Shadows on the Aegean (63 page)

“At least we should use someone else’s blood!” Cheftu implored. “Irmentis is ill.”

“Aye, that is known.” Dion’s gaze became intent. “Do you know the nature of her illness?” he asked.

“There is a rare blood weakness. She seems to have all the characteristics. I cannot know until I test her urine.”

Dion blanched. “Her blood is weak? How would it affect
Hreesos?”

In the miraculous event that he survives, Cheftu thought. “He would gain Irmentis’ abnormalities.”

“Blood lust,’ Dion murmured.

“Your pardon?”

“Nothing,” Dion said, giving him a quick glance. “Nothing of importance.”

They walked in heavy silence back to
Hreesos’
quarters.

The Kela-Tenata watched the sun while saying the prayers of healing and protection, begging Kela to touch
Hreesos
with a healing hand. Clustered around his bedside were Aztlan’s Kela-Tenata, each prepared to pierce the Golden’s flesh with
gold tubing as they pierced his sister’s. The branch in his belly would then be extracted, and they would learn if the Golden
Bull would live or die.

The priestess sang out sharply; the time had come. Cheftu looked into Irmentis’ eyes, dark and unfocused, probably from the
pain of hundreds of tiny tubes forced beneath her skin. A priestess tied her arm to force the blood from her body into
Hreesos
. Niko watched, his amethyst eyes narrowed to slits. Nestor and Dion stood motionless, and Cheftu wondered if they wished
for Phoebus’ death or life. Was not Nestor the inheritor of the throne?

Hot wax sealed the tubes to flesh, and the Kela-Tenata moved around, adjusting and monitoring the transfusion process. The
final tube was attached, and all stepped back. The two royals slept on, connected by golden veins of blood. Niko would extract
the stick once
Hreesos
had received two
heqat
of blood. The Kela-Tenata walked around the room, lighting pots of healing herbs and chanting her series of prayers.

Cheftu watched the system work, fearful of its failure. What if Phoebus died? What if this killed him? Could he live with
himself? Would the Aztlantu let him live? Despite the fact he’d had no hand in it, he was the foreigner—immediately suspect.
Would
Hreesos
live?

Dozens of Kela-Tenata held and eased the golden tubing, raising it on Irmentis’ side and lowering it into Phoebus. Still,
Phoebus’ breathing was shallow and ragged, his eyes fixed behind his closed eyelids. The scent of fresh blood hung in the
air, and beyond this room Cheftu could hear the corridor filling with worried courtiers and citizens.

The transfusion would take several hours, several tries with Irmentis’ blood. The tubing was tiny, and blood ran through very
slowly. In between she would drink cow’s blood to renew her. Each drop she gave would enhance
Hreesos’
chances of survival, encouraging his heart to keep pounding.

Cheftu noticed that Nestor and Dion had left him all alone with the patient and Niko.

He could almost hear Chloe saying, “Can you spell s-c-a-p-e-g-o-a-t?”

I
RMENTIS’ VISION WAS A GLADE
, like one of the many on her beautiful island, yet different. The trees breathed, the water sang, everything around her was
filled with life. She was the same yet different—her skin glowed, her unbound hair danced on a soft breeze. The luminescence
of stars glimmered within her
.

“Irmentis, my sister.” The voice was weak, borne to her on the air. Phoebus, whole and healed, stood before her, his strong
body gilded in the silver light. His hair hung over his broad shoulders, his eyes were lit from within like silver disks.
“You are giving me that of which you have so little, your blood.”

Irmentis shook her head in agreement, unable to move her gaze from her brother’s body. A delicious heat stole through her,
the light within her began to throb. What was this? As if he could read her mind Phoebus answered, “You are feeling the want
of a whole woman, Irmentis. What you would feel had not Ileana …”

She cried out when he touched her, then heard his thoughts, felt the pounding of desire in his body, and knew that despite
the women he’d bedded and the children he’d formed, there was no one and nothing else he wanted more than her
.

It frightened her
.

She did not want this; she loved him, but not in this fashion. He was to be loved from afar: this was too close. “You reject
me here, too, Irmentis?” he said. She opened her mouth to tell him it wasn’t him, not his fault
.

Then she was awake, her body weak and shaking. Tears poured down her cheeks, mingled fear and sorrow as she looked at her
brother. The golden veins were being carefully removed from his body, while they prepared to pull the wood from his belly.
Niko was directing the extraction and she turned to him, wincing from the many pierce marks.

“He lives, Niko.” His gaze, purple and tortured, met hers, and Irmentis realized that Niko too loved Phoebus, loved him more
than as a clansman. “Give him the elixir, Niko. He has nothing to lose. Do not let the Olimpi, your dearest friend, die.”

He walked out, as though he didn’t hear her.

N
IKO RAN THROUGH THE HALLWAY
, down the twisting stairway, and knocked on the door in series of pressures. It swung open.

