Chapter 16
"Run"
It was high noon when he rode through the gates. Apollo's chariot loitered at its peak, burning amid a clear blue sky, and the cool breezes from the ocean swept across the lands and rustled his long blonde curls. They clung to his sweaty forehead, and he dismounted from his stead, nearly gasping for breath with the haste he had returned to his city. Peasants about the square took notice of his appearance and were preoccupied gazing and wondering over the Alban Prince. Yet he was single-minded and started for his father's door when one voice yanked him back.
"Ascanius!"
Her tone was higher, near a shriek, and he scarcely turned in time to see his petite wife with her skirt in her hands running toward him. His brow was knotted with worry and to keep out the sun, but it eased merely by seeing her, however distressed and unkempt she might appear, when he had feared he would never face his wife, his child, or his family again. Eione leapt into his arms, wrapped her arms about his neck, and held him with all the strength she could bear. It was no match for his grip which might have broken her in two had she not supplicated so completely into him. The warm, wet touch of something against his shoulder distracted him, and he drew away from her to see the tears smeared across her cheeks.
"Why are you crying?" he asked and found her chin with his forefinger and thumb, easing her face up to meet his curious gaze.
Her feline eyes flashed at him, looking both vexed and fraught, and she held tightly to him still almost as if fearful to release him. "I missed you," she muttered, and Ascanius smiled at young wife who could present herself like a lion but whom he knew to be tender as a lamb inside.
He found her lips, and the sleepless nights, the fear, the concern, and the relief manifested in his kiss, burdensome and all consuming of Eione. She took his face in her hands where his long beard scratched her palms and warned it was in need of a trimming. She could scarcely notice or wonder of it for the way he possessed her in that instant until the whole of the city around them crumbled away in her mind, and she would have surrendered to anything he demanded of her. Yet he pulled away, kneading his forehead dissatisfied against hers, and she looked up hungrily into his blue eyes and lacked the ability to conceal what his absence had done to her.
He held her still and seemed as if he might claim her once more and wholly shatter her sense of control when he noticed someone exiting the door at his left. Glancing over, he saw Iliana approached him looking so pale and weak in the sunlight that he nearly reached for her elbow to steady her and be sure she would not collapse. He released Eione to take his little sister into his arms as well, not sparing a confused glance at the bandage around her neck, and embraced her with as much gentleness as he could spare.
"Brother," she said, voice awash with relief, "you've returned."
"Yes…" Ascanius looked past his sister to Aeneas who stepped outside as well. His father bore the same handsome grin as his own, but it faltered as he noticed something in his son's gaze.
Iliana stepped away and considered the guards and Ambassador Solon who were only then entering the gates. Ascanius was the fastest rider, and it was clear then that no haste had been spared. Yet someone was missing.
"Where is Haemon?" she asked quietly and turned to her brother once more.
Ascanius' features weakened, and he asked of Aeneas, "Have you not received word from him?"
"No," their father answered, and by now his grin has receded completely and given way to a much more stern look, "not for more than a week. Last he wrote of was his suspicions about the princess and warned he may return sooner than expected."
Ascanius' eyes turned to the ground, and he shook his head. Much had been revealed and much lost since then.
"What's happened?" Aeneas wondered immediately and stepped toward his son with his concern patched across his face.
The Prince glimpsed at the peasants halting amid their work to watch the royal family, and he said, "We shouldn't speak of it here."
"Come inside," his father agreed. "The servants will take your horses."
Ascanius turned to his wife and directed, "Be home with Chara. I'll join you soon."
Eione hesitated, looking as if she couldn't bear to part with her husband after only just being reunited with him, and he offered her a weak smile.
"Go."
Reluctantly, she obeyed, and he followed her leave with his gaze briefly before stepping inside and shadowing Aeneas to his quarters. All the servants were dismissed so that father and son were left alone to their conversation.
"Nereus is on patrol?" the Prince assumed considering his brother's absence, and Aeneas nodded. Nereus' wise ear would have been much appreciated, but he would be informed soon enough. "And Ariston?"
"He rode north with a contingent. Scipio marches for Port Sanna."
"War with Umbria continues," he acknowledged and bowed his head slightly, realizing the multitude of forces which were rising in opposition of Alba Longa. How would they fight them all off without their commander, their crown prince?
"You've not been gone so long, my son, for old wounds to heal," Aeneas said solemnly but couldn't offer another moment to that topic—not when one of his sons was missing. "What of Haemon? Where is he?"
Ascanius lifted his heavy head and considered his father through resigned eyes. A pause lingered between them until Ascanius revealed, "We were betrayed."
