Requiring a King's Aid (1/2)

The clothing I wore was not my own.

My purple tunic was a smooth satin draping elegantly across my chest and clasped at the shoulders with silver brooches. The wide armholes crisply folded. And it wore the scent of pomegranates like the color had come from the stain of the sweet-smelling fruit.

The cloak around my hips ensured my legs were covered down to my knees, my calves glistening and bare.

Aestos gave these to me earlier this morning after I bathed in the sea. My skin still smelled of salt and itched from dryness when he rescued me with sweet almond oil. When I asked him from where these luxuries came, he'd simply stated, "The gates." I found the answer cryptic and inquired further.

"The gates?"

Aestos had looked disinterested as he prepared our fish. "The people of the city leave offerings and gifts for me. I am free to take as I like."

I considered his circumstances then.

Was it his will to live in the wilderness when beyond this forest lay a city? And with people who indeed admired and praised him. Perhaps considered him their God—the reason for the offerings. But they neglected him, too. I had yet to witness someone voyage through this forest to greet him. They would leave him weapons to slay their beasts but cower when it was time to show gratitude.

Connection was the greatest gift. More valuable than new weapons and expensive clothing.

And whereas another might have lied about the existence of such gifts, Aestos answered me simply and honestly, unworried that I might have thought to steal what was his. I was beginning to understand that he did not lie how most other men did.

Again, he fascinated me.

Aestos seemed not to know how to socialize, nor did he have the natural inclination to want to know others. During the quiet morning we had spent together, my depressed mood had lifted slightly with the early sun, and I wished for him to inquire about me as friends would. As strangers might have been polite enough to do.

Ask what I liked and disliked. About my preferences. Which foods I reached for when I had the luxury of choosing. Books even—though I did not read. If I preferred my afternoons busy or free to pursue my own interests.

When Aestos did not ask, I asked about himself instead, to which he answered so simply that I thought he might already be bored with me.

Anything that kept him full, he enjoyed poems—creating them, and he preferred to sleep in the afternoons as the summer sun was transitioning to something cooler.

Most moments, we had not spoken a word to each other, so I used the time to observe him. No one could travel through the city's gates until noon, as was law, so Aestos had spent the morning moving. Pushing over overgrown trees until they collided with a storm of dirt on the forest floor, using the wood he gathered from them to make bear traps, tossing away the snakes that roamed and threatened me.

The moment he'd woken up, he was filled with energy. But after a morning of tedious work, he finally sat across from me to rest, and I noticed how he looked to the ocean and rubbed his lips together. Yearning. Wanting and not knowing how to ask.

I had sung to him and watched the stress depart from his shoulders. It relieved me that I could help him this way.

Now was the sixth hour since I had woken this morning, and with my lyre strapped onto my back, Aestos and I traveled through the thick forest to reach the city. The gates were tall, and they shimmered the nearer we got to them. They had been created from gold, and I nearly laughed. It was a comical tell-tale. The king valued aesthetics over durability, because gold, however opulent and pretty, was a soft metal. Weak. Unreliable for anything more than to look stunning.

I was sure the king trained men to keep his city safe. He needed also to train the density of his own mind. 

There were gifts, also, that lined the city's outer walls—these were competently made of stone. Expensive satin and linen garments fastened with glittering ribbon. Journals and books with neat covers, displayed sweets and bowls of diverse vegetables. Everything was untouched. Unbothered from animals and filth, as though this environment also believed this area to be sacred. An altar, and for Aestos alone.

I noticed a bowl of fruit.

"May I?" I asked Aestos, because all these gifts were his.

He noticed the fruit also and nodded. I took two oranges and peeled one for him. He startled when I touched his hand to place the naked fruit within. He was curious when he looked at me.

"What is this?" he asked.

"An orange, friend."

"My name is Aestos."

"Yes, I know it."

He emphasized the fruit in his palm. "Why did you give this to me?"

I shrugged. I wonder.

The gates opened for us with the strength of four men, and they dropped their heads quickly as though too heavy for their bodies. Their greetings were polite and structured, but fear touched them, and they would not show their eyes.

