Claiming Ariadne (15 page)

She was so wet and ready, her breath coming in short little gasps, that she barely had time to flick her forefinger over the hard bud. Orgasm seized her, made her arch her back and stiffen in ecstasy. Her muscles gripped at his cock even as it continued to pump her. Juice flowed from her in rivulets. And still the spasms came. Ariadne came hard around the shaft prodding her depths, so hard her muscles cramped, until—oh, Goddess!—a second climax shook her.

Now she cried out. Taranos grasped her with bruising hands and shot his cream deep inside her. She heard his grunts and groans, felt his seed trickling from her until at last his deflating cock slipped out to lie limp between her legs.

As his hold loosened, she saw his chest rise and fall. Only when he caught his breath did he finally speak. “Have I done enough for you tonight, High Priestess?”

Her only coherent thought was: how many other sexual positions did he know? Each one fulfilled her better than the last. “How long,” she gasped, “until dawn?”

Taranos glanced toward the open shutters. “I think it’s still early.”

“Do you think we have time...?” Ariadne let her voice trail away. Only now, she had to wonder: could she manage a third climax that night? Two coming so close together, so intensely, had utterly surprised her. But oh, how she wanted to try that position again, and this time let
him
rub her nipples and play with her button.

Taranos’s reply didn’t disappoint her. “I’m not expected anywhere tonight.”

Chapter Seven

“This isn’t a small matter, High Priestess,” Aktaios said gravely.

When she first heard the news, instinct made her deny it. Elaphos would say and do anything to discredit the Sacred King, to get Taranos out of the way, so he could have her for himself. Aktaios knew the situation. It was for that very reason that he’d sent the junior priest to Katsambas in the first place.

Kitanetos, sitting beside her, offered the answer she least wanted to hear. “Runners have already gone and come back. What Elaphos says is true: Achaean warships have landed at Katsambas.”

Ariadne twisted her hands in her lap. Kitanetos did everything he could to make her comfortable, leading her from the imposing Hall of the Poseidon to his own quarters nearby. Long ago, when the Minos still lived inside the sacred precinct, these apartments belonged to the queen. After the devastating quake that damaged Knossos decades ago, they were repaired, yet no woman ever lived in them again. “Taranos has nothing to do with this. He’s been here, with me, the entire time.”

“And yet, he’s been corresponding with his family in Tiryns,” said Aktaios.

Of all people, the two priests ought to know better. “Yes, he’s been trying to pacify his father over his becoming Sacred King. This hasn’t got anything to do with that. Tiryns wouldn’t invade on his account. For all you know, this fleet could have come from elsewhere—Pylos or Sparta.”

“I know.” Kitanetos offered her wine, but she couldn’t drink around the knot in her throat.

“Our runners are trying to establish the source of the attack, but...”

She heard the threat implicit in Aktaios’s reply. “And if the ships came from Tiryns, what will you do then? You can’t simply execute the Sacred King when you know perfectly well he had nothing to do with this.”

“His messages to his family—”

“Were overseen and sent by Aranare. You know that.”

Aktaios pulled his brows together, leaving Ariadne to wonder precisely what the man believed, or rather,
wanted
to believe. “You
do
know that he keeps his weapons in his apartment?”

“Yes, and you gave him leave to do so. Taranos and I went several weeks ago to Archanes. He was armed then and had me ride with him in his chariot—”

“You mean he drove?”

“Of
course
he drove.” Ariadne’s patience, already short in the stifling heat, and with her mother constantly calling on her to see when the baby would quicken, stood at the breaking point. “An Achaean drives his own chariot. Had Taranos known warships from Tiryns were coming, he could have abducted me then, and I’m sure his people would have applauded him for it. The men you assigned as our escort certainly weren’t any match for him, yet he brought me safely home and hasn’t caused any trouble.”

Kitanetos gently took her hand. “We don’t know anything right now except that Katsambas is under Achaean occupation. Should Taranos have had anything to do with this we will treat him as fairly as we can.”

