Pherenike - Chapter 114

“Kybellaune, Lady Callianeira has arrived.”

“Yes.”

Without glancing at Ino, Pherenike returned to where she’d been shooting. The maid who had gathered the arrows set them neatly in the quiver and retreated with Ino to a respectful distance.

Passing them, Callianeira approached quietly and removed her veil.

“Kybellaune.”

“Sit.”

“I’m fine. Today, Agilon stood up on both legs.”

Callianeira dutifully reported Agilon’s condition. Pherenike nocked another arrow, listening absentmindedly as she aimed at the target. Her arm ached from fatigue, but worse than that was the pain in her abdomen, the old scar she herself had made with a knife, long ago.

Until Ino’s pestering, she’d been shooting purely with physical strength and skill. Now, her muscles contracted and relaxed only by force of twisted Althea fragments. She had trained herself to borrow the smallest, most precise thread of power from Althea when her body’s strength began to fail. Once, she might have drawn recklessly on it, but not anymore.

The pain Althea brought to her belly varied in severity. This level, she could endure even in chaos, without showing it to anyone. Only after confirming even Callianeira—so sensitive to Althea—hadn’t noticed anything, did Pherenike put down her bow.

“…Also, last night the king came to the infirmary and personally reprimanded the man. From today, Agilon will leave the ward and be confined to his home.”

“Callianeira.”

“Yes?”

“When do you return to the sanctuary?”

“In fifteen days.”

Callianeira looked puzzled for once. Her regular return to the sanctuary was just routine. Was it really more important than the news about the king? But Pherenike simply stared at the target.

The gates would open in five, maybe ten days.

Callianeira would be safe. The sanctuary was always neutral; in times of war, a priestess was useful to every side, regardless of who won or lost. With that, Pherenike set aside her concern for her loyal attendant.

After checking her surroundings, Callianeira took a cautious step closer and whispered,

“And a message has arrived from Sybylle Ravda.”

“…?”

[Break the strings of Heliodora’s lyre.]

Suddenly, the words of the gods slipped into her ear.

To confirm the truth, Pherenike stepped closer to Callianeira, pressing her own smooth forehead to the priestess’s, and pierced Althea into her like a needle. Callianeira closed her eyes, enduring the brief pain.

It was a way to ensure a priestess spoke no false oracle. Once the pain faded, Callianeira’s spirit answered: What you have heard is indeed the will of the gods.

It was a dream as if she’d lost her sight—she saw nothing. Pherenike ceaselessly sought answers from the goddess, but received nothing in return.

The ground beneath her feet trembled with the thunder of cavalry. Unable to see, she collided with everything. Her shoulders shoved, her stomach trampled.

Men cursed as they discovered the traitor, rough hands seizing her by the collar and dragging her away.

Pherenike pleaded for nothing. She didn’t even know who these soldiers were. Everywhere, she was the traitor.

Deucalion. She whispered his name by habit, and her heart pounded as if to burst. Ah, he’s searching for her even now, desperate, unable to find her. But unless she found the princess first…

Leuce.

For the first time, she searched for her daughter’s ‘voice’ in a dream. The child’s voice was so faint, it faded quickly. Reaching out with invisible arms, Pherenike unleashed twisted Althea. She felt no pain. As she pushed through the men’s shouts, suddenly it was as if something unseen guided her steps, keeping her from stumbling.

No one chased her. It was a dream. From that moment she knew it was a dream, but still she ran. Fleeing as she had from monsters in her childhood nightmares.

Leuce. Leuce. Leuce… Being caught meant nothing. Even if this wasn’t a dream, it didn’t matter. Whatever was done to her, she would survive. Even if those furious men beat her, it didn’t matter. If she lived, there would be a next time, and then she could repay them.

But Leuce was not like her. Leuce was fragile, easily killed. Even if the child was born under the protection of the gods, the thought of her being seized by those men was unbearable. Even the imagination made her teeth grind. Even her shallow mother’s love could not accept it.

Please, open your eyes. Find Leuce… She repeated it endlessly, but it changed nothing. No answer came, even when she prayed to her goddess.

Finally, Pherenike tried to call her daughter’s name aloud, only to find the sound trapped in her throat. She was blind and mute. A silent laugh escaped her.

Leuce. Where are you? Your mother told you to hide in the sanctuary, to keep perfectly still, to count quietly inside until I came for you…