“What's taking place today?” Herc asks. His voice is tinged with the same worry that fills me.
“Nothing is planned. I don't like this.”
“Stay close to me,” he says as we turn the horses away from the House to ride to the arena. We leave the horses tied outside the rear entrance and enter into the underbelly of the arena. As we approach the stairs to the box seats, we catch a glimpse of the arena floor. The sight forces me to cover my eyes.
“Iolalus,” Herc yells and in a heartbeat he’s racing to the floor of the arena. There, in the sand lays Iolalus with blood covering his face. Bruises have already blossomed their sickly color across his bare torso. His wrists and ankles are bound with ropes that are tethered to four horses—horses I recognize from the Herene stables, the ones that Eury had taken for his celebration, the ones that Cy used to whisper to and care for. Eury, wearing a mask over his nose and mouth, stands on the dais with his guards.
At a nod from the Solon, the horses’ new handler makes two clicking sounds. The horses each take two steps forward wrenching Iolalus up from the sand. His body pulls taut. His screams pierce through the arena that is barely half full. Either people haven’t had time to get here or they simply no longer care to take part in anything Eury has to offer them. Some, seeing what is happening, immediately turn to leave.
The horses hold Iolalus in his torturous position for a moment. When their handler gives a sharp whistle they each take a step back. Iolalus’s body drops to the sandy floor.
Herc, yelling Iolalus's name, runs to the floor of the arena and tries to loosen the rope binding his cousin's left wrist.
“Leave him,” Eury commands. “He’s a traitor.”
Herc stands as if guarding Iolalus. “What has he done?”
“Look, people of Portaceae, see what this Iolalus has done.” Eury rips off the mask to show the people the damage. Greyish purple splotches spread across his eyes, and his nose sits at an even odder angle than usual. He has done nothing to clean up the mess of blood that is now caked over his face, making the injury look worse than it really is. “He attacked me. Assaulted the Solon. That is treason. As the vault may soon be in use, we must take care of him in other ways.” He gives a nod, the trainer clicks, the horses step, and Iolalus screeches so violently that chills fire from my feet through my spine.
A look of wild terror and utter pain disfigure Herc’s face as his fingers scramble against Iolalus’s bindings. He tries again to untie the ropes at Iolalus's wrists, but stretched taut the rope is even less maneuverable than when it was slack.
“You can end this another way,” Eury calls over the cries of Iolalus.
“Anything,” Herc yells, his voice pitched high, filled with panic. “I'll do anything. Now let him free.”
Eury nods and at the trainer's command, the horses ease off. Herc's hands shake as he loosens the knot at Iolalus’s wrist. I run down to help and am grateful that Iolalus has passed out. It at least saves him the pain of my fingers scraping against the raw skin under the ropes. Once his cousin is free, Herc picks him up, cradles him in his arms, and walks to the dais.
“What would you like next, Excellency?” Herc asks coolly. “No doubt, you have another task in mind for me. What is it now? Perhaps, I could push the snow from one side of the Hooded Mount to the other? I could just smash the Great Mountain Chain flat so we can have a better view. Or is there a diamond your whore wife wants? Maybe you just want me to truss up Hera herself and deliver her to your door. What will it be that will provide such a benefit to Portaceae that you had to torture our cousin to get me to do it?”
Eury flinches at the mention of Hera and his hand reaches to the mess on his face. The arena is so quiet I can hear the blood pulsing through my ears as we wait for the Solon’s reply.
35
E
URY
The Hera comment sends a jolt straight through my core and my hand reaches involuntarily to scratch at the throb in my nose. My cousin has no idea how close he is to the truth. Still, I refuse to rise to the bait of his insolence.
“Your instructions await you at the House of Hera. You have whatever time it takes.”
“I'll be back within the week. Anything to get this over with and be done with you.” The words growl from Herc’s throat with such a rumble that my stomach clenches in fear. He storms off the arena floor, moving as if he carries no extra weight despite Iolalus hanging limply in his arms. Iole trails just behind them. I indicate my guards to follow her and I bring up the rear.
“Oh, and in place of the traitor Iolalus,” I call out. “The priestess Iole will be held prisoner.”
Herc spins, nearly dropping Iolalus in his haste.
