Kyros' Secret (Greek Myth Series Book 1) (16 page)

Twenty-four

Kyros lay on the floor of the dungeon cell, writhing in pain from his morning’s transformation. He was so cold he felt frozen and only wished to be in the warmth of Thera’s loving arms. He felt his bones moving, and his tail and horseflesh disappeared. He could barely feel his human limbs as they took formation, but knew they’d be there once his vision cleared.

He lay naked on the cold stone, not wanting to go through this transformation again. He’d been cursed for nearly a year, but it seemed to him like eternity. He pitied himself and he had the right to do it. His brother - his human brother - was going to marry the woman he loved and who was carrying his child.

He wrapped his arms around his bare chest and curled into an embryonic ball. He wondered how his baby would feel about this someday when he got older. He was sure to hate his father for doing nothing to stop Thera from marrying an ogre of a man. But then again, his child would be sure to hate him anyway, once he found out his true father was half-man, half-beast.

Mayhap it wouldn’t be so bad for Thera. Pittheus could change, but not likely. But there was a possibility once he was king and married he’d see things differently. Thera would be coupling with Pittheus tonight, and that thought drove a stake so far into Kyros’ heart that he thought he’d die. He wanted to die. And after Pittheus would make love to Thera, they’d lie together in his bed and sleep throughout the night side by side. Something Kyros would never be able to do.

His vision cleared and he got to his feet. He thought of the look on Thera’s face when she’d left the dungeon last night and it pained him.

“Get dressed,” snapped a guard from outside the cell door. “You don’t want to be late for the wedding.” He left laughing, his voice echoing off the stone walls and off Kyros’ heart as well.

There must be something he could do to stop this, but he didn’t know what. He grabbed for the bundle of clothes the weaver had brought him the night before. He pulled out the tunic and something went clattering to the floor. It was a dagger, bless her little heart. She’d brought him a weapon to use. He hurriedly pulled on his clothing and boots she’d sent. He wasn’t used to wearing boots and thought it odd she’d sent them instead of sandals. Then he realized it was a great place to hide the dagger. Mayhap all hope wasn’t lost after all. He pushed the weapon out of sight in his boot when the guard came to unlock the door. Possibly, he’d be able to do something about stopping the wedding after all.

* * *

Thera held her arms out as the old weaver slipped her wedding gown around her. It was of a white, dull material with many pleats in the lower half. It criss-crossed over her full breasts, clinging to them and making her look bustier than she’d ever been. Her breasts were so trussed up that she could barely see her huge stomach that lie hidden beneath the folds.

“This is beautiful!,” exclaimed Thera. “You did a wonderful job. I’ve never looked so good.”

The old weaver smiled a broken-toothed grin and held out a rose-colored flimsy shawl that Thera was supposed to wear over her shoulders. It was made of thick threads that looked almost like string. It was woven in an intricate design, and one thread hung down loose from the end.

“If you don’t mind me saying, I’m not fond of the shawl. I don’t think I’ll wear it to the wedding. It’ll cover up the beautiful gown.”

“And it’ll cover up that cleavage as well,” said the weaver. “Unless you want Pittheus looking at you throughout the ceremony.”

“You’re right, give me the shawl,” she said and slipped her hands through the arm loops to hold it on. “Why didn’t you make the dress less revealing in the first place?”

“Pittheus ordered me to make it that way. Although, the shawl was my idea.”

“Thank you,” said Thera, grabbing the old woman’s hand.

The weaver took Thera’s hand and placed it on the loose string. Thera started to pull and the shawl began to unravel.

“Don’t pull that string unless you want the shawl to unravel,” she commented.

“Why would I want it to? I don’t understand,” said Thera.

“You may need to use it unraveled … or perhaps you won’t. But if you do, you’ll know how to do it.”

Thera was thoroughly confused. She had no idea what the crazy old woman was talking about. Why would she need to unravel the shawl, and what good would it do her if it was nothing but a pile of string?

She sat in a chair as the old weaver fixed her hair. The woman was a wonder as her fingers flew through the braids and she wound them into a pattern. Thera had grown to like the old woman. She felt she had a friend in her, something she’d never really had before except for Persephone. But Persephone was taken from her when Hades came to claim her as his bride of the underworld. She wondered if Persephone felt as she did at this very minute.

Pittheus came to claim her, and living with him would probably be no different than living in Tartarus. She’d never met her uncle Hades, but the things she’d heard about him weren’t so good. Still, Persephone was fond of him, and talked well of him on the few occasions when the topic of Hades was mentioned.

“There,” said the weaver. “You are ready now for the wedding.”

