Chapter 128
Without a word, Pherenike took a few pieces of dried fig from the basket and ate them in front of her daughter. Leuce beamed at her.
“Mother, you’re eating too!”
“I told you, I am.”
“Eat more! Don’t go hungry. I don’t like it when I’m the only one eating.”
“…Alright.”
“You know, this is the first time we’ve ever eaten together, just the two of us.”
“…”
“I’m happy.”
Pherenike quietly wiped the crumbs from Leuce’s mouth. A nursemaid must have done this for her countless times, but a shy smile bloomed at the unfamiliar, gentle touch of her mother.
Just as the child had said, this really was the first time they’d sat together and eaten without her father.
Like so many men of Evdokia, Pherenike had always been indifferent to the little details of her child’s life. She had never bothered to think about what her daughter should eat, and today was the first time she’d attended to her child’s meals and clothing herself.
Yet, even with her mother’s clumsy hands, the princess ate her fill and happily dressed in her warm clothes. The world beneath the earth would be cold as dawn all day, so Pherenike draped a goatskin coat awkwardly over her daughter’s shoulders before leading her out of the chamber.
Somewhere, like rumors passed from one daemon to another, faint whispers drifted by. The daemon that lived in the princess’s rooms had a loud voice and was especially fond of the child.
[…Above all else, beware the late king’s enemies. The ones Epicydes once used and discarded for Actor, the king’s old hounds. Your daughter’s greatest enemies won’t come from outside the walls…]
“…Kybellaune?”
A maid who’d dozed off while keeping watch outside the bedroom woke up with a start and hurried after them, her voice cutting through the daimon’s murmurs.
“Kybellaune, where are you taking the princess at this hour?”
“The princess can’t get back to sleep. She says she isn’t sleepy at all, so I thought we’d go for a little walk in the Geda grove.”
The maid’s eyes darted to the basket in Pherenike’s hand.
“I’ll fetch a light and come with you, just give me a moment—”
“There’s no need.”
The princess’ maid, who always found the queen intimidating, froze just at the sight of her cold expression. Leuce, meanwhile, waved cheerfully.
“I’m sleepy.”
“Then you can sleep soon.”
“Are we going to sleep in the Geda grove?”
“No.”
“Then that’s a lie. I’m sleepy, and we’re not even going to the woods.”
Pherenike didn’t answer, just grabbed her daughter’s arm a little impatiently. Together they crossed the pre-dawn darkness, making their way to the sanctuary. Despite her mother’s silence, Leuce was as excited as if she were about to set out on an adventure.
Pherenike had her daughter stand aside while she opened the floor beneath the goddess’s statue. The daemon guarding the doorway whispered urgently for her to hide the child below.
Once the war was over, the princess would no longer be worth killing. But the fury of war was never rational.
The princess was her daughter. Which meant, to Deucalion’s people, she was already the child of a traitor, and to Actor’s followers, she would soon be seen that way as well.
And just a generation ago, there was Epicydes. Who could count all the enemies left behind by the king who died in Lykke? Not all the atrocities he committed for his firstborn were directed at the other side.
The dead king had, at times, chopped off his own hands and feet without a second thought, mercilessly abandoning his servants, binding everyone together in fear for the sake of his beloved son.
While the lord of Thasos stood against the king to protect his own, those who had gnawed at Thasos from the inside were themselves crushed by the king’s whims.
She had never hated anyone in her life as much as Epicydes, and so the irony was bitter. Her daughter would now bear the grudge of those who despised Epicydes. But if you listened to the daemons’ whispers, it was precisely the chain of resentment—from Epicydes to Actor, from Actor to Leuce—that needed the most care amid the coming chaos.
In the end, there was no one Leuce could truly trust—not even her own mother. Pherenike reached down into the secret space and gently stroked her daughter’s head for what might be the last time.
To the child, even her mother’s hand was that of a villain. She gave a faint, empty smile.
“Do I have to stay here alone?”
“For a while, I’ll be right above you. You remember what I taught you?”
“I remember everything.”
“And the most important thing?”
“Not to say a word until Mother tells me to come out.”
“We’re going to play a game, Leuce.”
The princess’s eyes sparkled in the darkness.
“We’ll flip the hourglass twenty times, starting now.”
“Okay.”
“If you last until nightfall, I’ll give you a very big reward.”
The child nodded. The stone door closed.
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