed closer now, yet unseen. Blackness bloomed in front of her eyes, that terrifying emotion wrapping its tentacles around her, crushing the breath out of her lungs and dragging her down into darkness. I can’t breathe. She grasped at her throat.
“Give her space.” The king’s calm voice still sounded far away. “Lykos, take Rebel. The rest, keep moving. No staring. I’ll handle that.”
I cannot breathe. Am I dying—
“Calliste.” The king’s voice, much closer. “I’m sitting beside you. You can lean against me if you want.”
She grasped blindly in the direction of his voice and felt his hard arm underneath the smooth, luxurious fabric. Must have been his purple cloak. She scrunched it in her fist. She pressed her face into his arm, willing her lungs to draw in a breath.
“I think I know what’s happening to you. I’ve seen it before,” he said in a distant, yet firm, calming voice. “We’ll get through this together. Can you breathe?”
I can’t. I can’t.
“Feel the blades of grass underneath your hand. They’re hot at the ends, but cold at the roots—correct?”
She clenched the lump of grass in her palm. He was right. At the roots, the ground radiated with coldness.
“Can you hear anything aside from my voice?”
The wind brushed against the tall grass, creating its own whispered melody. Beyond that—the dry, serrated chirping. “Yes. The crickets.” Suddenly, her breath flowed again, still frayed and fluttery—but the band across her chest was looser, allowing her to draw more into her lungs.
“Good. One breath at a time. A small one. Then a deeper one. Keep breathing. You’re safe.”
She pressed her forehead harder against his arm, feeling the steel of his flesh underneath, drawing infinite comfort from his presence. He was like a rock beside her, firm, unmoving. He didn’t touch her, yet he didn’t have to. His words were enough.
In the time that seemed to drag on forever, she recovered her breath, inhaling the familiar scent of his skin, just like she had been throughout their entire journey.
But now it meant much more: a guarantee of safety. And she couldn’t find words to thank him for noticing her distress and giving her all the time in the world to recover—even though their destination was within reach. “I’m sorry,” she finally exhaled. “It’s never happened to me before.” Then she pulled back to glance up at him. “How did you know what to do?”
He didn’t reply immediately, gazing at Anthemos, his profile stony in the building midday heat. The sun glinted off his breastplate with two golden lions encircled with the flaming laurel wreath. He finally met her gaze. “To answer your question, I need to know if I can trust you.”
She swallowed. “I don’t understand.”
“What you’ve experienced just now was an extreme reaction to a stimulus. I’d like to know what triggered that. What happened before you couldn’t breathe? What did you think about?”
She clenched her fist in the grass again. “My husband. And the night I escaped him.”
The king shot her a long, burning glance. “What is his name?”
She didn’t reply. Revealing Ariston’s name could lead the king to the registers. And from there… to a terrifying truth.
A frustrated sigh escaped him. “See, Calliste, you’re only sharing pieces of your life you’re willing to share. But I still don’t know much about you, and I don’t have the time to search around for it because my son needs help. If you insist on keeping your secrets, you’ll need to swear your loyalty to me.”
Now she stared right into his smoky-brown eyes, stunned at the steel in his voice.
“Does that surprise you?” His gaze was unwavering, as if he wanted to reach to the bottom of her soul. “I don’t know much of your past and nothing of your lineage. Nothing. You weren’t even supposed to come with me. I’d planned everything having Leontia in mind. With Leontia, I’d know exactly where I am. With you…”
“I’ll swear my loyalty if you want me to.”
Now his gaze turned dark. “Do you know the price of breaking that oath?”
She tried not to flinch. “Death.” Which might await me anyway.
“Death and damnation. The Furies drag the oath-breakers before the Unseen One, and then to the pit of the Tartarus for an eternal torture.” His words seemed even heavier in the heat of the afternoon.
Deep inside her bones, she knew it. The moment Mount Hellecon disappeared from sight, she’d known she was riding to her destiny, whatever it might be. “Tell me the right words and I’ll swear my oath.”
“No, Calliste.” His voice was steel. “No point in me telling you what to say. I want you to swear your oath with your own words, coming from your heart, so I can judge their worth.” He rose, becoming a formidable statue showered by the heat of the noon.
With her kneeling at his feet.
She couldn’t look him in the face with the sun spearing through her vision right above him. So she closed her eyes, crystallizing all her intentions into words that came out of her mouth almost without her will, as if speaking through a power larger than herself.
“I, Calliste of Mount Hellecon, pledge my unwavering loyalty to you, my king, and your son, entrusted to my care, by the name of Epione. May she guide me.”
He exhaled. For a long moment, only the wind shifted the blades of dry grass between them. But then he said, “Give me your hand.”
She extended her right hand.
He clasped it. “I, Theron Amynthasides, the ruler and protector of Hesperis, accept your oath. This is a token of my trust.”
Blinded by the sun, she could only feel his hand around hers. After a moment, he let go and removed a ring from his little finger. He slipped it onto her middle finger: a simple band of gold with an elegant engraving.
Nothing extravagant.
Just like her pledge.
“I brought this ring with Leontia in mind, in case you’re wondering,” he said as he helped her rise. “She’d have to swear her loyalty, too.”
It sounded like him: always on edge, vigilant. It must be exhausting for him. “How did you know how to help me?” she asked again.
His eyes drifted to the capital, absent as they returned to her. “My wife suffered from similar episodes. She wasn’t cut out for living in the court, as odd as it seems. Whenever she had to attend a large, official function, she would freeze up and then collapse like you just did. With time, I learned how to help her through it.”
“Thank you. Truly. If it wasn’t for you…”
While he towered over her in the sunlight, wrapped in his scent of cardamom, cinnamon, and sea salt, regal, bright, and yet infinitely dark among the dry, rolling grasses of the hilltop and chirping crickets—she stilled.
Days later, she would realize that, in this airy moment in endless time, she’d bound herself to him with much more than her word. Right then, her fate had been sealed. Yet for her, that understanding arrived much later.
Because he distracted her.
Her eyes strayed to his mouth.
She saw him in his room again, clad only in the towel as he towered over her, pinning her to the wall with his glare. But then she imagined the brush of his hardened thumb against her lips, traveling along her collarbone, slipping down the top of her robe and grazing her arm, sending heat branching from her hips to her chest. She stifled the thought as soon as it flared up, shocked at how she forgot herself in front of him .
A gust of wind tugged a strand of hair across her face. She pushed it away, getting herself under control, dreading what he might see reflected in her gaze.
The chirping of the crickets seemed deafening against his silence.
What did he see?
His face was as unreadable as ever as he turned away and beckoned her to follow him all the way to his quiet, solemn, waiting warriors.