Aegyr was the only one sitting; he had taken the lone chair, the one that Hyperion had arranged next to a large jade vase full of exotic and colourful flowers, where he loved to sit when he wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet of his garden. Behind him stood fifteen men in dark blue tunics. Unlike the envoys she'd translated for, these had a more martial air to them, and seemed to be always expecting orders. She knew, almost plucked it out of the air, that they were the Knights of the Black Sun.
"How sad that the Phrygian prince lost his chance to take revenge," Aegyr said, clearly taking note of her state. "I killed five of his foster-brothers."
"Where is Hyperion?" she asked, not minding the sniffles and her puffy, crying face.
"He's at the palace."
"Is he unharmed?"
"That depends on you, lady Ophelia," Aegyr said, and for the first time ever, she saw a sliver of excitement on his face. "Will you tell the truth now?"
Ophelia took a look at the Knights behind him, and wondered if she could freeze them the same way she'd done with the Phrygians days earlier. She sighed, feeling defeated. Hyperion's life was at stake. "What do you want to know?"
"Which family do you belong to?"
"None," Ophelia looked at him with disdain. "I come from Byzantium."
No amount of training would stop the soldiers from responding to seeing their most fabled myth come to life. Gasps echoed in the room, and she saw Aegyr hold steady to the chair he was sitting on. His eyes were lost in thought, and she knew he was piecing together the rest of the puzzle she'd presented him throughout the weeks: all the little cracks that would not quite fit together suddenly became the perfect explanation to make sense of her claims.
In a blur, he rose from his seat and closed the distance between them. He stared at her with naked wonder in his eyes; it was such an unguarded moment that she could not help but forget for an instant who he was and the danger she was in. He was truly breathtaking like that, when the walls he'd built to separate himself from the rest of humanity came crashing down.
"Byzantium…" he whispered, his eyes roaming over her face as if it was a miracle made flesh. He then turned back to address his knights. "She's telling the truth. Who could've stopped us in our attack, six of us, if not someone from the eternal land itself?"
The men cheered, looking at each other, and her, in absolute wonder. Aegyr, however, laid a hand on her shoulder and leaned in to whisper in her ear, "I did warn you that your fate would soon be known, did I not?"
Ophelia turned her head to answer, "what do you want?"
"The Chaldean merchant is being held at the palace, and it will take a single word from me to order for him to be beheaded for treason. If you cooperate with me, he will walk away a free man the moment your feet touch Elysium."
Ophelia looked back at the cheering knights. She had very little choice. "Very well," she nodded. "But if you were to harm a single hair on his head, I will not let you walk away like I did earlier today."
"In Elysium, we don't make promises we intend to break, lady Ophelia."
He offered her a hand which she took rather hesitantly. The garden and the house were empty: she assumed the attendants had either fled or had been taken prisoners as well. She felt the Knights' soft steps as they followed in a line behind them: the moment they began to move their chatter had ceased, back again to being unfeeling automatons.
They walked to the stables, where they found a single Elysian knight minding the black steeds they'd brought with them. Aegyr called his mare with a whistle and the loyal animal responded. It galloped to his side, its head stretching into his hands in search of food or a token of affection of some sort.
"Do you know how to ride a horse?" he asked, as he noticed Ophelia standing rigidly next to the mare. She shook her head.
"It's not common to own horses where I lived," she explained. "We have other ways of transportation."
She noticed immediately that the man's eyes were wide, rapt with fascination. "What kinds?"
"We call them…" she cleared her throat as she slipped back to English, "cars. They're like carriages, but they have an engine inside of them capable of making the wheels turn at different speeds. They're faster than horses. Some of them don't even need a driver, they know where to go by themselves."
"That is… incredible," he breathed, and it seemed like it took all of his willpower not to get carried away with questions. He gestured towards the horse, which had become completely still the moment he'd laid his hands on it. "You can go first."
