Empire of Dust (9 page)

ACT TWO:
FUGITIVE

The greatest way to live with honor in this world is to be what we pretend to be.

—Socrates

Chapter Eight

“
WE'RE IN FOR
rough weather,” Captain Zeno says, gesturing out to sea where Hephaestion can see towering dark clouds that seem to be growing by the minute. “I want everyone to pack up their tents and go below deck.”

“I understand. Thank you, sir,” Heph says to the captain of the
Prometheus
, ardently hoping the storm doesn't interfere with his mission for Alex in Egypt. Bad weather can sink a ship, damage it, or blow it off course for weeks.
Don't fail me
, Alex had said when he told him of his request: Heph and Kat are to seek out the famed Princess Laila and bring her back to Macedon to wed the prince, securing her military alliance. The journey will also keep Kat far from Olympias's grasp.

Alexander's words keep echoing in Heph's head.
Don't fail me.
The implication, he knows, is that this might be his last chance.

The captain nods at him before hurrying over to some of the mercenaries on deck. This merchant vessel isn't only carrying timber, but more than twenty soldiers who have hired themselves out to help the Persian satrap of Egypt stamp out rebellion among their new Egyptian subjects. Their tents cram the deck; the smell of unwashed soldiers baking in the sun wafts over it, and their belches intrude on the calming sounds of wind and waves.

Heph looks sideways at Kat, who leans on the railing and stares out at the endless water as if she hasn't heard the captain. Her eyes are pink and swollen, and she's hardly eaten since learning of the murder of her family. Still, she was willing to go on this mission to Egypt to help Alexander—and glad to get away from the palace before the queen returns.

He's still haunted by the scroll he ripped from Leonidas's dead hand. As soon as he got to his room, he cut a slit in his mattress ticking, thrust the scroll deep into the mounds of feathers, and sewed up the slit. Still, the words are forever singed into his memory.

In the womb of the night

Twin stars struggle to shine their light

The moon with great joy will blot out the sun

When the girl kills the boy and the world comes undone.

Above the word
girl
Leonidas had written
Katerina
. Above
boy
,
Alexander.
And in the margin:
The night the queen gave birth to the prince, she cried out a prophecy given to her by her handmaiden, a secret oracle, and issued a command as cruel as it was necessary.

Olympias obviously believed the prophecy—believed her daughter would kill her son, unless her daughter was killed first. But it is as clear as day that Kat and Alex have a bond that others could not begin to imagine. Heph
knows
that Katerina would never harm Alexander, at least not on purpose. So why does his stomach squirm at the thought of Leonidas's spidery scrawl?
Because Leonidas was never one to set store in prophecy,
Heph answers himself. And neither is Heph, but still...it must have meant something that the man died to protect this piece of parchment.

It is best to be cautious. Watchful. Leonidas indicated that Olympias tried to kill Kat to prevent the prophecy from coming true, and that is probably the reason she is still trying to kill Kat now. Heph knows the power of prophecies is not always in what they say, but in the fact that people go to such extremes to either avoid or fulfill them. Prophecies, real or false, are incredibly dangerous.

And there's something else... A sense of urgency eats away at him from the inside at the idea that the person he holds dearest in the world—the prince—could be in danger. And worse, that the girl who has come to occupy his thoughts relentlessly, the girl whose voice he thrills to hear even when she is insulting him, the girl whose gaze causes his pride to falter and his heart to beat faster—this girl could be destined to ruin Alexander...and ruin him, too. He doesn't want to believe it—
can't
believe it. And yet some part of him feels the truth in it.

Aristotle always taught Heph to distrust his passions. Taught him to be wary of desire—it is the downfall of many men. Could it be so with Kat?

Even now, the way the increasing wind sets Kat's hair flowing all around her face makes Heph's heart leap and his body sweat. Luckily, a soldier's voice cuts into the turmoil of his thoughts.

“If we can draw Persia's attention back down to Egypt,” the soldier says to another, leaning on the ship's railing not too far from Heph, “then maybe they won't attack Macedon. But we'll probably be too late. I hear things are in motion in Persia.”

Heph and Kat look at each other in alarm, then gaze out to sea again, pretending they are not listening.

