Calista looked up from the scrolls she had been copying, her fingers stained with ink. She was helping the Waveguide manage Atlantis’ accounts. Initially, she had found it rather tricky, but with Thetis’ aid, her ability with this and her other tasks grew.
Covertly, she observed Thetis, noting that her golden eyes shined unearthly bright against her bronze-black skin. It was unlined and almost ageless in its wisdom…and something else. It was an air of power, a raw elemental power, a power which did not come of its own but was acquired through years of experience. A sureness, a deftness, a confidence of manner. Calista wished she had it.
Her vision…her waking dream…of Pyp strengthened the need for her to return to Portus Tarrus. She coud not close her eyes without seeing her little brother’s thin white face, the dark hollows under his eyes, and hear him pleading for her to return. She had set wheels into motion with Evadne for her escape…and ultimately, she was thankful that she had come to Atlantis and stayed. She was acquainted with her past, with her family, with her true identity. The pieces of her that had felt loose, floating, were now secured fast with knowledge.
Thetis stood up, shaking out her green peplos. She examined Calista for a moment and then spoke, frostily, but laced ever so slightly with a hint of good humor. “Tonight there is a festival; ‘tis the shortest day of the year. You have my permission to enjoy the festivities.”
The enormity of this did not escape Calista. For months on end, she had been captive, forbidden from venturing past the Maretheon’s walls without Thetis. A needle of regretful guilt lightly pricked her, but she brushed it off. “Thank you.”
“Clean up here and then head out,” Thetis added, offering Calista a rare, if brusque, smile.
Calista carefully wiped her ink-stained fingers on a damp cloth and closed the bottles of squid’s ink. She had been copying another draft of laws for Atlantis. It was not difficult work, and the life, as boring as it was, was nonetheless easy. She could not help but feel remorseful whenever she thought about her mother and brother’s horrific existence.
Atlantis’ peculiar night was falling now. There was no sky but the water would darken, a black as deep as the ink she was wiping off her fingers. Through the large windows, of finer glass than Calista had ever seen in Rome, the festival lights were twinkling. Hurriedly, Calista finished tidying her space. Luminescent fish swam about the borders of Atlantis, shining like stars in a place where true stars were only the faintest memories.
Eager to exercise her newfound and fleeting freedom, Calista strode out of the Waveguide’s Maretheon. Once past the guards, she was unsure where to go, but decided to head to Evadne’s house. It was a short walk, and when she arrived she saw Philyra hurrying out of the villa.
“Calista!” called the younger girl excitedly. “You are out! Mama will be so pleased.”
Calista sped her pace and gave Philyra a quick, awkward embrace. It was a gesture more of duty than affection. She liked Philyra well enough but there was no tentative love budding between them as there was between Calista and Evadne. Calista could not entirely forget the hard and hateful things Philyra had said to her on her second day in Atlantis.
“How have you been?” inquired Calista politely.
“Well. And yourself? You have been holed up in the Maretheon for weeks now. Mama was quite worried. I think she misses you in the villa.”
They set off towards the sounds of drums and laughter. “It has been…busy. And odd. But not entirely horrific. When Thetis told me I would be her personal attendant, I assumed I would be scrubbing her feet for eternity.” She laughed and after a pause, Philyra followed suit. “But really, I am something like her companion-page-scribe-observer.”
Brightly-colored stands had been set up for the festival and everything glowed golden with the blazing radiance of a large bonfire. Calista could feel its yellow heat even from a distance. The smell of hot seafood made Calista’s stomach grumble longingly. She had not eaten all day.
Philyra fetched drinks and Calista sipped the bright pink punch. It was sweet in her mouth but she nearly choked at the burning in her throat as she tried to swallow. Overcoming the initial shock, she quickly tipped the rest down. “What’s in this?” Calista gasped.
Philyra smiled. “Oh, it’s a festival speciality. Here, have another one.”
Calista nearly choked again when Philyra asked casually, “Do you know what Mama is up to? She has been quieter than usual of late.” Her eyes scanned the crowd as if searching for someone.
Calista coughed and sputtered and the rosy drink spilled stickily onto her hand. “I….uh…of course…not. Of course not,” she said more firmly, surreptitiously wiping her fingers on her robe.
Philyra looked at her suspiciously, her blonde hair glinting in the firelight. “Of course.”
“Of course,” Calista affirmed, trying to follow Philyra’s gaze through the mass.
She spotted the very eyes that Philyra had been searching for, a familiar cloud grey pair. Hadrian had not seen them yet and was engrossed in conversation a buxom blonde, the type which heavily populated Atlantis. Whereas in Portus Tarrus Calista stood out because of her fair eyes and hair, here, Calista was one of hundreds. She absently wished that she had exotic raven-colored hair and dark, alluring eyes but she quickly banished the thought. Raven-colored hair? Foolishness at best.