"What!" he countered and took a step toward his son.
Inhaling uneasily, his anger began to breathe inside him, and the Prince struggled to keep his voice even as he said, "Savas."
‡‡‡
The scourge tore into his naked back, the bits of bronze and bone ripping at his flesh, and he gritted his teeth but could not withhold the short cry of pain. Already the skin was bloody and the flesh sore, and in the breath as the man withdrew for another strike, Atlan rested his forehead against the wooden post around which his arms were tied and was at the least grateful for its presence so that he could lean his weight against it when he became too exhausted and weak to hold himself. Days they had kept him in a lightless room, giving him water from time to time and feeding him less, and then the torture, threats, and interrogations began. When the whip did not find him again, he knew Savas' icy voice would snake to his ear.
"Where are they?" he hissed near enough Atlan could have turned to meet his gaze, but the huntsman preferred to gather his strength. He would not speak against Aurora, and so it would be a long, arduous process before they finally executed him or he bled out from his wounds.
Savas snapped forward, took Atlan by his pale blonde hair, and forced the huntsman to lift his head and look at the Apulian King. His blue eyes were fire compared the chill marble texture of his skin. His nostrils shuddered, sweat beaded across his brow, and the veins quivered beneath his thin skin at his temples. The huntsman's exhausted grey eyes sustained Savas' gaze without faltering, and the King's lips shivered with insult.
Releasing, Atlan's head, he growled out, "Ten lashes!"
The huntsman had no time to prepare himself before the first strike landed, one of those jagged bronze pieces nestling into a fresh wound, and he recoiled and arched against the post with a groan of pain. Another, and he dug his nails into the palms of his hands and tried to focus on that prick rather than the scourge at his raw back. By five, he was shuddering and holding fast to the post to keep from stumbling to the floor. In the deep pit of pain, he unearthed an old, fragile memory of a pale, bloodied, and dirt-ridden little girl whose cheeks were stained with tears and whose eyes were too heavy for her youthful face. He recalled how his cloak had swallowed her, how he scooped her up into his arms, and how he carried her out of the forest as she clung to his robes and hid her face in his arms. He had vowed that day to protect her. At last, the ten lashes were dealt. His back pulsed, ached, and burned with every breath he drew. Such raw, unforgiving pain… He was dizzy and weak, but he thought of that little girl. She was worth 100 lashes—and then some.
Savas ambled closer once more and exhaled irritably. Rulers would have their own tactics for gaining respect, bolstering their power, and stifling threats. Savas had emerged as a connoisseur of fear since he assumed the throne after Gallad, and in lands where peasants worried of what lingered in the dark of the forests or at their borders, fear was a constant, pervasive tool to keep them pinned under his thumb. None would speak of how he was Gallad's bastard son through his mistress, though all knew, but it was undoubtedly death to admit such aloud. Savas had spies scattered throughout his lands—from the north to south and east to west. He would hear of all, and he was swift and merciless in his punishment. Atlan knew the risk in sending word to Alba Longa, but he had thought his messenger honest and his route safe. Evidently he had underestimated Savas' paranoia and need for control.
"Where?" he growled and took Atlan by his hair yet again.
The grey gaze that met him was watery, fast-losing its power and yet resilient still.
Savas grimaced. "You've always bore such devotion and loyalty to her…more than to your own king."
The huntsman struggled for breath when every shift of his chest doubled the pain in his back, and so he huffed short and swift through his mouth without scarcely seeming to grasp onto the air. He drew a longer breath, feeling his muscles stretch, his back flared, and he gritted his teeth only to spit out, "You're not my king."
The grip on his scalp tightened considerably until it felt Savas would tear out his hair and the venomous words with it, but Atlan knew the fault in the King's armor, his greatest fear—Aurora. He had kept her close thinking he could control and subvert her, but she had survived and had been meant since that night to rise. She was their queen, and Savas had lost his grip on her and the whole of the world about him. The pillars of his palace had been built upon lies and deceit, and now the entire structure threatened to collapse and take him with it.
These fears flittered across the King's tense face as if tangible more than private thoughts, and he abruptly released Atlan and barked out, "Twenty lashes!"
His voracious blue eyes watched every strike, lavishing in the blood slipping down the huntsman's back and nipping with morbid delight at Atlan's groans and cries of pain. Atlan did not make it to eight before his knees collapsed, and he crouched against the post, sagging and crumpling at the succeeding blows.
"Pick him up!" Savas commanded, and a guard took Atlan and yanked him pitilessly to his feet.