“Why Macedon?” his companion inquires. “Why not Athens or Sparta if Persia's Great King is thirsty for Greek blood?”

“Because King Philip has taken so many Greek lands that Persia is certain to be next on his list. And Caria, Lydia, and most of the Persian islands used to be Greek. Maybe they want to be Greek again, especially if Philip promises them reduced taxes. Easier to kill a lion cub than a lion, right?”

“I wouldn't exactly call Philip a cub,” the second soldier says doubtfully. “Maybe twenty years ago, but not now.”

“Not Philip—his son, Alexander,” the first one explains. “Even now Philip is attacking Byzantium in the north. The Persians have already sent some troops to fight him and keep him busy there. But I've heard the bulk of their army will swing to the south, perhaps with help from Athens, and attack Macedon.” He pauses, looks at the sea, and rubs his forehead. “Holy gods, look at those waves. Come on, time to go below, I think.”

The men's voices are whipped away by the rising wind as they walk toward the hatch.

Heph's head pounds. He needs to stop wasting his energy fantasizing about Kat and pondering the prophecy in Leonidas's charred hands. He needs to arrange the marriage with Princess Laila. And fast. Alex is going to need a much bigger army if Persia is planning an attack.

Wind whips up spray into his eyes as he reaches out to gently touch Kat's shoulder, feeling the rough fabric of her disguise beneath his fingers. Their mission must remain secret. They are not only traveling to secure a bride but also to secure her armies. There's no need for Alex's enemies to know that Macedon's defenses are about to swell. Heph and Kat are dressed as peasants, but even in the ill-fitting, dun-colored tunic, it is hard to mask Kat's beauty. For a second, he thinks how soft her skin must be under the coarse material.

“Katerina?” he says. “We should go below.”

“One moment more,” she says, so faintly he can barely make out her voice above the rising wind. “The fresh air, the wind...helps. Like it's sweeping away the hurt.”

Of course. On top of his own worries, Kat's grief weighs heavily on Heph, not least because there's simply nothing he can do to assuage it. She has lost those closest to her. Her entire family.

Heph knows what that feels like.

And he cannot fix it.

As though to echo her pain, the sky seems to be hanging lower and grayer. The wind continues to pick up speed. He resists the urge to brush Kat's long wild hair out of her face.

* * *

A low rumble of thunder comes from the west, and two Macedonian mercenaries mumble apologies and squeeze by them. The soldiers are packing up their tents as the sailors tie down everything on deck so that it will not be blown into the storm-boiling waters. A gentle rain begins to fall.

Captain Zeno returns, his dark hair already slick against his face. “You need to move below.
Now
,” he says. “No more lingering.”

“Yes, Captain,” Heph says as he eyes rising waves the color of iron. A jagged bolt of lightning illuminates the black clouds on the horizon. Wind rips at the sails as crew members pull on ropes to bring them down to stow. The rain begins to fall harder, angrily. Another sailor pulls down the Macedonian flag of the sixteen-pointed gold star on a light blue background, while three more check the ropes holding the huge timbers in place on deck. The ship bucks in the waves and Kat suddenly grabs onto Heph's arm, nearly losing her balance.

“Come on,” he says, trying to keep the urgency from his voice. “Let's pack up.”

As Heph, Kat, and the others quickly roll up their tents and sleeping mats and shove their belongings into sacks, a sailor in the rigging calls down, “Captain! Ship approaching!”

The captain holds on to the mast to steady himself as the ship rocks. “What kind?” he calls up, his words almost swept away by the wind. “Merchant vessel? Military trireme? What flag does she wave?”

Everyone cranes to hear what the sailor in the rigging says but he says nothing.

“What flag, you fool?” cries the captain, almost shrieking to be heard above a strong gust of wind.

“Black, sir!”

Black.
Heph's arms prickle. No. It can't be. First the storm, now this. How can he win Alex's trust back when the Furies themselves seem to be dogging this mission? He kneels and takes his sword belt out of his pack and buckles it on, his hands slippery in the rain. A peasant wearing a rough-spun tunic would never own a sword like this, and Heph has probably ruined their careful disguise. But now is not the time to worry about it. He reaches again into his bag and removes his bow and a quiver full of rattling arrows.

