Shadows on the Aegean (69 page)

Eumelos’ blue eyes were stark with fear, and his breath was rasping and rough. How many decans had passed? What illness could
strike so suddenly? Surely it wasn’t the plague. The boy was not in Zelos’ cabinet, so how could he have gotten it? “When
this is over we will go on the air sail,” he said. “Remember Dion’s air sail?” He waited for Eumelos’ jerking head shake.
“We will sail over the island and you can see all of Aztlan and Kallistae, the pyramid so small it looks like your plaything!
Won’t that be fun, Eumelos? Won’t you enjoy that?” Again the boy jerked, the tremors seizing his body until Phoebus half laid
on him just to still the motion. He pulled back, trying not to weep. His son was getting sicker. The fits were coming on faster,
more frequently. Where was Niko? “You must get well, though, Eumelos. You must be healthy before we do that. Can you get well?”

Tears raced down the boy’s tanned cheeks as he opened his mouth, trying to speak. The clicking of his throat and tongue terrified
Phoebus, who lifted him up, setting him on his leg, trying to ease his breathing. Eumelos was limp, his body sagged and jerked,
his mouth worked, but no sound issued forth.

“Niko is bringing a physic, son,” Phoebus said. He was sure Niko would return with the elixir that had saved him. “Niko will
be here soon, just wait for him. Just wait.” He held the boy’s frail body to his chest, rocking him back and forth. “Remember
the potion Niko gave me? He is going to give it to you. You will be better, Eumelos. Never again will you get sick. You will
be
athanati
.” He smiled through his tears. Even if he had to shatter the foundations of Aztlan itself, Eumelos would rule next.

For his son, he could give his life.

Eumelos began to make gagging sounds, his clawed hands scratched at Phoebus, his eyes darted, terrified. When his face turned
blue Phoebus shouted for help, for the Spiralmaster, trying to hold Eumelos’ head up, to get air into him. The boy was thrashing
and wheezing, fighting for breath, his body jerking, his eyes on Phoebus.
You promised
, they seemed to say.
You promised and you are foresworn
,

Serfs helped Phoebus hold Eumelos still, but he hadn’t gotten a breath in moments, his eyes were glazing. “Nay! Nay!” Phoebus
shouted, opening Eumelos’ mouth, arching his throat. No sound, no air.

His son went limp, his fluttering heart stilled, his eyes saw a different horizon.

His journey was begun.

C
HEFTU MET
N
ESTOR IN THE HALLWAY
, and together they ran for the Golden’s chambers. The sound of weeping met them before they turned the corner, and Cheftu
saw the doors open, the hallway filled with nymphs in blue.

The color of mourning.

Entering the room, he learned that Phoebus was already gone no one knew where.
Hreesos’
face had been ravaged beyond recognition, a dreadful sight to behold. Nestor crossed to the couch, and he and Cheftu exchanged
glances. The child was dead.

“Kalo taxidi,”
Nestor said, closing the boy’s staring eyes. “Has he been bathed?”

“Nay, my master.
Hreesos
refused,” the priest said. “He said that Eumelos would not die.”

Cheftu looked at the still, twisted body. Another one; the sun was not yet at its zenith, and already five more had died.
He felt an ache that permeated beyond body into spirit. There was no way to win, there was no way to save them. He was living
with corpses; he was a corpse, just waiting for the time to lie down.

“Call Nekros,” he told a serf.

“Chieftain Nekros began his journey this dawn,” the serf replied. Again, Cheftu’s gaze met Nestor’s. They both looked away
and began to arrange the body.

N
IKO COULD NOT RECALL
when the hardship had become pleasure, he couldn’t think. But sometime, lost within Ileana’s scent and taste, some buried
part of him came forward. He was cruel, pounding into her; she begged for more. His reason had fled, the world had been reduced
to the parameters of his sex. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto her breasts, her knees were locked tightly, he could feel
the muscles of her calves on his neck.

The shout shook him; it didn’t sound like Ileana, and he was silent in his task. Pain ripped through his back and he arched
deeply as Ileana climaxed, her screams of pleasure mingling with his cries of pain. White fire burned through his body as
he was wrenched around, sent spiraling into a table, then crashed against a wall.

Glass vials and noxious fluids crunched beneath him as Niko rose, swaying, his mind perceiving what his heart could not. Phoebus,
his features wreathed with hatred, his hand gripped tightly around the same knife he had sworn on just weeks before.

Blood dripped from the knife, the same blood that even now was sliding over Niko’s sweaty body.

“Betrayer!” Phoebus hissed.

Suddenly Niko realized Phoebus didn’t understand. “Nay,” he wheezed. “It was for the eli—” Phoebus’ hands were around his
throat, squeezing, his words flying like spittle on Niko’s face.

“He died, just like this. Coughing, gasping, wheezing. I promised he would be
athanati
, and he died.’ Niko fought his dearest friend’s stony fingers, his sinewy wrists. Niko’s vision began to purple. “I trusted
you with my son’s life and you betrayed me. With a whore!” The grasp was tighter; Niko couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see,
he thought he heard popping—his own bones? “You killed my son, you apostate! You killed him!”

