Endymion's Wake

IX. Beggar Priestess

Beggar Priestess | Chrysanthos

As the auburn sun lit Hera's temple ablaze, purple flower petals floated around his submersed ankles. With fistfuls of Larkspur, the annoyed gardener stole glances at him. Chrysanthos tried his best to ignore the prying eyed man. He needed a few minutes by the water to clear his head. Festivals were tricky affairs. The Elean nobility filtered into Olympia from throughout the kingdom. A few neighboring city dignitaries were sure to be in attendance as well — the Argolid delegation never missed a single large ceremony dedicated to their patron goddess, Hera with the golden sandals. Their presence was a persistent reminder to each kingdom of their preeminence in the eyes of the Queen of Heaven.

"That's the Golden Boy? Why, he looks nothing like his father," came a whispering voice from a nearby fountain.

The Golden Boy. The name announced to the kingdom by the then crown prince, his father, Prince Aris, as he welcomed his first born son. The mockery of it all. He felt like Midas, losing his future with his golden touch. Not all his future. He had Emilios, the new prince, and his sister, Cassandra. He loved them without question. But he had lost plenty: father, mother, crown, respect. All gone in an instant by his father's madness. Most wrenching of all, if only because of its looming presence and insistent disgust, was the loss of his grandfather — the king. Vasilis disinherited Chrysanthos and Cassandra after his father's murder-suicide. It was rumored the priests dissuaded the king from sacrificing the children to the gods. They considered such offerings a barbarity of the past. Xenocles, rising to chief advisor to the king in the turmoil, insisted a sense of unity and piety would ward off any challenges to the family's claim to the purple and gold throne. Cassandra and Chrysanthos were sent with their cousin and newly proclaimed heir to Olympia to be raised in the holy city. The king, not fond of children, ensured they were raised by royal standards, but out of his sight except for the annual festival to Hera and the Games every four years.

Rehearsing his lines, Chrysanthos prepared to join the throngs of attendees in honoring their benevolent king. An orgy of purple and gold emerged as Chrysanthos entered the courtyard nearest the main gate — the beginning of the royal procession. Before he was born, Cassandra and their mother followed a step behind their father, who trailed the king. Since their deaths, he and his sister were struck from the official ceremonies, but still obliged to attend as spectators and give the customary greeting. Scanning the crowd he saw her familiar silhouette leaned against the ancient olive tree and rushed forward.

"Looking for me?" He asked behind her back, quiet enough for no one else to hear.

"Not at all, I figured the potter's son was keeping you company," replied Cassandra, not bothering to whisper. She tilted her head slightly and looked sternly at her brother.

"Thank you for that yesterday, by the way."

"It was before I knew you'd struggle to separate yourself. Risking your future on a new friend? Has the palace taught you nothing?"

"The palace has taught me how small my life is, sister. Is it unimaginable to you that I want to see more than the inside of my chambers?"

She turned around and dropped her voice so only Chrysanthos could hear her. "You and I are on the cusp of bigger lives, Chrysanthos. We both know this city is not our home. Don't do anything to harm your chances of a decent life far from the reaches of Vasilis."

"I won't."

"Where is he now?" Asked Cassandra, narrowing her intense gaze on her brother.

Chrysanthos shifted on the ancient trees protruding roots. "With Phoebe," he muttered.

"Who?"

"My servant girl."

"What are you doing learning the names of serving girls?"