24. Bright and Dark
24
Bright and Dark
Calliste
The images of scarlet specters still haunted her as she followed Gaiane down a long corridor with gold-painted columns and stunning cerulean frescoes depicting sea-nymphs frolicking in the ocean depths.
The sun’s glare pouring in through the spanning windows with decorative grillwork was muted by diaphanous, fiercely blue curtains, giving the air cool and aquatic tones, to match the sparkling sea beyond.
They passed intricately carved doors with gilded details: sirens perched on rocks with ships sinking in the background and an underwater court of Poseidon adorned with garlands of golden kelp with the detailing so ornate that Calliste slowed down a little in wonder.
“We call it the Sea Corridor,” Gaiane said, her gaze absent. “The king’s parents loved the sea and worshiped its gods. He has kept it this way after they passed.” She nodded at the two sentries stationed next to a window without any exterior grillwork. “There are only a few trusted guards on this floor, as all entrances to the royal quarter are heavily guarded. The king doesn’t like the sentries outside of his personal quarters, either.” She rolled her eyes. “Which is an endless bone of contention with Lykos.”
Despite overwhelming tiredness, Calliste smiled. “I can already see them bickering about it.”
“Can you?” Gaiane raised a brow. “Oh, I forgot you’ve been on the road with them. You must have an idea of what they’re like.”
“Best friends.”
“The king’s closest circle are all his best or trusted friends.” Gaiane stopped at a door decorated with dolphins playing in the gilded waves. “This is one of our guest chambers for visiting dignitaries from other kingdoms.” She paused as she opened the door and stepped inside.
The walls were made of warm, honey-colored stone, with light and cool breeze filtering through the intricately wrought iron grille in the rectangular windows opposite the door.
A young woman waited for them inside. She was standing with her back to them, as if admiring the view, then twirled around with a big smile on her flawless, expressive face and gave a deep bow. “Welcome, Lady Calliste. I am Melitta, at your service.”
Gaiane’s eyebrows shot up. “Since when?”
Melitta laughed and tilted her head. “Please?” she purred to Gaiane. “I would love to help. I have already cleaned the room.”
“There wasn’t much to clean,” the Court Keeper said dryly, shooting her another suspicious look, then she briskly walked around inspecting all the surfaces: a stout table with a set of carved chairs, a large bed on a low, carved frame, heaped with brightly-colored pillows in dazzling patterns. She ran her finger along the bedpost. “Hmmm.”
“Everything meets your highest cleaning standard,” Melitta chirped, turning around to track Gaiane’s inspection.
Calliste studied her for a moment. Melitta couldn’t have been older than twenty-five summers and was likely unmarried, judging by her loosely bound, dark hair. Her fiery peplos robe looked expensive and was pressed into perfect arrangement, cinched at her waist with an ornate sash. Golden bangles shone on her rich-brown arms and wrists.
“I’ve changed the bedding.” Melitta smiled even wider as Gaiane lifted the bedspread.
“Huh.” Gaiane stomped past them.
Melitta winked at Calliste, as if inviting her to follow, then rushed after Gaiane down the short, narrow corridor to another chamber, with the same warm stone for walls, narrow slits for windows, another colorful rug on the floor, and a carved wooden chair beside a pink marble bath.
Her arms crossed, Gaiane stood in the middle of the chamber. “Hmmm.”
“I also restocked the oils and bathing salts.” Melitta watched the Court Keeper with an enthusiastically pleading expression. “And I made relevant entries in the accounts for everything I’ve brought here.”
Gaiane bent over and dipped her hand in the water and then looked back at Melitta.
“It’s the perfect temperature, isn’t it?” the girl laughed, as if delighted that Gaiane couldn’t find any faults with her work.
The Court Keeper straightened up. “Why should I give you this position?”
“Because it will distract me from flirting with every guard in this palace.”
“I thought your job was to keep track of chamber supplies.”
“I don’t mind extra duties.”
“Get married,” Gaiane huffed. “Have kids. They’ll give you enough extra duties.”
Melitta shook her head, her expression turning serious for the first time. “No.”
Calliste blinked at the strange exchange.
“Do you have any change of clothing, Calliste?” Gaiane brushed past Melitta.
“I have a spare robe.”