Thera’s body froze as she heard the music starting up below stairs. The weaver still hadn’t told her what Kyros’ plan was to save her. Surely he didn’t mean for her to actually marry Pittheus? Wasn’t he going to come bursting through the door at any second and save her from this awful fate?

“So what’s Kyros’ plan?” she asked the weaver. “Is he going to come rescue me here in the room or do I have to pretend to be marrying Pittheus before he’ll stop this nonsense?”

“He doesn’t have a plan,” the old woman finally admitted.

“No plan? You are jesting!”

“I jest with you not, Thera. When I went to visit him in the dungeon last night, he told me he had no idea what he was going to do. But I did slip him a dagger, so I’m sure he’ll see to use it and somehow save you from marrying Pittheus.”

Thera was no longer certain this was true. She couldn’t pick up the old woman’s emotions for some reason, but her intuition told her she was destined to marry Pittheus.

“I think I was meant to marry Pittheus.” Thera looked at the floor when she talked.

“Why do you say that, child?”

“Because I was able to use the golden bow of Artemis. No one can use it unless they’re a king. Or in this case, I believe the wife of a king. Pittheus now has the sword and I don’t see any way Kyros is going to retrieve it before the feast of Dionysus. Pittheus keeps him chained up and well guarded. I’m to marry Pittheus today and Kyros has no plan to stop it. It’s obvious to me; I was destined to marry Pittheus and become queen of Trozen, although I’m in love with his brother, Kyros.”

“Don’t fret, child.” The weaver pulled Thera to her bosom and hugged her. It felt good to Thera. It felt so motherly. The motherly affection she’d never known from Aphrodite. The love she’d never known from Ares. But she had felt love from Kyros, and now from the old weaver. It was too bad she was marrying a man with only lust in his heart. She enjoyed being human and would like to experience this thing called love more. If only she were marrying Kyros.

“I’ve been in contact with the centaurs,” said the weaver.

Thera’s spirits lifted. “Then they’ll come to save Kyros and he can then save me.”

“I’m afraid not. Kyros told them not to interfere unless your life was in danger. He’s afraid it’ll bring about a war.”

Thera rose from the chair. “I no longer care what happens to me. As long as Kyros’ life has been spared by my actions.”

A pain shot through her abdomen and she bent over and clutched herself. The old weaver held on to her shoulders and told her to take deep breaths. In a minute the contraction had eased and Thera was able once more to stand upright.

“It’s the baby,” said Thera. “The time is coming closer, isn’t it?”

“I believe so,” smiled the old woman and Thera could have sworn she saw a twinkle in her glazed, blind eyes. “Too bad the baby wasn’t a little faster, though. Too bad it couldn’t stop the wedding.”

Twenty-five

The guard pushed Kyros in front of him as they made their way to the great hall where the wedding was about to take place. He still didn’t have a plan, and this worried him. His hands were tied in front of him in rope instead of chain, and this he felt was the best thing to happen to him yet. The dagger stashed away in his boot rubbed against his leg as he walked and pinched him in the ankle. He thanked the old weaver silently for bringing this to him as he knew it would cut right through his ropes.

He stopped at the door to the great hall and took in the beauty of it all. An altar was set up on the dais, huge flowers and greenery stood all around. The crowd was gathered in their finest garments. Pittheus stood high on the dais next to the altar, wearing a fine-looking tunic wrap and an olive branch wreath around his head. Soon to be a crown, Kyros thought and wondered if Pittheus had done it on purpose to get his people used to seeing his head crowned. But it was so ironic; he wore the symbol of peace when all he really wanted was war.

Then Kyros’ eyes fell at his father’s sword strapped around his brother’s waist. It looked so foreign there. Kyros cringed at the sight, wanting it back on his own waist where it truly belonged. Damn, he thought. If Pittheus was already wearing the sword, it was his subtle way of saying he’d won. And if the sword was strapped around his brother’s waist during the ceremony, he would have no chance at all of stealing it back. Things were going from bad to worse.

“Get moving!” The guard pushed him from behind, his hand slapping against Kyros’ freshly-mended wound. The pain sliced through him and he knew with one more blow like that he’d be bleeding again in no time. He moved forward into the room and Pittheus limped up to greet him.

“So good you decided to join this happy occasion,” he bellowed out for the entire hall to hear. Everyone hushed their conversations and all eyes followed him.

“Happy for who, Pittheus? Certainly not me, and I don’t believe for Thera, either. And why should your people be happy?” He addressed the room when he spoke. “After all, you’re not only stealing my bride who’s carrying my child, but you’ve already announced you’ll be starting a war with the centaurs as soon as you become king.”