She hesitated for a second; every single time she'd got on a horse it'd been Phobos' hands who'd lifted her up, positioning her on the animal. The memory of his touch sent a slight shot of pain in her heart, and she tried to contain the tears that began to gather in her eyes. Around her, however, the other knights were doing things differently, and she understood that the Elysians made use of their gifts in the most mundane of ways sometimes: they kicked up in the air, lifting themselves using their powers, positioning themselves softly on the horse as if they were feathers falling from the sky. She imitated them, and quite literally floated down onto Aegyr's mare.
Riding with the Elysian would turn out to be a completely different experience than riding with Phobos. The Phrygian prince was used to handling different horses, letting them express themselves in their own peculiar ways: he worked with them, guided them, gave them feedback. The Elysian archduke, however, was in perfect control the entire time, as if he and his mare could communicate telepathically. She also noticed that there was a respectful distance between them, one she'd never felt riding with the Phrygian, even at the beginning of their acquaintance.
They galloped through the city, Aegyr at the head, his Knights carrying their standards riding behind him. The streets they passed by were hollowed out by the riots: windows had been broken, doors smashed to pieces, entire buildings consumed by fire. The closer they got to the palace the bigger the disaster had become: she saw the holes Aegyr and his men had left in the street, making it look like the city had seen an earthquake rather than a protest.
The afternoon was darkening into an early evening, transforming what was bright under the midday sun into a husk of itself. Only a few people had been brave enough to remain in the streets, roaming through the debris, possibly trying to find someone else's possessions. The bodies of the fallen had been purposefully left outside at the mercy of rats and gulls, and any street dog that had no qualms about their choice of food. She could feel the echoes of the screams she'd heard earlier thundering in her ears, trying to shake off some of the life she'd seen to give it back to the streets.
She could hear the murmurs of those who watched their procession gallop by through the streets. They hid in the darkness of their houses; some of them cursed them, others prayed to their gods for their fate. As they were nearing the palace someone dared to throw something at them: a bottle that missed and crashed against the floor near one of the Knights. Aegyr didn't react; neither did the others. They continued their march, but as they left the street an explosion rang out. Ophelia turned around, but could only see the tail of blue flames emerging from the building the bottle had come from, savagely ravaging its insides.
The screams returned, and rang in her ears throughout the rest of her journey.
She was surprised as they entered the palace; the Arqan guards seemed fearful, trying their best not to be noticed. Unlike the outside, it seemed that within its walls the activity had never stopped. The gates, she noted, had been reinforced, and the surrounding area cleaned of any debris that the earlier unrest might have caused. Except for the charred remains of the main parliament building, everything else was as she'd left it some two weeks before.
They dismounted, and Aegyr turned to one of his knights, "did any of the maidens travel with you?"
"No, your excellency, I'm afraid not." Aegyr grimaced.
"Tell the Baron to report to the west wing, near my quarters. It's not ideal but it will do for now."
The Elysian commander made a gesture to indicate she should follow him. As they walked through the palace Ophelia couldn't help but notice that the blue tunics were now roaming around on their own, rather than clustering in groups the way they'd done during the Council. The sight of a few knights here and there, and the reverence they were given by the Arqan preceptors they encountered made her think… "Have you taken over the palace?"
"It could not be helped. Arqa needs to be healed before the sickness spreads."
"So… quickly?"
"I sent for reinforcements after the Philistian envoys' death. More are yet to come."
They arrived at what used to be the wing dedicated to the Elysian envoys, which it seemed they had never truly abandoned. "So, you will invade Arqa," Ophelia pressed on as Aegyr stopped in front of the closed double doors of someone's chamber. He turned towards her.
"Who will stop their civil war before it begins?" he said in a monotone, as the doors opened by themselves. Behind she could appreciate the luxury of the rooms that clearly were a mile away from the ones that had been given to the translators.
"You will stay here until we're to leave for the empire."
They stepped inside; the chamber was large, and even had its own balcony. Ophelia walked closer to one of the windows and inspected the outside: she could clearly see the blackened, crumbling remains of the fire she'd put out.
"The chamber next to this one is mine; the rest belong to the knights. That is to say, should you wish to try anything here, we'll hear of it."
Ophelia made a face. "Yes, yes, I'll behave."
