“What now?,” he asked a bit more throatily than usual. “Will you drag me back by the hair? Because voluntarily, I won’t come.” The will of the Goddess did not permit doubt. Did not permit hesitation. Or mercy. The laws Penthesilea knew as true stormed her mind. The ancients could not be mistaken, could they? Not if the Goddess herself had provided and approved of their laws. After all, it was her heartbeat that sounded throughout nature. Her breath that gave life to what was dead. And her sacred fury that would claim it back again. What was nature without her? What a queen? For once, she desperately wished not to be forced into a decision. That someone else could take this weight from her and load it onto their own shoulders. Someone. Anyone. As if the silent pleading had been her sign, a body of light materialized on the way before her. Thestia. The great queen’s presence spread over the soil, captured every stone, every ray of sunlight. An appearance of pure vibrancy, pulsing over the bottom of the forest. Immediately, Penthesilea recognized the reason for her mother’s incomprehensible journey. Undoubtedly, a messenger sent by the Goddess stood before her, claiming another wrongdoer’s life. She bit her lip. Her hand cramped around the dagger’s haft, pressing it even stronger against Haimon’s throat. And yet it was not put to use. Not with the slave’s eyes reaching the most secret depths of her self. So warm and icy. Rebellious and begging. Hopeful and weary. Moment by moment, her arm began to tremble. And while she still desperately commanded it to thrust it only ever continued to shake. And shake. And shake. Pleading for help, she looked up at her mother. But instead of leading the dagger herself, Thestia’s appearance abandoned the supplicant. Her shape slowly vanished into thin air while a contemptuous gaze returned to her youngest daughter for a last time. Tears of shame entered Penthesilea’s eyes. She had failed. Would fail. Disappointment robbed her arm's last strength and the dagger sunk, releasing Haimon’s neck. With a quavering sigh, he propped up into a sitting position. Half slumped, still breathing heavily, he finally turned to seek her gaze from the corner of his eyes. She avoided it. Looked at the bottom, still fighting with tears. Completely worn out. “Aéd!” From where the woman crouched several steps away, a sob of relief resounded. “A-nis tha a h-uile dad gu bhith gu ceart! Now everything's gonna be alright!” Haimon’s gaze was diverted. Left the Amazon. His entire body turned to the woman on the way. Member of his people. Speaker of his language. One of his own kind. “Tha. Mu dheireadh. Yeah. Finally.” Someone he certainly would not run away from but choose to stay with. The next moment Penthesilea remembered, she pulled her dagger back. Watched blood spill out a slit in recurring gushes, full of awe. While her originally white garment became soaked, warm and slippery. “Shit-,” Haimon exclaimed as he closed his hands around her wrist, trying to push the dagger away. “You- filthy, little- whore!” Amazed, the world lit up. Soundless. Breathless. Timeless. Waiting for... her to awaken again. Inmidst of all that yelling silence, something bumped into her stomach, causing a reflexive contraction. Sinking forward, wrapping her arms around herself, it began to dawn on her that she could not allow the redhead to go. She would not survive that. Undoubtedly, he would alarm the villagers. And... She could not stand seeing him leave. Maybe she should do it quickly. Be merciful. Scenes passed in front of her eyes. Xanthippe and her, fighting as youths. Serkon on the drill ground. Thestia, swinging the sword. Blindly, her hand fumbled for Haimon’s shoulder. As something warm came into reach, she held onto it. Drew it back. Supported herself to raise onto one kneeling leg. Clasped the haft. And stabbed, where the fog left her a hole to see, where it would be fast. An ugly gurgling sounded. A sputter. Something slumped heavily against her upper body. Drove all the tension out at once. All the insecurity. Gently, as if handling a scared child, her fingers stroke over thick, clotted strands of hair and a stubbly chin. She let the limp body glide onto the ground, bedded the head down. Carefully, she arranged the limbs. They did not watch her. The eyes that had always been so brisk, now laying empty and crushed. The knowledge grew with each moment that passed: she had executed what honor and justice demanded. The Goddess would be pleased. Unfathomably slow, her hand reached out to touch the eyelids of her lover. Steady fingers closed them. Only at the fringes of her conscious mind she was taught about the constant tugging at her arm. Her attention turned toward it. A brown dress, dry white sleeves, a woman drowned in tears. It was her who tried to drag her away, stammering and sobbing incomprehensible words. Half-heartedly, Penthesilea tried to shake her off. In vain. So she rose and stepped back and finally, the woman fell to her knees with a bloodcurdling scream and threw herself over the body below. Some shouts broke through the yelling silence like through a shell. They came from the village. A group of men and women had spotted them, pointing at the alienating scene. I should run, the queen realized. And she did. Past the wailing Westerner, the repeated “No. No. No, Aéd no!”. While running, she picked her cloak up from the soil, then followed the path. Away from the body. Away from the village. Away from the people who would want to see her dead. At the end of this chapter's first half, we are left with the first dead main character. I'm sorry for that but do believe you have been warned for a few chapters now. And let's face reality - dying in his homeland was definitely more worthy of our favorite red-haired slave than being drowned for having a child he doesn't want. :( May the Great Mother bless his soul. This chapter has extra screenshots in the gallery
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Before we get started, a shoutout to Bugsie who has given me the patience for building the scenery of this chapter! She has listened to my rantings about placing trees for days. And stones... and trees... and flowers... and trees... And... I think you got the idea of what was going on. If not for the two people striding along on the earthy path before her, Penthesilea would have groaned with pain. Despite the day’s sunniness, black frost crept into her mind and kept occupying it mercilessly. The fight not to be overborne by it was all the fiercer after a restless night. Only twice or thrice had she been startled into consciousness by obscure thoughts. Then, she had sat upright on the filthy blankets, waiting for the state of oppressive confusion to pass. When finally the morning had begun to dawn over the curved roofs of wood and straw, Penthesilea had risen from the creaky bedstead, finally enabled to shut the combined pain of lack of sleep and the cold out of her head. Partially, at least. After she had gagged on a bit of bread and cheese purchased from the innkeeper with turning stomach, she had hurried to leave the tavern and had kept an eye of its entrance from a hidden spot. Completely unlike him, Haimon had taken his time to appear. Standing around aimlessly, the queen had already felt the overly curious gazes of the villagers resting on her the more of them had moved a foot outside of their doors. But when he had shown up, he hadn’t been alone. The mysterious woman from the night before had been at his side and since then – since Penthesilea had followed them inconspicuously – she accompanied him. Their pace was far too quick and the bounce in their steps too light. During the entire time they chatted lively, laughing together or fooling around. How insolent!, Penthesilea thought banishing the clear birdsong coming from the surrounding trees from her mind. He barely met her and is already coquetting brazenly. Admittedly, she was pretty and also a few suns younger than herself – but no raving beauty. Not even a hint exciting. Just a simple Western woman, her savage nature underlined by the shining white stripe in her face. She matched that wild, rough land and people well. However, Haimon didn’t. And that very moment, he lifted her from the ground and swung her around in half a turn. Her giggle filled the air and echoed in Penthesilea’s ears. Half laughing, half gasping for air she uttered some sentences in that incomprehensible, harsh tongue. It was so strange to listen to the same words come out of Haimon’s mouth, too. As he set his escort back down onto the soil, she sneaked a peek over his shoulder – at their follower. Penthesilea’s gut twisted. Trying to keep up a steady pace to stay unsuspicious, she watched the woman point into her direction. Haimon turned. Captured her with a gaze. The Amazon dared a last look that went further than the two travelers – as her heart began to thump painfully. In their front, not far away any more, a village had appeared between the trees. She would have to act soon. Immediately, if they started running. She could impossibly justify her claim on him in front of so many people. They would rather chase her away than surrender someone who at least looked like one of their own. The woman talked at him, words leaving her mouth like a waterfall. And finally, they managed to draw his attention to her again. Penthesilea breathed a sigh of relief, lowered her head and pulled her hood down to hide her face. As soon as they would turn away, she would start running. And pray that her head start would suffice to close in on them before they came close enough to the first people. But they didn’t turn. And they didn't run. Instead, they stayed, standing in the middle of the path. Waiting for her. Oh Goddess. You have revealed your will. Now, please, provide me with the chance to conduct it, illustrious one. Indeed, the goddess seemed to take mercy on her daughter. At least her target and his companion didn’t try to flee while she approached. With still a few steps of distance between them, the woman raised her voice. Blithesome and warm, belying her uncivilized appearance. “Gun robh mhàthair leatsa, good lady. May the Great Mother be with you. What do ye seek in our tiny village? We rarely have guests.” “You,” Haimon corrected with a lenient smile. Sticky sweat detached itself from Penthesilea’s hairline, held back from blurring her sight only by the brow. Only a few more steps. A few moments of stringing them along until she would be within reach. Three steps… One… Done. “Not what,” she responded threateningly and unfastened the cloak around her shoulders, “but whom.” Full of determination, her eyes met those of the man who had managed to keep hold of her desire for so many suns. He was… thunderstruck. Stared at her, indecisive if he should believe the image that unfolded before his eyes. “You?,” he blurted out. “Here? How did you… they hate Amazons here.” His female escort’s look incredulously wandered back and forth between them. Seeking truth in the dismissive faces. In the chilling glare that was exchanged. “Ama- Amazons? Is she… ye know her?” Harshly, Penthesilea interrupted the confused question. “Who is this woman?” “Attacking us here would be a great mistake,” Haimon stated defiantly instead of an answer. He tilted the head toward the first huts at the end of the way. “We’d get help in an instant.” “Is that so?” With flashing eyes, the queen seized the haft of her dagger and brought it out, agonizingly slowly. The blade creaked against the short sheath. “Who is this woman? Next time, I will not bother to ask.” “Ooooh.” He sucked in the air, arched a brow. “You’re jealous.” “No.” Another step toward him let the woman with the painted face back off. “I am here to retrieve what is mine by right.” “Then go,” the redhead hissed, “you won't find that here.” “But I do see it right before me.” With deliberate steps, she began to circle them. A lioness measuring her prey. “Please, good lady,” the brown-haired Westerner begged shyly, “I don’ know what quarrel ye have with him but he surely didn’t mean any harm.” “My dear, I do not want to question how much you know about this man but he has committed a damnable crime. Murder.” “Shit, no!,” Haimon shouted. “I didn’t kill anyone!” “Impossible!” One hand covering her mouth in horror, the woman’s eyes widened. “He’d never do such a thing! Never!” “That’s my people, nobody will buy those lies here.” In his voice, a certain satisfaction masked both anger and uncertainty. That and the truth behind his words upset her all the more. “I do not need their trust to get my will.” Her dagger made the air fizz as it cut through it. Birds soared up and flapped away in a hurry, scared off by a sudden cry of fear that was soon swallowed by the close standing trees. Haimon had managed to dodge her thrust and faced her with heaving chest, shielding the trembling and whimpering Westerner with his back. His angry stare prickled at the Amazon's skin. “Gods, you’re insane! Put that dagger away!” As an answer, she led another cut. At the last moment, he could avoid it but the Amazon hit his nose with a blow of her fist already. He gave a loud groan. “There you see what that feels like.” “Why are you defending an asshole who was the slave of your greatest enemy? For the Great Mother’s sake, he wanted to see your only tribe member dead!” “She is not my enemy. But a slave would not understand,” Penthesilea asserted while the other woman shied away at her incessant pacing. The world had shrunk to herself, the forest in her immediate vicinity and the two people in front of her. “I’ve never been your slave, Gods damn your Amazon ways!,” Haimon flashed back. The daughter of Thestia jumped forward again. Worked round to find the safest approach toward the opponent. “Run to the village! Get help!