T
HE LAST WORDS WERE LOST
on Niko, as was Phoebus’ final blow. Niko was insensible, the stones of prophecy in his pocket, the elixir in his pouch.

“He was doing it for you,” Ileana said.
Hreesos
turned on her, and she scrambled backward. She’d never seen Phoebus like this. She was a fool to have reminded him she was
here.

“You
skeela,”
he cried, then ran toward her. Ileana swung off the table, ducking behind it as Phoebus crashed into it. Weapon, she needed
a weapon. He threw the table aside and she scurried on hands and knees to another, picking up a broken vial. He charged after
her, treading on glass in his bare feet. She backed up, drawing him closer. His hands reached for her, and she swiped at him
with the jagged edges of the glass.

Phoebus stumbled back, tripped over Niko’s motionless leg, and fell, catching himself on his elbows. Ileana leapt at him,
plunging the glass through his stomach with all her strength. His hands flexed in agony as he rose upward, a twisted imitation
of a lover’s surrender.

Turning on his side, he crawled after her. Ileana ran, fell, and ran again. His hand grabbed her ankle, and she tried to kick
free. Blood covered everything, so slippery she couldn’t get a grip. Groping for another weapon, she landed on the ground.

Phoebus had stopped moving. She tried to slide away, only to have him drag her over his body. Throwing her runner’s muscles
behind it, she waited until her knee was even with his chin, then rammed upward.

His howl surrounded her, and his grasp weakened enough for her to get away. Ileana ran to the door and closed it, breathing,
listening for any sounds. The crash of more glass—he’d turned over another table—the thud of wood on wood … then silence.

She looked at herself. Naked, coated in blood and seed. Glancing at the door, she saw that her handprints were everywhere.
On the other side were the bodies of
Hreesos
and Niko.
Okh
Kela, what had she done? She’d killed the Golden One? I had no choice, she told herself. He would have killed me.

The Council would not care; they wouldn’t listen to her side. Her life would be forfeit: death or the Labyrinth. Hades, where
Irmentis, Sibylla, and countless others awaited her. They would tear at her, kill her. Ileana swallowed, trying to calm herself.

If there were no bodies, no one would know what had become of
Hreesos
and Niko. Get rid of the bodies. She had to get rid of the bodies. Cautiously she opened the door, peering into the torchlit
room. It was worse than she had thought.

Total silence, blood everywhere, broken glass and overturned tables littering the room. Could she ever clean up this mess?
Maybe just leave, let whoever found them assume that Phoebus had attacked Niko and killed him? It was the truth; no one would
know she’d ever been here. Her gaze went to the bloodstained door, where delicate crimson handprints made a stark pattern
on the wood.

She stepped over
Hreesos’
body. A pool had formed beneath him, and she saw another piece of glass had pierced his throat. Not allowing for thought,
Ileana ripped at his kilt, sopped it in blood, and painted over her handmarks on the floor, the table, and the door.

Hesitantly she walked back to Niko.

His body was not there.

Ileana took a breath to scream, but a metallic-tasting hand silenced her. “You killed Phoebus, whore.”

She went numb, limp; then fear seized her and she fought. Niko hung on tightly, swearing as she kicked and struggled. When
she finally tired, she opened her eyes. “I was defending you!”

“You were protecting yourself,” he said in his hate-filled voice. “You will die for killing him.”

“He wanted to kill you!” she said, his arm around her waist as he walked her backward.

“It was his right. He didn’t understand. Every thrust of my body was a betrayal. I deserved to die.” Niko turned to look at
Phoebus, his grasp suddenly looser. Ileana reached out and grabbed a curved shard of glass. She brought it back, in between
her waist and arm, and plunged it into his belly.

He dropped to his knees, his hands flying to his wound. Ileana pulled free and grabbed a spare torch in a metal cone leaned
against the wall. Coming from his side, out of the reach of his grasping arms, Ileana swung it at his head.

He collapsed like a drunk, finally still.

She could see nothing except shades of red. There was too much blood now, she had to get rid of him. He’d not even bothered
to undress fully, just entered her as though she were a Coil Dancer! At the time it had been arousing, but now it infuriated
her.

A slight sewage stink wafted through this lower level of the palace, and Ileana’s stomach clenched. Niko was not dead; his
blood was still warm. He had been a powerful mage, a perfect lover. She didn’t need to kill him, just get rid of him. She
walked down the hallway. The stench grew worse; some older latrines were here.

Running back to her victim, Ileana approached carefully, wary of Niko attacking again. She tried to pull him, but he was too
heavy, too slippery to get a good grasp. She crossed to the back of Spiralmaster’s lab, looking around frantically. There!
Beneath a pile of dried skins was a wooden cart. After tugging it free, Ileana pulled it to the doorway, where Niko was yet
motionless.

Grasping his body under his arms, she pulled upward, backing onto the low cart. Half of his body dragged, but she could still
maneuver the cart forward. A streak of blood pointed like an arrow to the latrine, and she realized with a grimace she would
probably have to clean it.