A knock on the door made both of them look towards the origin of the noise: an Elysian man was waiting at the entrance to the chambers, clearly waiting to be let in. "Baron Doria," Aegyr said gesturing for him to come in. He'd not been one of the envoys Ophelia had translated for. It was safe to assume he'd arrived with the Knights.
"This is Baron Doria, lady Ophelia, and he will serve as your attendant in absence of a suitable maiden," Aegyr instructed. "This is lady Ophelia of Byzantium, Baron. She knows nothing of our customs, so I expect you will teach her accordingly."
Her new surname made Baron Doria take a step back, his eyes wide as if he'd seen a ghost. "Surely…" escaped his lips, before he realized who he was talking to. He cleared his throat, and bowed his head. "As my liege commands."
Aegyr turned towards Ophelia. "Change into some suitable clothing, and come see me. We have much to discuss."
She frowned at him, but again he paid no mind to her silent protests and left the room, closing the door behind him. She sighed, and noticed that the Baron had not raised his head. "Are you waiting for something?" she asked, and he nodded.
"Permission for me to prepare the bath and search for suitable clothes," he explained.
"Why would you need permission from me?"
"It's the order of things, your highness. I will not move if you don't allow me to."
Ophelia lifted the man's head with her finger, clearly feeling like she'd fallen into a very strange comedy. "Your highness? I don't recall having a title. I'm not from this world."
"This is quite unprecedented, but the rules of etiquette would imply that anyone from Byzantium should be treated as second to his majesty the Emperor, equal perhaps to the Archduke."
"Ah," Ophelia didn't see much point in etiquette if she had no power to make her own decisions, but she figured that was a discussion for another time and place. She had the feeling Baron Doria would vehemently reject her opinion on the matter. "You can do whatever it is you need to do," she said, awkwardly.
He nodded, and walked over to the left side of the room, to where the largest chest was. It was a complicated affair for a chest, with not just an opening at the top, but also drawers of various sizes at the bottom and on the sides, with locks and keys in them. He rummaged through it while Ophelia sat on the chair that was closest to the window.
She observed him as he did what Hyperion's attendants had done for her before: offering a change of clothes, readying her water for the bath. But unlike them, the Baron had access to those mysterious Elysian powers that made everything all the more convenient in that time and age. Rather than carrying the jugs of water to the large tub that had been set up in a corner of the room, he made it so that the water left its containers in a perfect stream, arching over the room to fall softly into the bath. He searched through the containers in the small table that had been left next to the tub, and found one with dried rose petals that he scattered in the water. Finally, he made the water warm after several tries, dipping his fingers each time to make sure the temperature was correct.
"My apologies, your highness," the Baron said nervously as he stood next to the door. "I will not be able to assist you properly. Please call for me if there's anything you require."
Having learned what people in that day and age called 'creature comforts' she knew that in normal circumstances, the female servant would help her bathe, even clothe herself. She thanked him, and he left the room. She didn't see the point in all that, in letting someone else do what she could do herself, so she was secretly relieved. At Hyperion's she'd quickly set the mood with the staff that worked at his villa that she was okay with them cleaning the room, but that she could take care of her toilette and morning routing herself. With one less thing to worry about, they were more than happy to comply; somehow, she knew that things would be different under Aegyr's watch.
Embraced by the sudden solitude, she submerged herself in the water, trying to make sense of the chaos of the last few hours. She hadn't dared to see Phobos' face as she left; all she had was the memory of the stubborn glint in his eyes, and his confused and frantic face as she denied him. Her chest trembled and she started sobbing again: it wasn't quite heartbreak, but it was the sadness of having to cut off the promise of a happy ever after.
And the saddest thing for her was that it wasn't the war, it wasn't the difficulties that would've arisen from living amongst people she couldn't quite understand; it was that they'd never had enough time for them to grow the strength that would've been required to get through it all. Phobos had a different idea of what a relationship could be than she did; and even for all his virtues and all the things she loved about him, she knew it would be an uphill struggle.
She wondered if she'd done the right thing, not for the first time. She'd doubted herself before, during and now, after running away from him. But she remembered her father, and the things he'd told her about his marriage with her mother, and she knew that Phobos and her would not get even near to that level of bliss.