“ Crying, the slave’s new lover stumbled a few steps backward before she finally turned as she was told. Headed for the huts. No. Not after she had come so far. Who knew what the villagers would do to her if they got her into their grasp? So Penthesilea threw herself into the next attack with all strength available. In the end, she knew she could trust in her skills and the inferiority of her enemy. Their bodies collided. Haimon was sent to the ground. She herself fought hard to keep balance. No sooner had she succeeded than she flew forward again to press the dagger’s blade against the redhead’s throat. “Stop!” The authority within the command achieved its aim. Some distance away, the Western woman stopped and turned around, tears filling the eyes. “If you dare to move even as much as a finger’s breadth, you will have to blame only yourself for his death.” A touch of all the tenseness left her with the dangerous messenger being stopped. “You won’t.” Despite of his firm conviction, Haimon laid still in her grip. “You won’t kill who saved your life and shared your bed. Who’d be next? Protego? Io? One of your dau-” “Shut up!” Much to her surprise, her order was obeyed. Venturing closer eventually, the Westerner fell to her knees. Desperately, she wrought her hands. “Please! Please, let us go good lady. I’ll stay away from him if ye wish but please, don’ hurt him!” Her voice was bright with fear. “‘Who begins the path of the sword will soon stand alone,’ the Great Mother says. Please, let us go and I’ll pray for you every day from now on. I swear,” she whispered. “Shut up!,” Penthesilea repeated breathlessly, as if woken from a deep slumber. Suddenly the surroundings that had faded away earlier assailed her with an unknown fierceness. For a while, entire mankind seemed to have gone silent. The whole world was but silence. Birdsong had ended long ago already. No breeze ever touched the ground of the forest. Not even the leaves floated over the dirty path. Three pounding hearts were the only sign of life perceivable. Blood pulsed within the queen’s ears. At her chest, Haimon still laid motionlessly, breath shallow. And while his head was still pressed against her, the dagger hurt the vulnerable skin at his throat, drawing a trickle of blood. It was so... familiar. His closeness and warmth. The light, surreal blue eyes seeking hers. Their straight look. “What now?,” he asked a bit more throatily than usual. “Will you drag me back by the hair? Because voluntarily, I won’t come.” This chapter has an extra screenshot in the gallery
Half a moon later. Each step a struggle, Penthesilea fought against the grim wind. The biting cold pierced the thick cloak, tightened her inside. It took iron hold of her mind, shutting out any other thoughts. Her entire body felt frozen stiff, her muscles barely movable. How anyone could survive in that frost, let alone live there was beyond her. Eyes filled with tears from the wind, she desperately wished to feel her face again and not only so as a dead attachment that shielded her from the hostile environment. What would she give for a fire, for a bit of warmth to breach the icy shell around her skin. For pleasant company. The further she had advanced westward, the unfriendlier the weather had become. From day to day, the surroundings had turned more haunting and colorless as if to scare unwanted travelers off. The path led through through woods and alongside the foot of tall, waste mountains. She hadn’t felt it – not that much – while Amadahy had still been with her, but now that the creator had cut her own path and there was no one any more to keep her distracted, the changes of landscape and climate were overwhelming. Shivering, she thought back to the day of her rash leave. Charon, the groom-to-be of Alexander’s niece, had succeeded to pick the lock sooner than expected. Phyllis had dashed out of the basement room and clung to her skirt in tears and inconsolable. And yet an oppressive feeling had beset her having seen with her very own eyes that young Charon was able to open a door created not to be opened in such a short time. While she would be far away for many days and nights. Well, he had received a generous reward. Even though he had vehemently denied at first, convinced otherwise only by the cajoling talk of his betrothed and Alexander. Another gust tore her out of the refuge she had found in her memory, exposing her to the aggressive weather she found herself in. The warrior she had met in the morning had assured repeatedly the next village was only a day’s journey away if she followed the path. She really hoped so. In the meantime, most people she encountered eyeballed her curiously for the strange behavior. Clearly, men ruled over this area and running across a woman who traveled alone was a rarity that caused quite a sensation. Not exactly conducive for her aim. Many whom she asked for a red-haired man and the direction he had headed were careful to answer and an increasing number of them didn’t understand in the first place, speaking a throaty, harsh tongue that just failed to appear friendly to her in any case. And more and more red-haired men, women and children walked among the residents, making it hard to specify what man exactly she meant. She sighed, relieved that she would soon be in the company of people again. People who wouldn’t understand her but at least they would be loud and lively and put some life back into her, too. The only thing she could hope for was that her less eye-catching clothing worked, that they wouldn’t pay her too much attention. Serkon had willingly given her the clothes and as much as she felt out of place in her wide, concealing disguise, it drew far less gazes than her own clothing would probably have done. Sometimes she still spotted women dressed like the Dekanos or Arythions so she could mingle with them. But never had she discovered another Amazon and thus left her long dagger hidden beneath the cloak. When she had left the chamber in the Dekanos palace, at first Serkon’s amazed gaze had wandered over her unfamiliar appearance in a way that had made his wife bristle with jealousy. Then, he’d burst out in a resounding laugh. That she had kept the changed exterior had only been an act of defiance – otherwise she would have turned on the heels and ordered the slave women to return her own clothes. However, she was grateful for the disguise now. But all the new experiences drained her of any strength. Why would Haimon seek this clammy solitude voluntarily? Why did he lock a little girl up without any food for that? At least she wouldn’t have to burden herself with escorting him back. The very moment Amadahy and she had left, Zeuxippe had sought her out. “I have good news,” she had declared showing off a wide smile, “Hekuba is expecting. She just found out.” There it was. An unmistakable sign from the goddess, sealing the fugitive slave’s fate. Now that Zeuxippe’s warrior was with child, the one last duty that had kept death away from him was removed. However, Amadahy had been doubtful. “Let the goddess decide, Penthesilea,” she had tried to talk into her. “This is not a decision you or Zeuxippe must take into your own hands but that you must put into the more knowledgeable ones of a priestess.” Still, the daughter of Thestia didn’t know why the creator would insist so keenly. After all, the goddess had decided already, had she not? In the end, she had dismissed her companion’s concerns politely but determinedly and Amadahy hadn’t tried to bring them up again ever since. She had meant well, and as Penthesilea passed the village gate she wished they wouldn’t have had to part so soon. Maybe they could have become friends under different circumstances, with more time. But who could choose what the Goddess imposed onto them? The gate was closed behind her for the night to ensure the townspeoples’ safety. Disoriented, she let her gaze travel. The usual, in the meantime a bit more familiar long-roofed huts made of wood and stone bordered the road. Animals settled for the night within narrow enclosures while the last people were on their way home to spend the evening with their families, seeking closeness around a crackling fire. How much she missed her daughters and Io. But maybe even more important in that moment was to warm her frozen bones up again and fill her rebelling stomach. Unconsciously, her hand wandered toward the pouch of leather beneath her cloak. Her provisions had come to an end the other evening, she would have to broach the gold that was supposed to be a reserve. Spotting what seemed like a tavern, she sighed. This undertaking had already devoured more goods than she had thought. As she entered, warmth tingled on her skin immediately, showing once more how numb her limbs really were. It was a jolly circle inside. Men of relative wealth and higher standing sat around tables with those of their own kind, enjoying their meals in silence while from the other side, bellowing sounded through the door onto the empty place before it. Humid air, pregnant with sweat and the sweetish, barmy smell of alcohol in male breaths streamed into the arrival’s lungs. Despite the strange mixture, Penthesilea felt her stomach growl. As soon as she had taken place, a middle-aged woman steered toward her, thumped a bowl spattered by the greasy remains of a flavorsome stew at the table right under her nose and addressed her at the same time. Confused, the queen looked up. “My apologies, but I do not understand.” “Oh. Yeah, well, m’lady, why didn’ ye tell me earlier? Ye wanna somethin’ between yer teeth?” Dumbfounded, Penthesilea stared at the light-skinned, resolute person who didn’t exactly meet the ideal of a docile, gracious wife. Where was her husband? “Yes, something to eat would be marvelous. And if maybe you could provide some information? Please.” “Sure, ye ask right away an’ tell me if ye wan’ soup or bread an’ cheese.” Penthesilea’s gaze returned to the dry bowl in front of her. The ‘soup’ didn’t look the least appealing, but with all the fat it should be worth its price and would keep her warm for the night and in the cold outside when she would leave again in the morning. “Soup. And did a stranger with red hair and blue eyes stop over here?” Half had she already expected the uncomprehending look everyone gave her at that question. “Dunno, m’lady, there are many of those. But I don’ talk about guests anyway.” Sighing, the queen gave in in spooning her soup with ingredients as unrecognizable as the size of the grease film floating on it. Meanwhile, she examined the other guests carefully from the edge of her eyes. The blonde who really appeared to be alone suggested by the polite superiority of her behavior incessantly scampered around between the tables, asked for wishes and laughed carelessly at the occasional jokes and ribaldries thrown at her. A highly stressed couple tried to feed their little daughter while their son kept running away and hovering about a group of rough men who trifled with a heavily made-up girl. One of them had pulled her onto his lap under the thunderous applause of his mates. He – and the others, too – touched her in very unbecoming ways while she uninhibitedly stroked his beard. Another one jumped up, thrusting his fist into the air above him. His shout was received with approving cries and everyone assembled, leaving their in large part already eaten meals behind with no hesitation. Couples found themselves all on their own – the parents of the little family, the groper and his girl. In unison, the onlookers started to sing and suddenly, motion entered the ones in the middle. In deep awe, the queen watched huge and small feet hit the ground simultaneously, bouncing at the bottom in resounding thuds. Men and maidens twisted their legs and untangled them again in swift turns, jumps, by switching places, forming rows and pairs in quick succession. Skirts flew, girls whirled around to the wild, ever-changing chant of the bystanders. The speed grew bolder and bolder the louder shouts and cheers reached the dancers’ ears. Encouraged them to set an even faster rhythm in which the bystanders joined with avid clapping. One man standing aside, his arm slung around a friend’s neck, now roared an apparently popular song over the heads of his heated countrymen. Others chanted along with it in a gruesome, half-drunken choir. The more clear-headed ones didn’t have more to spare for them than good-natured laughter and enthusiasm for the zealous hops and twists. And in all that frenzy, among the dancers, Haimon didn’t move the least less skilled or cumbersome than the others, always leading a woman with one hand or facing one even as they had reached a breathtaking pace. Where had he come from, and when? How did he master those complicated steps when Penthesilea had never seen him dancing or anything alike? Where had he got the unfamiliar clothes from? And who was the woman who had appeared from nowhere with him? The way their glances entwined when they met during the dance… They knew each other. How shamelessly close he came to her every once in a while. How shamelessly close he came to every woman over there. Nobody cared. Nobody cared about the exposed legs, the bare skin and swaying hips of some of the dancers. Caught in the ecstasy of the rhythm, they even applauded the sickening performance. Penthesilea snorted in disgust to ease the angered trembling of her hands. What a low demeanor. Not so much surprising for the Western people, but the master slave and lover of an Amazon queen should do better. The fast movements. The many people, the noise and lewd conduct eventually went to Penthesilea’s head. Half dazed, she waved for the innkeeper who had held off as the only one, her face a much satisfied grimace. “How much do I owe you for the meal and a room for tonight?” “A room? An own one?,” the other woman flashed back in her nauseating, plodding accent while the Amazon had to concentrate to understand her beside all the jollity. “M’lady don’ wanna sleep together with all those ruffians?” “Of course an own one.” The indication alone that a queen would do as much as consider sharing a room with another person – let alone any of those men! – was an insult already. But just like her countrymen, this woman was ignorant beyond all measure. And there was no way to risk for her true identity to be revealed before time and give Haimon the chance to flee again. This time, it was her who had the edge over him. “Good, very good.” Rubbing her palms, the blonde gave an immoderately high sum. Penthesilea paid in advance and without negotiating which would in the worst case draw attention from the revelers. Revealing an only partially preserved set of teeth in a grin of satisfied greed, her host took her earnings. “I am worn out by the journey. See to that no one will disturb me- Please.” “Of course, of course, m’lady. All will be to yer likin’,” was the last the fair-haired woman assured willingly before the daughter of Thestia set off, toward a sufferably clean room and a sleepness night. ← Chapter 44 Chapter 46 →