The huntsman cried out for the way it tore and wrenched his open wounds. Pain permeated his body to its core, then unraveling him from the inside out until he held no control over himself and no will to fight. His fists unclenched, and in the loose grip of his fingers, he felt the image of Aurora slipping through the gap. He struggled to pull it into focus before his weak eyes so that he might face and remember what was worth eleven more lashes… He fell again, and this time it took two guards to pick him up.
"Hold him!"
The guards held him still for the final four strikes, not faltering in the least at the torture continuing at their hands. How easily they could turn and strike down Savas, their bastard king, but fear was powerful. They would rather hold Atlan to be punished than assume his place.
Savas waited to see how the huntsman's pain would continue long after the scourge had been removed, and a contented smile snaked into his lips for the moment. He had not received answers, but a new plan had been birthed while watching Atlan suffer.
"Galen," he snapped, and the perspiring councilman approached from his right, looking sallow and ill. The King did not notice for he announced, "I've thought of a way to force my niece out of hiding."
"My Lord?" Galen whispered anxiously and kept his gaze anywhere but on the huntsman and his mangled back.
"We'll have him executed. Publicly… We'll send word throughout the land, and she'll return to save him," he chuckled darkly and wet his lips letting the statement trail off into the morbid pleasures of his mind's eye.
‡‡‡
"Would you like more, My Lord?" Balbus asked as he removed Haemon's empty bowl from before him. The wine maker had not learned of Haemon's true identity, but he used the title simply owing to Haemon's close association with the Princess. Constantly he was cautious of his steps and his words as if Aurora might find fault in any minor occasion and have Balbus killed or worse—cursed.
While the Princess had exploited her station, she attempted as best she could to overlook the implications of her effect on the wine maker. It reminded her too clearly of the rumors spread about her and of how the peasants gossiped behind her back. She'd never enjoyed being the villain of their tales when she was much more matched for the role of the victim.
"Yes," Haemon answered and swept up his cup of wine, a particularly pungent and rich batch that had no doubt been Balbus' private reserve then uncorked to share with the Princess and her company. In Alba Longa, they were not this sort of royalty. They worked alongside their countrymen and lived in houses, albeit large ones, rather than a palace. The time spent in the Apulian palace and now the rare luxury amid the mountains afforded to them pleased Haemon more than he wished to admit. It seemed treasonous to confess there was something so alluring and gratifying in such opulence, but it recalled memories of a palace in the East where he'd had at least ten servants to his bidding alone.
"I would as well," Aurora muttered, feeling her stomach swell from the large portion, and yet she was still famished. She had not eaten so well in…years.
Balbus visibly shuddered with embarrassment and hurried to grasp her bowl. He seemed to realize his error in not asking the Princess first, but surely he had not thought a princess would ask for seconds. Aurora merely quirked one pale eyebrow, and the wine maker bowed and rushed to complete his task.
As she considered the Prince across from her once more, she didn't anticipate the frank smile curving his lips and was aware how her belly muscles tightened at the look.
"I've never seen you finish a meal, let alone ask for more," he commented and sipped at his cup. He'd always assumed she had the appetite of a bird, to nip at whatever was offered to her without interest as if nothing appealed to her or she were too distracted to be bothered by eating. It had irritated him to see platters upon platters of food set before her and wasted. She had never known what it was to walk about hungry, uncertain when or what her next meal would be, as he had in the final months of their journey from Troy to Alba Longa when he was a boy.
Her mismatched eyes glimpsed at him shyly, and the prick of a soft blush warmed her cheeks. The cup and a half of wine she had consumed had already called a flush to taint her features, and thus she was not so embarrassed by the renewed vigor with which her face reddened. However, her womanly nature nipped at her. Defensively, she admitted, "I'm hungry."
His smile grew especially to watch how she shied still around him, and he commended, "Good girl," before drawing another sip.
She glanced at him in surprise, saw the amusement in his dark eyes, and timidly smiled as well. He was constantly griping at her for not eating after all…
Balbus returned with their bowls of stew filled to the brim of each clay dish, and he lingered a moment to replenish their cups of wine before excusing himself. Neither Haemon nor Aurora uttered a word while he was about, but once he was safely out of sight in a nearby room where he could be called if needed, Aurora looked to the Prince and watched him spoon another mouthful. She idly turned the bronze spoon in her grip much like her mind grappled with the question hanging from the tip of her tongue.
Given his relaxed demeanor, good humor, and their christening of their borrowed chambers several times the previous day, she noted she was afforded greater liberty than before. He held steady to the power in their relationship, but gradually she had the sense she was rising beside him. He had told her that was what he desired, but it seemed impossible when he was so overwhelming. His mere presence could topple over anything within reach and leave him the sole pillar standing tall. She felt nervous and uncertain to assume she could stand beside him, but her curiosity had a way giving her transparent courage.
