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King Cepheus did not like the look of Kyklades today anymore then he had his last time here, four years prior. It was, in many many ways, much worse. The kingdom, and its success, were built off of his failure. It had cost him most of the gold in the treasury to escape. And more, besides: a tribute every year, as an apology.
And it was to be delivered in person, this year. Because the beastly prince who had defeated him was now a beastly king.
And those who owed him tribute were expected to come and pay his new respect.
Cepheus spit at the mere though, but then watched his secretion disappear into the sea below. Was it his imagination, or did the water rumble at his disrespect?
“Yes, Father,” Iasus, his fourth son, said, “I was thinking of her, too.”
“Her?” Cepheus asked. There were dozens of hers, of course, wives and concubines and women of pleasure, but he wasn’t sure why he and Iasus would be thinking of the same one, unless for some unfathomable reason Iasus was thinking of his mother. He might be, as he’d always been a bit soft that way. Missing her thirty years after her death, and imagining Cepheus ever thought of her at all.
Well, he did, sometimes. When his current wife, new and young and yet with nothing bright about her, displeased him. But she’d been of no use to him after she’d failed to give him a sixth son.
“Have you heard anything of Andromeda?” Iasus asked.
Oh. That again. Well, that was another way in which he was soft hearted. He’d been against the plan from the start, even though it had solved two problems with no inconvenience to any of them. Cepheus’s army had retreated, and Andromeda was no longer a drain on the household. He had to spend no dowry and did not have to watch as her maidenhood aged into uselessness.
Iasus, or perhaps his twin, Cepheus could not always tell, had argued against it. He’d spoken of the prince’s terrible reputation, and beastly nature, and how Andromeda would suffer from it. When it became clear that would not move him, both twins had suggested a real marriage alliance instead, as part of the peace negotiations. Surely legitimacy and friendship would be better for the long run. They’d even offered some of their own treasure, from another campaign, as part of their sister’s dowry.
Fools, the both of them! If they did not have his eye and nose, he might think their mother had let him down even earlier. He couldn’t even really understand why they’d cared. A boy’s affections for his mother were natural, even if they should fade with youth. But for a sister who did not even share that mother? Who was seven years their junior and whom they barely knew? It boggled the mind.
They’d been ignored, of course. His elder sons had roughed them up as a reminder not to engage in stupidity during war.
Cepheus had sailed away from Kyklades four years ago, and, unlike his first wife, he truly had not thought of his only daughter since then. Not even when his treacherous third wife had given him another daughter instead of the demanded son.
At least this one had the grace to be born dead. Andromeda had proved useful for something in the end. But a baby princess would not be nearly as valuable a prize. And he had granddaughters now that could be put to better use, at far less expense than his own.
“I do not know what became of her,” he told his son. Though later, away from the men on deck, he would remind him what a soft heart led to. Or he’d have one of the others do it. His hands did not have the strength they used to.
It was true. He had not asked, of course, and he had heard nothing. Prince Perseus, now the king, had been wed in those four years, and had two sons of his own now. But none had ever mentioned an aging bed mate.
“I cannot decide,” his son said, “if it would have been better for her to yet live, so we might be reunited. Or if I hope she died quickly, and was spared so much long suffering.”
“As long as Prince Perseus was happy with it, one way or another, she did her duty. And I’m sure you can be proud of that.” He tired of the conversation, and so walked away.
They made land fall the next morning, and Cepheus could see the bruises on Iasus’s arms and neck. So his brothers had had a talking with him. Good.
He had better not make a show of weakness by limping in front of their enemies.
A collection of guards and soldiers met his party, led by a man whose heights made King Cepheus force through a swallow. He had the features of the people far to the east, one kingdom of whom Cepheus had once subdued under him.
His face was blank, but it was impossible to miss the strength in his arms. So much so that it took the king a moment to notice the other strange thing.
He was joined by someone else, perhaps two heads shorter than him, with dark skin and dark hair and eyes that seemed nearly gold in the morning sun.
A woman. Her dress, in a typical island style, was black. But the belt around her waist and the bands on her wrists were gold. Silver circled her throat, with several jewels shining on it. She held her head high, and her gaze steady, even as the King’s party seemed to murmur behind him in curiosity. Perhaps she was a gift.
“I am Hyrax,” the large man said, and then paused for a moment like that might mean something to a great King. “I am one of King Perseus’s generals, and it is my honor to take you to the palace, King Cepheus.”
Cepheus had thought he’d know of King Perseus’s generals, and he would have remembered this one from the war. He was distinctive. But things could change in four years. And not everyone had five sons, plus cousins and nephews to be trusted by their side.
“As you are aware, your soldiers and your guard are to stay on the ship,” Hyrax said, “and none of your party may bring weapons.”