Ariadne wanted better assurance than that. “And what does that mean exactly?”

“It means you’re right, Ariadne: we can’t execute a Sacred King.”

Up above, in the blinding heat of the Central Court, Ariadne steadied herself against the wall. Bad enough that Elaphos had returned, running one step ahead of the enemy—had he even sounded the alarm when he saw the ships approaching? Curse him for coming as the bearer of these evil tidings! No doubt he took great joy in announcing the invaders were Achaeans. With Taranos discredited and out of the way, naturally the man thought the High Priestess would turn to him.

She needed to see Taranos, to hear his side. Moving swiftly across the courtyard, she ducked into the shade of the western buildings and climbed the stairs to the second level. From what she gleaned from the priests, it seemed he wasn’t yet under house arrest, but that could change at any moment.

His door stood open to admit what little cool air circulated through the light-well. Taranos himself stood hunched over the balustrade, yet not so deep in thought that he didn’t sense her approach. “I was waiting for you. I knew you’d come once you’d heard.”

Ariadne didn’t go to him. “The priests believe the attack came from Tiryns.”

Taranos took a deep breath. “Yes, it did.”

So it was true. “How can you be certain?”

“I’ve known for a long time that an invasion would come.” Taranos glanced up from the balustrade. “Alektryon
wants
my uncle here. It’s one thing to have your kinsman at Tiryns where you can keep an eye on him. It’s quite another when he gets too powerful and full of himself the way Idomeneus has. Even my father sees him as a threat.”

Again, the lightheadedness came. Ariadne gripped the rail for support. “You’re a spy.”

“Gods, no!” His denial echoed through the light-well. “A spy roots out what information he needs without being noticed, then gets on the first ship back home. He doesn’t become Sacred King.”

“He does if he thinks it gives him an advantage.”

“I’ve lived here three years, woman! I
know
what being Sacred King means!”

“Do you?”

A priest appeared, presumably to stifle the shouting, yet when he saw the source he blanched and retreated.

Watching the man flee, Taranos knotted his hand into his fist and clenched his teeth. “
Idomeneus
wants to rule Crete. That’s his ambition, not mine.”

She wasn’t going to let him escape that easily. Whatever was happening now, he was in some way complicit.
You knew the ships were coming.
“And what do
you
want?”

His gaze bored into her. “I want you, Ariadne.”

Just as I thought
. “I’m not going to go back to Tiryns with you as your concubine.”

Now his voice softened. “I don’t want you for a concubine, Ariadne. I want you for my wife.”

She wanted to believe him, yet even if she did, it was still impossible. “That isn’t going to happen. You knew that when you became Sacred King.”

“Crete will repel the invasion and I will die, is that what you mean?” Taranos made a dismissive gesture. “However many Achaean warriors landed at Katsambas, I guarantee you they’ll be enough to gain the foothold Idomeneus needs. Don’t look at me that way, Ariadne. Crete lost its great fleet when Thera fell. Knossos has no walls or provisions for its own defense—I told you that months ago when we walked together in the Western Court. I warned you when you showed me my father’s letter, but you didn’t listen.”

Ariadne heard multiple footfalls behind her. Someone was coming up the stairs. Not surprisingly, their argument found an audience, and now half of Knossos was coming to watch.

“Better the Achaeans than some foreign power,” said Taranos. “Better us than—what’s this?”

Behind her, the footfalls abruptly ceased. She dared not turn around, not when the unexpected catch in Taranos’s voice set her teeth on edge. Tension delineating his every muscle, he moved back from the balustrade.

“Don’t bother going for your weapons,” said an unpleasantly familiar voice. “We’re not here to kill you.”

Elaphos!
Ariadne froze where she stood. “What do
you
want?”

Somehow he read this as an invitation, for in the next breath he stood beside her, his hand solicitously hovering above her arm. “High Priestess, we don’t mean to trouble you. The Sacred King is to be taken into protective custody.”