Aestos ignored them. "Deliver me to the king."

The ground we stepped on was beautifully dark, and we walked through aisles of wonderfully built houses and stores. This island was home to monsters, but on this side of the gates, even the sky was lovelier. In this opulent and expansive city, every detail was striking. I squinted my eyes, and the air seemed to shimmer. I understood now why this island was cursed. It would defy what was natural for something so beautiful to exist without consequences.

I was beginning to wonder what Aestos' consequences were.

A gathering of armored men surrounded Aestos and me and dutifully directed us through the streets. Cluttered with people. It would have been welcoming had the eager conversations not stopped and heads not lowered. Many dropped to their knees and remained there until we passed, their heads buried in the ground. It was meant to be respectful, but it appeared apprehensive instead. Distant and unwelcoming.

At first, I thought it might be the king's men that had driven the people to fear. But then I noticed the man beside me. The tightness of his expression. The stiffness of his otherwise pliable limbs. It was Aestos they feared.

The air along my arms felt cold despite the warm weather. Ahead, there was crying. An infant in anguish. A distressed mother pushed through the king's men to reach us, and her head was lowered. Eyes spilling. In her arms, she offered her weeping child to Aestos.

"Please. He has not stopped crying. Nothing can soothe him. Please bless him, dear lord."

Lord. That was not his name.

Aestos looked at the infant, and his features tightened further. He was uncomfortable. He harbored no divine spells that could release the infant of its anguished spirit. Because Aestos was a man. Not a god.

I considered the infant with grief in my heart. It must be painful for it to cry so severely.

I cleared my throat. Broke my lips to release a note I knew would soothe it. Only one was needed, but Aestos noticed my attempt and cupped a hand over my mouth. We stumbled together, and he caught my waist to keep me upright.

"Don't," he warned. "Not here."

I moved his hand from my mouth. "I only wish to comfort her child."

"I understand it, but you cannot show your voice here," he murmured. "Music has never reached this city. Some people know of it, only from sirens and witches, and therefore find it wicked. For the others, what they cannot understand will frighten them. If you sing, they will notice how it affects their spirits. Then they will either worship you, or kill you in fear. You cannot sing here."

I had not considered how dangerous the wonder of music could be upon fresh ears. Aestos had thought me to be a siren at first, and I was fortunate that he did not think to kill me then. But he warned me now that these oblivious people would consider me a god alongside him, or a devil, and the passion of their actions would reflect such. I felt terrified that I might hum absently, and they would discover me.

I did not sing for the child.

Twice, we were offered a chariot to pass through the large city sooner, and in both attempts, Aestos refused. The second attempt, he had looked at me and asked, "Are your legs tired?"

"No," I had answered. I was used to walking.

We'd had horses on my island but rarely rode them, for Salyras had been tiered and layered with steps that required climbing for travel. The palace had been seated on the highest point. So this much walking I could do.

We arrived at a beautiful bridge over a shallow, man-made stream. I spotted coins catching the sun at the bottom and wondered if those wishes, too, had been made to Aestos. After we crossed, we were finally at the base of a wonderful palace.

"Right this way, my lord," a soldier persisted, his head stiffly lowered as he directed Aestos and me up white steps.

These people knew not of Aestos' name, so the word was foreign on even his own tongue. Like mindless worshippers, they had given Aestos a title of their own choosing. It irritated me that Aestos did not correct them.

I paused on the fifth step. "Sir." Both he and Aestos turned their heads to watch me. "This man here is not the Lord. Do you know his name?"

The soldier was nervous, careful to keep his eyes only on me. "It is improper of me to know such."

"It is proper. It is respectful," I assured him. "This man is named Aestos. Tell everyone you know and only call him such from now on. Do you understand?"

He ducked his head, regarding Aestos discreetly. "Which would you like to be called, my lord?"

Aestos considered me. Bewildered and unable to discern why I had intervened for him. But he acknowledged the soldier and answered his question.

Aestos was his name.

And that was the name the people would use.