Cepheus beat back his eye roll. He did know. “Of course, General Hyrax.” And his sons and advisors all made a show then, of removing their swords and their axes and handing them to several servants.
The new king was making a foolish demand, of course. And his belief that it would be followed, that he would be safe, was perhaps an opportunity.
“As per your king’s demands,” he said. Offering a smile of acquiescence.
The large soldier gave him a long look, and then swept over the group of them, eyes narrowed in consideration. And then he turned to the woman.
“Well, my love, are they free of weapons?”
“That one,” she pointed to Ancaeus, one of his nephews, “has a dagger beneath his shirt.” She scanned them again, amber eyes casual and open, “And that one,” she nodded towards Neleus, one of his advisors for the last twenty years, “has 3 knives on his person.”
“What is this baseless accusation?” demanded Pierus, He was Cepheus’s second son, and had a habit of speaking up first, in his bid to displace his brother. It was not to be. But the outspokenness was often useful. “My father has come from you in good faith and you let this woman slander…”
His son's words fell away at the sound of ripping, as his own knife, seemingly of its own power, forced itself through his wool shirt, the polished bronze gleaming in the sun, and sailing through the air where it landed in the woman’s hands.
“Witch,” Neleus screamed, whipping out his own knife then.
“Among other things,” the woman said, her eyes not even on the knife. Several of the guards and soldiers had shifted at the drawing of the weapon, but Hyrax had done nothing, despite calling the woman ‘my love.’ “And you have not obeyed the laws of this truce King Perseus has so generously offered.”
Cepheus had never heard a woman speak with such confidence. And he did not like it at all.
“If your men would please divest themselves of all weapons,” Hyrax repeated, “we do not want to be late for the feast.”
“Well,” Cepheus snapped at Neleus, who did as he was asked. Anacaeus followed suit. And then seven other people, handing over knives and short swords and slings. An embarrassing display, humiliating. At least it was only for this small set of people. And neither all of his nor King Perseus’s court had seen. Though surely the witch and the General would tell their lord.
“Is it any surprise the godchild monster of this land employs such a woman?” He heard one twin whisper to the other. Neither of them had weapons. Which was probably a good thing.
“Indeed,” Hyrax said, looking at them, “But I am sure that your King also uses all weapons at his disposal. Just as ours does.” How had that man heard that?
He looked up at his group, motioning to several people in the back, servants who brought forward several carts. “Your trunks will be searched,” he advised, “I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course,” Cepheus said, “and my son,” he glared at Pierus, “will stay with the ship, as will his cousin.”
“Father,” Pierus started, but he was silenced with a raise of the hand.
Cepheus had always planned to leave one son on the ship, in addition to his heir left at home. He was not so foolish to walk himself and his five sons into an enemy's castle, ripe for the taking. It had not been planned on being Pierus, he’d planned on whichever twin he felt more annoyed with this morning, but this would work as well.
And the twins' soft heartedness towards their late sister might be of better use then Pierus’s brash nature.
The party made to set out, but first a horse was brought forth. Cepheus intended to turn it down, it was a walk he intended to prove was not beyond him, despite his age, but it was not presented to him. Instead, Hyrax took her hand, and helped the witch mount the brown stallion. “Is there anything else, Asteria?”
“Not clearly,” She said. “A warrior king always has a touch of death about him. But I believe none of these men are destined to die on this visit. My brother will know more.”
“Of course.” He raised the hand he still held in his grasp to his mouth, planting a kiss on it.
And with no guard or maidservant or anything, the witch laid a hand on the horse’s neck, turning it, and began to trot off in the direction opposite of the city walls.
No one of his party was quite sure of what to make of that, but at least the witch was gone. Probably to a cave, or a hovel in the woods. Or wherever they worked their magic.
“Has the witch cursed us?” Hissed another of his nephews.
“She wasn’t supposed to,” Hyrax said, glancing, for some reason at the ground around all of their feet. “No, I don’t believe she did.”
The guards surrounded their group on their walk, while a set of soldiers joined the servants and the luggage.
Cepheus had not ever been inside the city walls, much less the palace. It was intimidating from a distance, but close up he had expected it to be like everything else. A facade, hiding wood and crumbling stone.
But as they walked through the gate, everything in his view seemed to suggest it was strong and in good repair.
People paused and watched their party, but people didn’t hide away from the soldiers, and no one even looked like they hadn’t eaten in a week.
This was only one spot of the city, but it was still upsetting, the success on display. How much had his own coffers filled these bellies.
For the first moment he does wonder about Andromeda. Did she eat well while she had lived here? Or did the monstrous prince steal his treasure and his daughter, and waste both away?