Calista gestured towards Hadrian, but Philyra shook her head bashfully and buried her face in her chalice. Shrugging, Calista picked her way through the crowd of revelers. Skirting past a few grabbing hands, she tapped Hadrian’s shoulder.
“Well, how have you been?” Hadrian asked with a familiar grin and the warmth from Calista’s drink melted down her throat and into her stomach. The woman he had been speaking with smiled tightly at Calista and left.
Words were hard to find, but Calista finally managed, “Thetis runs a tight ship. I have been busy but…busy. I have been busy.”
“Busy. I see.” His voice swam in an undercurrent of amusement. “Anything else occupying your hours, your thoughts?”
Calista smiled in what she hoped was a suitably mysterious manner. “No. And who has been occupying your hours? Not that lovely lass I saw you with?” Despite her attempt at a joking tone, Calista winced as she heard the ring of true concern in her words.
“Her?” He stared after the woman’s swaying form intently. “Well, I suppose one could say that she is handsome but she is certainly not the one occupying my thoughts.” His eyes lingered on Calista.
“Pray tell who then? Philyra?” Calista gabbled foolishly. She wished that her mouth would come back under her control and shut up. She bought another goblet of drink, hoping that having something in her mouth would prevent her from running it off.
His lips quirked into a smile and Calista flushed. “She is little more than a child. Why do you seek to match me with her?”
Twirling the goblet in her hands, Calista shrugged uncomfortably and wished she had never said anything. “She has been kind to me,” she managed finally. Very good, she told herself. Keep your responses down to six words or less.
“Kind?” Incredulity painted his face as clear as any fresco. “You and I certainly have different assessments of kind then. For all the kindness she may show in your presence, she is one of your foremost detractors. If you were not kin by blood, I would say she hated you!”
Her mouth curled in distaste at Hadrian’s evaluation, and Calista swigged the rosy drink. “I cannot believe what you are saying as true. She has never shown me anything but generosity—”
His voice dropped low. “Do you not see why she says these things? She knows you have what she wants and she doesn’t like it.”
Flustered, Calista rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “Every girl dreams of having her father killed, her home destroyed, to be separated from the remainder of her family, told her whole life has been a lie. Of course Philyra is burning with envy.” She turned away, but Hadrian’s fingers circled her wrist and brought her close.
“Do not be a fool and walk away in anger.” He sighed. “There is something you have Philyra could never have. And I am not speaking of your grace or beauty,” he added with a cheeky smile.
Calista stared at him blankly.
“My interest.” He bought her another goblet of punch from a stand.
Calista sputtered. The gall!
“You well know Philyra has been vying for me for years, and then you come and we become…friends…she does not like that.”
Calista was without words, but her eyes stretched wide, her eyebrows arched, her lips She wanted to slap him for his arrogance. Interest? Bah! “You announce your interest as if it were a villa on the Palatine, as if every girl in Atlantis were clamoring for it, as if I desired it!”
“Well...don’t you?” He said it hesitantly, hopefully, and some of Calista’s frosty anger slipped away.
“Come, sit with me.” Calista swept through the sand, and found a spot to lean her back against a pillared building. “Can I confide in you?” she asked as they settled down comfortably.
He looked over at her and Calista thought her head would burst with dizzy giddiness from the look in his eyes. “Of course.”
“But you must swear not to say a word to anyone, no matter if you disagree with what I say. No matter how strongly you feel about it. Even if you think I deserve Tartarus for merely the thought of this. Are we agreed?”
Hadrian nodded.
“Do you know of a way to leave Atlantis?”
His dark eyebrows narrowed skeptically. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully, with no hint of his ever-present humor on his face.
Calista drew in a deep, nervous breath. “A way for a person to leave Atlantis. To return to Portus Tarrus.”
His lips thinned, perhaps in thought, perhaps in consternation. “None that I know of. Why, are you planning something?”
“Hadrian, I can trust you, can I not?”
He nodded impatiently.
For a moment, Calista felt a certain dissociation. It was as if she was watching herself talking to Hadrian, and she noted the reflection of the torches rippling in the water like stars, the coolness of the sand. She absorbed the haunting music strumming in the background of the festivities.
“Why this curiosity above leaving Atlantis?”
Calista was shocked that Hadrian had even felt the need to ask. “My family is still in Gaul, Hadrian. My father’s murderer has them at his mercy while he sleeps soundly in my parents’ bed. My brother, my mother…and since, I suppose, blood is no longer a criterion for family, my nurse, my cook, another younger brother I have, Maro, a slave…I am the daughter of a proconsul. It is my duty to protect what remains of those people loyal to my family, but it is mighty difficult to do anything when I am in a different world entirely. They are at the mercy of a tyrant, while I live here in comfort!” She shook with emotion.
Hadrian wound an arm comfortably around her waist and she leaned her head on his shoulder. “Tell me whatever you wish, and I will take it with me to the Underworld—should I ever reach it.”
