21. The Royal Palace
21
The Royal Palace
Calliste
The Royal Palace of Anthemos shone white against the brilliant azure sky, its multi-story structure with terracotta-tiled roofs rising above open terraces with lush greenery. Endless rows of colonnades with columns painted in smoky red and tar black stood in stark contrast against the snowy marble.
Perched atop the Royal Hill, the Palace overlooked an elevated thoroughfare, paved with slabs of limestone and stretching across a high embankment leading to the main gates. Carved balustrades covered in flourishing, fluttering ivy lined its sides. Marble sculptures of Zeus and Hera stood guard on either side of the gates, towering over numerous sentinels.
Beneath the thoroughfare, Calliste noticed smaller roads leading to other gates, most likely for the Palace servants.
The king was already halfway across the thoroughfare, surrounded by countless warriors. Some of them stayed behind to hold back the enthusiastic crowd at the entrance.
Captain Lykos encouraged Heartbreaker to pace on.
“Welcome back, polemarchos .” The guards saluted and stepped aside, their curious gazes brushing over her.
Heartbreaker continued the king’s trail under the arch of the main gates. The sentries on both sides stood to attention, their unwavering gazes fixed far ahead.
Past the gates opened a vast, limestone-paved courtyard, partially shaded by vines twisting overhead, spanning from the balustrades of the complex hemming in the main part.
The air seemed light and heavy at the same time, weighed down with the cold note of old stone. It wafted from within the complex, mixing with the light floral notes from the rosemary, myrtle bushes, the olive and orange trees lining the courtyard.
The king jumped off Rebel. He glanced around, massaging the back of his neck.
Servants in plain white robes streamed from all directions, the courtyard echoing with the swish of robes and the feet on stone, their faces curious.
From the sea of white broke away three figures.
A wiry, poker-straight woman in a snowy peplos with golden hem and white hair twisted into a tight bun at the back of her nape stepped forth. She was flanked by two men: one in pristine blue chiton , and another one wearing a plain, black robe.
The woman bowed to the king. “Good to see you back, Majesty,” she said in a tone that was annoyed and amused at the same time.
“And you, Gaiane,” he replied, a tired smile on his face.
The man in the black robe made a step forth, as if to push in front of the woman.
The king shook his head. “Gaiane first.”
The woman clapped her hands. The servants dropped back several paces.
“This is Gaiane,” Captain Lykos whispered into Calliste’s ear. “She is the Keeper of this Palace and runs it so well that not a single mouse dares to enter the pantry. She nursed Theron in her time, and then the prince. She stayed by the king’s mother until her death and ensured that he didn’t have to worry about the Palace after his wife’s death. The one who tried to push in front of her and now looks like he has a stone in his sandal is Solon of the House of Fousteios.” He paused, squinting. “He seems sober today, thank all the gods. He is the father of the late queen and doesn’t have an official position here, though he fancies himself as Theron’s advisor. But it’s not like Theron has ever taken any advice from him.”
Calliste shot Solon a quick glance.
“Beside Gaiane stands Xanthos, Theron’s actual advisor.”
The king glanced over his shoulder, frowning at them.
“Time for introductions.” Captain Lykos jumped off the horse and guided Calliste down, then nudged her on.
With only a heartbeat to compose herself, she reached the king’s side, overwhelmed by the people and surroundings.
The Palace soared into the sky. With countless levels towering above her, it seemed like a maze of infinite walkways and columns, elaborate frescoes in vivid colors on the walls, and multitude of staircases. The hot rays of the midday sun pierced through the vines overhead.
Exhaling, she focused on Gaiane. Even though the king’s nurse cut a formidable figure from afar, from up close, her wrinkles hinted at kindness, her smile was warm, and the shrewd glint in her eyes revealed hard-earned wisdom and steely strength. She must have been one of those women who didn’t suffer through hardships—she crushed them underfoot and soldiered on instead. Had she been born a man, she’d make a fierce warrior: a type akin to Leontia, and that alone brought a genuine smile to Calliste’s face.
“This is Calliste, the High Priestess from Mount Hellecon,” the king said. “She’s to have any assistance necessary.”
“Pleased to meet you, mother,” Calliste bowed in customary greeting, making sure her bow expressed the same amount of respect as she showed to Leontia.
Gaiane’s shrewd gaze softened. “Welcome to the household of Amynthasides family, High Priestess.”
“Theron?” came a hoarse drawl from behind her and the king’s father-in-law stepped forth again. “I don’t understand—”
The king raised his hand. “Not here, Solon. And not now. I want to see my son.”
Solon’s jaw twitched as he nodded.
In stark contrast to the king’s father-in-law, Xanthos observed her with an air of calm curiosity. Older than the king, he was dressed in a light-blue robe that emphasized his dark-blue eyes and short-cropped dark hair with a touch of gray at the temples. With light-brown skin and a clean-shaven face, he was surprisingly well-built for someone who likely spent most of his time poring over parchments.