"What was your city like?" she asked softly, but in the silence between them, it sounded so much louder.
He chewed and swallowed a piece of vegetable and considered her with his head cocked slightly over one shoulder. "Alba Longa," he began as he thought of what she would wish to hear, but she interrupted him.
"No… The other one. Your father's city."
A crease formed between his brows, and she was certain then that it had been a poor choice of topic. Promptly, she searched for another avenue to distract him.
He scratched at the grain of his beard and watched her eyes darting across the tabletop as if looking for something. His inclination was to ignore her question and continue speaking about Alba Longa, but he had been the one to tell her the bare facts about Troy and Hector. He had opened the door, and what should he care if she wished to know what lay beyond it? Why did it make him so uneasy to speak about Troy with someone who had not been there? He and his siblings never spoke of it. They pretended their memories had burned alongside her walls. It was a poor strategy for recovering from so great a loss, and it was ineffective. Troy was a part of him. It would always be a part of him.
"Troy was beautiful," he answered at length, and Aurora's posture bobbed to attention. "Our walls were surrounded by open plains of grass and fields where farmers would grow their crops, but inside the walls, the streets were crowded with houses built upon houses so tall I thought they would crumble down when I was a boy." He smiled briefly at the memory of riding before Hector through the streets and recalled the pride coursing through him to be seen alongside the Crown Prince. "And at the center stood the palace higher than all the rest and so large my brothers and I could hide for days—if our father hadn't known the layout as well… From the balcony you could see the villages surrounding our city and past them all the way to the Aegean Sea—"
He paused and drew from his memories to focus on her face completely absorbed with interest.
"You know where the Aegean Sea lies?" he asked, and Aurora shook her head, embarrassed to admit how little of Greece she knew other than that it existed and nothing of what was beyond it.
Haemon pushed his cup of wine into the center of the table and noted, "Here is Apulia." Next he positioned his bowl of stew and pointed, "This is Greece." Drawing a sharply curved line between them, he signaled the border between the land and sea which separated the two.
He glanced at her to be sure she followed, and she nodded again, muttering, "Yes."
He moved her cup of wine to the opposite side of the bowl—Greece—and tapped the base with a soft clink. "This is Troad."
"Troad?" she repeated uncertainly.
"My lands," he explained and faltered as he realized his fault, but he continued and drew a larger curve for the sea between Greece and Troad. "Between them lies the Aegean Sea."
Again, he paused to look at her, and she nodded. "I understand."
Her gaze darted between the three objects and tried to grasp the magnitude of what they symbolized and what he was telling her, and Haemon seemed to give her a moment to process it all.
"Is Troad large?" she wondered.
"No," he confessed. "Perhaps as large as Apulia or even smaller."
She chewed on her bottom lip in thought, completely forgetting what her mother would say about this, and gazed from Troad, her small cup of wine, to Greece, his large bowl of soup. The difference seemed obvious, and she recalled what he had told her of war with Greece. A thousand new questions were born from this realization, but she decided to focus on Troad for the moment, on his home. The memory of war might end their conversation sooner than she liked.
"Troy was on the coast," she assumed.
"Not quite… There were smaller villages along the sea—like Illagus where my mother was born."
Here Aurora couldn't fight away her frown and was certain she misunderstood. "Troy was the capital."
Haemon nodded stiffly and plucked away Apulia, his cup of wine, from their impromptu map to finish the last of it.
"And your father was the crown prince?"
"Yes," he agreed, somewhat surprised that she recalled.
"And your mother…?" She let the question trail off for she wasn't sure how to articulate it.
Haemon caught on and realized why she was so vague with the effect of a smirk gracing his features. "My mother was the daughter of a fisherman from Illagus. Her name was Myrina."
"Is that common?" she wondered earnestly. "In your country?"
"No… My father was meant to marry a princess, but he refused."
"Why?"
"It's complicated," Haemon admitted considering the winding tale his mother had told him and his siblings when they were young and grasping for any piece of their dead father to hold onto.
Her hopeful interest deflated abruptly, and her shoulders sunk a little lower. With every piece of him that he deigned to reveal to her, she was the more curious and intrigued by this prince. Had she been told the man she ran into that fateful night in the corridor of the Apulian palace would be a long forgotten heir to a lost kingdom, she would have thrown her head back and laughed. Now she was nipping to know his story and understand him. He was so much more than she would ever have imagined.
