Shadows on the Aegean (56 page)

Please, God, don’t let it happen to them. Even though they let Selena die, they aren’t any worse than any other people
.

Every civilization was good and bad; no culture was pure.

She shivered as the guards walked past her, still arguing.

Chloe huddled under the stair and wondered what to do. A chilly breeze began blowing at dusk. Could she return to the palace?
Just how irritated would
Hreesos
be? Curling into herself, she napped, waking to a black summer night.

Seated in her perch between heaven and earth, she thought the world seemed like a pointillist masterpiece in silver and gold.
Fires burned golden below her: homes, taverns, palaces, and gardens. Silver fires burned above her, constellations yet unnamed.

Talk about a paradigm shift.

“Sibylla!” the night air seemed to whisper, and Chloe smiled, feeling the comfort of the darkness.

“Sibylla!”

She raised her head: the night air was sounding rather irritated.

“Sibylla! Where in the name of Kela are you?”

She recognized the I-900-FONE SEX voice as Dion’s. How did he know? “Here!” she whispered.

The sound of sandals on steps, and then she saw a flicker of light, quickly extinguished. “Come out and do not speak!”

Covering her very bare, very cold breasts, Chloe unbent herself from her hideaway. Wincing with stiffness, she crept down
the stone steps. They were worn in the middle, and she was grateful she was barefoot. She didn’t remember climbing them. All
she remembered was holding Selena’s hand as the life faded from her eyes, Atenis’ muffled sobs in the background. Chloe pressed
her lips together. Poor Selena.

Dion stood in the darkness, his smile and the whites of his eyes the only things visible. She walked down to him, and he pulled
a frontless jacket over her shoulders. Chloe tugged it on as he handed her a tiered skirt. She shimmied into it, trying to
tuck in the top. “It is no matter, come along,” he said.

Like
skia
they slid from shadow to shadow until she felt the rock-strewn concrete pavement beneath her feet. Dion put his arm around
her waist and pulled her against the wall. Voices first, then people passed. Chloe’s heart was pounding again, and she wondered
why he was being so secretive.

Slowly they made their way from the temple complex, past the snake goddess’s temple and into the palace area. Hundreds milled
about, dancing, drinking, and making out. Dion pulled her beside an oleander bush, and they fell to the ground. Chloe groaned
as her back hit the less than padded turf. What was going on? He loomed over her, his bare chest against her naked breasts.
He was undoubtedly one of the sexiest men she’d ever seen, but there was absolutely no chemistry.

“Phoebus would like to push you from the pyramid again,” he said quietly. Chloe tried to sit up, to face him, but he moved
his lips close to her ear, speaking softly. “Why would you say such things? Why did you do that?”

“I—”

“Do not speak. Everyone thinks you are quite dead. Maybe that is for the best now. You can return to life later. Phoebus is
furious. So is
Hreesos
. Kela-Ileana claimed you offended the goddess.”

Chloe blanched. Zelos angry would not be a pretty sight; trust Ileana to manipulate facts to suit her. Where was Cheftu? “Atenis
is willing to smuggle you away,” he said.

She nodded her head.

“Why do you say nay? Are you mad?”

Damn reverse gestures, she thought. I really am frazzled. Frantically she shook her head. “Wise choice,” Dion said. His mouth
hovered over her collarbone, and though their proximity was devoid of sexual tension, Chloe was beyond uncomfortable.

She rolled over, pinning him to the ground. His hands automatically grabbed her waist, and she resisted the urge to bat them
away. “I said aye. Where do I go and how long should I stay away?”

His eyes were night dark, his mouth against her cheek. “Tonight Atenis will take you to Prostatevo.”

Phoebus’ new city, she thought. Sweet Atenis! “May I masquerade as an artist?”

“Aye, if you want.”

Thank God, no more lame-ducking it as the chieftain of the Clan of the Horn.