“You will not touch her.” Again, the growling, I half expect him to leap onto me and make a killing bite to my throat. Iole stands near him, her face pale with fear, but she still holds herself with proud assuredness. She touches his arm.
“Go, be done with this task and he’ll have to free me.”
The foolish woman. If she thinks she or my cousins will be escaping me so easily, she is terribly mistaken.
“Guards, take her.”
Iole dares to hold my gaze, an amused grin on her lips. No doubt she thinks they won’t touch her.
The guards step forward and this time they don’t hesitate from grabbing the Herene by the arms and yanking her so hard she staggers. Her smug look drops and her eyes open wide with fear sending a surge of lust through me.
Herc’s nostrils flare. Iolalus lets out a groan as his cousin’s fingernails dig into his skin.
“Be quick, Herc,” she calls as the guards drag her past him to my carriage. Two other guards flank me as I stride past my hulking cousin. Using a horse’s weight of resolve, I keep my chin lifted as I avoid Herc’s eye.
Once the Herene and I are in my carriage, the interior fills with the scent of her. The earthy aroma of Iole’s fear mixes with the rose water she must cleanse herself in and creates a perfume that’s as tempting as bread baking. I have a sudden urge to tear off a hunk to sample.
I stare at Iole, evaluating her. What could I do with her? Ah, yes, the future Herene brothel. Gods, how much would she fetch? I amuse myself by watching her avoid meeting my gaze as she rubs her arms where bruises are starting to form. She sits opposite me, but I slide across my leather bench seat so our knees are touching and lean toward her, my heart pounding with exhilaration.
She shifts to the other side of her bench, but this only gives me room to sit next to her. I squeeze in beside her and place my hand on her knee. She shrinks away, pressing herself closer to the window.
“You really are beautiful. I should have recognized your mother in you, long ago.” I slide my hand up further but she slaps it away and crosses her legs at the knees. “Iole, I wouldn’t tell. You wouldn’t be punished. You can’t tell me you aren’t curious about what a man could do to you.” I place my hand at her crotch. “Or for you.”
She grabs my arm and flings it from her. I expect her to pull further away from me, melt into the wall of the carriage as far as she can, but she turns toward me, fury blazing in her green and gold eyes. So like her mother.
“I have no curiosity about you.”
I lean back and laugh. “Ah, you have no curiosity about me, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t curious about men. Or rather, a particular man.” I pause watching her discomfort. “Despite the fact that he slaughtered his children and bedded a complete stranger. You Herenes are a forgiving lot, aren’t you?”
Her gaze shifts guiltily away. Having had my fun by piquing her discomfort, I switch back to my own bench as the carriage sways its way through the city’s streets.
“Don't worry. I'm not taking you to the prison,” I say when she glances worriedly out the window for the third time.
“Where then?”
“Why priestess, you'll be an honored guest in my home.”
“I'd rather be dragged into the bowels of the Chasm to dine with Hades.”
If you feel that way now, wait until I’m done with you.
But I know I can do nothing until I defeat Hera. This is not the time to draw the goddess's attention any more than I already will have with this stunt. Taking her daughter as prisoner is justifiable. And I will stick to that truth no matter what Hera throws at me. Iole isn’t the only one who can use the laws of Portaceae to her benefit. One look at my face will declare someone has committed treason and it is clear that someone must serve a sentence for the assault. Since Iole made herself a tribute’s volunteer in the third task, according to the law, she has already proven herself a suitable substitute for my fiery-haired cousin.
But once Hera is defeated, once I have her power, the notion of the Herenes will be obliterated, dissolved like honey in hot tea. Then we'll see what becomes of this proud priestess. How long will she be able to wear that smug look of superiority once her mother is brought to nothing?
I stare at her imagining her begging for mercy. Something of my thoughts must show through in my face because Iole shifts in the bench seat hunching her shoulders away from me and tucking her dress tightly around her knees. Despite wanting him far away, I do hope Herc completes his task quickly. The moment Hera’s source of power is in my hands I will rip that dress off Iole and parade her through the streets.
Perhaps I’ll make Hera watch.
I can't help but give a laugh at the thought. The sound makes Iole jump. The motion jiggles her pert breasts, which only makes me laugh harder.
