Silent Queen Read online

  Silent Queen

  Silent Queen

  Midpoint

  Silent Queen

  Episode One

  Theta Beginnings Miniseries

  *

  By Lizzy Ford

  www.LizzyFord.com

  *

  Cover design by Eden Crane Design

  *

  ARC Edition

  Published by Captured Press

  www.CapturedPress.com

  *

  Silent Queen copyright ©2016 by Lizzy Ford

  www.LizzyFord.com

  *

  Cover design copyright © 2016 by Eden Crane Design

  All rights reserved.

  *

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  *

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events; to real people, living or dead; or to real locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.

  Silent Queen

  I had waited my entire life for this night. Even if I were able to draw a full breath in the voluminous gown I wore with its tight girdle, I would still be breathless.

  The lights overhead were too bright, and sweat trickled down my legs and gleamed on the faces of the clergy in front of me. None of the dignitaries, politicians, royalty from around the world, acolytes or other honored guests dared complain about the air conditioning going out two hours before the ceremony. Like me, the most powerful and influential people in the world stood in quiet anticipation, prepared to witness an event so very few ever did.

  I suppressed the urge to sneeze. The air was clogged with incense and smoke emanating from burning orbs filled with herbs held by priests. The coronation ceremony was performed in the oldest temple in New York City, the temple belonging to Apollo, the patron god of the City. Built around two hundred years ago, it was cozy and showed the signs of being renovated recently: modern, track lighting, pristinely whitewashed walls, and a gold altar whose corners were sharp and unscathed surfaces polished to a shine. The walls, ceilings and floors were all adorned in royal purple, and my personal guard lined the perimeter.

  My hands trembled, and I struggled to stand perfectly still under the weight of my attire and my own agitated excitement. Now fourteen, I was officially of age to assume my duties as the Queen of Greece and following in the footsteps of my mother, grandfather and every other royal member of the Bloodline.

  Someone sneezed, shattering the solemn silence of the ceremonial chamber. The bursts of sound came three more times.

  I didn’t look directly at the offender, but it was hard not to smile.

  Tommy, the son of my confidante the High Priestess of Artemis, Theodocia, was probably too young for the ceremony. All of six and a half years old, he was like a little brother to me. I wouldn’t hear of him missing today. He and his mother were my family. No one dared shush him, not when it was understood I wouldn’t approve of anyone who did.

  Theodocia – my friend, advisor and mother figure since her arrival into my life seven years ago – stood before me flanked by two High Priests, one serving Apollo and one serving none other than Zeus. Behind them were three rows of other high level members of the priesthoods, each one representing a different god or goddess.

  Theodocia was trying hard to maintain the deadpan expression worn by every other attendee, but her brown eyes glowed with pride. Seeing her joy filled me with such warm emotion, I wanted to cry, so I stared at the mark of Artemis on her forehead instead of meeting her gaze.

  One of the two priests jerked and went rigid. His eyes became glassy and his face blank as the god he served possessed his body in order to communicate with us. A flicker of unease worked its way through me when I saw the lightning bolt tattooed on his forehead.

  Zeus himself had possessed the priest. From what I knew of my family’s history, it was a very rare honor for the chief god to oversee the ceremony. I didn’t know what to think of this, not when my own feelings about the honor being bestowed upon me were mixed. To be a member of the Bloodline was to have the ability to harness untold influence over mortals and gods – and coupled with a debilitating curse. All the wealth my predecessors had been hoarding for ten thousand years couldn’t buy our way out of our destinies.

  Long simmering anger threatened to spike at the appearance of Zeus, the god with the power to end the curse that suspended the Bloodline bearers in a state of living death lasting all of eternity. My emotions were already difficult to control tonight. I wasn’t certain if my sense of duty would prevail when confronting the god with whom I’d been furious since learning my fate. I simultaneously hated what he had done to my family and loved him for blessing mortals with life, and the warring emotions distracted me to the point I forgot to offer any sign of deference before he spoke.

  “Hello, Phoibe, my sweet child.” The head of the Greek pantheon greeted me quietly.