“Arm yourselves!” the captain cries, striding down the deck. “Get your weapons ready.”

“What is it?” Kat asks, eyes wide, looking around at the sudden, deadly serious activity. “What does a black flag mean?”

“Pirates,” Heph says, slinging the quiver and bow over his shoulder. “It means pirates. Go hide below deck.”

The wave crests above Heph and Kat so suddenly that he has no time to warn her, only time to open his mouth and grab a rope. It crashes into the ship so hard that Kat flies backward and slams against the far railing. Still clutching the rope, Heph takes her hand and pulls her up.

“Even after all we've been through, you want me to hide among the amphorae like a girl?” she says, eyes blazing.

“Kat, you
are
a girl.”

“A
dangerous
girl,” she cries hoarsely into the wind, and for a brief, unnerving moment, Heph thinks
if only you knew
how
dangerous
.

Kat stumbles toward her pack but is thrown to her knees by another wave. Undeterred, she crawls forward and brings out her own sword. Heph knows she's good—he's witnessed her on the battlefield himself—but she's not invincible. He's also held her in his arms, her face white as snow while her blood flowed from the gaping hole in her side.

“How can I fight the pirates if I am worried about you getting wounded?” he asks, his desperation rising like the wind.

As she buckles on her sword belt he notices that her eyes are like fiery emeralds, her face flushed. The listless apathy of the past three days has been replaced by a fierce energy, the kind she radiated on the battlefield. “If I am,” she says, staring at him steadily, “you'll just have to kiss me again.” She turns to face the black-flagged ship bobbing ever closer.

Her words are like a jolt—and even though his heart is already pumping fast, Heph feels heat flood his body. He couldn't have heard her correctly. Kiss her
again
? He's never kissed her in his life, though he can think of little else.

Heph opens his mouth to ask her but the ship rises high on a swell. He grabs hold of Kat with one arm and the rope with the other. The ship slams down into a trough as water crashes in on all sides. Some on deck have managed to grab hold of something while others go flying like rag dolls and hit the rail or deck with heavy thuds.

A man pops his head out of the hatch and passes out armor the mercenaries stowed below to take with them to Egypt. The soldiers, along with Captain Zeno and his crew, quickly strap on breastplates and greaves, buckle on sword belts, and clap on helmets. Next the man tosses out spears, bows, quivers full of arrows, and shields. They laugh as Kat pushes her way into their midst and grabs a helmet, breastplate, shield, and spear.

Heph is furious. If he could tie her up and lock her below deck he would. But there's no time for that. Not with the pirate ship angling up beside them, its grappling plank raised high and ready to slam down on their rail. Now he will have to fight with one eye on the enemy and one on Kat.

As the other men get into formation, Heph puts on a helmet and breastplate. Buffeted by the whistling wind, he climbs up the mid mast. When he reaches a good point to fire arrows, he stops and looks down. Rain falls in his eyes. As the enemy vessel bobs alongside the
Prometheus,
its grappling plank crashes down. Below him, the Macedonian mercenaries and sailors crowd together behind the timber. The men, he is glad to see, have pushed Kat to the far rear.

Heph nocks his arrow and trains it on the first pirate swaying on the grappling plank. A filthy bandana covers the man's forehead and his mud-colored beard is long and matted. There's a crazed look in his eyes as he waves his sword in the air, and the pirates behind him beat their swords on shields and yell at the top of their voices in a language Heph doesn't understand.

Heph fires. The arrow hits the pirate between the eyes. The man stops as if in surprise, then falls into the narrow space between the two heaving ships. Heph fires at the man behind him and hits him in the neck—but the pirate vessel also has an archer.

An arrow flies by Heph and lodges itself deep into the mast only two finger-breadths past his cheek. No matter how quickly Heph launches his arrows, he can't stop the mass of pirates now spilling onto the deck with wild cries. The Macedonian mercenaries crouch behind the timber and launch their spears at the invaders, most of them hitting their mark. Then they bolt forward with swords drawn as more pirates scramble onto the deck.