The Tegean King
The King’s Palace in Tegea was ancient and splendid. Any visitor would have marvelled at its turquoise walls lined with golden panels. Fountains depicting sea gods riding chariots of sea horses and dolphins in polished bronze were just the beginning, but to Cybele it was just home. Too shiny and too pretentious to suit the woman she was becoming, but it was still the place where she was born, and likely where she would also live out her old age.
Samlet followed with a nervous expression, two guards flanking him with distrust in their eyes. The guards wore baggy white trousers tied with thick golden belts. Their vests were bright turquoise, their skin not so dark as Sam’s, but they were still full Tegean blood. Their heads were clean shaven, just a hint of black stubble across scalps that were otherwise nearly bald. The men knew her well, though they would not rest easy around her new advisor, until he was approved of by her father.
In the throne room, King Oteptun Ra’nen sat upon a tall golden chair carved with lions for the armrests. The dais on which it was raised was almost as wide as the room, over forty-five feet across at the top level of a seven-step staircase of sand-coloured marble. The steps glimmered like polished gold, from the sunlight that poured through the pyramid shaped glass ceiling.
Shia’roh’huk sat beside him, licking his paws. Larger than his companion, Injoh’kohl’ruk was the elder, his mane was almost black, while Shia’s was pale gold. They were her father’s last line of defence against assassins. Both wore scars from numerous attempts during the early years of her childhood. Their attackers had made a fine meal for each of these alpha predators.
‘So, daughter, was your search fruitful?’ Oteptun’s face was stern as a lion. His eyes were hard, they fixed her with a look that measured her very essence.
‘Father, my king, may I introduce Samlet Adrobi. He has assisted me to recover that which I sought, and so I have brought this man to the palace to serve as my Royal Tutor in Magic.’
Her father fixed that look upon Sam, who bowed as low as his spine would allow, but the man did not get down on one knee. That was the first surprise.
‘What have you to say of this, Samlet Adrobi?’
‘I was stunned to learn the method for achieving her aims, King Oteptun. Though the miracle unfolded before my eyes. The Red Phoenix has returned.’
‘And how is old Ri’tu’kur?’ her father asked. That was the second surprise. ‘Still stubborn as his master I presume.’
‘He was ever proud above his station, your eminence.’
Cybele eyed Slow Sam from the corner of her eyes. How did he know her father?
‘Do you accept this charge, Samlet. I promise you; dearest Cybele has more pride than any lion I have ever met. Her tutelage will be a challenge for you.’
‘It appears destiny is calling me on this one, sire. I could not refuse even if I wished to.’
‘Very well,’ he raised a finger to Calphi, who clapped his hands to summon a host of servants. ‘Take our honoured guest to his rooms. He shall have the very best, in the Royal Quarters. See that he is given all he may require.’ He looked to Sam again for a moment, ‘If you will excuse me, old friend, I should like to have a word in private with my daughter.’
***
‘So, how do you know my father?’ Cybele asked the tall dark Akhori Magician.
‘It is a long story,’ he replied. His face seemed tense; his tone cautious.
‘I was just surprised that he knew you. He has never spoken of you before, to any of his children as far as I know.’
‘We will talk of it some other time.’ Sam replied, brushing the unspoken questions aside. ‘Now we will begin your real training. Summon the Phoenix.’
‘Here?’ Cybele asked. They were strolling through the palace gardens. The moon was near full. The fox and the heron clearly visible across the gleaming white surface. The moonlight cast shadows across the fountains and walkways, tracing the silver and gold sculptures of lions, lionesses and their cubs.
‘It is no secret amongst your people that you would be the one to summon the Phoenix.’ Sam said. ‘Why should you fear to display this ability in public?’
‘I’m not sure, when you put it like that.’ She stopped walking, as did Sam and Ri’tu’kur, his lion had been given the right to roam the palace grounds as if he were part of the Royal Pride.
The lion was well behaved. He would not harm anyone unless provoked.
Raising her right hand, she twisted her palm to face upwards, as a stream of crimson fire flared from her fingertips. The Red Phoenix seemed stronger this time. It seemed its physical presence had increased. Over the few days it had spent joined to her.
