Free Bring Down the Sun by Judith Tarr Page B

said without further preamble, “My king asks leave to take your niece to wife. He saw her in the Mysteries, and the Great Gods inclined his heart toward her—and toward the alliance that the marriage would offer. This is meant to be, he says. He hopes your majesty will agree.”
    That was blunt enough. Logical enough, too. But Arybbas was not a hasty man. “We’re honored,” he said, “that Macedon reckons us worthy of alliance. Still it’s my duty to ask: What does he want of her? Wife or concubine? Will he make her queen?”
    â€œMy king will take her in lawful marriage,” said Lagos, “and give her all honor and respect due her lineage.”
    â€œThat doesn’t answer my question,” Arybbas said. “How many wives does he have now? Four? Six? One has a son, I hear. My niece is a daughter of Achilles and an initiate of the Great Gods. She’s more than a trophy to hang on your king’s wall.”
    Myrtale stiffened when her uncle spoke of other wives. She had known she was not the first wedded wife to come to Philip’s bed. Everyone knew that kings married early and often. But that was not the same as hearing it spoken.
    Lagos seemed unoffended by Arybbas’ plain speaking. “My king has wives, yes, as kings do. It’s his duty. But he’ll honor your kinswoman in all ways, and treat her as the royal lady she is. He loves her, lord king, and worships her as Goddess incarnate.”
    â€œThat’s well and good,” said Arybbas, “but love dies. What’s left then?”
    â€œThis love will last,” Lagos said before Myrtale could burst out with it. For that she began to love him—though not as she loved his king. “But even supposing it does not, there’s the alliance of Macedon and Epiros against common enemies, a share in trade and amassing of wealth, and for the lady, the respect and position of king’s wife.”
    â€œBut not queen.”
    Myrtale could not tell if Lagos found her uncle’s persistence annoying. He seemed possessed of endless patience. “That may be negotiated.”
    Arybbas nodded. “I’ll think on it. While I do, you’ll enjoy our hospitality. Whatever you want or need, my servants will see to it.”
    Myrtale did not see what there was to think on, but she could hardly say so. She was only here on sufferance; if she spoke out of turn, she could be sent away like an obstreperous child.
    It was hard to keep the spate of words inside. She was glad to withdraw with her sister, to retreat to the queen’s house and gnaw her frustration in peace.
    *   *   *
    Peace was not exactly what she found. The servant who had presented Philip’s gifts followed Myrtale out of the hall, carrying the box with the diadem. At the door to the queen’s house, Myrtale tried to take the box and dismiss the servant, but the woman would not go.
    â€œI belong to you now, lady,” she said.
    Myrtale’s brows rose. She had never had a maid. Since she left the temple, she had shared her sister’s women, but she had felt no need to claim one of her own.
    This was a young woman, smaller than Myrtale—who was not tall herself—dark and slight and quick, with eyes that missed nothing. She wore no mark of slavery; her gown was plain but well woven, and she carried herself with evident pride.
    Something about her caught and held Myrtale’s attention, though she was ordinary enough as far as beauty went. There was more to her than met the eye.
    Eye, thought Myrtale with a shiver down the spine. Those eyes were familiar somehow. As if she had seen or felt them before. As if …
    â€œI think,” said Myrtale, “that you need an explanation.”
    Philip’s gift grinned. Her teeth were white and strong and somewhat sharp. “What, do I baffle you, lady? My name is Erynna; I come from Thessaly. The king wanted someone fitting to