Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
SERIN
The first breath of Eletherian air was like drinking liquid sunlight.
I stood at the harbor's edge, salt-weathered planks solid beneath my feet after days of rolling deck, and felt something tight in my chest unfurl like a flower greeting dawn.
The very atmosphere seemed to shimmer with golden motes, as if the gods had ground precious metals into dust and scattered them on the breeze.
Each inhalation carried scents that made my head swim, jasmine in full bloom, warm olive oil, the green sweetness of growing things, and beneath it all, something indefinable that spoke of mysteries and pleasure in equal measure.
"By all the gods," I breathed, unable to contain the wonder that bubbled up from some hidden well within me.
The harbor sprawled before us in graceful curves of white marble, nothing at all like the harsh black stone of our ports back home.
Here, every line flowed like water made solid, every arch and column shaped to please the eye rather than intimidate.
Flowering vines cascaded over balustrades in waterfalls of purple and gold, and the very flagstones beneath my sandals had been polished to a gleam that reflected the late afternoon sky.
Young men moved among the docks with unhurried grace, some bare-chested in the warm air, others draped in silk so fine it was nearly transparent.
Their skin glowed with health and sunlight, and when they laughed, which seemed to be often, the sound rang like temple bells across the water.
One caught my stare and smiled, a expression so open and welcoming that heat bloomed in my cheeks before I could stop it.
"Your Highness." Rhazir's voice carried that careful formality he'd maintained since following me aboard the ship. "Shall we seek lodgings for the night?"
I turned to find him scanning the crowd with those sharp eyes that missed nothing, one hand resting near his sword hilt in a gesture so habitual he likely didn't realize he was doing it.
Even here, in this paradise of marble and music, he remained coiled like a spring, ready for violence that would never come.
"Actually," I said, suddenly seized by inspiration, "I have a different notion. You see to finding us rooms, something suitable near the palace complex, if you can manage it. I wish to climb to Elyon's temple and pay my respects."
His dark eyes snapped to mine, and I caught a flash of something that might have been alarm. "Your Highness, I hardly think it wise for you to venture alone into unfamiliar territory—"
"Rhazir." I let just enough princely authority creep into my voice to remind him of our respective positions.
"This is a sacred island, not a battlefield.
I'm hardly in danger of being murdered by priests and poets.
" I gestured toward the terraced hillside that rose above us like a god's garden.
"Besides, someone needs to secure our accommodations, and you're far better suited to such practical matters than I. "
For a moment, I thought he might argue. That familiar tension gathered in his jaw, the one that appeared whenever duty warred with protective instinct. Then he bowed, stiff and correct as always.
"As you wish. I'll find lodgings."
Something in his tone pricked at me, resignation, perhaps, or disappointment I couldn't fathom. But the island's beauty called to me like a siren song, and I was already turning away, drawn upward by curiosities I'd dreamed of for years.
"Excellent. Don't look so grim, dear friend. What could possibly happen to me in paradise?"
The paths that wound up Eletheria's slopes were marvels in themselves, wide enough for three men to walk abreast, paved with stones that caught and held the light like captured stars.
Each turn revealed new wonders, fountains carved from single blocks of coral-pink marble, their waters singing sweetly as they fell, gardens where impossible flowers bloomed in colors I had no names for, archways that framed glimpses of the sea below like living paintings.
But it was the temples that stole my breath entirely.
They rose from the hillside like prayers made manifest, their columns soaring toward heaven in perfect proportion.
Where the architecture of my father's fortress was all sharp angles and brutal practicality, these buildings flowed with organic grace.
Every surface was adorned with carvings that seemed to move in the shifting light, vines heavy with fruit, dancing figures locked in eternal celebration, creatures of myth and wonder intertwined in patterns that drew the eye ever upward.
I paused before a shrine to Ayena, its entrance guarded by twin statues of her sacred doves, their marble feathers so delicately carved they seemed ready to ruffle in the evening breeze.