“If anyone asks you, claim your husband was lost in the eruption. Grief has kept you from the festival. You will wear a tattoo,
and no one will look twice.”

“Just so.”

“Stay for a day or two, let Phoebus’ anger cool.”

What would she miss? Didn’t she have responsibilities? Chloe was opening her mouth to ask when someone recognized Dion. She
quickly lay on the chieftain’s chest, hoping it would prevent the man from inquiring further.

“By the gods, man, can you not restrain yourself for one night? Cheftu is very upset, worried,” Nestor said.

Chloe froze. If Cheftu heard about this, she didn’t want to think what he would do.

“Greetings, Spiralmaster.”

Was it her imagination, or had Dion practically purred that?

“Greetings, Chieftain,” Cheftu said.

Chloe could have screamed with frustration. This looked bad, really bad. She and Dion were lying with legs tangled like frisky
teenagers. Leave! she thought. Cheftu, walk on by! Please don’t think the worst. Would Cheftu recognize her? Horrified that
he would, Chloe debated how to extricate herself. Literally.

Dion propped himself up on his elbow. “What did you think of our bloodstained ritual today? I don’t see the blessing of Apis
on your forehead. Join me.”

Chloe dug her nails into his side. That was the
last
thing they needed.

“Okh
, I think you have more than a lapful,” Cheftu said, his voice sounding strained. Had he recognized her? Oh dear, oh no.

“Dion?” another voice called from the darkness.

Dion bolted upright. “Ileana,” he hissed. “Nestor! You must distract her. Pretend you want to seduce her!”

“She’s my stepmother. Let the Egyptian pretend to seduce her!”

“Seduce?” Cheftu said.

“Seduce?” Chloe echoed.

“Delay her with flirtation, anything,” Dion commanded. “I must get”—he paused—“this nymph away.”

Dion gripped her arm, pulling her up, her back toward the two chieftains. Cheftu grabbed her shoulder, turned her around for
a brief moment, and she looked into his eyes. Forgive me, she pleaded. Understand what is happening! Dion whipped her around
and they were off through the gardens, Chloe stumbling as she blinked back tears.

Dion’s pace was impressive. In drag he could have beat Ileana flat and married Phoebus, Chloe thought. However, the fertility
angle would be challenging. …

In the dark they ran down whitewashed steps still warm from the day’s sun. The one time a couple approached them Dion pulled
her into his arms and kissed her. It was like kissing a mirror when she was teaching herself—she thought—how to kiss. Dion
pulled away and they raced down more steps, zigzagging in the half-moon night.

The smell of the sea enveloped her, and Chloe grimaced when she saw the boat. The small boat. The tiny, rinky-dink boat. It
bobbed in the water, and Dion whispered that he would keep her clan seal until she returned, and he would send her messages
daily. Then Chloe was sailing away, the rower a silent old woman with impressive biceps who shushed Chloe until they were
a considerable distance from Aztlan Island.

The wind was brisk and the voyage incredible. Chloe felt as if they were rowing across the river Styx, it was so dark, so
silent, within the lagoon. Walls of stone towered on each side of them, and her feelings of claustrophobia were only slightly
assuaged by her tremendous nausea.

The rocking motion grew worse as they pulled into the more open channel south of Aztlan Island. Chloe patted seawater on her
forehead and throat, trying desperately to think of anything but her roiling stomach.

Normally she did not have motion sickness. She’d traveled on planes, trains and automobiles. She’d been in cargo jets, on
camel backs, and in hydrofoils. Little boats, however, were her nemesis. When Mom and Father had first taken her and Camille
to their getaway on Santorini, they’d thought it would be so much fun to sail there.

Instead of the normal tourist transport, Father had chosen to hire a small boat. Within fifteen minutes Chloe, even at fourteen,
would have given anything—her dog, her beloved grandmother, heck, she would have given her virginity—just to get off that
boat. The nausea had continued for three days after landing, and she’d hated Santorini because of the association.