“Calliste?” The king gestured at her to follow as he broke into a decisive stride.
Gaiane marched alongside the king, speaking to him in hushed tones.
Calliste followed with Captain Lykos by her side, though he no longer seemed at ease.
Part of it could be Solon’s presence behind them like a rolling wave of ice.
Soon, Calliste lost count of the smooth, milky steps she had to scale, the infinite turns of the sun-drenched, open corridors with the black rungs of the columns’ shadows cast across the glimmering marble floors, the decorative clay vases twice her height painted in bright patterns, the iridescent blur of frescoes and mosaics. She stumbled once, to be quickly steadied by the polemarchos .
The king paused, turning around and casting her a shrewd look.
“I can cope,” Calliste preempted his question. “I’d like to see the prince. No point stopping for a rest now.”
“Your chamber is on the same floor as the prince’s,” Gaiane spoke warmly. “You can refresh yourself first, if you wish.”
“I came here for the prince,” Calliste repeated, pushing aside the exhaustion. “And all I need is to wash my hands before I examine him. Comfort can wait.”
“Theron.” Solon’s drawl curled in the air behind her again. “Is she here for my grandson?”
The king narrowed his eyes at him. “Correct. Unless Panakeios has cured him while I was away?” Steely challenge glinted in his tone.
“This isn’t my point—”
“Do you know anything about healing, Solon?”
“No, but my grandson already has the best assistance.”
“This is where we’ve been in disagreement for a while.” The king turned around and paced on.
Swallowing her discomfort, Calliste followed.
Yet another corridor and a flight of stairs brought them to the core of the complex. Not the highest floor yet, but from the balustrade across the gallery, Calliste could see Anthemos twinkling like a multicolored mosaic in the distance. She also noticed several armed sentries posted throughout the area, all snapping to attention at the king’s approach.
He eventually stopped in front of a carved, wooden door, but didn’t push it open. He turned around and narrowed his eyes at Xanthos. “Do you have the summary of Assembly reports for me?”
Xanthos bowed his head. “They’re waiting for you in your study, arranged in a chronological order.”
“Good. I’ll read them as soon as we’re done here,” the king said with strange emphasis.
Xanthos raised his brows, then bowed again and walked away without another word.
Solon straightened, his mouth in a line. “Theron—”
“Solon,” the king cut in. “Do not try my patience. Not now.”
“This is my grandson. My blood. I have every right to be informed about your plans.”
The king cut him a look. “He’s going to be assessed by Calliste.”
“ Her ?” Solon’s dark eyes narrowed at Calliste as he adjusted his black tunic. “You’ve been away for over fourteen days without an explanation. All that to fetch a… a folk healer?”
Calliste tensed.
The king’s face hardened into a mask. When his voice finally cut through the silence, it was like a serrated blade. “How much have you had today?”
Solon pursed his lips, looking away, and only then Calliste registered other signs that went with his borderline unkempt appearance: papery skin and puffy face, especially around his eyes, making him look much older than he must have been.
“I’ve asked you a question, Solon.”
“Not much.”
“So you’re sober. Congratulations. Now, explain if you’re challenging my decision or calling me a fool.”
“Neither,” Solon replied through tight lips. “I’m only trying to comprehend my son-in-law’s actions.” He suddenly turned on her, staring. He must have been a handsome man in the past, but drinking had rubbed away at that. “Who are you and where do you come from?”
Without waiting for the king’s response, she squared her shoulders and spoke with the most refined inflections she had ever heard from Leontia. “I am the High Priestess of Epione’s order, residing on Mount Hellecon. That is all.”
“Are you saying you have no family?”
“My Sisterhood is my family.”
“This is ridiculous—”
“Solon,” the king growled. “I asked for her help. That’s all you need to know.”
“All I know is that she’s in your favor without having done anything to earn it.” His cold, weighed smirk implied enough.
She bristled, but held on to her calm. Raising her brow, she replied, “Your insults don’t help anyone. I suggest you examine your own flaws, rather than trying to tear down others.”
Solon stared. “What did you say?”
“That my aim here is to help the prince.” She lifted her chin. “Whether or not you agree with it.”
Gaiane straightened up with a smile on her face.
Solon tilted his head. “Mouthy. A bad quality in a woman by any standard. Very well. Show us what you can do, High Priestess, and don’t trip over your fancy title while you try to best those far better than you.” Then he turned away and stumbled down the corridor, muttering to himself.
The king looked at her, all the lines in his face harsh from the exchange.
She exhaled, bringing her emotions under control. “I don’t care what he thinks, Majesty. Let me see the prince.”
“I must ask you this: if you don’t agree with Panakeios on anything, please don’t hesitate to say so. I need to know your honest opinion.”
She nodded.
The king’s hand tightened on the door handle, as if he was steeling himself to enter. Then he pushed open the door.