Chapter 99
The sanctuary cavalry, forbidden from entering the palace’s inner court, dispersed at the center of the royal grounds.
The queen then rode alone into the courtyard. Attendants, startled by the distant cry of ‘Kybellaune,’ hurried out, dropping to their knees in deep bows before taking her reins.
Pherenike lightly stepped down from her horse, using the back of a bowed attendant as a stair. Even if they were used as little more than furniture, being touched by Kybellaune was considered a blessing and an honor. Several attendants cast envious glances at the servant who’d been the first to offer their back to the queen.
Seemingly oblivious, the queen passed through the attendants and asked, almost absently,
“Where is the princess?”
“With His Majesty, in the Geda grove.”
Pherenike glanced in the direction of the small forest beyond the palace and, removing her riding gloves one by one, handed them to a servant.
“Shall I escort you to the grove?”
“No, I’ll go up to my chambers.”
When his young daughter developed a fondness for the woods near Lykke, Actor had a small grove planted within the palace grounds, giving it the same name—Geda—so that the forest would always be within reach whenever the princess wished for it.
With its trickling stream, the place was an unremarkable, rather plain forest, much like any found across Evdokia.
It was hardly beautiful. Pherenike remembered visiting the grove several times as a child, hand in hand with Axiothea. But by the time Actor started mentioning the place, it had become so ordinary to her that it hardly stirred any memories at all.
‘Kybellaune, didn’t you also visit Geda as a child, with Lady Axiothea?’
‘…How do you know that?’
‘I’m fairly sure you went many times. Your memory’s not so sharp, is it?’
‘I only remember the beautiful, impressive things.’
‘Yes. That plain grove you’ve forgotten—there are a few old silver poplars there.’
‘……’
‘They’re even bigger than when we were children.’
‘Did you go there as a child, holding Lord Epicydes’ hand?’
‘No. It was Lady Axiothea who took me.’
To Pherenike’s offhand remark, he replied plainly. The idea of Axiothea taking him on an outing was odd to her.
‘Did Lady Axiothea plan to abandon you in the woods, keeping it a secret from Lord Epicydes?’
‘Of course not.’
He chuckled.
‘She simply took me along, as she once took you and Deucalion everywhere.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It was a place your mother loved, Pherenike.’
Pherenike considered Axiothea as a mother figure, but could never call her “mother”—their ranks were too different, and Pherenike was already betrothed to Deucalion from an early age.
Actor knew this as well.
So the ‘mother’ he spoke of could only mean Hippolyta Vassilios—General Vassilios’ wife, Pherenike’s unfortunate birth mother, who died shortly after giving birth.
‘…And how do you know my mother loved the Geda grove?’
‘I told you—Lady Axiothea took me there as a child.’
He spoke Axiothea’s name without a trace of sentiment. Pherenike’s mother had been Axiothea’s dearest friend, yet this still struck Pherenike as strange.
‘You’re saying Axiothea Thasos spoke to you about my mother?’
‘Not exactly. She simply told me her closest friend loved that grove since she was little.’
‘……’
‘She said the memory of her friend always comes back to her when she stands among the old silver poplars of Geda.’
‘She never told me anything like that.’
‘You were young, and she feared even your smallest pains.’
Just as Epicydes longed for Deucalion’s death, so too did Axiothea hope for Actor’s end. Husband and wife in name, but their lives spent wielding knives against each other’s children.
Pherenike had loved Axiothea deeply, but as far as she could remember, Axiothea was never a particularly tender stepmother.
Actor, for his part, was never the sort of child to crave a distant stepmother’s affection. And with their father so unyielding, there was no hope for kindness between them.
Yet, as if he understood something of Axiothea, as if he could recall some precious moment between them, Actor mentioned his stepmother’s name from long ago.
Pherenike couldn’t comprehend it.
‘So, the Geda grove is a place loved by your mothers.’
‘……’
‘And now, Leuce likes it as well. Both your mothers and your daughter love it—only you don’t.’
He concluded, as if he’d discovered something amusing, that perhaps Pherenike’s taste was the only thing lacking.
‘…And what is it that the princess likes so much about that grove?’
‘She sometimes prefers what can’t be seen to what’s in front of her.’
‘……’
‘Standing under those trees, I told her: Leuce, your name comes from those poplars.’
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