Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)(39)

‘My father will see this as a declaration of war,’ she said, glaring at him.

‘I think not,’ he said dismissively. ‘Your consuls were afraid of me.’ He shrugged. ‘And perhaps war is what the sun king will want. If not, you can always be returned. Or ransomed.’ He stared directly into her eyes. ‘At any rate, your father is no king. A king would seek vengeance, no matter the consequence. But these consuls will advise caution. Such men always do.’

Chloe felt the seeds of doubt grow in her mind. She knew the way the Assembly functioned.

‘Believe me, Chloe of Phalesia,’ Kargan said. ‘Your fate is now in the hands of the sun king.’





17


Dion climbed the series of stone steps cut into the cliff at odd angles. Some were larger than others and he had to be careful with his footing. The higher he ascended, the more conscious he was of the steep drop to the sea below.

He tried not to look down, instead focusing on each individual step. But his gaze wandered, and he occasionally looked out at the city, seeing a scene of strange normality at the agora and surrounding temples where one would instead expect chaos and turmoil.

Finally, the path leveled and he paused, gripping a nearby jut, and waited for his breathing and heart rate to return to normal. Tough shrubs lined both sides of the path ahead, which was short and led directly to the plateau.

He had never climbed to the Temple of Aldus before, and had never been so high. The cliff dropped away at his left and he fought off the dizzying sensation of vertigo as he walked along the path. Keeping his back straight and his eyes level, he approached the dozen columns surrounding the flat, circular space, and now that his footsteps were taking him away from the cliff he finally began to breathe more easily.

From his vantage point he could see the entire city of Phalesia revealed behind the plateau’s far side. The evenly spaced columns held up no roof, simply providing a skirting fence for the sacred relics within. Even though it was near noon, the eternal flame was easily visible, burning fiercely on a stepped pyramid, nestled within a hollow at the very top. The spears of fire leaped and danced.

Six paces in front of the flame, at the temple’s perfect center, the Ark of Revelation shone brightly, the gold shimmering under the sun’s rays. Ornate and decorated with imprinted designs, it had a flat lid that was small compared to the chest. Strange, sharply angled symbols were arranged along the front, underneath lines of cursive text in a language Dion had never seen before.

Even though strong purpose had brought him here, he stopped in awe.

But he shook himself and intentionally tore his eyes away from the golden chest. He looked instead at the solitary man who knelt in front of the ark, his hands clasped together and his lips moving soundlessly as he prayed.

It was unthinkable to disturb First Consul Aristocles at prayer, but some things could not wait. Amos of the city guard had told Dion that Aristocles was so grief-stricken he was spending nearly all his time at the temple, praying to the gods and pacing, gazing out to sea in the direction his daughter had been taken.

Dion licked his lips and spoke. ‘First Consul.’

Aristocles looked up in surprise. He appeared to have aged dramatically, though little time had passed since their last meeting. The white hair framing his bald crown was lank and the skin around his eyes was shadowed and sunken; he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He slowly clambered to his feet and turned to face Dion.

Dion walked forward to meet him, taking in the older man’s grubby tunic and coming to the conclusion that Aristocles hadn’t washed or changed his clothes since his daughter’s capture. ‘I’ve heard the news, and I wish to express my sympathy.’

‘Dion,’ Aristocles said listlessly, gazing at him with reddened eyes. ‘What brings you here? What is so urgent as to disturb me at prayer?’

‘My father sent me to learn more about the newcomers. He fears that more ships will come in the wake of this visit. I was to ascertain their intentions.’

Aristocles gave a sardonic laugh.

Dion continued: ‘I believe my task is even more important now. Their intentions are clear. The Ileans are undoubtedly hostile. The fates of our two nations may hang in the balance. Yet, huddled in the mountains as we are, Xanthos is in the dark.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Aristocles said wearily. ‘But my problems are nonetheless greater than yours.’

‘Have you sent a rescue party yet?’

‘I cannot.’ Aristocles shook his head. ‘The consuls fear any act that may lead to outright war.’

Dion was puzzled. ‘Hasn’t that already happened?’

‘No,’ Aristocles said. ‘This could still be brushed off as a mistake, with both parties pretending misunderstanding, and any wounds soothed with silver and gold.’

Dion opened his mouth, then closed it. ‘So what are you saying? What will happen to your daughter?’

The first consul sighed. He looked like a man in physical pain. ‘I must pray that her captors treat her well and keep her safe. I tell myself that they wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of capturing her if they intended her harm.’

‘Surely the consuls are advising some response?’

‘Many believe the day will soon come when the sun king’s men will return demanding tribute and acknowledgement of vassalage. It stands to reason that any agreement would be conditional on return of my daughter. To this end they believe that it is time to start gathering gold.’