Pherenike - Chapter 120

He told her that their old home was now nothing but ruins, and that even the secret paths she remembered would be nearly impossible to find now if she relied only on memory.

“If you come across any humans wielding swords or axes, you’re allowed to defend yourself. But—”

[I know. If I see anyone with a bow, I should run away as quickly as I can. And…]

“And always walk where there’s the least amount of light, so you don’t get spotted by people.”

Atalanta tilted her head and tapped his hand with her nose to show she understood. He replied in kind, tapping her nose with the back of his hand. A quiet laugh rumbled from above her.

“Find Nike and the princess, Atalanta. That’s your only task.”

[But… will I even be able to recognize Nike’s daughter? I’ve never seen her. What if Pherenike isn’t with her?]

“The moment you see her, you’ll know. You’ll see that she’s Nike’s daughter at a glance.”

That was what Deucalion always said.

“You’ll know, because you love Pherenike, too.”

He told her he’d known at first sight as well—so much so, in fact, that he could never truly resent the child.

“Leuce, Leuce. Such a pretty name.”

The lioness didn’t understand the name Deucalion uttered, but he could tell Atalanta was thrilled at the idea of finally meeting Pherenike’s child.

“But don’t get hurt. In fact, it’s all right even if you accomplish nothing at all.”

[I’m not a useless lion, you know. I can do everything Seirios does.]

“Atalanta, you’re the best thing Pherenike ever gave me—the best part of that life of hers.”

“…”

“Except for her daughter, of course.”

He gave a quiet smile, the tenderness in his fingers faint and fleeting.

But Atalanta felt that Pherenike had given Deucalion so much more than just a lioness. Even if all the land of Paetusa and every noble title rightfully belonged to him, she had given herself up for his sake.

To restore to him what was his, sacrificing her own desires and going to the man she despised, living her precious, brief life among the people of Lykke, who resented her as if she were a criminal behind bars.

She’d given Deucalion her whole life, loving him more than she loved herself. That was why Deucalion remained lord of Paetusa, possessing more than he could ever count.

Everything in Paetusa, built by blood and sweat under the oppression of his father, belonged to Deucalion. The loyalty of his people, sworn in blood, all belonged to him. And it was Pherenike who had restored him to that loyal land, and returned him whole.

So Atalanta wanted to object to his self-deprecating words. At least, until that small girl, so much like Pherenike, floated back into her mind.

Pherenike had once said that humans were pitiful creatures who could possess a hundred things and still be miserable if they lacked just one. That, in the end, they’d throw away all they had for the sake of that one thing.

Was Deucalion the same? Even with all the love he had received, all the life that Pherenike had given him, did he long for that single thing that only another could have?

The one precious thing that belonged to Actor Nikandros? Or the fleeting time with Pherenike that another man held, even if it was false?

But Atalanta, who had always been possessive by nature, never sensed that kind of greed in Deucalion. He was someone who knew exactly what he held, even if a part of his mind was already broken or diseased, even if he sometimes lost himself to drink and self-destruction at night.

At sunrise, he never lost sight of reality. He didn’t throw everything away in a haze of pain. He was a careful lord, a prepared heir, a meticulous conqueror.

Maybe the only thing he had lost was the meaning of what he possessed. Ever since Pherenike gave it all up to leave him.

“Yes, you are the best thing Pherenike ever gave me from her life…”

“…”

“And now, you’re the last thing of hers I have left.”

So don’t get hurt, Atalanta. Deucalion whispered, gazing down at her, then marked the rock with the tip of his spear before jumping down.

[And what about Pherenike’s love?]

Deucalion’s ambiguous eyes lingered on her for a moment, but no answer came.

She could not remember how she returned from the underground sanctuary to her chamber. The last clear memory she had was seeing Atalanta. As she stepped through the chamber doors, both the lyre and the lion came flooding back to her.

There was no gossip about the queen’s strange movements. After all, Pherenike was known for frequently retreating to other sanctuaries for prayer, and the path to the underground shrine was always deserted.

The palace was abuzz with preparations to send off the king on his hunting expedition. The young princess, still a child, trailed after her father everywhere, begging to be taken to Davys as well, and the king tried to gently dissuade her with soft words.

With all this bustle for days, it was only natural that no one took special notice of the queen’s short absences. Pherenike had never been one to stray far from her usual haunts anyway.