‘Father was not pleased you had arrived home with me,’ Cybele admitted.
‘Focus your breathing, Cybele,’ Sam instructed. After a sigh he added, ‘I am not surprised.’
‘Why is that?’
‘We will not speak of it here and now.’ He looked left and right like a cornered feline. ‘Is that all he wished to speak to you about?’
‘No, he wanted me to meet someone.’
‘Let me guess, he wished to introduce you to our honoured guest?’
‘Caesar!’ Cybele spat the name as if it were poison. ‘I hated the way he looked at me. Like I was a toy doll to be put on display for his personal amusement. Gave me the creeps.’
‘Was his apprentice present? The boy Antony?’
‘Yes,’ Cybele smiled this time. ‘Him I liked. He had soft eyes, and a kind face.’
‘Keep breathing slowly, allowing the Phoenix to draw from your essence. If you do this every day, the bird will grow stronger.’
Cybele continued to breathe as she recalled the meeting with the Emperor of Eromula and his First General.
Caesar was hawklike in appearance, especially the eyes and nose, with white hair above his ears like wings. He wore a laurel wreath of pure gold. He eyed Cybele up and down like a horse breeder looking to buy. Chest out high and proud, there was dignity and grace about him, though he was hard as the stones that formed the Colosseum.
Cybele would not be intimidated by him, however. She stood with equal pride as she glared back like a cat in a cage. Knowing her father would not be pleased, she did it anyway. Caesar was a tyrant who bullied his way across nations, smashing his enemies into submission to build his epic Empire.
‘She has fire,’ Caesar remarked. ‘She could teach lions to roll over and beg like hounds, I’d wager that!’
‘I even have one that can fetch you your slippers if you wish it.’ Cybele replied with a sneaky grin. That was perhaps a bit flirtatious, she wasn’t sure what had brought it on. For a moment she felt humbled, lowering her eyes as she began to fear she was blushing.
‘Yes, full of fire,’ Caesar repeated. ‘How old are you child?’
‘I reached my eighteenth name day three days ago, Caesar. I plan to join the Spear Sisterhood and guard the desert plains with the lion prides.’
‘But your father has informed me you have discovered the Red Phoenix. Is that so?’
‘It is Caesar.’
‘Do you not think your station would put you in higher demand than a mediocre occupation such as the one that you are choosing?’
‘What would you suggest, Lord and Saviour?’ Her father asked with a narrowed gaze. He still sat in his throne, almost an affront to Caesar’s power. But he was mostly subservient to any request the Emperor made.
Caesar gave her that look again. Like a cat eyeing a dish of cream it wished to savour for dessert. It made her skin crawl. He was far too old for her! His second in command was a handsome young specimen though. He stood leaning against a pillar with those soft brown eyes and curly dark locks.
She felt that if they were alone together and he looked at her the way he did now, she would more than blush with embarrassment. Those quick looks she caught before his eyes darted anywhere but upon her face. His sandals, the ceiling, the intricate marble designs in the slabs that formed the floor, anywhere at all but at her. She almost giggled after a while it took her so by surprise. He’s smitten! She thought in elation. And cuter than a kitten.
Caesar had paused a long while, and she then realised the Emperor had noted the glances between her and Markus Antonius. She hoped the pretty boy would not be flogged for it.
She didn’t like scars.
Caesar harrumphed.
Then that look returned. It seemed the evidence of a love triangle was a turn on for the old man.
‘I would suggest we provide Cybele with a seat that is firm and suited to her position.’
‘Can you believe that creepy old pervert!’ Cybele spoke at near a whisper but with great emphasis. Sam’s head whipped left and right to see if anyone was close enough to hear.
‘Watch your tongue, princess. You may lose it if you continue to use such language about certain people of high station.’
‘But I mean come on!’ She puffed up her chest in a stance impersonating the great Caesar. “I would position her firmly and in great succession.” Those were the actual words the old devil chose to suggest … well we know what he was really talking about anyway. Don’t we?’
‘Lower your voice, girl! You’ll get us both nailed to a cross.’