Seeing the effect of his clipped reply, Haemon reluctantly explained, "When they were children, my father and mother met by chance. My father gave her a pin from his robes and promised he would meet her again." Haemon lifted up his hand where the ring on his finger shone in the dim lighting. Aurora gazed at the seal on it and understood now that it was the emblem of Troy since it had been his father's. "They did not see each other again for five years, and my mother returned the pin my father had given her years before…" There the tale took on its momentum and tangled nature, and he wasn't sure how to concisely recount it.
"And?" Aurora prompted impatiently, causing Haemon to smirk humorlessly again.
"They became close friends, and my father would visit her from time to time when he could escape his duties. He soon left for war and was gone for several years, and when he returned…" Again, Haemon paused and searched for the right words. He had never been forced recount such an old tale, and it felt odd to speak of his deceased parents in this way. Their love had been dangerous as Paris and Helen's to all those around them, and they had risked everything to be together—yet his father left them to find glory on the battlefield and his mother gave herself to Aeneas to live out the rest of her days as his wife.
"When he returned," Aurora picked up and assumed, "he saw her differently."
Haemon noted the shimmer of interest and admiration in her gaze. Women would be wooed by such a tale, but she couldn't possibly understand how the ending ruined it all.
"Yes," he said, voice more bitter and curt than before. "He offered to give up his crown, his station, and his family for her, but the King agreed to let them marry. They lived together nearly fifteen years before my father died." His gaze fell to consider the ring, and he acknowledged, "My mother made this from the pin that my father had given her as a present for him early in their marriage. He wore it every day until his death."
She lengthened her neck to better see the unassuming ring on Haemon's finger and doubted she had ever heard of something more romantic. He rarely ever removed it, and she wondered why if it had been a token of his parent's love. She suspected that was not the reason he wore it. What did he see when he looked at it?
Haemon took up the vessel of wine to refill his cup only to discover it emptied and exhaled irritably before calling out, "Balbus!"
Aurora still mused about the tale he had recounted and took no notice when the man did not answer.
"Balbus!" Haemon called again, louder and angrier.
Again, silence, and the Prince looked to Aurora, thinking she might be able to gather the man's attention given her power over the wine maker.
She understood the look in his gaze but deferred, "Perhaps he's fallen asleep…" Frankly, she felt uncomfortable calling for him in a such a manner more than anything.
Haemon frowned with aggravation, but he swept up the vessel, stood, and headed toward the adjacent room where the wine maker usually sat.
Aurora was left to the silence of the room where she could faintly make out of the sounds and light from the exterior coming through the few windows which were shuttered with wooden pieces she supposed to keep out wandering eyes and greedy hands. Large villages such as Rytilä were not known for their safety. In fact, some argued they were havens for thieves and villains. Aurora was grateful for these reasons that they had found shelter with Balbus and not been taken advantage of given their small company. She spooned some of the stew into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Her eyes desired it, but she realized her stomach scarcely had room to place it. She settled for idly stirring the vegetables and meat around and gazing at the "map" on the table.
The front door of the establishment opened without warning, and Aurora stiffened uncertainly and glanced toward the threshold which divided the kitchen and dining area from the front part of the home which was dedicated to his business. A thin piece of fabric separated the two spaces, and with the afternoon light streaming in from the open door, she could make out the shadows moving through the room. Three… Four… No, five shadows moved about, and she kept quiet in hopes they would take no notice of her. What large of a group would come in search of wine? She dared to look away for a moment toward the area where Haemon had disappeared in search of Balbus and found neither had materialized yet. Who would distract and answer these figures if not Balbus? She and Haemon were meant to be nothing more than ghosts resting here for a few days before they took to the High Pass and then Samnium.
Nervously she looked back to the threshold and could not see the shadows any longer. She stood, gaze wholly focused on the slender piece of cloth, and accidently knocked the stool she was sitting in while trying to step around it. It toppled over with a muted clutter, but she fretted it was audible to those shadows lingering about. The door was still ajar. What were they doing?
All of a sudden, the cloth was drawn back, and a man stepped into the threshold, glancing about briefly before finding Aurora in his sights. His uniform warned of his station though his helmet was missing, but all Aurora could focus on was the sword sheathed at his side. Guards.
She couldn't dare utter a word, only looked at the man, and prayed that her worst fears had not been swept onto this doorstep. Would she ever run fast enough or far enough to get away?
"Princess," he said and stepped through the door. The other guards funneled behind him. "We've been searching for you. You're to return to the palace. The King was been distraught by your absence."