“I am
already
in custody.” Taranos gestured to the light-well, where above and below people, drawn by the commotion, were beginning to gather.

“Yes, but you have your weapons, Achaean, and the liberty of Knossos,” said Elaphos. “This is for your own safety. Once word gets out—”

“Why don’t you just tell them all right now that an Achaean fleet has landed at Katsambas?” Echoing up the light-well and beyond, Taranos’s words were met by little cries of alarm. At once, he shouted above them. “I had nothing to do with this! I have been here at Knossos the entire time!”

Ariadne waited for the accusations, for cries of
traitor.
None came. Pressure on her arm reminded her Elaphos was still there. “Do
not
touch me. Did you come on your own, or did Aktaios send you?”

Elaphos didn’t release her. “Aktaios believes the Sacred King may come to harm once word gets out.”

Had Aktaios, who knew what a troublemaker Elaphos was, really sent him? Ariadne preferred to believe that the junior priest had simply seized the initiative. With her free arm, she motioned to the galleries above. “Do you hear anyone accusing him?”

Elaphos avoided giving a direct answer. “The Sacred King must come with us. Not to worry, he’ll have a cool space down in the storerooms away from the mice, and plenty to eat and drink.” He extended his hand to Taranos. “You’d better come with us. Trying to fight or escape now will only make you look guilty.”

Guiltier than you already are
. Whatever assurances Elaphos might make, Ariadne caught the implied malice. Once locked in the storerooms, away from public view, anything might befall Taranos. “Elaphos, you are not the man for this job. Kitanetos should have come.”

Taranos caught her gaze, held it for a moment before glaring at Elaphos. “Take your hand off my woman.”

Elaphos’s sharp laughter ill-concealed his anxiety; he did not release her. “Sacred King, I am a priest of Poseidon, charged with escorting you to secure quarters. The High Priestess will return to her house and resume her normal duties. No one will harm her.”

“I
said
take your hand off my woman!”

Taranos took half a step forward, ready to throttle Elaphos and hurl him back down the stairs, when Ariadne decided she’d had enough. Wrenching herself free, she wheeled around to face the priest and the seven armed men with him. “I do
not
need an escort or help climbing down the stairs. You will keep your distance, Elaphos, or the Sacred King will not go quietly with you. Is that understood?”

“Yes, High Priestess.”

“Taranos, please, go with these men. They won’t risk Poseidon’s wrath by hurting you. I will speak to Kitanetos myself about your living conditions and your jailor.”

But when she returned to the House of the Great Mother to compose herself and send for the High Priest, she found her mother waiting for her. Worse still, Potinia held in her arms a clay jar.

Her throat closed. Why did her mother have to bring the serpent oracle now? Staring at the jar, fearing what the snake might reveal, she made a warding gesture, which Potinia in her usual manner ignored. “It’s the fourteenth week, Ariadne. The Snake Goddess’s messenger will tell us—”

“
Get that thing away from me!
” Panic drove her backward, into the wall. “
Get that thing out of my house!
”

A bewildered Potinia, arm wrapped protectively around the serpent jar, stood her ground as the novices and priestesses gathered around. “Daughter, what is this?”

“You are
not
putting that snake on my belly, not now, not
ever
, and you’re not welcome here if that’s all you came to do!” Her mother’s upright figure blurred as her eyes began to sting. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Suppose the snakes recoiled from her womb? Her Goddess-child had been sired by an Achaean whose kinsman had just invaded Crete. Suppose she was carrying a monster?

Even the priestesses of Eleuthia wouldn’t dare force her to abort. Even the priests would think twice about exposing a Goddess-child unless some deformity signaled Mother Rea’s displeasure. But the gods could punish her. Ariadne shut her eyes against nightmarish images of missing or withered limbs. And what would become of the High Priestess forced to bear such a monster? Would she die in childbirth? Would the grain rot in the fields and the grapes shrivel on the vine? Would mothers lose their babies and curse her name?