“Creator Amadahy!” Surrounded by the other leaders, two bodyguards in his back, Alexander of Arythion rose to receive the foreign ruler. “In the name of the all-knowing Sea God, be welcome at my table today.” “Thank you, great King, for honoring me with your invitation.” A short bow of the head, to meet the protocol. Her sweet words were dismissed with a generous wave, yet didn’t fail their purpose. The young man’s face lit up evidently. “Why certainly. It is a rare occasion that a queen is led here by a merciful god. Or goddess- Hopefully you will entertain and enlighten us with news on the life and kingdoms from afar without letting us beg too much.” “I will gladly do my best to contribute to your amusement.” Alexander pointed to his right. “My dear friend and trusted counselor, Boras of Borathion, son of Pyrrhos, and his son, Herchion. Zeuxippe, daughter of Rheia and leader of Arythion’s mercenaries.” Disapproval entered the Amazon queen’s face but seemed to escape Alexander. “And Serkon, king of Dekanos whom you already know.” He turned, then continued to introduce his liegemen and relatives. “My brother-in-law, Alexandros, high priest of the Sea God and father of my beautiful nieces Cheira, Selena and Phiona.” “The ruler of Chonar, Deipyros and prince Advik, married to his older daughter and thus successor to the throne. And at last, Hepatos of Vauros.” “Now enjoy yourself, creator. Let the festivities begin!” Alexander waved for the nearest slave, demanding a glass and wine while the kings sought their usual, preferred company. A few steered toward the Amazons. As the oldest, Boras came to pay his respects before the others. Since his friend Evandros’ death, he had aged rapidly and the almost 70 suns of his life became clearly visible for the very first time, crooking his back and robbing him of his former strength. “High respect to you and your queen, creator, that a foreign warrior may attend the feast a man caters without bad blood between them.” A huge breakout from her earlier reserve, Amadahy flashed back at him full of humor. “My goddess, Nanina, chooses our allies and friends wisely. Who am I to question her wish, my lord?” Boras’ spoke on while he subtly leaned onto his son. The boy’s worried eyes traveled upward to search his fathers’ but the latter kept them fixated on the two women in front of him. “Keep your wits, creator. They are the only way to face the challenges of this world without giving them too much power.” “Such a wise man’s advise will be greatly honored. Penthesilea has told me only good things of you, my lord.” A soft tone laid in her voice as she spoke to the old man. “Yes,” the Borathion agreed with a gentle gaze toward the daughter of Thestia, “she is indeed special.” Then, he turned toward the foreign warrior again. “May Thalessos of the Sea and Bright Mitera bless all of your ways, creator, and maintain peace between our people.” “As far as that lies in my doing and Nanina allows it, peace will indeed rule between us,” queen Hawika’s champion promised. “You are always invited to my compound and fireplace although I am sure that Penthesilea does her best to fulfill your every wish.” Hit at a tender spot, the other Amazon flinched. After all, Zeuxippe’s remark was true – their tribes were incomparable in both size and wealth. However, Amadahy answered her determinedly. “Thank you very much for your kind offer, my lady, but I am very comfortable with her company and my current accommodations.” “Oh, I just thought… Queen Hawika must live in a more… impressive place, does she not?” “She does indeed, her palace is unrivaled by any other tribe of Amazons.” Breathing in sharply, Zeuxippe shifted her weight. “Well, that is… comprehensible. I thought as much.” Awhile, an awkward silence laid over the small group that was only interrupted by a resounding laugh. Curiously, Amadahy’s head turned into the respective direction. “Alexandros. The priest,” Serkon explained who stepped up while Zeuxippe had left, sensing that she wasn't welcome. “None of his three daughters have the same mother and yet Alexander esteems him. Having a chosen of the Sea God in the family secures Arythion’s power while he is still young.” After a short break, he chuckled. “By all gods, certainly there are some more children of his, spending their lives in secret! It is a miracle that he does not have a dozen of them!” Beside him, Lyta crossed her arms. “It’s a miracle, too that you don’t have a dozen of them with this concubine of yours. What does your wife think about her?” A deep line appeared above his nose. “Someone should teach you to recognize when it is not appropriate to raise your voice.” “Because you aren't comfortable with what I say?,” Lyta challenged him. Penthesilea sensed one of the rare but all the more fierce arguments between Serkon and his daughter arising. No matter how many liberties he granted her, offenses against his pride and honor wouldn't be tolerated in any case. Before the upcoming dispute could even begin, the heavy gate swung up. A small figure stood below it, one hand slung around a slave’s shoulders. While the others were still frozen in surprise, a broad-shouldered man detached from the group of rulers and rushed toward the arrival. The woman reached out for him. “Advik.” The word resembled a sigh of relief. “Step back,” the prince barked at the slave. Effortlessly, he wrapped Io’s arm around his own shoulder and carried her toward a chair where he put her down carefully. When Penthesilea reached her, the paleness of her provider’s face and her exhaustion frightened her. Had she come all the way from the compound on her own while the birth was imminent? That was irresponsible, and she of all should know that. “My lady, I- I have news, but only for you.” A nervous look around her confirmed what Penthesilea knew anyway – almost all of the present ones belonged to royalty, many of them were part of the Council. If Io’s news were as bad as they sounded in advance, she would have to inform them anyway. “It’s alright, Io,” she tried to reassure the unusual messenger. It didn’t matter what the other leaders would think. In the moment, the only one who mattered was her friend. So she knelt down beside her and took her hand, squeezing it slightly. “Tell me now, they can hear.” “A- Alright.” At the encouraging pressure, Io took the heart she required to make her report. “Phyllis and Protego are locked in the basement room and I can’t find the keys. When I laid down I put them beside me, but they aren’t there any more.” Relief washed through Penthesilea, and Lyta behind her relaxed significantly as well. “Don’t worry, we can deal with that. We will find the keys and free Phyllis. It’s easier with more people who have more liberty of action, you will see.” Amadahy stepped up closer. “I do not mind helping.” “Thank you.” Penthesilea gave her a grateful smile but was interrupted by a voice high from desperation. “You- you don’t understand,” Io shouted, “the keys aren’t there any more. Haimon isn’t there any more!” “No!” That was everything Penthesilea could utter after the first shock had left. Everyone in the hall had fallen silent, some from sympathy or anger, others only because they didn’t dare to raise their voice into the embarrassed silence. Disregarding Io’s pleading huge eyes, she took the small woman’s arms and shook her in incredulity. “How can he? I gave you order to lock him up when either Lyta nor I are at home, how can he escape from the basement?” Tears welled up in Io’s eyes as her teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. “I- I’m sorry, I pitied him so much, he sees the light so rarely and- and he has never tried to leave before and- I didn’t think he’d ever-” A deep sob interrupted the quick flow of her words. “It’s enough.” Alexander put a hand on her arm and forcefully pulled her away from the crying woman. “Let her rest for a while. Meanwhile, we will debate on further steps.” Penthesilea took a long breath. “You’re right.” She begged Io for apology with a short look. “But we won’t debate. This concerns only my tribe, and my slave. I will go after him and retrieve him so his duties toward Zeuxippe can be fulfilled. And then he will be executed as planned. No slave will have his way against my will.” “I’ll go with you!,” Lyta declared. “No. You will stay here and look after Io and your sister.” She threw a glance at her provider whom Advik held in a protective embrace while she wet his chest. “They need a calm hand now to look after them.” “If you need help or advice, Serkon will be at your disposal.” The addressed one nodded briefly. “Whoever harms one of my sisters harms all of us.” Zeuxippe approached her fellow queen. “Let me accompany you, for the sake of our friendship and because he is still indebted to me.” “Thank you, my friend. But as much as I appreciate your offer, at least one of us should stay and see that our interests are not disregarded while we are away.” “Rheia can lead my tribe for a few days just as well as Hippolyta.” “Please, do me this favor. I must do this alone.” A weary sigh, then Zeuxippe gave in. “Alright. Go with the Goddess, then.” “I will.” “Please excuse that I interrupt your moment, Penthesilea, but should you not ponder on how to get your other daughter out of that cell first?” “That...” Amazed, she stared at Serkon. To be honest, the more embarrassing part of the revelation had almost pushed Phyllis’ predicament aside. Helplessly, she turned to Boras and Alexander. “Is there any smith in your tribes who could re-make a key for the lock?” “That would last too long,” Serkon pointed out. “You should look more thoroughly first. Io can’t move properly, surely there are some places that are yet untouched.” “Dad, the key isn’t on the compound any more! Searching won’t help!” “Watch your language, young lady!,” Serkon shot back. Everyone’s nerves were on the edge. “Silence!,” Alexander commanded. “Only those with a reasonable suggestion are allowed to speak. Calmly.” His dark eyes sparkled with fury. After a few moments, a black-haired, tall youth approached the king of Arythion. “Uncle,” she addressed him respectfully. “Maybe Charon can open the door. He has freed himself from the storage room when Mestykles locked him up in there.” The girl had wakened Alexander’s interest. “A brilliant idea, Cheira. Where is your betrothed?” Quietly, the group divided and gave way for another youth who had just left the cusp from childhood. That very moment, he was pale from the attention that was entirely drawn onto him as he stepped forward to face the High King. “Charon. Do you think that you are able to open the door of Penthesilea’s cell without the key?” Nervous glances flew over the tribal leaders, a short peek at the queen before he opened his mouth and spoke with a breaking voice that matched his scrawny figure all too well. “I… I don’t know, my lord?” The girl touched his arm, begged him. “Please, Charon. Please. A little girl is down there and she’s terribly afraid of the dark and loneliness. Please, help her.” He gave her a doubtful look. “Uh… I could try, at least?” “Thank you!” Both Cheira and Alexander beamed at him with pride and relief and the girl even flung her arms around his neck. “Now, let us try that for now.” With a wink, Alexander dismissed his guests. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable with him seeing our home while Hippolyta, Phyllis and Io will be alone,” Penthesilea whispered to Serkon as they left the hall. But when the king had commanded, who could object? I'm sorry to announce that the next chapters will probably take longer in the making. A lot of building is required, a lot of pose searching and making. And uni enters the critical phase at that so there's less time left for writing. Hope to see/read you soon, though! Stay well! ← Chapter 43 Chapter 45 → I refuse to name the creators of that terrible amount of poses! Maybe I'll make up for that later, but for now I refuse!