Still, she cried. She wished she could have tea with Hyperion, so that he'd tell her she was being silly. She came out of the bathroom feeling spent; her face was puffy and her eyes red. She tried arranging it briefly before giving up, thinking that the stoic Aegyr would not deign himself to notice or even mention her emotional state.
Her hands toyed with the fabric of the now familiar blue robes, feeling a wave of despair come over her. What would happen to her now? Hyperion, Eon, all their state were in Aegyr's hands until she arrived in Elysium. Then, perhaps she could find a way to escape.
She dressed herself, and noticed that the Baron had also left a single earring in a case, next to the clothes. It was long; if worn it'd have reached the top of her shoulder. It was also adorned with sparkling diamonds the size of small tears. A very delicate and beautiful piece of jewellery, that unfortunately she could not use as she had never had her ears pierced.
She left it back in its case, and went out. Baron Doria was waiting outside, standing next to her door as if he was her own personal guard. Not really knowing what was appropriate for her to say, she simply nodded at him before knocking on Aegyr's door. She heard the Baron hurriedly run towards her, spluttering something.
The door opened by itself, causing the Baron to stop dead in his tracks. Ophelia walked in, not really caring that some sort of mistake had been made. She was tired.
"The Baron has the job to announce your presence," Aegyr said as he stood up from his desk. He shot an irritated glance towards the other Elysian, who had his head bowed and was standing outside the room. "Commoners and the low ranks need no introduction. Baron, this is the sort of instruction I expect you to do, so I don't have to deal with it."
He shot another irritated glance at her, before sighing. "I don't see the Lyre's Tears, either."
The Baron now looked panicked. "Your highness, did you perhaps happen to see a case next to the robes I laid out for you?"
"Ah," Ophelia looked at Aegyr, confused, and then grabbed one of her earlobes. "I don't have my ears pierced, so I can't wear it."
Aegyr didn't miss a beat. "Bring it here, Baron, and leave."
The Baron did as instructed, and left the case with the earring on the table before closing the door after him. Aegyr waited patiently until they were alone, then with a swish of his hands had the earring rise from the case and into his hands. "The Lyre's Tears are only given to those with the greatest amount of aether in the empire. Given the circumstances, I will give you mine to wear, but you shall have yours once we're back."
"Do I have to wear it?" Ophelia eyed it, frowning.
"You will soon tire of having to explain your origins, and a lot of conflict might arise from those who will not believe you. With this, there'll be no need for explanations."
Ophelia once again touched her ears. "I'll tell the Baron to help me get it pierced, then."
"No need," Aegyr said, and slowly approached her. He motioned for her to present her left ear to him. As he leaned in, she felt his hair brushing the side of her face, and the smell of fresh pine invaded her senses. His finger tapped the bottom side of her earlobe, and she felt as if she'd been stung by a hot needle. He fixed the earring on her and stepped back, taking the scent of pine with him.
She touched the earring, marvelling at how light it really was. "It reacts to your aether," he said, and before she could even notice he reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear. "It shines with different colours, depending on the person."
"What colour is it?" Ophelia asked, trying, to no avail, to catch sight of the diamonds in the lower part of the earring.
"Gold," he said, his voice so low it gave the entire moment a more intimate feel than it needed. "When I wear it, it turns turquoise. My father also wore it, and his would be of the colour of emeralds."
Ophelia evaded his gaze, feeling it was too intense for her liking. To her relief, he gestured at her to take a seat, and she gladly laid claim to one of the fainting couches that had been arranged at the centre of the room.
"In the coming days, we will hunt down the Phrygian rebels that still remain in the city," he said. "We are looking for their prince now, as we speak. Is there anything you'd like to tell us?"
He took something from the leather pouch that hung from his waist, and placed it on the table. Ophelia recognized it as one of Hyperion's arm bands.
"I guess these tears count for nothing," Ophelia sighed, referencing the earring he'd just put on her.
"Everything has their own place in the universe, lady Ophelia; this, I've told you before. Elysians have the privilege to be custodians of that order, to ensure it is maintained. You've arrived here from Byzantium, but your true self hasn't been revealed yet. Once it has, I assure you, you'll face no opposition from me or anyone else, because you'll work towards the same goals."
