The Goddess (11 page)

“I understand her.”

He seemed to consider that before asking, “And what do you two girls have planned?”

“We’re going to read those pages I found in the villa.”

“That should take three minutes.”

“I found more.”

He studied her with a faint grin. “You didn’t tell me.”

“It was a last minute thing.”
Very last minute.
“I’ll take good care of them.”

“I know you will.”

It wasn’t said as a warning. It was more an endorsement.

“I also might visit Alexio and his family.” She sucked pastry custard off a thumb.
“I didn’t see him when we came in. I’ve left a couple of messages but haven’t heard
back. I want to let him know I won’t be going back to work for him.”

His chin went up. “So you’ll go home when you leave here?”

“On a high note, remember?” Perking herself up—pushing that other “with child” possibility
out of her mind—she changed the subject. “Have you put the figurine away?”

“She’s still in my room.”

“In that case?”

“In an alcove.”

Helene smiled from ear to ear. “You’re not going to lock her away?”

“I haven’t made my mind up what to do with her yet.”

Helene leaned over and cupped his clean-shaven jaw in both hands. “I know she’s precious
but special things deserve to be admired.” She tipped back. “Just saying.”

A thoughtful smile eased across his face before he sobered and threw a quick glance
over to the attendant, who was heading off with a magnificent vase of flowers into
the main building. Clearly he didn’t want anyone to overhear them speaking about the
goddess.

He pushed back his chair and dropped a kiss on her brow. “Can you find your way back?”

“I’ll manage.”

He arched a teasing brow. “Don’t get up to any mischief.”

She crossed her heart. “Promise.”

…

Helene asked the attendant to contact Tahlia and ask if she was available to come
to her quarters. She’d thought about bringing the pages down to the pavilion so they
could enjoy the fresh air and sunshine, but she was paranoid a breeze might catch
a corner and whisk a sheet into one of those fountain pools.

Tahlia arrived at the same time Helene opened her quarters’ door. She looked a little
flushed.

“Have you been running?” Helene asked as she closed the door behind them.

“Not exactly.”

Tahlia walked over to a window—the one that peered directly out over the stables.
Helene joined her. Below, a young man played with Ajax, throwing a stick and laughing
as he rough-housed the dog whenever he brought it back.

“Someone special?” Helene asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

Tahlia’s chest rose and fell on a sigh. “Isn’t he wonderful? Ajax adores him.”

“Sounds as if you adore him, too.”

Tahlia looked at her from beneath those thick lashes and offered a secret smile, but
she didn’t elaborate. Instead, she looped her arm through Helene’s and ushered her
back to sofa.

“I’m dying to read this story,” Tahlia said. “After hearing the story of how you two
met on that island, perhaps you should write your own.”

The night before at dinner, when Darius had explained the circumstances surrounding
their unconventional introduction, he hadn’t mentioned the cave incident. Neither
had he referred to the figurine, which left Helene feeling a little awkward. If there
was any other person in the world who deserved to know that the goddess truly did
exist—that she was in fact right here within the palace walls—it must be Tahlia.

When they were seated side by side on the sofa, Helene handed Tahlia the first few
pages and straightened the remaining sheets—the ones she’d found in the desk and hadn’t
yet read.

“I’ll pass them over as I finish each one,” Helene said.

But Tahlia didn’t appear to be listening. She was already immersed in the story. Settling
back, Helene dived in again, too. In front of a rioting crowd, some unknown woman
had just thrown herself off a palace balcony.

Princess Acacia slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her horrified scream.

The new queen had said she only wished to talk to the people gathered outside. She’d
wanted to assure them of her affection, offer them her deepest regard. No one had
expected her to make the ultimate sacrifice and douse those raging fires with her
own blood.

A collective gasp escaped the crowd at the same time Acacia’s brother rushed to the
balcony. A moment later, his anguished cry roared through the night while the wispy
curtains waved in the breeze like a pair of angel’s wings saying good-bye. Her heartbeat
galloping high in her chest, Acacia knew she must act. Take control. But as her brother’s
wails withered, she found she couldn’t move.

To her bones she knew that tonight one life would not be enough.