A few moons later. “Stronger!” “Ugh!” Lyta groaned with pain, rubbing her hurting arm. “Dad, that’s unfair. I don’t have either bulges of muscles nor his exerience.” Serkon kept a straight face. “No attacker will ever ask for your age. You may have seen only 16 summers but you must fight like any other warrior if you want to survive.” “He’s your bodyguard for a reason, by the Goddess! If he wasn’t the best you wouldn’t have afforded him loads of gold to come here! It isn’t fair to demand that I beat him! You never fight against him yourself, I bet you’re afraid to lose!” Confidently, she blurt out her challenge facing Serkon. The latter one gave her a lenient smirk. “Ask anyone, they can tell you that I have beaten him already.” Vince chuckled quietly at the harmless dispute between father and daughter and assured himself with a short glance that everything was fine where his younger son Lykos tried to persuade his brother to make use of the thick straw men that were meant for sword practice. However, Leo preferred to explore the dense bushes and spacious buildings of the new drill ground alone and tried to shake off his pursuer without disappointing him enough to complain to their father or the king. “That was when I was a little child, dad! And once! Have you ever fought him again after that? Still, you’re too afraid!” Instead of an upcoming threat, a constant smile played at the lips of the king of Dekanos. “Why should I fight my own bodyguard? You don’t make sense, Lyta. Now try again to destabilize him or you will never advance your skills!” “Ugh. Mother would at least let me face an equal opponent!” Despite her complaints, the youth readied herself to attack the black-haired man anew and Vince’s attention was drawn away from his sons. “Your weakness is the greatest advantage an opponent can gain. Penthesilea knows that very well.” “Hey, I’m almost as strong as her already!,” Lyta objected vehemently. “And also in advantage because she lacks half a head of height to be even with you.” “Stubborn mule,” the princess mumbled ill-humored. “I can hear you well, Lyta! Vince, attack her.” Serkon’s friend reacted smoothly, starting with one of his slighter moves and concentration in order not to hurt the girl. They had practiced for quite some time when Penthesilea returned from the thorough inspection of her new place of work. Awhile, she watched the two fighters. “It’s too huge. We have by far more space than we need for the few warriors who can afford to come here.” The king shrugged. “I’ve told him but you know Alexander. He meant too well and has too much gold to spare.” “The place will seem empty even after we will have moved the training here. Not good to supervise them.” “You’re ungrateful. Instead of being glad that we don’t have to use the small old drill ground any more, you just nag about the new one.” “What about an own fight later, you must be taken to task for that.” Playfully but firmly, she jabbed him in the ribs but Serkon didn’t even flinch. “Do you aim at giving your daughter a bad example by being beaten?” Before she could counter with a biting response, Leo raced toward them calling for Vince breathlessly. “Dad, dad, there’s a stranger at the entrance!” Vince and Lyta interrupted their fight for a moment. “A stranger?” “Yes,” the excited boy sputtered while his brother finally arrived as well, “Her clothes are sooo weird and she looks like a warrior.” “A female warrior?” Serkon lifted his brow. “The last time an Amazon lost her way and arrived here she caused trouble. I don’t know if I like these news.” Penthesilea shot him a frown. “We must greet her appropriately. The last Amazon who came here caused trouble because no one deigned to make her familiar with the local culture.” “She showed no particular interest to delve into it either.” “By the Goddess, if you two keep arguing Vince and I will go alone and welcome her,” Lyta declared, running out of patience. Serkon laughed heartily at the brash remark. “You seem to receive an awful education from your mother, my dear!” “Let’s go!” Otherwise the stranger would reach them before they had even set off, a rudeness they could not afford while still being in the dark concerning her rank. “Greetings,” Vince addressed her first, representing the higher-ranked ones. “You have reached the lands of High King Alexander of Arythion. What led you here, and where are you from?” The grey eyes of their counterpart traveled over the three nobles’ faces and swayed hence and forth between Serkon and Lyta for a moment. When the woman raised her voice, it was powerful and dignified, the expression of true self-confidence. “My name is Amadahy Blessing Moon, creator of said tribe and royal champion of her Majesty queen Hawika Wahine.” Suspecting that her equals were those who had remained silent in the background, she turned to Penthesilea. “And with whom do I have the honor of speaking?” “Penthesilea, daughter of Thestia the Great, princess of Santrake and queen myself. These are Serkon, son of Nikomedes and king of Dekanos and my daughter and heiress Hippolyta, princess of both our tribes.” “Thestia.” Amadahy Blessing Moon slightly tilted her head and a soft smile curled her lips upward. “Thestia’s younger daughter, I assume.” “Yes. My sister Xanthippe rules Santrake whereas I have come here to find new sisters.” “An honorable intention.” In Penthesilea’s back, Serkon shifted his weight to the other leg. “With which I am already familiar. The moon before the last, I was given the honor to be guest at queen Xanthippe and her daughters’ fireplace in behalf of my mission.” Penthesilea gasped in surprise, unable to hide her excitement. “You have met my sister? And she has daughters? Under these circumstances I insist that you accept my hospitality as well and tell me everything about her. I haven’t received news about her for many, many suns!” “Well, I could use a few days of rest well.” Her apologizing gaze sought Serkon. “And I will be glad to stay with sisters again. As a close relative to great queen Thestia herself you undoubtedly know some captivating stories worth telling. Also, I am most intrigued to learn about how a princess of Santrake happened to live here. So excuse me, king of Dekanos, that I will accept her offer before you even came to make yours.” “Don’t forget, Alexander will want to greet her soon,” Serkon remarked short-spoken. “May the Gods bless you, creator.” Immediately after he had finished, he gave Vince and the boys a sign. Both women watched them leave in silence. “He is upset because you paid me more attention… But he will be over it soon, I promise. He has had a lot of contact with Amazons already and knows our ways well.” Standing at her mother’s side, Lyta felt a brief peek flying over her. “If I insulted him unknowingly, I will apologize. I did not mean to.” “You didn’t,” Penthesilea assured. “Now, please accompany us. It is still quite some way from here to reach my compound.” Only a moment before the huts appeared on the horizon, the daughter of Thestia was reminded of something. “Amadahy, I hope you will not mind the… smallness of my tribe. The local kings wouldn’t allow the usual proceeding to recruit tribe members. We… are actually four. My daughters, my provider and me.” Spoken, it sounded even more ridiculous. What did she think inviting the creator? Four people, the size of a little family, while her counterpart was a descendant of the famous warriors of Blessing Moon. “It is alright.” Something flashed in Amadahy’s intelligent eyes. “When my mother died, she barely left me a tiny village, two slaves and plenty of determination.” “Since then, my tribe has grown and gained reputation again but we aren’t many… I appreciate your care for my comfort, but it isn’t necessary. Few people will feel more like home to me than a huge number of them swarming the air around us.” Penthesilea breathed a sigh of relief. “Welcome then in my modest home!” When they arrived at last, Io stood up from the bench with an enormous effort and headed toward them before Protego was close enough to help her up. “Io, my provider and dearest friend. She will give birth to her second child soon and we pray for a girl.” At the short introduction, the provider smiled feebly, her face pale and she herself conspicuously worn out. “Then I will pray for that, too. You may take place, Io,” Amadahy assured warmly, putting one hand on the black-haired woman’s shoulder before turning to the carefully approaching girl. “Well, and you are the other princess, I presume.” Despite her shyness, Phyllis giggled. Penthesilea nodded, happy that the little one had taken such a fast liking for the other queen. “Phyllis. Our youngest tribal daughter. And this-” Vigorously, she gestured Protego closer who had kept a safe distance. “-this is her father, our breeding slave.” They had dined and sat around the whipping flames of the blazing fire when their attention was drawn to the entrance. Two figures slowly distinguished from the dark background of the forthcoming night. “Haimon,” Penthesilea explained, slightly worried in secret. “He is breeding with one of the other Amazon queen’s warriors but can’t see the honor in siring a child. His spirit is… rebellious, as is his behavior.” “Hekuba,” she addressed the woman accompanying him, “send Zeuxippe my regards when you return.” “Of course, my lady.” “And you, seat yourself. We have a high-ranking guest, creator Amadahy Blessing Moon.” A chilling glare traveled over Amadahy, followed by a contemptuous snort and a brief distorting of the mouth. The arrival settled next to Io, with as much distance to the others as possible. The entire time until Penthesilea suggested to go to bed, he kept silent, sullenly staring at the fire. “If you’d like to have company for the night, you may choose either slave,” she proposed her fellow queen. It was a host's duty to provide for any needs of her guests, particularly when it came to those in important positions. In an instant, Protego’s arms cramped around his daughter. Haimon clenched his fists and grit his teeth, ready to jump up at the next word. Amadahy noticed the sudden tenseness very well. “That is a kind offer, but I have sworn myself to renounce this kind of company after the sacrifice of my most appreciated master slave.” Suddenly, an unspeakable sadness entered her until then open face. “He gave me triplets, but has been lost to me since then himself.” For a moment, the crackling fire was the only noise perceivable. Then, the creator from afar smiled warmly. “Do not let the past dwell over the presence. Lusio has been dead for a few summers now, but his children delight me these days. To grow up with a father is a gift the Goddess doesn’t bestow on everyone.” She looked at Phyllis. “Be grateful for that every moment of your life, young Phyllis.” For response, the girl snuggled closer to Protego who lifted his gaze to meet the creator’s one in amazement for not more than the blink of an eye before he dedicated it to his daughter again. “Thank you,” Penthesilea said without even knowing what she thanked for. It was… just an impulse, it felt like she should. Again, silence fell over the small group until Phyllis yawned heartily. Io fought her way up to a standing position. “Let’s get you into bed, shall we?” The girl nodded. “Can dad come with us?,” she asked timidly, peeking at Amadahy as if the latter could ensure her mother’s approval. And it indeed seemed like that. “Meanwhile, Hippolyta and I will make sure that your accommodations are adequate.” “Please inform me when you have finished. For so long, I will enjoy the calmness. It has been some time since I have been able to relax.” While the others left, Amadahy leaned forward and watched the flames flickering into the night sky. For a while, she simply enjoyed the peaceful atmosphere that laid over the compound. It reminded her of home, and she almost believed to hear her daughter Pavati’s joyful laugh, to see the boys chase each other while she sat next to shaman Tiva. Her mission for the queen had almost come to its end, and while she was on the way back to report about the situation of the outer Amazon tribes and the number of warriors they were willing to place at Hawika’s disposal, her heart longed for her own little tribe and home. Yes, it would be good to return for a few moons and not fulfill any services