“My people are happy the centaurs will no longer be bothering them,” said Pittheus, a bit nervous if Kyros wasn’t mistaken.

“Don’t let him be your king,” he said to the people. “For if you do, he’ll bring war to the land and many of you will die. The centaurs have never done anything against any of you. They only fought to protect themselves. My father knew that and wanted peace as much as I do between the races.”

“Enough!” shouted Pittheus.

Kyros ignored him and continued addressing the crowd. “If I were your king, I’d carry on in the footsteps of the good King Mezentius. Have you all forgotten how happy you were when he was your king and still alive? Things were different then; things were better. They could be again if I - ”

“I said, enough!” shouted Pittheus and threw a punch at Kyros’ face. Kyros stumbled backwards, but the guard caught him and set him straight on his feet. The crowd mumbled their protests and Kyros could only hope he’d gotten through to them. If he had the people on his side then mayhap there’d still be hope after all.

“Put him in a chair far from me,” snarled Pittheus. “And make sure he’s tied.”

“I will,” answered the guard.

“You’re responsible,” Pittheus warned the man. “If anything happens here to upset my wedding, I’ll have your head.”

The guard swallowed deeply and nodded to Pittheus. He then dragged Kyros over to a chair on the far side of the room, near the door to the corridor. He pulled some strong rope from a bag at his waist and tied Kyros’ chest, then feet to the chair.

The music switched to something a little slower and the crowd parted as Thera walked in with a bouquet of flowers resting on her belly. She looked more beautiful than Kyros had ever seen her. Little flowers encircled her braids which were woven in a design high on her head. She had delicate sandals gracing her feet. She wore a long, white pleated gown that flowed to the ground and wrapped around her legs as she slowly walked to the altar. Then he noticed the rose-colored ugly shawl that hid the top half of her body, contrasting with the rest of her beautiful outfit.

The blind old weaver stepped out in front of her, sprinkling rose petals where Thera’s sandaled feet would step. He was amazed at the old woman’s agility and the fact she didn’t stumble although she couldn’t see.

They stopped in front of the dais and the music stopped also. Pittheus reached his hand down and grabbed Thera’s. He made a big show of kissing her hand before helping her up the few steps to where the priest waited with book in hand.

Pittheus then motioned for the crowd’s attention as he turned Thera for them to see. “I don’t like this ugly shawl,” he growled at the weaver standing nearby and tore it from Thera’s shoulders. It hung behind her from the straps that secured it to her arms.

“That’s better,” smiled Pittheus. “Now the whole room can see your beauty and what will soon be mine.”

Kyros had a good view of Thera now, and couldn’t help but notice her exposed cleavage. Then he noticed the way Pittheus’ eyes were fastened to it as well. Kyros could have sworn his brother was about to drool as he picked up his hand and reached out for her.

“No!” Kyros screamed, not wanting his brother to touch her.

Thera wasn’t even aware of Kyros’ presence in the room until she heard his voice. She jerked her head toward the back of the room where she’d heard him, searching with her eyes for a strong warrior standing in the doorway with weapon in hand, coming to save her.

Her heart fell when she saw him sitting tied to a chair, a guard standing over him. This wasn’t her warrior come to save her from marrying Pittheus. This was a prisoner who could do nothing but watch as she gave her life away to a man she didn’t love.

“Keep him quiet,” snarled Pittheus. He reached out and grabbed Thera’s chin, turning her attention away from Kyros. “There’s nothing he can do to stop this, Thera. And if you refuse to go through with the wedding, I’ll kill him. You know I will. I’ll even make you watch.”

“No!” Thera shook her head in his hand and tears welled in her eyes. “No, you can’t do that. I’ll marry you if it’ll save his life. I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t hurt him.” A tear dripped down her cheek and landed on her chest. Pittheus followed its path with his eyes as the tear disappeared down her cleavage.

“I would have licked that tear from you right now, you realize. But I don’t want any more disruptions from Kyros. But tonight I’ll have you, Thera, mark my words. I’ll taste every part of you and bury myself to the hilt between - ”

“Let’s get on with it,” she bravely answered, not wanting to hear any more of Pittheus’ wretched ideas on how he planned to take her.

“That’s the spirit,” he replied and turned her toward the priest. Thera looked over her shoulder once more at Kyros. His face stone-like, he wiggled in the chair. He didn’t even seem to be paying much attention to the ceremony, as his gaze was focused on his feet. She looked over to the old weaver, and though the woman couldn’t see her, still, she gave Thera a reassuring smile.

