Pherenike - Chapter 101

‘No matter how much that stone shines, wouldn’t it be better to walk on sand than to stuff it into your boot and have to step on it with every stride?’

And so, the sand that once seemed scattered and impossible to gather was brought back together under the name of Peleus Vassilios. These were people who would willingly put on the disguise of a slave if needed for their general.

‘If we push north and press into Lykke, whatever manages to escape from Lykke will have no choice but to fall right into Master’s hands—right here, at this chokepoint.’

Deucalion’s voice traced the outline of Lykke’s position. Pherenike slowly ran her eyes over the crude map carved beneath the lion’s statue.

The statue dated back to the time of Heliodora, and the map—awkwardly etched by a priest who once hoped to see the kingdom expand the goddess’s territory—was a relic of his poor craftsmanship.

Though the small royal sanctuary looked humble and timeworn, it was a sacred place reserved for the direct royal line. Still, the reason this clumsy carving remained under the holy lion was because the stonemason who made the map was none other than the son of the great Queen Heliodora.

On the night he received his first vision from the goddess, he ran to his family’s sanctuary and recorded it as a drawing. It was exceedingly rare for a man to receive an oracle from the goddess.

The prince, born as the firstborn of the king and the Kybellaune was the first to break the law of primogeniture by becoming a priest. From then on, Evdokia’s history no longer followed the line of firstborn sons.

A thousand years have passed since then. There have been more kings who were not firstborn sons than those who were. There’s no point in clinging to ancient traditions amid so much change. After all, it was the goddess herself who guided the first prince to Calyce.

The high-born stonemason, destined for the throne, had little interest in becoming king of men. Instead, he overturned the tradition of paternal inheritance and received his mother’s legacy, even taking her name.

Heliodora’s son, Heliodoros, became the founder of the high priestly family. And all the prophecies the young prince clumsily carved in those days came to pass.

In the end, it was always meant for the crown to go to someone other than the firstborn. Pherenike traced the course of the Salonica River with her fingertip, then slowly drew her hand away.

A faint whisper from the old doorframe’s spirit let her know: Leuce was on her way to the sanctuary.

“Mother!”

Seated before the lion’s statue, Pherenike gazed blankly toward the curtain. The voices trying to stop the princess and the sound of hurrying footsteps followed her all the way to the entrance.

“Let the princess come in.”

Pherenike called out calmly as she rose. The commotion faded at last, and soon the princess poked her little head beneath the curtain, entering with pride.

Unlike most mothers, the queen regarded her daughter not with warmth but with a stern, quiet gaze. But, as always, Leuce wasn’t cowed by her mother’s reserve. The princess, her eyes shining just like her mother’s, ran and clung to her legs.

“Mother, look!”

“What is it?”

“Seirios’ doll. I made it!”

Pherenike looked at the clay figure in her daughter’s hands. It resembled a simple figurine just baked in a kiln—four legs beneath a round body, and a long snout on its stubby head. Cruder than even the cheapest toys sold in the marketplace, yet somehow, it didn’t seem like something made by such small hands.

Seirios! Seirios! The girl kept chanting the name, as if the dog would think he was being called from afar. Pherenike glanced toward the entrance. At last, she caught sight of a wet dog’s nose poking under the curtain.

A faint smile touched her lips. When she pursed her lips and whistled softly, the dog—realizing it was allowed in—wagged its tail and came inside.

“…Did you make it yourself?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Ino didn’t help you?”

“…”

Leuce glanced guiltily at her dog. Pherenike hid a small smile.

“Why did you lie to your mother?”

“Not Ino. It was Father. Father made it with me.”

“…”

“He said not to tell Mother.”

“Why?”

“Father, embarrassed.”

“…”

“Because he’s not very good at it. Actor Nikandros, even though he’s grown up…”

Having only recently memorized her father’s name, Leuce spoke it as if it were a pet’s. She nodded solemnly.

“But I think it is cool. See? This is Seirios.”

Meaning, at least in her eyes, the craftsmanship counted for something. Pherenike gently stroked the girl’s hair.

“Yes. Four legs and one head—very impressive.”

“I want to offer it to your sanctuary. So Seirios can live a long time.”

She led her daughter deep into the sanctuary, letting the child place the doll on the altar with her own hands. Standing on tiptoe, Leuce pressed her forehead to the altar and prayed, not knowing the meaning.

The dog, of course, simply sat and kept watch behind her.

“…Kybellar will love your dog.”

Pherenike murmured, almost absentmindedly, as she offered the princess’s dog her blessing.