Pherenike - Chapter 135

“Are you suggesting we frame Kybellaune, blaming her for the destruction of the houses?”

“That’s a disgusting thought!”

“We’re all here to make a legitimate decision. Still, formal approval is required. Who is the king’s proxy? If an order is given in the queen’s noble name, and it’s lawful, what’s the problem?”

“I can’t agree. If she’s guilty of anything, only His Majesty has the right to judge her.”

“Even if she turns out to be innocent, a lawful order is not an issue. But if she’s really a spy for Paetusa, it’s just as well. Should she try to flee the palace and get caught, she’d be stoned to death by those who lost their homes and families. What I’m suggesting is a kind of safeguard.”

“This is madness. You call it a minor issue, but want to lay even that small responsibility on Kybellaune?”

“Because she’s Kybellaune. Besides, aren’t the people the sort who’d wag their tails at the mere sight of the sacred banner?”

“I’ll never agree. Hiding behind the back of a mere woman…”

“A mere woman? Isn’t she worth more than tens of thousands of men? All of us revere our queen as if we’ve seen the glory of the goddess herself.”

“…”

“Rather than let foolish commoners come to hate our noble king, Actor Nikandros Pelagon, let’s allow them to believe that whatever destruction or death they face is the will of the goddess.”

The men who disagreed rose from their seats. One of them, ignoring their protests, turned to the eldest elder.

“Or we could say it’s all misfortune caused by a cruel-hearted woman.”

On the battlements, archers continued to be struck down, tumbling over the walls like hunted birds, but no arrows had yet flown deep enough to reach the palace itself.

The outer fortress walls had catapults, but no stones had fallen within—evidence that Deucalion Paetusa’s true weakness was still somewhere inside.

The palace was surrounded by strong walls, but the central keep stood high on a hill, towering several stories above the outer wall.

In times of peace, the king could climb that tower and see the road stretching from Lykke’s gates to the palace at a single glance. Now, that very height made it the most vulnerable spot.

Destroying what the walls can’t hide, burning what stands above, is sometimes for the best. If you can’t breach a fortress from the outside, you can break it from within—sometimes a mighty dam falls apart from a single small crack.

The King’s brother could easily attack, but he holds back. Perhaps it’s because of rumors that the queen is being held in the highest rooms, and in fact, she was now imprisoned in the central palace.

Most of the king’s advisers simply assumed the King’s brother would not destroy the palace, believing it was ‘the safest place’ for the queen. Others, perhaps blinded by imagined love, thought he would never harm her.

But even if the center burns and collapses—if the queen dies by the prince’s own hand—what’s really lost?

Her survival would have value, but so might her death, if it’s the right kind. The people revere Kybellaune so much that, no matter how noble Pelagon’s son might be, could they ever serve a man who killed the goddess’s daughter as king?

A siege tower rose beyond the walls, visible in the distance like a watchtower. Pherenike’s eyes followed the tiny, moving figures atop it before she looked down.

The sun was slipping past its zenith. Amid the soldiers hurrying back and forth, women still searched for the princess. But no one entered the sanctuary that the queen had guarded alone.

Suddenly, Pherenike noticed the shadow of a tree move—but the tree itself hadn’t. Her eyes narrowed, then widened in recognition.

[Atalanta.]

No matter how far away, she could only recognize her. Almost as if she heard her voice, the lioness looked up at her in the window.

A fleeting glint of sunlight flashed across the lion’s eyes as she recognized Pherenike.

[How did you get here?]

[…]

[It’s too dangerous for you here. Go back to Deucalion, quickly.]

[…]

[Atalanta, please.]

But Pherenike soon realized her words could not reach the lion, just as Atalanta’s voice could not reach her.

[There are soldiers everywhere here, and you stand out far too much among people. If you get struck by an arrow…]

[…]

[Please, listen to me. Atalanta.]

Her hand gripped the window frame anxiously. If it were the calm of night, perhaps their voices could have reached each other, no matter how far.

But now, under the blazing sun in the heart of war, they were truly, utterly separated. Pherenike tried to steady her anxious expression, then glanced back at the guards stationed inside her door.

Unable to meet her eyes, the guards quickly bowed their heads.

“Wait outside.”

They exchanged glances, then, after a silent agreement, bowed and left.