The walls of the palace showed no more disrepair. The building was tall and imposing and beautiful, backing up, Cepheus knew, to the cliffs and sea beyond. It was meant to be intimidating and defensible. But Cepheus was being let right inside the front gates.
They had no great, obvious plan, but opportunities could be found in many places. And they would all keep their eyes open for such a thing. It might not be exploitable today. But one day…
Well, he had his sons and grandsons here. And his line would be long. Could King Perseus say the same? Certainly not yet.
The Arzawa party were shown their rooms, and left alone to prepare for the reception feast.
Cepheus found his followers ill at ease. Murmurs about the witch, the weapons, the lost war, Andromeda were brought up again, and as always, Perseus’s dark origins and darker powers, all of it circling round and round. He retreated to what were to be his private chambers, and allowed his slaves to dress him as befitted a king.
He did not take everyone to his banquet. Just his sons, the three grandsons accompanying him, and two of his top advisors.
Hyrax retrieved them for the feast, offering the king a sharp but rather quick bow before leading him towards the receiving hall. The walls were all gleaming white and gray marble, with bright murals alternating with large windows out to the sea.
“General,” one of the twins asked, looking over at a courtyard where the hallway passed. “Does your king have other visitors?” Cepheus looked as well and noticed the slight difference in clothing and arms of the men below.
“Yes,” Hyrax nodded, “some of the queen’s family is here. The north men’s prince will be at the feast. But King Perseus wishes to speak with you first.”
And then they were led into the reception hall. At the head of the room was a dais, and chairs of gold and bronze and dark wood sat empty, for King Perseus stood next to it, speaking to several men. King Cepheus knew one to be Lord Adrian, one of the king’s top advisers and supporters. The other three were somewhat familiar, likely military leaders from that last war who had been part of the prince’s general entourage.
Two had dark hair and one had pale blond. All were younger than the king, and shorter as well. The one with dark hair and a nearly sallow complexion by just a bit, the man with light hair by about a handspan, the third by nearly a head. They wore no armor, the protection duties clearly given to the guards that lined the hall, and the decorations on their tunics suggested that these were clothes for a formal occasion. Though the shortest of them seemed to have a burn mark on the sleeve of the clearly fine wool.
The tallest man’s tunic and clock were both pitched black, and it even seemed like the knife tucked into his belt was black? Obsidian, perhaps? All the men wore rings, of course, but only his could clearly be identified as skulls from thirty paces.
The last one… something about him, his green tunic and golden jewelry and hair, stirred a memory in Cepheus. The war with Kyklades, surely.
They hadn’t quite stopped talking when the group had entered, but King Perseus gave them a sharp wave when Lord Adrian and the shortest man both tried to speak as their King turned to greet his visitors. None of them looked happy, though King Perseus smoothed his face into the dignified neutrality of a ruler. He’d been very good at that at the beginning of the negotiations last time. Though he had gotten his fill quickly.
“Welcome,” he said, “I am glad you could come to Kyklades as invited guests.”
“We thank you for your hospitality.” King Cepheus, not missing the rebuke in the other man's words. He was not used to holding his tongue, especially with one so young and green. But those green eyes were looking at him so deeply now, he was able to.
“I hope your chambers are to your satisfaction.”
“Yes.”
“And that Hyrax has been a capable guide.”
“Yes,” Cepheus said, “And we met your witch.”
Perseus frowned, not in displeasure so much as in the question, “My witch?”
“He means Asteria,” The man in black said.
“I see,” Perseus said, and then those green eyes seemed to fix on him even more, “If you had experience with her magic, you must not have followed the requests about weapons. What was the problem?”
“Youthful boys with overactive instincts,” Cepheus assured him, “and they were left to camp with the ships.”
“Good,” Perseus said, “good. We have much to discuss these next weeks.” He turned to those besides him, “Besides myself, and my queen,” What did she have to do with anything? “These men, and Hyrax will be at the forefront of such things. And I thought it best to introduce you in private. This is Lord Adrian, who has advised me from my youth, and the old king before me.”
Lord Adrian bowed.
“Lord Leonidas is the head of my household guard.” The shortest of the men gave his own bow, but there was a jauntiness too it that Cepheus could practically feel the disrespect from. Such things would not have been tolerated in his court. “This is my cousin Lord Nikos.” This close, his eyes looked nearly black, and yet there was something luminous there. Like King Perseus, or the Witch at the dock. “And I don’t know if you are aquatinted…” “We are not,” The blond man said, his accent in the common tongue not at all like Naxos. “Though of course you are known to my uncle.”
“This is Prince Magnes of the Northern Country,” Perseus said, “nephew and heir of King Phocion.”