Thera shook her head and turned back to the priest as she was forced by Pittheus to say her vows. She barely remembered anything. She didn’t even hear herself saying the words ‘I do’, but knew she must have said them, as Pittheus was smiling at her. A smile that gave her a pain in her stomach. She bent over, feeling the baby kicking within her. He objected to the wedding, she was sure, and didn’t blame the child for wanting out.

“What’s the matter with you?” Pittheus grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face the crowd. “My bride,” he announced. “And your queen.”

The crowd cheered, and Thera felt her mind spin. The pain came again and she could do nothing to stop it. She felt the hands of the old weaver helping her to sit on the steps of the dais.

“She’s having contractions,” the weaver told Pittheus. “The baby is trying to come out. She must sit down and rest now.”

“Not now!” snapped Pittheus. “Not in the middle of my wedding.”

“She can’t help it,” said the weaver as the pain subsided.

“Damn my brother for ruining my wedding night. His child will not ruin my plans.”

Thera was afraid for Kyros and also afraid for the baby. The pain had passed and she had the weaver help her to her feet so Pittheus would not be angered more.

“I’m all right,” she said. “I think I’ll feel better once I have some food in my stomach.”

“Bring on the food,” ordered Pittheus and grabbed his wife and headed for the trestle table.

Wine and ale flowed abundantly at the meal, and Kyros was glad it did. He sat tied to the chair, trying to loosen his bonds but with little luck. He needed the dagger to cut through the ropes and he couldn’t very well reach for it while his hands were tied. But the guard watching over him was now sitting down with some of his friends and eating as well. He was too close to risk trying to get the dagger, and Kyros was beginning to think he’d never get free.

His body ached from his wound, and his stomach ached from hunger. His heart had the worse ache of all as he watched Thera sitting next to Pittheus eating the meal as his brother’s wife. He felt like a failure knowing he had been unable to stop the wedding. If he could have, he would have done anything in his power to keep it from happening. But he never had a choice. It was him against Pittheus and the rest of the castle. If only he’d had some help.

He wondered if he should have told the centaurs to come after all. Maybe peace between the races wasn’t as important as he and his father thought. Maybe his goals were all wrong and he should re-evaluate them. After all, where had peace gotten him so far? Beaten, humiliated and tied to the chair as a prisoner, while his bride and baby were given away to his evil brother.

“I brought him a bite to eat,” came the weaver’s voice. Kyros saw the guard nod his head and lose himself in a tankard of ale as the old woman came forth.

“I’m not hungry,” Kyros told her as she broke off a piece of bread and held it up for him to eat.

“You’re hungry for Thera, aren’t you? Now eat this and be quiet so we can get that dagger out of your boot already.”

Kyros understood now that the old woman was there to help him. He took the bite of bread into his mouth as the woman laid the plate on his lap. Next she bent over to pick up a goblet of wine, using it as cover as she slipped her nimble fingers into his boot and drew out the dagger. She slipped it under the trencher on his lap.

“She’s married to someone else now,” whispered the weaver.

“Don’t remind me,” said Kyros as he opened his mouth and she raised the goblet to his lips. His throat was parched and the wine felt good going down. He’d like to drink a barrel of it and drown himself in his sorrows.

“Not too much,” she said and pulled it away. Some dribbled down his chin and onto his tunic. She picked up another piece of bread and dabbed his chin with it before putting it into his mouth. He marveled at how she knew exactly what to do when she couldn’t even see. “You have to be sober so you can at least stop him from coupling with her tonight.”

“I’ll die before I let him touch her,” he whispered back.

“Forget the heroics and do something about it,” she crooned. “Cut yourself free when the guards are too drunk to notice.”

“I will,” said Kyros with a newfound strength. “Thank you, Weaver for your help.”

“You could have had the centaurs help you, but they’re waiting for your signal. That boy king was the one to decide to wait, though the rest of them wanted to storm the castle.”

“Nemos is king?”

“Phylo’s son. You’ll find out more later. Shall I tell them to come help you now?”

Kyros looked at Thera doubled over at the table and then at his brother drinking and laughing away as if nothing was wrong. The sword lay across the dais table and Kyros knew he had to somehow get it. If the centaurs came in now, it would ruin everything. He still may have a chance to retrieve it on his own.

“No. Tell them not to come unless something happens to me. Then, you instruct them to storm the castle and do what it takes to rescue Thera and the baby. I have a feeling our baby is going to be a centaur. It should be raised by Chiron.”

“And what about Thera?” asked the woman. “Where would she go?”

Kyros looked down to his lap and shook his head. “If our baby is a centaur … they won’t have to worry about that. But by the grace of the gods, I hope she goes to the Elysian fields and not to Tartarus.”