She heard a voice—her nephew’s nurse, the same woman who had cared for Acacia and
her brother when they, too, had been young. Acacia’s gaze shifted lower. In the nurse’s
arms lay the little prince suckling a thumb as he slept.

“You must leave,” the nurse said. She shot a glance toward those doors and held the
six-month-old tighter still. “The mob is quiet now but they will stir and rise again.”

When trouble had started much earlier that day, the four had gathered in this room.
Guards stood firm outside the door as they did on the grounds down below, but the
nurse, Drew Doukas, was right. The madness would bubble and grow again. This child’s
life was in danger, not to mention the king’s.

“Get provisions.” Acacia held out her arms. “I’ll take the baby.”

“If they fall upon us and he’s in your care, there’s no doubt. They’ll do harm to
you both.”

The nurse’s eyes brimmed, but Acacia had no room for emotion, especially her own.
She swallowed the bitter pip swelling in her throat and lifted her chin as her mother
would want her to do.

“Go now,” Acacia said. “Collect only enough food for two days.”

She wasn’t certain what lay ahead, but they’d need to travel light.

Careful not to wake him, Acacia scooped her nephew close. This baby was her responsibility
now. The king’s too, of course, but her brother wasn’t strong or particularly wise
like their father had been. Risto did love his wife, however, and would not want to
abandon her even in death. He would rely on the guard to protect him, but history
told many stories of lines being broken, of kings being killed.

Gazing down at this darling baby now, Acacia scolded herself. She ought to have been
stern with her brother. It didn’t matter whether the woman he loved was a good and
true person, whether royal blood flowed in this child’s veins. A sacred law was ignored
and the omens had been cruel. People were scared and angry. Acacia understood their
concerns.

She’d understood the queen, too: a reserved woman grateful to have found real love
in this lifetime. She’d been gentle and naive and a good friend to the princess. Now
Acacia would repay that friendship the only way she knew how. The King’s Chief Aide
had left on an unscheduled trip this morning. If he were here now, she would have
turned to him for guidance. As it was, from this point on decisions would need to
be her own.

With the babe in her arms, Acacia moved onto the balcony. Wearing a uniform decorated
with regal brocade, her brother lay in a ball with his head in his hands and his body
shaking from grief and shock. While the rabble’s murmurings grew again, Acacia knelt
close and tried her best to reason with him.

“Risto. She would want us to go.” He didn’t move, so she tipped closer, spoke louder.
“Did you hear me? If we stay any longer, it will be too late. Do you understand? Your
son will die too.” They all would.

The king lifted a blotched face. His hopeless stare sent an ice-cold shaft spearing
down Acacia’s spine. He studied his son and blinked slowly once. Then, a defeated
man, Risto sighed.

“Take him away. Take him for the both of us.”

Acacia’s stomach knotted. She wanted to shake him. This child needed his father, now
more than ever. Couldn’t he give himself at least half a chance?

Still, she could never hate Risto. He was a good brother, a kind husband and father.
But he was not a king. Why had fate not been wise enough to make her the son and heir
to the throne? But these past months, of course, that reason had become clear.

If that were the case, she could never have given her heart to Leandros. When he returned,
he would find her gone and the island in chaos. She’d hoped for a future, a family
of their own…

For one bittersweet moment, she closed her eyes and remembered his kiss, the tenderness
and sweet longing. Would she ever see him again? Feel the strength of his lean body
pressed hard against hers? Hear his words of love, of hope…?

A shout from the crowd broke the spell. Blinking back tears, Acacia schooled herself.

The nurse called from the balcony doors. “Men have scaled the walls. The guard will
fire, but that mob has weapons too.”

On cue, shots rang out like whip cracks bouncing off the black pelt of night. Both
women jumped. The crowd roared. Over the following barrage of shots, the giant gates
rattled, and Acacia’s once perfect world fell further apart. While the baby stirred,
the king found some courage and unsteady feet. He shepherded all three back inside.

“You know where to go, Acacia,” he said. “Don’t return. Promise me. Don’t ever come
back.”