Her lips trembled much like the rest of her body, and she could not believe they had found her. How? They had been so careful and quiet. She took a step back, hitting the edge of the table and hearing cups and bowls groan atop the wood. She shuddered at the sound and tried to imagine a way to escape. Surely there was a back door, but she had not seen it. Should she run and hope to evade them? No. They would catch her within seconds of her feet leaving the ground. There were five guards. She could not overpower them. What was she to do? Surrender?
No, her mind hissed at her. Survive.
Without hesitation, she yelled out, "Haemon!"
The first guard frowned in confusion and took toward her, causing her to retreat blindly. She grasped the cup Haemon had drunk from and threw it at the guard, hitting his shoulder and doing little damage if any.
"Haemon!"
She staggered back and tripped on a bunch in the rug scattered across the floor. She fell backward and had the sinking sensation of fate grasping her by the scruff of her neck. This was all too familiar. It would not let her escape twice… She hit the floor with a groan and immediately tried to scramble to her feet.
"What are you doing?"
All attentions left Aurora rushing to her feet to the tall, burly man standing behind her.
"You can't be in here," he continued in a rough tone and stepped around the Princess as if to push the men out of the room. "This isn't your home!"
For a moment, the guard was confused by this interruption, mistaking Haemon for the owner, but soon he realized his mistake. Once within reach, the Prince struck like a snake and stole the guard's sword, slicing up across the man's chest and opening his insides where blood spewed from the wound. He howled and fell back, revealing his accomplices who rushed to take the Prince.
Haemon kicked the stool in front of one man's stride, too soon for the man to adjust his course, and he went toppling onto the ground. Haemon drove his sword through the man's back and only retracted it to deflect the blade swinging for him. The guard recoiled and swung again, narrowly missing when Haemon stepped out of his way. The other guard was at Haemon's side, and Haemon took his wrist, holding him in place when his elbow struck his jaw. The man was dazed and unprepared when Haemon spun and used the guard like a shield between himself and the other man who mistakenly sliced across his friend's back. The space was too small. The guards too inexperienced. Haemon too shrewd a killer. They never stood a chance against the Alban Prince. He threw the guard against his friend who discarded his weapon to catch him, looking sallow and distraught to know the damage he had done to his ally, but he had no time to consider it further for Haemon tore open the man's gut with his blade. The guard fell with his hands grasping his bloody stomach, and only then did the other guard realize he was unguarded. He futilely lifted his arms up as if they could shield him, but Haemon wrenched him by the edge of his armor and threw him back against the wall, then placing the edge of his blade to the man's throat.
"How did you find us?" he snapped and added more force to his weapon, giving the man a thin window to answer.
"The potter!" he answered in a short gasp, and Haemon eased his grip for the man to finished, "We received orders from the capital to look for the princess and her betrothed. We searched about the market and found the potter who said he had directed a couple to the wine maker's home."
The man was shaking and sweating, looking to Haemon as if he were staring at Thanatos himself. The Prince seemed immune and clenched tighter to the man's armor. "Who else knows?"
"No one," he whispered nervously. "Please… I have a family…"
"I counted five," Aurora said from Haemon's left, and he glanced briefly at the Princesss who was pale but standing tall. "There were five guards."
He had only killed three… He frowned and growled, turning his anger on the guard, who recoiled with a look of terror.
"No! Please—"
Haemon stabbed the man through his chest and cut off his appeal. Frothy blood rose to the man's lips, spilling from the corner of his mouth, as he searched Haemon's dark eyes and found no pity or remorse. Haemon retracted his blade and let the body fall limp to the floor. His family could prepare his soul to meet Hades.
The Prince looked to Aurora once more, blood-stained and breathing heavily, and commanded, "Gather our things. We must get to the gate."
Aurora looked at him for a moment and then to the four bodies littered about him. She would never become accustomed to how efficient a killer he was.
"Go," he said more sharply, and she hurried up the stairs to gather their things.
Her hands were shaking. She couldn't find the air to breathe. She threw everything unceremoniously into the packs Atlan had given them and tried not to picture the way the blood pooled across the floor and rugs. The image shifted in her head, twisting to something far more malevolent: her eldest brother pale and screwed on the stone floor where blood thick and dark as oil surrounded him. She shook her head roughly and tried to focus on her shaking hands. Why was everything shaking? She loaded the packs onto her shoulders but was not as strong as Haemon. One was neglected to the ground where she knotted the edge around her wrist and dragged it after her. Her knees were unsteady, and she nearly tumbled down the stairs multiple times, yet somehow she found the strength and will to keep steady. As she alighted the stairs and returned to the main level, she found Haemon had discarded his robes for one of the men's uniforms. He fastened the foreign armor into place as best he could. It was not made for his burly body, but it would do. He sheathed the sword but did not offer to take the packs from Aurora as he normally did.