for the queen during that time. Although her duty was important and she took much pleasure in it, no tribe could spare its creator for long. Silently, she thanked queen Hawika for giving the royal members of her court the opportunity to attend to their own affairs. A deep voice interrupted her longing. “That slave, Lusio.” The redhead spoke without averting his gaze from the fire. “Why did you kill him if you liked him?” “Are you supposed to pose such questions?,” she asked, not without a hint of humor. When he didn’t answer, she sighed. “As a creator, I have to make many decisions and some that I do not like. Sacrificing Lusio was one of the hardest.” She stopped. “But I will not debate that with you. I was told that you have killed a man in an accident, so the entire matter is much more complicated in your case than you might realize.” He kept silent, probably thinking about her answer. Interrupted in her pleasant thoughts, she decided to go and examine her quarters for the night. “Wait!” Completely unexpected, Haimon jumped up and clutched her wrist. “You’ve said you’ve been in love with him. If you could have saved him, would you?” She locked his flashing blue eyes to hers, seeing the enormous desperation that had made him dare to touch her in such an unbecoming way - touch her at all. Secretly though, she regretted to have only one answer for him. The only one that was true. The only one she could take the responsibility for to give away without meddling with Penthesilea's affairs and possession. “If she loved you the same way I loved Lusio, you would know.” Thank you very much to roseinblack65 for sending Amadahy on this very important mission... If you don't know the creator (or queen Hawika), read the Blessing Moon tribe and pammiechick's tribe Wahine. I'm terribly biased about both stories and authors, so read them necessarily if you have the time to! ← Chapter 42 Chapter 44 → Poses by Natalia Auditore, Wistful Castle, joannebernice (blessed be your facial expression packs!), MrsRacooney, nagallz, A-luckyday and matchagreenmidori
Phyllis’ high laugh echoed over the compound as Protego captured and tickled her. Soon, his low voice blended with the girl’s one during her counter attack as he tried to squirm free of her grip. “…but Labdake fought in vain,” Io recited. “Exhausted from the battle with his guards, she wasn’t able to stand against her rested enemy. Mercilessly, his sword came closer to her throat with each strike whereas hers were blocked with ease.” “Nooo,” Phyllis squealed in delight, lifted into the air and struggling with both, hands and feet. “Let go of meee!” “ ‘Never!’, evil lord Memnon exclaimed, ‘you will be my prize of victory at home in my palace in Cratos,’ and he sent her to the ground with the next blow. ‘Now you will serve as my personal slave for the rest of your life!,’ he triumphed.” With quite an effort, Protego tossed his daughter over the shoulder. Still screaming, she tried to get something into her grasp to prevent herself from falling. “In her despair, Labdake addressed the Goddess in a prayer. ‘Have I not always served you well, Queen of Everything? Please, turn your face onto my misery now and spare your daughter the shameful fate of slavery!’ ‘Ha, you will never escape my grip,’ Memnon fleered but the Goddess had heard the heroine’s plea and took pity on her. So she animated the warrioress’s dear and trusted slave, Kisseus, to sneak into the back of the dreadful king and run his mistress’s long dagger deep into his flesh. And the Goddess herself led the blade. Meanwhile, Labdake straightened her back in front of her archenemy. ‘Let the tale of the death of Memnon, Dark King of Cratos, be told throughout the kingdoms of men to instill fear in every male heart before the great Goddess and her children.’ And raising the same dagger her slave had yielded, she ended the gruesome man’s life.” Dramatically, Protego let himself fall onto the soil. Arms waving through the air, Phyllis beamed at Io. “Have you seen? I’ve won! I’ve won!” The provider smiled leniently and finished the story. “To reward the loyal slave, the Goddess granted his soul to be freed after his death, as the first one of all slaves who gained freedom in the sacred waters after him. Thus it came about that she chooses her servants from the spirits of men who have lived and died in honorable servitude.” Suddenly, her face became thoughtful while she stroked over her rounding belly. “And the legend tells us that the Goddess cares for her children.” “Another one, another one, another one!,” Phyllis demanded jumping up and down. “Io is tired, darling,” Protego gently tried to calm her down. “After all she must carry a child all day and you only have yourself to move.” It was so good to see the girl not plagued by nightmares and scaring thoughts for once. The younger princess was quite sensitive and fearful. However – watching them, Penthesilea felt a small stir. Actually, she shouldn’t allow father and daughter such a close contact. Not only because it was simply not appropriate, but because of Protego’s age as well. According to the legend of Labdake, the Goddess chose her servants among the deceased Amazon slaves. To ensure that they’d meet the Goddess’s demands, they weren’t allowed to pass their fiftieth summer. Under no circumstances she wanted to insult the Goddess by depriving her of a potential attendant. She already knew that the sacrifice of both slaves would be delayed as long as possible but when that day would come, it would hit her hard. They had the resources to buy one slave, even a rather good one. But Protego and Haimon had to be around the same age, and replacing two men at once was a luxury she couldn’t afford yet. Not to mention that Lyta might want to breed sooner than that. So she had been utmost grateful when Alexander had proposed the Council to build a new and better equipped drill ground. Although his offer highly resembled a bribe for their sympathy, it worked astoundingly well. For herself, the part of it that attracted her the most was Alexander's suggestion that each tribe would send some of their slaves to push on the construction – for a small reward from the treasure chambers of Arythion. To keep up with the household and compound, she was limited to send only Haimon but the gold was most welcome. And it had other pleasant effects as well. At the days when one of the other slave groups was at work, the redhead was unusually calm and easy to handle, sleeping almost each afternoon instead of getting into nerve-wracking fights with Lyta or scaring Phyllis. That day wasn't much different. He was occupying one of the stone benches while Io, Phyllis and Protego still fooled around at the other. It was beyond her comprehension how he would be able to nap next to such a noise, but he looked almost peaceful. Although he wasn’t always, and the incident at the construction site quite a few days ago reminded the daughter of Thestia of that again. After that, she had forbidden him to speak with Io – what he seemed to resent her. However, she preferred not to give anyone reason to suspect that Machaon’s accusations were true. In truth, part of her was glad that he had defended her friend’s honor and while she believed her tribe member’s frequent promises of his innocence, the entire affair was rather embarrassing nonetheless. No other slave had shamed his owner in public with misbehavior, and the fact that the victim had been Zeuxippe’s master slave was even more uncomfortable. Of all people, it had to hit her former opponent. To Penthesilea’s and the foremens’ luck, the Orcheon had shown herself quite placable. “Machaon has already fulfilled his purpose and a broken nose won’t make him any uglier than he already is.” Similarly, she had waved Penthesilea’s offer for compensation aside. “As long as he can still keep house no losses will arise for me. But,” she had added, “you should earnestly consider if your slave’s behavior is fit for the contact with your daughters, especially little Phyllis.” Having spent a thought on the matter, Penthesilea had indeed forbidden Haimon to come close to the princesses ever again. Which was difficult enough to realize under the circumstances of their small quarters. Suddenly, something set motion into the group around Io. Head lowered submissively, Protego scurried into the provider’s hut and Phyllis stared after him incredulously. “Can you spare the time for a short talk?” “Of course,” Penthesilea answered her fellow queen and gestured her inside her own hut. “I’m sorry, if I’d known that you would pay me a visit I would have sent him elsewhere.” Zeuxippe and her had made the silent agreement that she would never meet Protego. Too many bad memories and rivalries were still connected to him. “It’s alright,” the other queen assured, obviously tense despite her words. She stopped, reverently touching the statue of the Goddess that protected the little compound. “Do you remember Echion and the prize he got for his blasphemous assault on you?” “Of course.” How could anyone forget when they had been victim of such a deed. “His son grew up without father for this crime. Murderers are executed here.” “Aren’t they everywhere? They’re a threat for their tribe members and law doesn’t tolerate turning against sisters either.” With a serious expression on her face, the other queen nodded. “The second worst crime after insulting the Goddess.” After a deep breath, she resumed. “Machaon has died today.” “Die-” By the Goddess! There hadn’t been any signs that Zeuxippe’s slave would… “How?” The Orcheon sought her gaze. “My healer is convinced the nose fracture is responsible. Sure, it’s uncommon but it has been heard of such cases.” “So… It’s Haimon’s fault? I- that comes unexpected. I am sorry,” she stuttered, “That was certainly not his intention. Of course I’ll bear any costs he caused, and be it for a new slave.” Ashamed of the escalation, Penthesilea hid her face for a moment. “This… is embarrassing. Truly, if I had suspected that...” Everything lost after a thoughtless punch. Finally enough warriors attended the training to make a bit more than her tribe’s living. Suddenly, her aims had moved beyond reach. Good slaves were expensive, especially ones that had been educated to become master slave. “Who would have suspected?,” Zeuxippe pondered. “When I didn’t send him to work for a few days because he complained about sickness and fever I wondered if that proceeding was overcautious. As it seems...” She interrupted herself. “By the Goddess, your Haimon is dangerous.” The remark clung to Penthesilea, sunk its ugly fangs into her mind. Dangerous? Quick to anger, yes. Hard to handle. Resentful. But did that make him dangerous? Her friend stopped the thoughts. “Well, you know, you don’t need to give me any gold. Either do I have need of any, nor would I accept it. Just…” Zeuxippe paused for a moment and gulped. “If he wasn’t Rheia’s father, I wouldn’t even bother.” “It was long past his time, but she will be upset regardless. The Council will turn against you as well if you don’t serve up justice.” Penthesilea gulped, too. The imagination of executing Haimon alone sufficed to cause uneasiness. She had already settled with the certainty that she’d have him for a few more suns… Even if it meant regular outbursts and bad blood. In the meantime she had come to peace with reprimanding him daily if he made up for it in the evening. But beyond her own wishes, Zeuxippe was right. The other leaders wouldn’t understand why she spared a troublemaker and murderer. And she didn’t possess Alexander’s favor as much as she had had his father’s. What was even more, not bringing the culprit to justice would let ill linger between her and her fellow queen. The most significant ally she could count hers would be taken from her. And… Rheia was only a sun younger than Hippolyta and her own heiress practically worshiped her father. She would have been heartbroken if Serkon had died. Was there really no way to make up for her loss apart from the inevitable punishment? If Zeuxippe denied gold, what else could appease her? Returning Protego? Penthesilea doubted that she would still want him, knowing he had laid with another woman and had a daughter with her. And that he didn’t have more than a few summers left until the Goddess would claim his soul. The realization of what – who – could compensate for the wrong he had inflicted himself befell her all of a sudden. “If… you don’t want gold, I’d like to propose something else,” she began, still hesitantly. “Take Haimon to breed with one of your warriors, and-” Every single word tore on her heart, left it raw but she forced herself to continue, merely whispering, “-and you don’t have to pay for his ransom.” In an instant, the Orcheon was all attentive. “Give him the deserved punishment and let him be useful at last?” “This is quite an appealing thought. I know you hold him dearly – maybe too dearly.” For the blink of an eye, a wistful gaze flew toward Io’s hut in which Protego had disappeared. “But I see you desperately want to do me good in some way and therefore, I accept your offer.” She laid her hand onto Penthesilea’s shoulder. “Better the slaves than any of our tribe members.” Sudden regret washed over the daughter of Thestia when she thought of the redhead sleeping unsuspectingly in front of the hut. Yes, I am fully aware of the fact that there is no blood in the fight scenes. Because we're in Phyllis imagination and she's still young and pestered by nightmares, so her conscious mind will avoid brutalities. The story Io tells is already the harmless version but Lyta did hear the original when she was in Phyllis' age. I don't know why Amazons keep doing this to their children under the pretense to toughen them. ← Chapter 41 Chapter 43 → Poses by Mysterysims, simquin, r-jayden, Quiddity-Jones, WyattsSims, MrsRacooney, aoihana2510, nagallz, ratboysims, joannebernice, orangemittens, Something Wicked Sims, sim-plyreality (here and here), Rinvalee and Andromeda Sims
