The Power That Dreams Have
by Mercy Loomis
Athens, 480 BC
I held out my hands in the darkness, unable to see. I was groggy, disoriented, but I knew she had to be here.
I had been…somewhere, just a moment before. I was sure of it. But when the darkness descended upon me I knew to wait. To surrender.
Soft, cool hands caressed my hips from behind, the thumbs digging into the muscle. I was naked. I hadn’t been, but it no longer surprised me.
Sophia.
The purr of her voice sounded through my mind, possessive, anticipatory. Her hands claimed me, sliding over my stomach, one traveling up to cup my breast, the other dipping lower, reaching between my legs, pulling me back against the contours of her body.
I moaned and went limp, but she easily supported me. Shaking with need and desire, my heart thundering in my ears, I felt her lips against my throat. The teasing prick of sharp teeth. I closed my useless eyes and gave her exactly what she wanted.
Everything.
“Mistress!”
The sound was a shock that seemed to rip me in two. I thrashed my way awake, mourning the lost contact.
“What is it, Anticleia?” I groaned, blinking against the light of the candle she held.
“Mistress, the fleet has just arrived offshore. The great army of Xerxes has broken through the Hot Gates and his navy is sailing unopposed alongside it.” The slave was trembling, rushing through the words in a harsh whisper. “We are to evacuate the city, Mistress.”
“Evacuate? And go where?” I tried to push the dream away, to bottle up the aching need that screamed unfulfilled in my bones.
“Salamis. If we hurry…”
I held up my hand, silencing her. “Have the household gather in the courtyard,” I told her, pulling my wits together. “Divide up as much food as we can carry. Have Nikos and Alexios take the jewelry and the other small valuables. We will go to my cousin’s house. Go wake the children.”
Anticleia nodded respectfully, obviously grateful to have someone in charge. “You don’t look well, Mistress. I’ll send Phanes up, before we leave.”
“No, don’t both—” But she was already out the door. I sighed and climbed out of bed. There was nothing the physician was going to be able to do for me.
As I pulled on a clean chiton—who knew when we’d have time for such things again?—I was surprised to find myself missing my husband. Kleon had gone north with the rest of the fighting men, taking the slave Bennu with him to carry his gear. There was nothing unusual in that, nor in the fact that the two men were lovers. It was the strength of their bond which was unnatural, wrought with magic and blood over two years ago.
My magic. Bennu’s magic. Her magic.
I was a dutiful wife, true, but had never been inclined toward men. I had agreed, like a good wife, to bear his children, even agreeing to his clumsy love charm to make things less distasteful. But Kleon’s obsessive passion for me had worn out what affection I had for him long before I thought to craft the spell that would bind Bennu in my place.
Bennu, already half in love with Kleon, had submitted eagerly. My husband, though attracted to Bennu, was…stubborn.
And then she came.
I shook myself, realizing I had stopped moving, half-dressed, one hand toying with the neckline of my gown. Focus!
A hesitant knock. “Mistress?” called Phanes through the door.
I sighed, tying my belt and arranging the folds of my chiton. “Come in.”
The little man sidled in, cringing as he always did. A male slave entered behind him quietly, carrying a tray.