Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)(40)

Dion’s eyes widened with horror. ‘They’ve given up? All because of one warship seizing a citizen, the daughter of the first consul? And Phalesia would give up its independence?’

Aristocles spread his hands. ‘Nothing has been decided. A decision will take many days, if not weeks. It is not my choice alone.’

Dion met the first consul’s gaze with an intent stare. ‘What would you do?’

‘It’s not about what I would do. We are an Assembly.’

‘Pretend you are king for a day.’

Aristocles coughed and turned his head away. When he again met Dion’s gaze, Dion saw that the first consul’s eyes glistened. ‘I know my daughter. She would never allow herself to be any part of Phalesia’s loss of sovereignty. She would toss herself into the sea rather than be a bargaining chip. I also know of this sun king, Solon, by reputation. If Phalesia gives him gold he will only demand more. Negotiation is not our best move.’

Dion glanced at the golden chest. ‘Why not hide the ark? Put it somewhere safe?’

‘We could never do it,’ Aristocles said. ‘It would send a message that we cannot defend our most sacred relic. The people would never stand for it. We consuls only have the power they give us.’

‘Then you must launch a rescue mission,’ Dion said. ‘The longer you wait the smaller the chance of success.’

‘If a Phalesian oceangoing vessel left these waters the Assembly would learn of it. Though every moment that passes takes her further away, I cannot order a rescue, not alone, not without the Assembly’s approval. I am working on it, but it will take time. Until I can gather a vote, my hands are tied.’

Dion made sure Aristocles took note of his next words. ‘I am not Phalesian,’ he said, fixing the first consul with a firm stare.

Aristocles tilted his head. He stayed silent.

‘My father has given me permission to travel to Ilea, posing as a trader from Xanthos.’

‘To what end?’

‘To ascertain the sun king’s intentions and capabilities. To learn about these warships and their construction.’

Aristocles stood back and looked Dion up and down, his expression pensive.

‘The sun king knows nothing of my people,’ Dion continued. ‘They wouldn’t immediately connect me with Phalesia.’

‘Speak plainly, Dion of Xanthos,’ Aristocles said. ‘What are you saying?’

‘The sun king wouldn’t suspect me of making a rescue attempt.’

‘Your father knows of this?’

‘I just arrived. He has no knowledge of your daughter’s capture.’

‘Why would you help me?’

‘Because I believe a war is coming, with the Maltherean Sea as battleground. Because with your daughter hostage the likely outcome is that Phalesia will focus on ransom rather than gearing up for war. Because we in Xanthos need your navy and your men if we are to survive.’

Dion paused to let his words sink in.

‘Alone, Xanthos cannot survive against the sun king,’ he continued. ‘The Ileans have shown their intentions. War will come. We need to get your daughter to safety, to take her out of the conflict. We need to prepare.’

Silence ensued, broken only by the wind whistling on the cliff top and the faint sound of waves crashing below. The glaring sun reminded Dion that time was passing.

‘I will pray to the gods,’ Aristocles finally said.

At that instant Dion caught fleeting motion out of the corner of his eye. His breath caught as he saw an eagle flying in an arc. The great bird settled in the air, just a few feet from the edge of the cliff, where it hovered, watching them with intelligent eyes. The eagle spent long seconds simply regarding the two men, and then wheeled away. It flew swiftly away from the temple, in a direct path out to sea.

The two watchers followed the eagle’s flight but it never changed course, becoming a tiny speck, and then vanishing altogether.

Aristocles’ face was white.

‘The omen is clear,’ the first consul said. ‘War is coming. Go, Dion of Xanthos. My prayers will be with you. Do your utmost.’

He spoke with ragged emotion as he gripped Dion’s shoulders.

‘Get my daughter back.’





18


The long warship traveled through deep waters that were a darker shade of blue than Chloe had ever seen. Mighty waves pounded at its bow, lifting it up before slamming it into the troughs behind. Sitting at the stern, where she felt the motion least, Chloe looked back toward her homeland, where the vessel’s wake left a whitened trail.

It was the second day of travel, and the wake pointed directly to the island of Deos, where they had beached the previous night. Chloe could still see the island now, marked out by the triangular silhouette of Mount Oden. Her sleep had been filled with terror, not only because of the rough men surrounding her, but because of the rumbling volcano, its peak clouded by the black smoke it spewed forth.

No Galean would have chosen the volcanic island to beach on: Mount Oden was the home of the gods, and their whims could never be predicted. Children listened to stories that told of shipwrecked sailors being stranded on the island. Some stories ended with the traveler being sent home, traveling on a cloud. Other times the victim was changed into a goat or a horse.

Chloe’s stomach growled, clenching itself painfully. Kargan’s men had given her food and drink but she struggled to keep any of it down; she vomited the contents of her stomach whenever she had anything more substantial than a sip of water.