He could see it now. That pale blond hair, those slightly pale features, those light eyes. Phocion, though when Cepheus had met him, he’d been a prince. The oldest of his siblings. The younger son, whose name would not come to him, must be the boy's father, because the other sibling…
“You were married to my aunt, Princess Phaedra,” Prince Magnes said.
He had been. Phaedra, his second wife. He’d not had much use for her, but she’d never caused too much fuss, and the only child she gave him had proved useful, in the end.
He wondered if Prince Magnes knew about Andromeda, and her fate? What King Perseus had done to her? That would be useful.
“I had not realized King Phocion had crossed you,” Cepheus said, “that you hold his heir.”
“I do not hold him,” Perseus said, and there it was, patience already running thin. “He is a guest, a great friend and ally.”
“My cousin is the queen, after all,” Prince Magnes said, “A firm base for a friendship.” And there was almost a joke in that. Prince Magnes did not have those strange eyes, like the king or Lord Nikos, though their paleness stood out. But something about him, perhaps the gold of his hair, unsettled Cepheus all the same.
“And that dowry didn’t hurt, either,” Lord Leonidas joked.
Perseus rolled his eyes at that, but did not even look over to the head guard, though Lord Nikos did reach out and wack him on the back of the head. It didn’t look as though it drew blood, but perhaps it had been harder than it looked, to censure the man.
“It was very generous,” King Perseus said, not exactly quiet, but lower, directed specifically towards the Prince.
“And it was worth it.”
How much had they paid, Cepheus wondered, for a princess’s dowry to be considered particularly noteworthy or generous? Nothing about Phaedra’s had been, as he could recall. Had they become prosperous in a way that had passed Cepheus by? That would need to be followed up on.
He did know that many had sought Perseus’s hand, and that his offers and their prestige had only grown after his defeat of Cepheus.
“But, there will be more time to speak, and get to know each other at the feast.” King Perseus said, “my cook is excellent, and does not like it if we keep her waiting.”
When they left the reception hall, they found a small gaggle of women waiting, four palace guards surrounding them.
His first thought was concubines, perhaps of these men, especially when he considered the cut of one of their dresses. But no, because one of them was the Witch from the docks, and without any leave from the king, Hyrax approached, and took her arm.
He looked at Cepheus then “I do not know if I introduced you earlier,” he said. “This is my wife, the Lady Asteria, the king’s cousin and our queen’s chief companion.”
“You give me airs, my love,” Astreria said with a giggle. No mention was made of her magic with the knives. He glanced at the king, this woman was his cousin? Perhaps that was not so strange, given what he was. But that would leave her around his wife. What sort of spells had he ordered done on her?
“He speaks only the truth, my friend,” came another voice from the group of women, though it was breaking up now, as they joined various men heading towards what Cepheus thought was the feasting hall, though most not from their party. Behind him, he heard Iasus gasp for some reason.
And then he did know the reason.
He had not thought of her in the past four years until today, and he had not thought of her a lot before that. So he shouldn’t have been so keenly aware of the changes in her.
But he could see it. She had been a princess, so she had always been dressed well, but the dress she was draped in now seemed a hundred shades of blue, dye that must have cost a fortune. The fabric was so fine the skirts seemed to flow around her legs like water. Her pale golden hair was done up in an intricate style, held in place by two combs of coral and five strands of pearls.
More pearls hung around her neck, and crossed her waist. Moral coral as well. Other jewelry decorated her, gold and silver and bronze. Bangles and rings.
From her ears hung two bits of silver. Not simple rings, but intricately made owls. There were owls carved in her hair combs as well, he thought. Had she grown taller? She had been a woman grown the last time he saw her, twenty , at least, she should not have grown. There was a new roundness to her, and it only added to her loveliness. She had a look of absolute delight on her face. And her eyes. They should have been grey.
But they weren’t—they were a shining silver instead. And when they looked at him, they saw everything.
“My love,” King Perseus said, stepping forward. All of his people in the hall gave bows, and Andromeda was no exception, but she smiled at him as she stood up, and took his easily offered arm. He did not stop there, leaning down and giving her a long kiss. “I have missed you.”
“I’ve missed you,” she echoed, “And the children are very upset to be missing this.”
“I suppose…” “They are too young,” she said, “we agreed.” He just laughed as he nodded.
And then, like some sort of strange show King Cepheus did not understand, King Perseus’s men bowed to her. To his daughter, Andromeda, King Perseus’s concubine. With pale golden hair just like the Prince Magnes, who was asking a question about his own companion, and being told she was not feeling well, but that her brother would be sure to join him soon. Prince Magnes was familiar with her. Familial.
“My queen,” Lord Adrian said. And he bowed again to Andromeda, “we can truly begin with negotiations now.”
“Yes, my queen,” King Perseus said, “we would be lost without your insight.”