“But nothing to sleep in? Come.” The Court Keeper led Calliste out of the bathroom and opened a linen chest at the foot of the bed. “I keep some extra robes here for guests.” She searched through the layers until she found a gauzy robe and handed it to Calliste. “This will do for now.”
“Perhaps I could take Lady Calliste’s measurements and have some clothes prepared for her,” Melitta suggested brightly from behind them.
Gaiane turned to her, but before she could say anything, there was a knock on the door.
Melitta answered it and returned with a tray of food, which she carefully placed on the low table. Then she straightened up and beamed Gaiane a radiant smile. “I’ve thought of everything, haven’t I? Please, can I assist Lady Calliste?”
“I’ll give it a thought,” Gaiane replied.
As if understanding an unspoken instruction, Melitta bowed to Calliste and left.
With her departure, Gaiane’s expression softened. “Do you think you’ll need her?”
“Who is she?”
“My youngest,” Gaiane said, light entering her eyes. “A good, bright child. I wish she would finally get married, but for some reason I cannot fathom, she doesn’t want to. Do you think she could be of use to you?”
“I’m used to having assistants. I probably need someone to show me the ways of the court, and you might be too busy. She seems worldly.”
“Oh, Melitta has been raised in this court since she was a baby and knows it inside out. She has a good heart and is not an airhead, despite pretending to be one.”
Calliste wanted to say something, but a sudden wave of tiredness forced her to sit on the bed, so she only nodded. “I would love for her to be my assistant.”
“Gods.” Gaiane measured her up. “You look exhausted. I assume the king didn’t make many stops? Do you want to eat?”
“No. I’ll have a bath, and will try to sleep.”
“I’ll leave you to it.” Gaiane made a move to leave but instead crouched in front of Calliste. “One last thing. I have looked after the king since he was a boy, and the prince since his birth,” she said with a faraway smile. “They’re like sons to me, so please be honest. Is it bad?”
Calliste met the old woman’s eyes, hidden in a net of fine wrinkles, and swallowed. “I’m not certain yet, but it’s not a usual illness.”
A twitch of pain crossed her face before it hardened. “I knew it. That fool Panakeios wouldn’t admit anything to the king, even though he could see how worried he was for his son. I can see you for who you are”—her eyes glinted—“and now I have hope.” She rose. “You can lock the door if you want, but I cannot think of a safer place. Captain Lykos is nothing if not thorough.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Calliste said bitterly. I already miss my knife.
Gaiane raised a curious brow before continuing, “No one will let Panakeios into the Palace for now. You should eat and rest. I’ll return in a few hours.” With that, she quietly closed the door behind her.
Calliste stared at the door. Safe. She must have noticed her fear when Panakeios grabbed her.
She glanced at the food heaped on the tray. She chewed a small piece of fresh white roll, nibbled on a cheese she’d never tasted before: a spicy, delicious variety. She finished off with a couple of green grapes.
Her gaze fell on a small, wooden table between the windows. She retrieved two wooden statuettes from her bag, unwrapped them from the fabric, and brushed them with reverence, placing them on the table beside each other: Epione, and her divine husband, Asklepios.
She rummaged in her bag for her box of incense and lit it from the candle burning in the bathing chamber and stood it in a wooden holder next to the statuettes.
Then she settled onto the floor in front of them, closing her eyes and letting the sunlight streaming through the windows envelop her. She allowed all thoughts to fall away, waiting for the familiar divine calm to fill her mind.
But fear eventually crept in.
She gave up and retreated into the bath chamber, shed her clothing, and slipped into the tepid water scented with citrus scrubbing salts. For a moment, she admired a gilded relief of Aphrodite emerging from the sea.
But it finally caught up with her.
“I’m back,” she whispered.
Back in the city she had once fled. Back after all those years, and put to a demanding test by the king, who had staked everything on her abilities.
The image of the specters haunted her again.
What are they? How can I fight them?
She couldn’t recall any mention of these beings in her teachings. She had never encountered them as a healer. If this was part of a higher initiation into healing practices, then perhaps Leontia would know. But she couldn’t send her a message without the king’s knowledge.
She shuddered at the thought of him reading it as a precaution.
Out of the question.
There was no other healer who could throw any light on this. I’m on my own and I don’t know what to do.
It hit her harder than she’d expected.
I’m just exhausted, she thought, but the tears still came.
She allowed them.
There would be no more crying later.