~*Year 16 after Penthesilea's arrival*~ Nothing is able to put an end to the course of time, least of all the fleeting will of humans. Thus, the following suns brought about unforeseen blows of fate. Completely unexpected, messengers were sent from the royal palace of Arythion to break the news to the appalled leaders of the area that high king Evandros had died in his sleep. Evandros, the rock of the Council. The headstone of peace. The man who had made the nobles work together instead of intriguing against each other. With his death, a hole was torn into the unity of the leaders. The certainty sunk in without mercy while they stood around the tall pyre and thick smoke carried the great king's spirit toward the sky, toward the fathomless realms of the everlasting gods who would judge his soul and gift it with immortality if they found it worthy. Of course they would, but nobody could fill in the gap he had left behind among the living. Least of all Alexander who, although having grown into a respectable young man, was so different from his sublime father. Only suns to come would tell if he could succeed in the enormous tasks that had been left to him. Sorrow ripped into their hearts easily and those who had once been the firebrands suddenly felt expectations weigh heavily on them. In spite of the quarrels of their past, Penthesilea knew she could count on Serkon and her fellow queen. After all the trouble the king and her had gone through to experience friendship again, their bond was stronger than anything they could ever face. Unless a despiteous deity decided otherwise. It was all too present who was missing in their midst, especially later as they stood in the great festive hall and their new fellow ruler struggled for words in the traditional speech. Evandros would have known the right things to say, the appropriate thanks to make, the best compliments to drop to yield hope and make the nobles soak his every word in. Alexander did nothing of those. “I- I am deeply honored by each one of you who came to pay their last respects to my father. He… he was a good king and ruled wisely. I hope to reach part of his wisdom one day, too.” Tears shone in his eyes while he spoke. His mother sitting behind him at the queen’s place of honor couldn’t provide any help or comfort, all the more because she was sorrow-stricken herself, sunk into the chair that would soon be taken by her son’s future wife, the real queen. She had lost far more than only her husband. “I-” Wide-eyed, Alexander stared into space past the older rulers who he was supposed to lead now. They saw his distress. His vulnerability and insecurity. And silently, they asked each other how life would continue with him as the highest-ranked of them. Finally, someone took pity. Boras stepped up, sensing that the young man wouldn’t be able to bring his speech to a decent ending. “I did know your father well, Alexander,” he said with his eyes as glassy as the young man's ones. “For all my life, the gods have blessed me with the privilege to call him my lord and friend. Never would I have expected that he would enter afterlife before me. But friends,” he addressed the bystanders, “Evandros was not only a just king like his son claims.” He squeezed Alexander’s shoulder slightly. “He did not only possess determination of the mind and a body strong enough to defeat the plague at a tender age. No, he was also a caring husband and father not only to his children, but his people as well. Let this be how we will keep him in our memory, and let this be in what you follow his lead.” With steady hands, he took two fine glasses a slave handed to him and passed one of them over to Alexander who took it with trembling fingers. “Let us raise our cups to Evandros of Arythion who has gone to be with the gods!,” Boras initiated the vow. “To my beloved father and king,” Alexander repeated and the kings and queens lifted their arms and pledged allegiance and loyalty to their new high king. Almost at the same time, choosing a mate at last meant pain of the heart for Io as well. Long ago, her choice had fallen to Iasion of Borathion whom she had favored ever since. However, the Goddess showed no mercy to the gentle soul even though all sacrifices had been offered as required. When the day had come for the provider to bear her child, she was given a son. Thus, it hit her even harder to be forbidden to spend time alone with Iasion ever again. But holding her firstborn in her arms, cuddling and nursing him while knowing he would lead the life of a low slave made the kind woman sick. For her provider and best friend's sake, Penthesilea decided that it would be best to give the boy away to a slave hold before he reached adulthood and thus spare his mother much suffering. But her decison brought about pain on its own. Desperately, Iasion requested permission to raise his son so he wouldn't have to be an unfree servant for his entire life, separated from those who loved him and grow up at a place bare of hope. In vain. The laws were strict when it came to tribal sons and their fate so all his pleas went unheard. Both parents had known well which risks they had taken with mating. And as he became too importunate, Penthesilea reminded him of the fact that the boy was already lucky - a son of royal blood would have to be sacrificed before his twentieth summer. For weeks and moons, Io seemed to exist rather than live, mourning over a child who wasn't even dead but lost to her nonetheless. The provider’s sore heart dragged the whole tribe into sadness and sympathy and in some torturing nights, Penthesilea sincerely wondered why men could cause so much misery when they were nothing but slaves. Now that the sad part of the chapter is over, please let me shamelessly gush over the gorgeous celebration hall the amazing WiggleyTuff has built for the Arythions! :P You can find it here. It's incredible how much time and love she's put into it! Thank you so much for your priceless work! ← Chapter 39 Chapter 41 → Poses by Draecia, wyattssims, flowerssimfactory, Atashi77, MrsRacooney, iplaysims4, sim-plyreality (here and here) and Rinvalee This chapter has an extra screenshot in the gallery
~*Year 18 after Penthesilea's arrival*~ 2 years later. In the moment Haimon let the heavy stone slump onto the others, a penetrating call ringed through the air. “Lunch break, lads!” He snorted disapprovingly at the belittling term but hunger let him keep his mouth shut while he waited for his share of bread and sleazy cheese. The work was fit to starve any of them out even before the sun was at its highest. Seeking shelter from the merciless midday heat, he settled down in the shadow of a tree aside from the other slaves. They were abject, shied away from their wardens and stopped speaking as soon as one of them came close although it wasn’t explicitly forbidden. Even if he had tried, he wouldn’t have known what to do or talk with them. What he did do all the same was watching, observing. There were few of the others who stood out: one Arythion who was rumored to have royal blood and still held the most of Haimon’s respect for his dignified demeanor. The Arythions alone accounted for almost half of the workers. One of the Borathion slaves, who were the hugest group among the remaining laborers, caught the eye with his appearance. Both his hair and skin shone as white as snow and while he was hard-working and skillful, this condition forced him to escape the sun more often. The king of Dekanos had sent two men, one not even able to show off some downy hair at his chin. His youthful body was still incapable to perform the enormous muscular effort that was demanded of them. Last of all, the Orcheons’ slave. Protego had told a lot about him and every single claim had been confirmed so far. Machaon believed to be the first of slaves and behaved so, too. Haimon narrowed his eyes as his glance passed the throng that had assembled around the brawny man, listening to him carefully after dully chewing their bread. Many of them were dull in some way anyway, so dull that Protego seemed like vitality itself in comparison. Maybe it’s the women who keep us sane, Haimon wondered. At least he was sure that if it hadn’t been Penthesilea who had bought him, he would’ve been either free or dead in the meantime. Not so bad a prospect, actually. When he’d quit the trade post’s small slave dungeon and realized that the bare-footed and simple clothed woman who examined him so carefully was completely alone, he’d seen his chance. It would be easy to charm her, blind her and escape, a lot easier at least than with the heavily armed male escort of the slave trader. But of course a woman who traveled alone would feel able to protect herself. Of course she would be confident about holding a slave at bay when she purchased one. From one trap into the other, consisting of days and nights of work and too much time in a clammy basement room. No doubt, the Amazon knew how to prevent from fleeing what she considered her possession. Even at thinking back to his naivety he grit his teeth. She didn’t trust him yet. Still not. Everything he could do was waiting for an opportunity to reveal itself, a moment of abstraction, long enough for him to get the lead he needed to secure his success. And until then, he’d have to make the best of the situation. So he waited, day for day. But there were so many people around in the meantime who looked after him. That snotty brat of a princess, never averting her hateful gaze from him. Kind Io who didn’t deserve to be held responsible for a flight. So for most nights, it was enough to escape from the dark basement into the bed of the queen, even if it wasn’t for long. Actually, how many men could claim that? A warrior queen desired him – and she filled all his senses to the fullest. Until his day would come, he would enjoy her as often as possible, savor her willingness and the knowledge that he had outrivaled a king. “Hey! To work, lazy feller!” Haimon recognized the foreman who had approached him as the same one he had asked about the well-being of Chrysippos. He never did as much as look at any of the slaves directly, but his pity for the poor woman who had lost her son had been surprisingly sincere. “Alright, alright,” the slave mumbled. They changed tasks after half a day which meant helping with the roof instead of carrying stones for him now. Despite that arrangement, there was no doubt that in the evening each bone and muscle in his body would ache again for a night of sleep. When the sun finally approached the horizon, Io turned up to accompany him home like every evening. Thank all gods that Penthesilea avoided the public embarrassment of a