The implications of what he'd said were better explored in a horror movie, or so Ophelia thought. She decided to take the conversation somewhere else, before they delved too much in Elysian theology. "After I came back from their hideout, I had no contact with any of them until I met Phobos again today. We… resolved a matter that had been left open between us, and I left him. I have no idea where he is now, or what his plans are."
"That was the last I'll see of him… and it would have been true, even if I hadn't fallen into your hands."
She thought the matter had been laid to rest, but even then she felt tears coming back to her eyes. Without realizing what she was doing, Hyperion's armband flew into her hands, and she began to fumble with it, trying to calm herself.
"What was he foolish enough to do that when you came into the merchant's villa, your face was red and streaked with tears?" the question surprised her, and she looked up, noticing the curious and innocent look in Aegyr's face. Once again, she was caught by surprise at the show of naked emotion, at what emerged from the cracks of his cold facade.
Ophelia really didn't think she was ready to have her therapy session with him of all people, but something in his manner unleashed a need to revisit what had happened. Perhaps, as she talked through it, she could finally close that chapter. "Phobos was the one that found me when I came into this world. We rode to Caudiceum, where we met Hyperion, and eventually sailed to Arqa from there. As I had… done certain things to help him, he began to believe he should be responsible for me. And things… escalated between the two of us. I offered to help him with my powers, but he kept refusing me. I saved him from the Dorian fire, yet instead of his thanks I received his anger."
"Does the merchant know… about this tryst?" Ophelia nodded. Aegyr's lips broke into an amused smile.
"As you have probably known all along, we were never engaged," she said drily.
"There's a saying in Elysium, the man who dreams of the sun will never know the night sky is his. You did well in running away from the Phrygian; perhaps you will tell me I'm right when I say that your fates were never meant to be. They, the Chaldean, the Arqans – everyone from outside the empire, they are fated to gaze at the sun, but never to embrace it."
"I think it's a bit more complicated than just fate," she replied.
"But it plays out the same way, isn't it? Or isn't it what lies at the heart of your disappointment that he's very Phrygian, and you're very Byzantine?"
He had a point. She looked away, turning Hyperion's armband in her hands.
"So you must have been the famed Hybernian princess that spoke perfect Iberian and Phrygian," Aegyr finally said. "I had imagined that it'd been someone close to him, but it must have been the prince himself who murdered his own men."
"They'd betrayed him, sold him to their loyalists."
"But your ability to speak so many tongues… is that…?"
"Something that I wished for it to happen when I arrived, and it happened. So far I haven't found a single person whose language I cannot understand," Ophelia said. "But as you have seen, I cannot read nor write them. I can write in my own language, and have been practising the Akkadian script ever since I started working for Hyperion..."
His eyes widened like they'd done earlier, when she mentioned something about her own world. She figured it was her time to play the game. "I could write something for you to show you, if you'd like…" he nodded eagerly, and she almost felt like she was talking to a young boy, not a grown man. "But I want to see Hyperion."
The stoic Aegyr was back. "That won't be possible."
"You've said that as long as I cooperated he'd remain safe and sound," she complained. "I have no reason to trust your words. Let me see him, at least once."
Ophelia leaned in, eyes intensely boring into Aegyr. "I'll show you the Byzantine script. I can tell you more about that world, if you so wish."
He sighed, and stood up. "Very well, you shall see him tomorrow. Prepare your goodbyes to him; this will be the last time you'll meet each other."
He dismissed her shortly after that. More and more of the empire's troops would be arriving in the coming days; given that the news would quickly spread of the discovery of a Byzantine woman, Aegyr had told her to expect having to receive and greet many eager dignitaries and generals, who would try to approach her to curry her favour. "Use that earring to your favour," he said, and as if remembering her protests his lips curved in a smile as he added: "it'll be more effective against them than it is against me."