Inside, filtered sunlight revealed frescoes that made my pulse quicken, gods and mortals entwined in acts of love both tender and wild, their faces radiant with pleasure that transcended the merely physical.
This was worship as I had never imagined it. Not the grim sacrifices and blood-soaked altars of home, but something joyous and life-affirming, as natural as breathing.
Higher still I climbed, past lesser shrines and meditation gardens where robed figures sat in silent contemplation.
The sun was beginning its descent toward the western horizon, painting everything in shades of gold and amber that made the whole island seem to glow from within.
My heart raced with more than exertion as I pressed onward, driven by a hunger I could barely name.
Then I saw him.
The youth of similar years to mine reclined on a marble bench in a grove of olive trees, naked as the day he was born and utterly unconscious of his beauty.
Golden hair spilled across shoulders that might have been carved by master sculptors, and his limbs were arranged with careless grace that spoke of perfect confidence in his own form.
He was reading, actually reading, not simply posing, a scroll that fluttered gently in the warm breeze.
My steps faltered, and heat flooded my face with such intensity I feared I might combust on the spot.
I had seen naked men before, of course, in the training yards, the baths, during campaign, but never like this.
Never displayed with such unconscious artistry, never suffused with golden light that transformed human flesh into something approaching the divine.
The youth looked up at my approach and smiled, warm and welcoming as summer sunshine. "Good evening, traveler. You look as though you've journeyed far."
"I... yes." The words came out as little more than a croak. "From the Three Isles. I've come to pay homage to Elyon."
"Ah, a pilgrim! How wonderful." He gestured toward another bench with easy hospitality. "Would you care to rest? The temple will be there when you're ready, but the sunset waits for no one."
I should have declined. Should have continued my climb toward the temple complex that crowned the island's peak. Instead, I found myself sinking onto sun-warmed marble, my travel pack settling beside me with a soft thud.
"Is it always like this?" I asked, gesturing vaguely at the paradise that surrounded us.
The youth laughed, rich and musical. "You mean the naked lounging about? Only when the weather's fine." His eyes sparkled with mischief. "Though I suppose it must seem strange to someone from the outer islands. Different customs and the like.”
Different was certainly one word for it.
Where I came from, men covered themselves from throat to ankle except when necessity demanded otherwise.
Nudity was associated with vulnerability, shame, defeat.
Prisoners stripped before execution. The idea that someone might bare themselves simply for the pleasure of feeling sunlight on their skin was as foreign as speaking in tongues.
Yet watching this beautiful creature stretch like a cat in the dying light, I began to understand the appeal.
There was freedom in it, a rejection of the constraints that bound men in heavy cloth and heavier expectations.
Here was someone who had never known the weight of crown or chain, who moved through the world as gods intended mortals to move, unashamed, unafraid, utterly alive.
"You seem troubled," the youth observed, head tilted in curious study. "Something shadows your eyes despite the beauty around us."
Perceptive as well as beautiful. I forced a smile, the same bright mask I'd worn through countless court functions. "Only the fatigue of travel. This place is beyond anything I'd imagined."
It was true, though far from the whole truth. Eletheria was a revelation, each sight more wondrous than the last. But beneath my amazement ran a deeper current, dark as blood and twice as bitter.
My father.
Even here, surrounded by beauty that should have driven all other thoughts from my mind, I could not escape the specter of King Dorin.
The messenger's words echoed in my memory like funeral bells; the king had fallen in battle, mortally wounded during the sack of some distant city whose name I'd already forgotten.
Even now, his ship raced across darkening waters, carrying him home to die on familiar soil as he had demanded.
I had not seen the wound that would claim him, had not witnessed the moment when enemy steel found its mark beneath his armor.
But I could picture it clearly enough: my father, the great warrior king, scourge of the archipelago, finally meeting his match in some foreign warrior's blade.
Blood on polished stone, smoke rising from another conquered city, and the terrible satisfaction in his voice as he gave his final command.
"Turn the ship for home. I'll not breathe my last on foreign soil like some common raider."