“Evadne has promised to help me.” She felt giddy with divulgence and she wondered if the burning punch was in any way responsible for her foolhardiness.
“How does Evadne mean to help you reach your home?” Hadrian asked with intent curiosity.
“Swear you shall not breathe a word?”
“I have sworn quite enough, Calista. If you do not trust me now…” he trailed off impatiently.
Suspicion tickled the back of her mind, but it was quickly quieted by a warm insouciance and a swallow of punch. “I am not sure how, but Evadne watched them send me away the first time, when I was a baby. She knows what to do. She promised me a month, so it should be soon now.”
He removed his hand from her waist and spread his arms wide. Calista nearly toppled over from the loss of his support. He smiled disarmingly. “Will you at least let me know before you leave?
She scrabbled up against the slipping sand. The lights and sounds spun dizzily around her, like she was the Earth and all the stars and planets and moons and sun were circling her faster and faster. She swallowed bile. “If I have the chance,” she promised. Teetering as she stood, she listened for Evadne’s voice through the cacophony of music. “Now that I have the opportunity to be out of the Maretheon, I suppose I should seek out Evadne. I am also very much afraid that I regret telling you as much as I did,” she added candidly.
Suddenly, Hadrian stepped closer to her and her nose was pressed against his grey-green tunic and she could smell that very Hadrian scent of him: the salt, the clean sweat, the…lavender soap? Or something that smelled like lavender at the very least.
In a hushed voice, Calista said, “I have shared a crippling secret with you—I think you owe me the favor right back.”
“As you say, domina,” he murmured, warmly pressing himself closer. “I wish for you to stay in Atlantis with me. Say you will.” His fingers ran through her hair, cupped her cheek.
Suddenly, Calista’s mind flashed to Portus Tarrus and an image of Avaritus, of his cold touches and his unfulfilled desires. And the horror and revulsion Calista had felt at her powerlessness boiled to the surface again, breaking through the locks Calista thought she had placed on them. Shivering, she thrust Hadrian away.
Concern flickered through Hadrian’s grey eyes. “Calista?” he asked worriedly, grasping her clammy hands.
Shaking her head, Calista tried to beat away the assaulting images and to regain her balance. “I…it’s nothing. The drink.” She trembled with suppressed memories. Hadrian looked afraid to touch her. When she finally calmed, she tried to veer the conversation away. “You must tell me a better secret than that. How old are you? What are you? A born Atlantian? One who has lived Above?”
Hadrian watched her carefully as though he feared she would fall ill. “Fourteen hundred and twenty-four,” he answered smoothly. “Do you want Evadne—?”
Feeling unbalanced, Calista pushed him away from her as much in shock as a desire to close that avenue of conversation. “You are joking.”
“Not at all. I was conceived Above and was the first child born in Atlantis. A god of sorts, tied to both lands.” He looked nonchalant for a god and Calista told him so.
He shrugged. “I do not have any especial power except immortality and other small gifts here or there. I may as well be a bloody nymph.” He regarded her, amused. “There will come a time when you will have lived as many years—and many more as well.”
Calista shuddered. “Who are your parents then?” Suddenly, she hoped that he would not say Neptune. Calista did not know how she would handle such a revelation the second time.
Hadrian’s face immediately became guarded. “My father died long ago...my mother is no one of any great importance.”
Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
As her vision blurred, Calista giggled. She found it very silly that Hadrian claimed to be of such a great age when he looked no more than a years older than herself. “It would seem to me that if you were so old as you claim to be, you would have a beard. A great long white one, just like Neptune’s, with starfish and seaweed braided in.” She laughed and ran a finger along his jaw. “You would look fetching! So tell me Hadrian: why don’t you have a beard?”
Amused, he took Calista firmly by the hands as they approached the Maretheon. “Calista, my dear, you are well on your way to drunk.” He took the drink out of her hands and poured it onto the ground. “Let us find Evadne.”
“But where is your beard?” she giggled.
Rolling his eyes, he sighed. “As the first child born in Atlantis, I have been blessed with an ever-youthful state.”
“Mhmm.” Calista’s attention fell to his lips, and darted back up to his eyes, and the heady feeling strengthened. The drink had smoothed away the shadows of Avaritus. Again a dart. She would not let thoughts of Avaritus bleed into this moment.
Her gaze was on his eyes, then fell to
his lips, and then slipped modestly to the ground. With a lopsided grin, Hadrian caught her game. Leaning in, he briskly pecked her, and when her lips parted for more, he said loudly, “Ah, there is your mother!”
Evadne shot Hadrian a look of distrust. She wrenched Calista heavily from his arms. “I will care for her now,” she said, her tone steely. Smirking, Hadrian bowed and disappeared into the crowd of merrymakers.
Evadne dropped her voice further until it was an almost imperceptible whisper. “Calista. I will do it. Give me two days.”
CHAPTER XX