disobedient slave that would have been inevitable would she send her heiress instead. Io stopped a bit aside, looking out for the master slave while she held her belly. Her second pregnancy showed already. “Call it a day, redhead. You may go,” one of the wardens addressed him. No need to say that twice. Exhausted, Haimon dragged himself to the huge bowl of water that was meant for them to wash the sweat and dust away. There were few occasions when he actually looked forward to his creaking bench so much. Io’s beaming greeting immediately reconciled him with the day. Her pleasant character was one of the good things in that life that wasn’t his. Despite the exhaustion, he managed to give her a half-smile. “I got news for you today. From a certain black-haired young man.” A confused gaze rested on him while the provider brooded about his announcement, then sudden realization entered her eyes. “Advik?” “All gods, no!” Not that hypocrite who had gladly accepted to breed with Io and married a princess only two moons afterward. His fierce response caused Io’s face to fall so he hurried to cheer her up again. “Chrysippos of course.” “Oh.” Within the blink of an eye, she hung on his lips again, her lips trembling. “How is he? Is he lonely? Do they treat him well? Have they told him who his parents are?” Glad that Penthesilea wasn’t present, Haimon smirked. The queen highly disapproved every mention of Io’s son, claiming that would make it easier for her to forget him. Nonsense. Nobody forgot their family that easily. “He’s doing well,” he assured the small woman. “A slave working in the trade post’s kitchen who has lost her own daughter a sun ago fosters him.” “Does… does he remember me? And Iasion?” Shit. It’d been hard enough to worm that much out of the warden without being punished for his annoying persistence. But disappointing her now would be cruel. “Yeah, sure.” Still looking at him, the huge dark eyes filled with tears. “I miss him so much,” she sobbed between two breaths, “I want to be there for him when he’s afraid, see his first steps and see Iasion play with him. And- and I want to hear when he begins to talk-” Another sob interrupted the hasty flow of words, her knees shaking. “Like- like any other mother-” Narrow streams flooded over her cheeks unhindered and watered the spare grass. “No, don’t….” Helplessly, Haimon tried to calm the crying person before him down. Without either success nor response. The flow of sticky tears had been held back for too long. Nothing would allay it now. “By Mitera, why can’t I be- any- anyone else!” The name of the Bright Goddess, too sublime for mortals to utter according to the provider’s very own words. Names possessed power. Appealed to, the gods worked wonders or punished those who had dared to address them in such a blasphemous manner. Nervously, he approached the crying woman and pulled her into his arms. “It’s alright…” Small hands pressed against him, seeking a remedy against her weak stand and heartache likewise. Carefully he lifted his hand to stroke over her hair, comfort her in every way possible. “Shhh...” Whatever that queen seemed to think, she was surrounded by people who weren’t made for the lives she imposed on them. “I swear by the Great Mother to take care of you.” It was impossible to tell if she’d heard him because tears still dripped onto his chest. “Everything will turn to good.” One hand held her head, one her frail body while he desperately wished she’d stop weeping at last. “By the Goddess!,” a raucous voice exclaimed only a step away in their back. “Queen Penthesilea’s master slave and her provider. What a great scandal that’ll cause!” “Let us be,” Haimon growled threateningly while he tried to free himself from Io’s tight embrace without hurting her. “No way. Don’t you know I’d be punished if that was revealed and I kept silent?” Finally rid of Io who was standing on her own again, red rings around her eyes, the master slave was able to turn around and face Machaon directly. “So will you be if you spread lies. For the sake of your health, I advise against that.” A moment passed with them looking each other over, estimating. Then, the other man threw him a delicate smirk. “Don’t rely on your queen saving you, she can’t risk that twice.” With the last word spoken, he set off toward the next guard. “Stop immediately!,” Haimon barked at the Orcheon, already going after him but a slender arm held him back. “Come and get me if you dare!” One yank to shake Io off, a few big steps and he’d caught up, pulling Machaon around hard. “Don’t. Spread. Lies, I said.” “Take your filthy hands off me and go back enjoy your whore as long as you still can,” the brawny man hissed. Not more than the blink of an eye afterward, a fist flew into Machaon’s face. Something snapped away under the force. He stumbled a few steps backward before he regained his balance. Then, his hand fingered his nose, completely dumbfounded. While he wasn’t paying attention to Haimon any more, others had already spotted them. Two guards raced across the place, hauled cursing Haimon off the other slave. Pale as a ghost, Io approached, covering her mouth in horror and holding her stomach. The third warden came closer, pushing the Orcheon’s nose which sagged at the pressure. “Clearly broken,” he assessed unmoved. More stunned than because of pain, Machaon groaned. “Well,” the oldest guard remarked uncomfortably, “as it seems we’ll have to send for their owners to settle the matter. By the Divine Merchant, we should have watched the redhead more thoroughly. Western savages are never up to any good.” Only the blink of an eye later, any remaining color left Io’s face and she sank to the ground. ← Chapter 40 Chapter 42 → Poses by yeji-k, Sweet For My Sims, aandidas, MrsRacooney, nagallz, linsims, A-luckyday (here and here), eden, josiesimblr, larsgofman, BexoSims, sim-plyreality, beverlyallitsims, Rinvalee (here and here), Wistful Castle and Atashi777 This chapter has extra screenshots in the gallery
~*Year 12 after Penthesilea's arrival*~ Penthesilea is 32, Serkon and Zeuxippe 36, Protego 35, Haimon 34, Io 28, Lyta 10 and Phyllis 3 Arms spread widely, Serkon approached them in a steady pace. “Aaah, Penthesilea. Welcome. And my dearest little princess is here as well!” Lyta flung her arms around his neck with enough power to choke the unprepared man. “See, dad? I’m getting stronger and stronger!,” she declared proudly. “You sure are.” Her father massaged his throat. “Good thing that you aren’t here every day to try and murder someone. Now, let me introduce you to someone. May I present my friend Vince of Burton and his wife Briella? They have come from afar with their son and daughter to attend today’s celebrations.” “Vince, this is queen Penthesilea and my daughter Hippolyta, a real little fighter.” He laughed heartily. “No doubt that she’ll outrival the both of us in a few summers.” “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my ladies.” “The pleasure is all mine.” Penthesilea threw a wide smile at the man’s wife, gesturing toward her belly. “Congratulations, Briella. I do pray it will be a boy.” Courtesy was a wicked thing, for sometimes it demanded to tell lies rather than stick to honesty. Which mother didn’t wish for a girl deep inside her heart, a child in which she would discover her own younger self again one day? But on the male territory of Serkon’s palace she either would nor could say that aloud. “Thank you for your kindness, my lady, but Vince and I only care if they are going to be healthy.” “We will love them the same as our other children, no matter if they will be a boy or girl. Won’t we, Vince?” For a short moment, they exchanged an intense, warm gaze. So much sincerity laid in her words. She really likes him, Penthesilea realized. Almost an impossibility. Usually, women of male tribes were forced to marry someone they didn’t even know. First and foremost in noble and royal families, many girls were already spoken for before they were able to walk. She was convinced Serkon’s bride – what was her name, again? – had not had a choice concerning her very own fate. If the king demanded, she would obey. That was what the scholar of her home tribe had taught Penthesilea, back then in what seemed now like another life. And that was as well what Evandros and Boras had explained her many times, admonishing her not to interfere. But if marriage could indeed turn into a bond as strong as those two seemed to hold... However, every day that passed made her more grateful for the liberties she possessed herself. Serkon hadn’t noticed her mind wander and had continued speaking to Vince. “-either way, I hope to join you in fatherhood soon.” He pulled the young woman at his side closer. “So let’s hope that Lyta will get a little brother before long.” “A brother?” The girl pouted. “Oh dad, boys are no fun. Why can’t I have another sister instead? And why can’t you have her with moth-” Emphatically putting her hand onto her daughter’s shoulder, Penthesilea shut her up. “Leave it alone, Hippolyta. You will see, as soon as he sees the light of day you will be overjoyed.” And toward Serkon’s bride, she added: “I am most sorry for my daughter’s behavior. She is still too young to understand.” The young woman sent her a brief, forced smile back, the tips of her mouth barely twisted upward. Penthesilea couldn't hold it against her, knowing her own politeness was barely held up. “Hippolyta, why don’t you go looking for Cheira? She would be a more interesting company than your old parents, wouldn’t she?” “Oooh, mother. I want to stay with dad!” “It’s alright, warrior princess,” Serkon assured her. “Go have a bit fun with your friend. Vince’s children must be somewhere out there, too. Please do me the favor and look after them in these unfamiliar surroundings, will you?” He gave her a gentle clout and watched her race away eventually. As if they had reached a silent agreement, Vince and Briella retreated to give the king and queen a moment for themselves. With their daughter left, words suddenly went rare between them. What was Penthesilea supposed to tell her former lover at his wedding day? Having a daughter, he was not supposed to be alive any more in the first place. “I’m… I’m glad for you. I really am.” Serkon's glance riveted on her, studied her face before his features became soft. “You don’t have to pretend to feel comfortable here, but it is good you brought Lyta. It... means much to me to have her here.” “You deserve this.” Before locking her gaze with his, it scurried over the young woman who held her head low. “May you be as good a father for your son as you are for Hippolyta.” Again, he drew his bride closer, not noticing her slight reluctance. “I will.” “I... will leave you to your other guests now.” Her mind was restless, urged her to dive into distraction but made clear at the same time that said distraction wouldn't be found so easily. Huge steps took her away from Serkon and the other woman. Flee, a cool breeze whispered into her ear and stroked her neck. Unconsciously, she shuddered. The huge gate of the palace seemed inviting. So many people, so many familiar faces and yet she was a stranger in this house. What a prospect - to be on her own compound, surrounded by Io and her laughing daughters, cuddle Phyllis and tell Hippolyta a story about the ancient heroines. Watch Protego crouching down beside the fire, secretly listening as well while he pretended not to. Feel Haimon’s eyes rest on her and know he couldn’t wait to make her forget the image that had already sunken its teeth firmly into her memory. The image of another man with another woman. “Now then.” Even the blandness in those words stabbed her heart already. But Zeuxippe knew. “It appears that none of us has won this game.” The first reaction was to disagree, but – wasn’t it true? Hippolyta was not a prize and couldn’t be compensated for with gold. And what else was indeed left that she would be able to claim as a gain? “It does,” Penthesilea finally muttered monotonously. “Oh, my dear!” Compassionately, the other queen rubbed her back. “That’s only the life our ancestresses have envisioned for us. Just like they wanted, we don't fall for a man. We're not fooled or used. And don’t you still have your master slave to satisfy you?” Whereas she is entirely alone. “Or… does he trouble you again?” “Yes.” The