Risto dropped a lingering kiss on his son’s soft brow, hesitated a heart-wrenching
moment, then strode back to the balcony. Over the din, Acacia thought she heard him
address the people who had once revered this family. Then more rifle fire rang out,
the crowd cheered, and the walls of the palace seemed to sob and shake.

With a supplies-sack over one shoulder, the nurse flung open the door then stumbled
back as if shoved. Edging forward, Acacia studied the scene outside in the hall. All
was quiet. Too quiet. Staff would be huddled in their quarters or gone home. But where
were the guards? Helping their colleagues on the ground—or allowing the ramble inside?

The nurse maneuvered the bag of supplies over Acacia shoulder. The princess asked,
“What are you doing?”

“I’ll stay with the king. He has no one now.”

Tears sprang to Acacia’s eyes as she clung to the baby. The words burned her throat.
“Risto is dead. There’s nothing you can do.”

“I’d do the same for you in a heartbeat.”

“You’ll come with us…”

“No. Go, and hurry. This is my time.” The nurse grabbed the door handle. “Find happiness,
dear love, and live for us all.”

When the door closed in her face, Acacia imagined her old nurse crossing to be with
the king. Then more muffled rifle fire echoed through the walls, and she flew down
two flights of stairs with her nephew in her arms. She swung open the library’s heavy
wooden door. In a far corner, beneath a portrait of Acacia’s proud grandfather, she
carefully set the baby down on a sofa and the supplies down on the floor.

Sweat beading on her brow, she gritted her teeth and, pushing, begged the shelf to
budge. The waking baby grumbled before the bow of his lower lip wobbled and dropped.
A heartbeat later, a crash—
the breaking of the palace doors?
—threw Acacia’s heart into the air. She prayed to her mother, father, and to every
ancestor or sympathetic entity who might deign to listen.

Spare this baby. Keep him safe.

More crashing—furniture tossed against the walls—filtered in. As she pushed again,
Acacia worried. Why hadn’t she made certain this route had been tested? Why hadn’t
she paid heed to the warning signs and planned this escape well ahead?

Groaning, she exerted every ounce of force her body and soul possessed. As the crashing
outside drew nearer, and torchlight bobbed closer through the tall arched window,
the bookshelf finally grated against flagstone then slid as if on ice.

Acacia collected the baby, darted through the opening, and set him down on the cold
stone floor while she rolled the shelf back in place. Looking around, she shivered.
Her heart and mind might be racing, but this corridor was as still as death and just
as dark. Feeling around the dank walls, she found a torch hanging nearby, but she
wouldn’t ignite it yet. The rabble could reach the library any second. She wouldn’t
take the risk of light bleeding from beneath the bookshelf’s base.

The baby squeaked. Acacia picked him up and edged away from the secret doorway. Listening
to the crashing sounds grow louder, she suddenly remembered and turned cold.

She’d left the sack outside.

Acacia’s legs all but buckled. Every royal house had tunnels, corridors through which
to flee in times such as these. How long before someone put the sack and the convenient
bookshelf together? How long before they were caught?

But she couldn’t go back. She had to push on and hope. Pray.

Her vision adjusting to the shadows, she advanced two steps then a half dozen more.
Squinting, she made out the nearest of the torches lining the walls. She could see
the baby’s face now, innocent, curious, listening. Then a realization struck, sharp
and sure as an arrow’s tip. Trembling, she peered down the corridor.

Around the far bend, along the only way to freedom, light from a distant torch drifted
near.

…

Leandros had been striding down the secret tunnel for some time when he glimpsed movement
ahead. Squinting, he pulled up sharply and, senses tingling, listened. But he heard
only his heartbeat booming in his ears while sweat trickled down his face and his
back. If someone waited farther down, there was every chance he would be shot as a
trespasser—or perhaps more likely, lynched as a sympathizer to the royals.

As a boy, his grandfather had discovered the entrance to this tunnel hidden at the
rear of a forgotten pomegranate orchard close by the palace grounds. Curious, he had
investigated, journeying down this dark winding tunnel until he’d come to its end.
He’d even slid aside the furniture that disguised its access from the palace library.
His grandfather’s dark eyes had twinkled when he’d confessed that, luckily for him,
the king had not been reading that day.