She was also told she was free to use her aether as much as she liked, but that any sign of dissent would be met with swift violence. She'd learnt that aether was what the Elysians called whatever it was that made her magic work; apparently all of the empire's nobility had some, and their rank and that of their houses reflected just how strong it was. As she'd exhibited during the riots, someone with higher amounts of aether could cancel out the aether of someone weaker, but even then that was only a privilege of those with the highest rank. Baron Doria, for example, would not be able to cancel out anyone's aether, even if he was stronger, as it was a skill that could only be performed by those who were worthy of the Lyre's Tears.
She dined with the Baron as he spoke to her about the class system in Elysium: that it was incredibly rigid, and strictly regulated. Marriages were only permitted amongst those of similar rank, and only after performing certain tests that proved the strength of their aether. "It's to prevent it from diluting," he said.
"Wouldn't that lead to… deformities, if everyone ends up being related to each other?" Ophelia, ever the twenty-first century woman, pointed out.
"Once every fifty years certain rites are held," Baron Doria explained, "where princesses of tributary kingdoms will be sent to the holy temple in Sophia, where they reside for a month. During the night our most holy emperor will visit them, bestowing them the grace of an Elysian child. This creates new families and allows better relations with the tributes."
"The emperor…" Ophelia mulled as she drank some wine. "The first emperor was from Byzantium."
"We've only had one emperor, your highness," Baron Doria quickly corrected her, and her eyes grew wide. "He is still among us, guiding us. He resides at the holy temple."
"So… he's immortal? What is he like?"
"It is said he never ages… but I'm afraid I have never seen him, nor know of anyone who's ever spoken to him. Mundane issues are handled by the Pleroma, our parliament, and even during the rites of baptism and the Bacchanalia it is all held behind closed doors. Not even the women he lies with are allowed to look at him."
"So he could be dead for all you know," Ophelia said cheekily. Baron Doria flinched back, eyes wild, as if she'd just spit on his mother's grave right in front of him.
"I beg your pardon, your highness, but those are words that should never be said," the man seemed to be on the verge of crying. "To us he's more than a leader, even more than a god. We all trace our bloodlines to him; despite how lacking we may be, we consider him our family."
"How far away are you from him," Ophelia asked. "Is he your grandfather?"
"He's my grandfather's grandfather," he replied, and when she asked after Aegyr, he added: "His excellency is his grandson. But that is a special case; the Scipio family was one of the first ones to follow him, and so he rewarded them for their loyalty during his excellency's grandmother's era, and called her to the Bacchanalia."
Ophelia turned her face away to try and hide her disgust. It was all too macabre for words. Should she, perhaps, change the label of that story from strange fantasy to a dark sci-fi? What that mysterious emperor was doing, of course, was nothing short of genetic engineering, rudimentary as it was.
She dismissed Baron Doria soon after, unable to stomach the rest of her dinner. The more she learnt about the empire, the more she felt like she was walking into hell itself. Perhaps she'd been too eager to refuse Phobos' offer, but now it was too late. It didn't escape her notice that there was an unspoken ending to Baron Doria's tale, one that she shuddered to think of. It was inevitable that she'd come to face the emperor at some point or another, and she dreaded to think of what her fate would be if she fell into his hands.
The next day she awoke feeling sluggish, perhaps because of the use she'd given to her aether the day before. Baron Doria had informed her that two of the Knights would escort her after breakfast to the palace dungeons, where political prisoners were normally kept. When it was time, she took Hyperion's armband with her, which she'd tied to the sash around her waist. She hoped, contrary to Aegyr's expectations, that it would not be the last time they saw each other, but she dearly wished that the next time would be in different circumstances.
Dungeons, both in reality and in the imagination, were dreary places. Dark, cold, humid, they had all the makings of what made humans miserable: they were dusty and dirty, and smelt terrible. It had been an entirely intentional choice to place them right next to where refuse and the remnants of the palace's feast would be left to rot. Some of the farmers and the folk that served in the castle used the grounds outside to raise their pigs in, famed animals that they were for eating trash. This meant that even by way of the unholy noises and screeches the animals would make that the prisoners would be assaulted: there was little respite.