sigh came from deep inside. She was so overwhelmed by the fierce pace of time. Why could there never be peace for once? “He still can’t stand the children. I believed his attitude would improve if I gave him more time, but… well, I'm helpless now. And soon there might be another one. Io already has permission to breed with Iasion of Borathion, she just wants to wait until Phyllis is a bit older.” “Interesting.” Something flickered in Zeuxippe’s brown eyes. “So, tell me. Do your plans still include him? I know I would be afraid to bear a son after two daughters. By the Goddess, I already am.” “As a slave, he’s a disaster, changing from charms to rage in less than the blink of an eye. As soon as one of the girls happens to come close, he will fume.” “Yes, I see… Now, there is an offer I’d like to submit to you. Have you ever thought about lending him to someone? For a suitable amount of gold, of course.” Was it just to want Haimon all for herself, at least him? To squirm at the vision of what could be? And all that when it was her who had stolen the slave from a fellow queen? “I’m not sure I’m willing to give him up already.” Actually spoken, the words made her sound even more self-seeking. Spoken, they gained power. Despite her unwillingness, curiosity urged her forward. “You do have someone in mind, don’t you? Is it yourself?” A hearty laugh sounded, only one among the many that filled the hall with bliss that day. “As much as I'd love to take a look behind those blue eyes and skirt, no. I already have a daughter and certainly won’t take the risk of a boy whom I’d have to kill. But one of my warriors prefers other women. And while I support that very much, she refuses to breed with our slaves and has already scared them away. Since our tribes are so small, I can’t choose to tolerate this attitude.” Not blind to her friend’s discomfort, Zeuxippe stopped. “If you feel uneasy about it, I can understand. I would as well. It’s just that we desperately need fresh blood anyway and slaves – especially agreeable ones – are hard to find in an isolated area like this. Besides, I need someone to crack her shell and after everything you’ve told me about him... Well, it's your decision.” The strange request indeed caused quite a stir for Penthesilea. Her whole body rebelled against the thought to share Haimon, all the more because she sensed that she wouldn’t want him any more after that. When she and Zeuxippe had still been enemies, it had been a great attraction toward Protego to know that what he accorded to her had once only been entitled to the Orcheon. But to be only one of several women had never been in her intentions. Not if it concerned her own slave, not when she could prevent it. “I will consider it and let you know. Now, please, let’s just leave this matter behind and get something to drink.” The Dekanos wine was the best of the entire area, a judgment in which the whole council and even Evandros agreed for once. It would be rather easy to enjoy herself with a constantly filled cup of rich wine and a friend at her side. Until... well, until the evening, until everyone had assembled in front of the throne, in absence of a central altar. Until Alexandros, highest servant of the Sea God, had recited the oaths and united the bridal couple in the eyes of the immortals. Let's provide a hearty welcome to Serkon's firstborn son and heir, Kaletor! :D Actually, it's still two years until he will be born but it fit into this chapter way better than into any of the next so we rounded the joyful occasion off, so to say. Poses: too many to list them up, but I am sincerely grateful to all creators who have made this chapter possible!
~*Year 9 after Penthesilea's arrival*~ Her heart filled with joy, Penthesilea watched Serkon and Lyta fool around. Over and over again, the easiness with which her daughter twisted the king’s arm surprised her. Something about the self-assured girl made Serkon weak. After all, she was the reason why he had given in to visiting at long last. And even now, his presence meant the highlight of the day for the young princess. With a smile on her face, the queen reminisced about the summers that had passed so fast. Then, it had been particularly wearisome when Serkon had dropped over. Lyta had warmed up with him in an instant and had been a little bundle of power when he was there, putting her mother and the provider’s patience to test with endless monologues and still long after he had left, reports of everything they had talked of and done, not caring whether they had seen it with their very own eyes or that she repeated it for the sixth time. The charms with which Lyta had smitten everyone blindfold still worked although she didn’t have the advantage of being plainly adorable any more. When had she aged so much? Without question, Penthesilea was proud of her beyond measure and knew that Serkon felt the same - the praises of the princess’s Arythion teacher did their part as well as her interest in Amazon history. Her favorite legend was about the foundation of one of the oldest tribes in Al Simhara, ages ago. “The Amazons were first created to educate humanity in the ways of righteousness and equality of the sexes; brought to life by the Goddesses of Olympus from the souls of women whose lives had been cut short by the ignorance of men...” Men… Just to be on the safe side, the queen’s eyes sought Haimon and Protego. It was still a strange sight to watch them talking voluntarily and occasionally cracking a joke. The master slave did have an unerring kind of humor and innocent Io and Protego gave him a lot of opportunities to practice it. When Serkon was visiting, the two slaves stuck together and remained off stage. If she demanded their services at table, usually Protego would try to remain unseen and Haimon would step up. In the king’s presence, he behaved more guarded than anyone would have thought possible recalling his forwardness toward the queen even in front of Protego. Sometimes when her eyes rested on him, he earnestly tried to seduce her and whenever they kissed, she had to keep an eye on his hands so they wouldn’t wander to where they did not belong in public. However, the suggestive remarks were exactly what she missed without Serkon: to feel desired. And even after several suns, it amazed her how charming and almost attentive the redhead could actually be when he was relaxed. But he wasn’t while the king of Dekanos was around. Neither of them except Hippolyta was although everyone pretended it, deliberately overseeing the others’ facades in order not to be busted themselves. Penthesilea felt it, Io’s laughter a bit less carefree than usual, Haimon’s reluctant politeness, her own caution and Serkon’s carefully chosen words toward her. Unconsciously, Penthesilea laid her hand onto her belly in a protecting gesture. He wouldn’t be pleased but hopefully, he would understand. From their many talks since Lyta’s consecration, she had concluded that he did not wish for a renewal of their relationship. Instead, he had vaguely mentioned that he considered trying for a legitimate heir. Prudence had kept her from addressing the consort ceremony. The last time she had mentioned it he had avoided her for suns and the most important thing in the moment was to keep him in her life as a friend. She wouldn’t survive losing him once more. Time worked not only against him but her as well and even more merciless so, she wasn’t that young any more. After Lyta had outgrown toddler age and demanded a lot more freedom… She longed for a child whom she didn’t have to share with the duties of a future queen. A child that was hers and entirely hers forever. So she had stopped using the herbs and planned on the evenings. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice, this time she’d know the father of her child from the beginning. “Serkon?” It was difficult to catch his attention when he was with his daughter but eventually, she succeeded. “Come here, please, there’s something I’d like to tell you.” “I… I will tell the council but I feel like you should know sooner. I’m… I am with child again.” For a few tenuous moments, he didn’t let on about anything and just looked at her. Then, he took a deep breath. “Your pretty little redhead, I assume?” “No.” This was the trickiest part. “The other one.” “Oh,” was everything he got out. “Zeuxippe’s.” “Yes… See, I’m sorry. I know you don’t like him but I really want this daughter just like you want your son. And I don’t have much time any more.” “That’s unfair.” Serkon eyed her for a long time before he replied. “You have an heiress already.” In the next moment, he recovered his poise. “Well, when will you sacrifice him?” “Not at all,” Penthesilea admitted with her gaze lowered. “Zeuxippe asked me to spare him and I felt like she had a say in it too.” This time, his answer wasn’t as diplomatic any more and his composure bitter. “So does Zeuxippe rule your tribe now? I didn’t know that you bend to her will, otherwise I could have made use of it earlier.” “Please, Serkon. I’m just trying to make up for past harm.” “It doesn’t seem like that.” “I have heard you were going to be a father.” Protego almost jumped at the shock to be cornered alone when a voice sounded in his back. “Congratulations.” Nothing at Serkon’s behavior suggested honest joy. “Th- th- thank you, my lord?,” the other man winced. “Lyta will be be thrilled to have one more inferior as soon as she is queen.” He examined the slave disparagingly. “I remember Zeuxippe wondering if you could have children at all. No success in all that time, no matter how huge the offerings turned out that she made to her goddess.” Protego was scared stiff; it was true. In the end, he had abandoned hope. Fourteen summers. What irony of fate that just when he didn’t want a daughter any more, one was thrown at him. Or a son, he reminded himself. Maybe it’s going to be a boy. He wouldn’t live long enough to watch him die anyway and that way, his daughter would belong to Zeuxippe forever if even she only existed in his imagination. “Do you even listen?” The hostile voice cut the wandering of his thoughts short. “You are truly pitiful.” “You’d be as well if a child was pressed on you, my lord.” A veil of bright orange red suddenly obstructed the view at Protego. “Redhead.” Serkon hid his surprise well. “You must be disappointed that Penthesilea is growing the offspring of your comrade.” Cold, derisive eyes met Serkon’s hazel ones. “As if I’d ever put a child into a woman voluntarily.” The king of Dekanos didn’t even play at showing sympathy. “I sincerely doubt that she would ask for your permission.” “The same way she has asked for yours?” Every rest of good will was blown away abruptly. “Be careful, very careful. You are teetering on the brink of an abyss you can not grasp.” “Maybe.” Haimon shrugged. “But at least I was there when help was required. Without my intervention, the queen and your daughter would be dead.” He crossed his arms in defiance while his muscles tensed, ready to defend himself if need be. “Guess who stopped the dagger aimed for her heart and who she turned to for comfort that night?” For a few moments that seemed like eternity, tautness filled the empty space between them, manifested in an intense exchange of looks. “Do you want a reward for carrying out your actual duty, slave? Besides, Penthesilea has never mentioned that you saved her life.” “Why risk punishment for a simple lie?,” Haimon returned the question self-confidently. “Be sure that I will ask for affirmation of your claims. And at the same time, I will tell your mistress about your impudent demeanor.” Without another word, Serkon quit, still feeling Haimon’s stare piercing his back. Behind the master slave, Protego inhaled deeply as the tenseness left him. “Goodness… Goodness, thank you, so much!” “Damn, you’re the worst friend I ever had. If you ever dare to leave me alone with those two brats, I swear you…!” When I asked WagonFruit for permission to mention her story in this chapter ages ago, the entire text part looked completely different and so did my plan for the reference... It turned out better that way, though.
If you don't know her story "Line of the Last" already, go check it out! I've rarely laughed so much reading simlit, let alone an Amazon Challenge! |
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