Once to the villa, the guards escort Iole to a suite of rooms in the east wing of the villa. Yes, she is denied her freedom, but not even Hera can complain about the accommodations—a finely furnished sleeping chamber, a dressing chamber with clothes Adneta no longer cares for, and a sitting room with a well-stocked library. All for one person. Most of Portaceae City’s population lives in two-room hovels, so what complaint could she possibly have?
Apparently plenty. Once the door is shut and locked, the Herene pounds on it and screams until her voice is raw. Her hands will have to be tended to, but not until she realizes her rampage against the door is pointless.
I go to my study to escape the noise of Iole’s fury and to wipe the remaining blood from my face before I take Adneta her belt. Baruch had tended to the broken nose straight after the assault, but I told him to leave as much blood as possible. The people needed clear proof of my reason for taking Iolalus prisoner. Cleaning up the mess my cousin had made of my face would have left no evidence to convince the people of his treachery. Just as I drop the rag into the basin of bloody water, someone knocks at the door.
“Yes?”
Baruch’s long face peers in, his expression as bored as ever.
“You’ve been summoned to the Gods' Room.”
I roll my eyes and stomp up the stairs. The climb delivers a pulsing ache through my face that rushes straight to the tip of my nose with each step.
But the pain doesn’t bother me. The sense of potential power has me as restless as if I’ve been filled with more electricity than the Osterian Council controls. I jog up the steps, not even bothering to count them as I make my ascent.
When I open the door, the Gods’ Room is filled with a red light. No doubt it’s meant to reflect Hera’s anger, but instead of emphasizing her rage, it bathes her in a light that churns with passion. The sight of her, despite my desire to thwart her, sends the throbbing in my nose down to my groin.
Perhaps once she’s watched me shame her daughter in the brothel, I'll make Hera join in the ranks of Portaceae’s hired women. Although I won’t sully Iole’s goods until they’ve fetched me a bag of drachars, I can certainly satisfy my desires on the mother. But not yet. Not yet. My plans leave me longing for this meeting to be done so I can take Adneta's Amazonian gift to her and get some much needed release.
Hera turns on me, her face filled with fury.
“You've imprisoned my daughter.”
“She's comfortable, safe.”
“She's also innocent.”
“But her companions are not. As you can see, I've been assaulted. Iolalus committed treason, but he's a volunteer to the tribute. Someone had to take his place until he's released from that duty. And, as you know, your daughter also volunteered herself and that makes her a replacement for Iolalus.”
“This is ridiculous logic.” She pounds her fist into her palm.
“I don't write the laws,” I say with a shrug.
“You are such a frustrating mortal.”
A crackling sense of electricity bolts through me and the room fills with blinding white light. By the time my vision clears, Hera is gone.
“I do so enjoy our meetings,” I shout to the air.
36
H
ERC
I rush Iolalus to the hospital wing of the House of Hera where several of the medics immediately begin assessing the damage done to his joints. Cecilia curses me for not bringing him in more quickly, then assures me he will walk again although she’s uncertain how well his shoulders will heal. Only moments after seeing my cousin settled onto a bed, Cecilia calls out orders for Iolalus’s treatment and the women begin rushing about to prepare medications and bandages.
As I stand beside my cousin wishing I could do something to help, one of the brown-robed acolytes delivers to me a message bearing the Solon’s seal. I crack it open, scan the contents of the letter and then read them again with an irritation fuming inside of me.
“I’m to obtain a tree from the Garden of the Hesperides,” I say with frantic exasperation as I waggle the letter at Iolalus who—despite his own pain—rolls his eyes at the stupidity of it. A tree. For the sake of the gods! Eury truly is the one who is mad. “The Hesperides! Have you heard of them, because I haven’t.”
His voice strained with agony, Iolalus says, “Consult with Maxinia. She has maps.”
The medics reappear with salves and gauze and shoo me away so they can do their work. I reluctantly leave my cousin in their care to seek out Maxinia who, as she often is, is busy with her books in Iole’s office. The moment I step into the room a longing stabs through me. The room smells of Iole’s skin after it has been freshly washed in the rose water soap the Herenes make.