"Go to the stable, ready the horse, and make for the gate. Stay away from the main street. Avoid crowds. Never linger. Never run." He stepped forward and pulled her cloak about her shoulders, knotting the edges tightly and then drawing the hood onto her head. He tucked the ends of her blonde hair away and readjusted the edges of the cloak to shield her.
She stared up into his face, looking for a clue as to his plan but was granted only a glimpse at the handsome features and his stoic expression. Her stomach fell with the weight of intuition.
With his task completed, he unexpectedly took her chin and considered her face as if he had been avoiding it all this time. Searching her odd eyes, he wondered sternly, "Do you understand?"
"No," she said and might have shook her head had his grip allowed it. "What are you doing?"
"If a guard has seen you and escaped, he'll run to warn the others and trap us inside the walls. Go to the gate, Aurora. I'll make a diversion to distract them."
"I won't leave you!" she countered immediately, and her features screwed at the thought.
"There's no time," he said in a heavier tone, but she did not bend to him as she would before.
"No!" She stepped closer to him like she could stand perfectly in opposition of him and stared fiercely up into those dark eyes. "We go together, Haemon."
Their regards locked, each as stubborn and unyielding as the other, and Haemon muttered, "Stubborn woman," under his breath before snatching up the pack Aurora had been dragging on the ground. His fingers circled her palm and tugged at her hand, drawing her after him as they strode to the back of the house. She clutched tightly to him and kept pace so that they made it swiftly to the back door. He checked around the edges to be sure the narrow way was clear before taking them to the small stable at the back of the home where only two horses were housed.
The old, grey-spotted farm horse shook its mane with recognition when it saw them, and Haemon could only afford the animal a chaste pat on its neck before tying the packs to its back. It could sense their anxious energy and pawed at the dirt, neighing restlessly and tossing its head. Aurora took either side of its long snout in between her palms and guided its head to look at her.
"Easy," she whispered gently and stroked at its short fur. It neighed and tilted its head back, knocking Aurora in the shoulder with its nose. She barely faltered and took hold of it again, hushing it softly as she drew her hands along it. Within a few beats, the horse had focused on its handler and seemed soothed by her gentle words.
Haemon fitted the reigns over the horse's snout and took Aurora's arm so that she joined him at the side of the horse. His hands grasped her waist, and he hoisted her up to sit atop the horse which was odd since he usually mounted before her. She stared down at him uneasily and comforted herself by thinking he would only take the reigns and guide them through the streets. Instead he offered them to her, but she would not accept them.
"Don't do this," she said and frowned deeply as she realized he had only done this much to appease and deceive her.
"Aurora, we can't go together. Not this time. I'll find you outside along the High Pass."
"Haemon, please," she began, but he wouldn't let her finish.
His hands took one of hers and placed the reigns inside her palm, then curling her fingers around them and holding fast to be sure she wouldn't let go. "Trust me. This is our only chance."
No matter how inappropriate or ill timed, her eyes pricked, and a fresh terror electrified her through her spine. She'd never been alone—not since that night, and like then, she had no choice this time.
"Swear to me," she commanded and clenched her jaw to fight back the emotions so that they did not manifest on her face. She didn't want him to know how terrified she was. She wanted to prove she could be strong.
A brief flicker of surprise relaxed his brow, but he released her hand and repeated, "I'll find you."
She said nothing more though there was suddenly so much she wanted to say—like that she didn't hate him, that she was afraid to be without him, that she was stronger because of him. Her eyes merely looked at him, wide and pulsing, and he took a step back to give her space.
"Go to the gate. Wait for the guards to be distracted."
She nodded stiffly and drove her heels into the horse's side. She took off down the narrow alleyway behind the homes. The main street was at her left. In the brief interim between the homes and buildings she could see flashes of the pedestrians and thought it too close. She tugged on the reigns to slow the horse, and it obeyed her seamlessly now unlike when they had first stolen the beast. Suddenly it seemed like so much time had passed. The attack in the forest almost felt like a bad dream, but the nightmare wasn't over. She had to get through the gates, or they would have been separated for no purpose. They headed right deeper into the homes and away from the marketplace where she assumed the guards would be funneling to find them.
Stay hidden, her mind urged her. Keep to the back streets.
The way was narrow, her shoulders nearly brushed against the buildings, and the horse was uneasy. She guided it on though it was difficult to convince either of them this was the proper way to go. Some villagers cursed her for riding about like this and dove out of her way, but she was too terrified to answer or to dismount. She feared being caught on foot knowing she could not flee swiftly but was also afraid to be noticed for this odd behavior. Neither option was ideal, and she decided to ignore it and continue riding toward the gate.