The rower stopped, fished beneath the boat with her hand, then brought up a clay pot. She opened it and passed it to Chloe.
Desperate for anything to soothe her stomach, Chloe drank. Sweet wine, tart and clean. It tasted like pomegranates. The woman
clicked her tongue, and Chloe passed it back. After taking a swig herself—so much for not boating and drinking, Chloe thought—the
woman sealed it and dropped it beneath the water again.

They sat in the silent night, drifting slowly, but the motion was gentler now and Chloe felt much, much better.

“It is another decan or so, my mistress,” the old woman said. “Lie down and rest, the bobbing won’t upset you so.”

Feeling suddenly sleepy, Chloe leaned against the side and laid her head back, staring into the stars.

Cosmic geography tests haunted her dreams.

H
IS THOUGHTS WERE SOUR
, and Cheftu could feel his body tensing in anger as he, Nestor, and Dion, having gotten rid of a very intoxicated and provocative
Queen of Heaven, walked through the gardens to Dion’s apartments.

The Aztlantu could teach Egypt much about revelry, Cheftu noted grimly. A trail of women and men gathered behind Dion as they
walked through the lamplit chambers, the stench of food, sex, and sweat permeating the very plaster.

Chloe and Dion. Cheftu gritted his teeth. Dion had laughingly told him that she was a nymph with a jealous father, and very
shy, which was why she had hidden her face. Why would Chloe pretend to be Dion’s lover in the garden? Why had she gone with
Dion and not waited for him at the pyramid? Did she think he was so simple that he believed, as the people did, she had vanished?
He would have taken care of her; she had no need to turn to another man. The scent of honeysuckle was heavy in the air as
Cheftu listened to Dion spin his lies about Chloe. Cheftu had forced himself to smile, realizing that honeysuckle would always
smell like betrayal to him.

The door to Dion’s apartments swung open. Exquisite women of every description wandered around, sipping wine, kissing, and
flirting with an assortment of men.

Cheftu good-naturedly accepted a rhyton of wine but refused the petals he saw everyone chewing. Feeling at once upright, hypocritical,
and priggish, he declined offers for walks in the garden, kisses, and … other things. No one held allure for him. Just Chloe,
he thought. In whatever body she happened to be inhabiting.

“Do you not enjoy women?” Dion asked, sitting next to him. Although he appeared to be a man of honor and was a reasoned, literate,
cheerful companion, Dion put Cheftu on edge.

“Not tonight,” Cheftu said.

Dion leaned closer. “Do you wish for something more. Something different?” The man’s eyes glittered, and Cheftu felt even
less comfortable.

“Actually, I think I see a fair-haired nymph across the way,” he said, rising.

“Eee
, Laurel.’

Cheftu moved toward her slowly, Dion behind him.

“My mistress,” Dion said to her. She was talking to another woman, and both fell silent. Cheftu noticed her teeth were stained,
the consequence of the flower she was chewing. She stared at Dion with adoration. “The Spiralmaster has chosen you tonight.’
Dion caressed her rose-tinted cheek. “Make him happy for me, Laurel, will you?”

She shook her head, and Dion tipped her chin, her huge brown eyes rapt on his face. “To please him is to please me, Laurel.
You do want to please me, do you not?”

Her green gaze moved to Cheftu, and he knew she would neither please nor be pleased tonight. She wasn’t Chloe.

She held out her small hand with the petals in it.

“Kreenos,”
Dion said. “It is a gentle expansion of your senses, my friend. Take, it will not harm you.” Cheftu arched a brow, and Dion
said, “Well, this one time it will not harm you.” He leaned closer and whispered into Cheftu’s ear, “A warning, Egyptian,
she uses her teeth. Be wary, unless you like a little agony with ecstasy?”

Cheftu felt incredibly uneasy. He muttered noncommittally, and Dion walked away. Laurel took his hand and pulled him with
her. He’d feed her the petals, maybe she would forget. If only he could.

Chloe and Dion.