He stood in Spiralmaster’s laboratory. The vials and jars and flasks were as well-known to him as his name. Where would Spiralmaster
have hidden the elixir? Knowing the cagey old man, he would have placed several vials in different places, with some form
of coding so they were discernible only to one who knew Spiralmaster’s thinking.

“Looking for this?” Ileana said, stepping from the shadows. Her beauty was invisible to him. All Niko saw was the vial.

“Give it me, Ileana.”

She hid it in her palm. “Why, Niko? You seek to prolong the life of a man who hates me, who has not gotten me pregnant. I
will lose my power, respect, and adoration of Aztlan, if I do not swell with child.”

“Your concerns matter nothing to me, Ileana. Give me the vial.”

“Are you certain it works, Niko? Are you certain it won’t further poison his already crippled body?” She laughed, and Niko’s
blood simmered like lava.

“What do you want, Ileana? To be
athanati?
I can make that a reality. I can give you eternal youth and beauty.’

“It means nothing unless you can also make me pregnant,” she spat.

“I can do that.” For Phoebus he could do anything. Even touch this spider of a woman.

She smiled, her gaze caressing him from head to toe. “You are comely, but you do not care for women, do you, Niko?”

He actually didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to admit it.

“When shall we arrange an assignation?”

“My offer is this: I will fill you with child, here and now; you will give me the elixir the moment my seed is spilt.”

She was breathing faster, her breasts swelling before his eyes; by the gods it was repulsive! “I will give you some of the
elixir, Niko. Enough for the service you will render me. If you want more, you will know the cost.’

“All I need is enough for Phoebus, but I need it now!”

“Swear it, and your Phoebus may live.”

“I swear by the Spiral and the Shell.”

He watched as she poured a little of the elixir into a smaller flask. “Swear by blood.”

Cursing, shaking, and afraid he would vomit on her, Niko slashed his palm with a broken blade, swore again, and rubbed blood
on his lips. Ileana’s hot mouth was aggressive in her desire. She kissed him until he was dizzy, licking the blood from his
lips. “Does it excite you to know that Phoebus kisses like I do?”

It did. Tremendously.

She turned her back to him, releasing her skirts. “Now, Niko.”

Caught between revulsion and pounding lust, Niko moved to her as he’d seen a dozen friends do over the summers. Her hands
were sure in guiding him, and nineteen years of abstinence made the experience very short.

Ileana’s glance was disparaging, but she climbed onto the table, crossed her legs, and lifted them. With one hand she began
to touch herself. With the other she handed Niko the small flask, keeping the vial at her side.

“Where were you?” Irmentis hissed. “The Spiralmaster and Kela-Ata have concluded Phoebus is dying!”

Would this work? How could he know? The stones. “Go speak to them, cry, wail, distract them after a few moments. Go!” he instructed
her.

“Niko—”

“Do it!”

Niko stepped into Phoebus’ bathing alcove and pulled a stone from each of his pouches. Setting down the flask, he bent close
to them, as though to an elderly relative. “Will Phoebus live with the elixir?”

He tossed the stones and watched as they turned. Aye!

Niko grabbed the flask and ran into the Golden’s apartments.

The stones continued to turn. “I-n-d-a-r-k-n-e-s-s-a-n-d-l-u-s-t.”

Niko stepped in, watching those who were allowing Phoebus to die. The Kela-Tenata, the Egyptian, were focused on Irmentis’
hysterics. They had their backs to him. Phoebus lay silent, but Niko heard his labored breathing and knew
Hreesos
was still, barely, alive. He was not yet gone, but they had bathed him and arranged his arms in a position of death.

Irmentis fell to the floor with a cry, twitching violently. The Kela-Tenata grouped around her, and Niko sprang toward the
couch. Niko saw that Phoebus’ skin was drained white. His hair and body were drenched in blood. How to administer the elixir?

Niko wrenched back the blood-soaked bandage, swirled the liquid, and then poured it into his belly wound. Phoebus convulsed
with a shout, and the Kela-Tenata turned as a body. Irmentis threw herself on Phoebus, her lips pressed to his ripped abdomen.

Her screams filled Niko’s ears. He watched in horror and barely conscious jealousy as she licked at Phoebus’ wound, her salty
tears falling into the gash, blood coating her lips and cheeks. She was immersed in the taste and scent of Phoebus’ life.
The magi pulled her away.

Niko had to restrain his own screams of fear. Phoebus was still, so uncommonly still. The elixir had killed him? The stones
had promised it wouldn’t. They had said Phoebus would live. While all eyes were on Irmentis, Niko raised the flask to his
lips, but the liquid was gone. Niko staggered back into the alcove, pocketed his stones, and crept out the serf’s passageway.
He heard shouting and yelping from afar as they led Irmentis away, down corridors.