They made it into a larger gap between the buildings where a small side street intersected with the main road, and she dared to look about her and gain her bearings. She saw no guards, but they were scattered all throughout the town. The buildings were too cramped ahead of her to allow her to continue with the same tactic as before. Her only option was to take to the main street, but she was past the market. It wouldn't be so crowded and so dangerous. Her heart thundered in her chest for she knew the sole option available to her. She couldn't dare to draw attention atop the horse, so she reluctantly slipped down to her feet and paused to adjust her cloak and their packs.
"No one will notice us," she muttered less to the horse than herself and started for the main street which led to the gate. Once outside it, she would be in view of the High Pass and perhaps a day's ride from Samnium. How much farther to the capital she didn't know, but she would be safe from Savas in Samnium. The other milieu of dangers, however, still threatened her. She closed her eyes briefly and pushed away those thoughts. She had to focus on the task at hand. Whatever else awaited her, she would deal with it when she and Haemon were reunited. He would protect her. The irony of his absence and that thought sent her stomach into a pit until she visibly winced.
She was at the edge where the buildings gave way to the largest street. Pedestrians ambled up and down the length, and she glanced toward the gate where guards stood sentry at the entrance. An old man with a mule and cart of goods were ahead of her, and without thinking, she followed behind it, using him to distract the guards from her. She kept her hood up and covering her face. Along the top of the gates was a ledge where guards walked about and oversaw everything within the city. Her pace was slow and even, shadowing after the cart. With every step they drew closer to the gate, the harder her heart pounded until it felt it might tear through her chest. She should have waited in the side street, but she was afraid to be seen lingering. She couldn't turn away now, or she would draw more attention. She was walking into the guard's hands, and she thought of Haemon. What was he doing? Had he been caught already?
No, she thought, it would take more than a few guards to hold him.
That much she was certain about the Prince, and as he had said, she needed to trust him. He swore to her he would come through, but many vain promises had been made over the years to Aurora and not kept. She continued behind the old man and his cart, pausing with him when the guards stopped him to look through his cart. This was unusual. They knew Aurora and Haemon were here. They wouldn't let her pass. Seeing that the man's cart was only filled with goods and hiding no fugitives, the guard opened one side of the gate to let him through. The old man began to leave, and the guard turned his attention to Aurora who was fortunate to have the sun's angle shading her face. She stood there as he approached, not sure what to do or say, when suddenly there was a burst of commotion behind them.
A loud explosion echoed down the street though its source was unknown, and the guards were enlivened as one man standing at the ledge announced, "Fire! Fire!"
A bronze bell was rung, and the guards rushed toward the town square where the market lay and smoke could be seen billowing up between the buildings.
Haemon, Aurora knew, relieved by this diversion and still unnerved by her escape. Without hesitation, she turned toward the gate still ajar from the old man and hurried through even as a guard from above called out, "You! Wait! You can't leave!"
She could, and she did. On the opposite side of the gate, she mounted the horse and took off toward the High Pass where she rode past the old man who shouted that she had borrowed Hermes' sandals. She would have had the god offered them, but her only thought was to place as much distance between Rytilä and herself as possible because it meant distancing herself from those guards…but also Haemon.
He had told her not to, but she couldn't stop herself from looking over her shoulder at the walls and the black smoke billowing up from inside.
Author's Note: Hey dolls! The plot thickens, eh? :) Will Latium go to war with Apulia? What will become of Atlan? Will Haemon find Aurora? Oh, I'll tell you next time...maybe haha I apologize for the delay, but my mom came to visit so I was distracted!
Thanks to AmyLNelson and klandgraf2007 for the sweet reviews :D
Amy: Ah! I managed to surprise the all-seeing, Amy :) I'll go ahead and do a little jig in honor of that rare feat haha I'm so happy you love that Damian is a traitor! Obviously I do too since I made it happen, and I totally understand what you mean about it being oddly more romantic that way. I really wanted his and Iliana's romance to be very different from Haemon and Aurora's though the same themes of deception and identity permeate the whole story. Awww you're playing favorites, are you? That's acceptable! After all you were in love with Hector, and Haemon is Hector's son so it makes sense :D I wonder what you think about what Haemon did in this chapter! Hmmm... How are plans for Paris coming along? Still so jealous, girl! xoxo
klandgraf: Hey! I take that as an odd compliment. If noting else, it was unexpected, and I wanted that soooo it's sort of a win ;) Hope you liked this chapter xoxo