As they descended through the uneven stone steps of the entrance, Ophelia took account that it wasn't just that they held prisoners there: they also interrogated them. The cells all surrounded a central area where a single guard stood watch, sitting on an old, shabby chair. Against some of the walls a number of instruments had been left, and in the middle of the room there was the big table where it was clear that they had been used. Dark stains had been left to seep into the tired wood of the old thing, which had been so badly disfigured that it had started to lose its rectangular shape.
When the guard saw the three of them arrive, he jumped out of his char and knelt deeply to them. He was an Arqan that spoke nothing more than his language, and the Knights that were with her had little success trying to issue their orders. Ophelia interceded, "we're here to see the Chaldean merchant," she said. "Open the door to his cell."
His movements were all exaggerated, probably because of how nervous he was. As he opened the door to the cell closest to the entrance (and, Ophelia noted, furthest away from the stench and the noise of the pigs outside) the Knights walked a step closer to her, as if to remind her of their presence. They said nothing, but it was clear that Aegyr had instructed them to be alert in case she tried to pull any tricks.
"Now the princess truly looks like a princess," she heard Hyperion's voice from behind the door, and the moment it was open she flew right into the cell, and into his arms.
The sudden movement alarmed the guards, and she felt their aether starting to summon something. She turned her head and glared at them, "I should be allowed this much, shouldn't I?"
She then ignored them completely as she took in Hyperion's pale, tired face. It was true that money would improve any situation, even his: the entire cell had been furnished with rugs, and plush pillows had been set up for him to lie on. He'd been given large jars with water and a marble basin to wash with, which she supposed was the luxury hotel treatment of the time. "Where's Eon?" she asked.
"They've put us all in different prisons, in case you… ah, didn't cooperate, as you'd imagine."
There was very little light in the cell; during the day a bit of sunlight came from a slit at the top of the wall. The rest had to be managed by candles and the myriad of oil lamps Hyperion had lying around. It made it all the more eerie to see his face lit up by the glow that emanated from her earring, the soft golden light reminding them that he wasn't the only prisoner.
"Aegyr told me he'll release you the moment we land in the empire. So until then… please hold on," Ophelia smiled sadly. "I want to believe he will keep his promise."
"It's not something I'm worried about," Hyperion admitted. "As long as he believes he has leverage over you in some other way, he'll let me go. I'm useful in my own ways."
She sighed; his words lifted a certain weight from her shoulders.
"I don't know whether to feel relieved or frustrated that you didn't leave with that Phrygian prince. Lord Scipio told us you'd saved him during the riots, and then the two of you were nowhere to be found. The bastard even said to me, 'your wife-to-be is exceedingly friendly with other men'."
Ophelia blushed, eliciting a laugh from Hyperion. "I told him I wasn't afraid to share my wife, because she would always come back to me in the end," he said with a wink. "Although, I'm disappointed to see that you're so loyal. You walked straight into their hands."
"I… couldn't leave with Phobos, and if I stayed in the city it would be only a matter of time before they found me. I knew they'd make trouble for you. I chose my battles."
Hyperion reached out, grabbing a strand of her hair to play with. "So, he's gone?"
Ophelia thanked everyone she could that her dominion of different languages awarded her the perfect solution to speak in absolute privacy. "He said he was going to the Kushite Kingdom."
"And you…?"
"I wished him success," her eyes strayed to the side. She felt a pair of hands grab her chin very softly, and her face was tilted upwards: Hyperion caught her lips in a kiss, which like him, was cheeky and smelt like myrrh. She felt a tongue darting to lick her lips before she was yanked away from him by an invisible force, his body roughly tossed to the floor to separate them.
Regardless, all she heard was his delighted laughter. "Go, don't worry about me!" he shouted as she was pulled back by the Knights. "I shall find you again."
Her fingers touched her lips as she was hurriedly dragged upstairs, and out of the dungeons. His touch was slightly stingy, like the after taste of spice; cheeky, at least for her, yet sacrilegious to the two Elysian Knights who thought what he'd done amounted to nothing more than assault. Once she was past the initial shock, she asked them to calm down, "it has nothing to do with you," he told them. "This is a matter between him and I. We've said goodbye, didn't we? I think it wasn't too bad of a send-off."