  Hello, Father, I gave the traditional address which my family alone was permitted to give. I dropped into a deep curtsey. The sounds of rustling and movement filled the chamber as everyone around me hastily did the same.

  “Still you do not speak.” He sounded both gruffly disapproving and amused.

  No, Father, I replied mentally, fully aware the gods and goddesses were able to hear me.

  The possessed priest shifted closer to me and knelt.

  “You cannot escape your fate forever, young one,” Zeus said through his human puppet. “You know this.”

  In a kneeling curtsey, I stared at the floor at my feet. My heart pounded hard in my chest, and it became even more difficult to draw a breath. If he was aware that I knew of the curse, he would also understand how angry I was with him. His knowledge should not have surprised me, given he was the most powerful of the gods, but I didn’t expect him to scold me. How could he believe I, or anyone else, would ever welcome such a fate? I could never forgive him for what he’d done to my family, and yet, my eyes filled with tears at the prospect of displeasing the mighty Zeus.

  I’m so sorry to disappoint you, Father. I said. I truly regretted upsetting him – and my weakness turned the direction of my anger inward.

  “I admire your spirit, Phoibe,” he added. “For now, your defiance amuses me. But be warned this will not always be the case. You cannot defy the will of your gods forever. You are too young yet to understand the importance of the gift bestowed upon your family.”

  I clenched my fists and kept my head down, so he couldn’t see the anger in my eyes.

  “Rise, Queen Phoibe. Your family bears the mark of the chosen,” he said, referring to the birthmark shaped like an omega on my inner wrist. “You do not kneel like a mortal.”

  I stood slowly, set my shoulders and lifted my chin.

  The High Priest of Zeus stepped back from me.

  “Let it be known and recorded I have given my personal blessing to this ceremony, and to your new Queen.” Zeus’ voice rang out loud, rich and deep. “The relationship between the Bloodline and the pantheon has never been stronger than it is today. No mortal, or god, will stand between my chosen children and me, and those who dare to dishonor this sacred bond will earn my wrath.” He faced me again. “Your reign, Queen Phoibe, my Silent Queen, will be unlike the reign of any other member of the Bloodline. For this reason, you will be the first ruler blessed with the appointment of two holy guardians from among the members of th
e pantheon, whom you may call upon as you would a mother or father. You know the first, Artemis, who has so diligently cared for you since your birth.”

  Theodocia, now also possessed by the spirit of the goddess she served, stepped forward.

  “My daughter. You need only ask, and I will provide,” she said.

  My anger melted. Artemis had been with me since I was a child. Where I experienced confusion and anger whenever I thought of Zeus, I knew only love and admiration when it came to Artemis.

  She dipped her finger into the anointing oil and drew a bow on my forehead before stepping aside with a deferential bow to Zeus.

  Surprised by the honor of two patrons after his warning, I waited for Zeus to reveal who my second guardian was.

  Another priest moved in the third row, indicating he was likely a minor god, and I strained discreetly to see his mark to identify which one. His name would hopefully help me interpret what it meant when Zeus said my reign would be unlike any other’s.

  An inverted torch was tattooed on the forehead of the High Priest moving towards us.

  No, I thought forcefully enough I was afraid I spoke the word aloud.

  If the chamber were quiet before, it became a graveyard when everyone present realized whom Zeus had chosen.

  The High Priest bearing the torch stopped before me, and I gazed up at him. For the sake of my station, I didn’t let my horror bleed through to my expression. But I felt coldness to my core.

  “Thanatos,” Zeus announced.

  Thanatos, who knew neither mercy nor failure.

  Thanatos, whom every mortal and immortal faced eventually.

  Thanatos, the God of Death.

  I glanced at Theodocia, wishing she weren’t possessed by a goddess, so she could give me one of her warm smiles. I never felt as alone as I did that moment, surrounded by dignitaries and deities, facing Thanatos. Death would come for everyone at some point, but there was nothing like standing before him and feeling my own human frailty.

  Why him? Was this an omen of what was to come?

  My breathing was harsh in my ears. Hearing it, I squared my shoulders and forced myself to focus on my carriage and position rather than what was before me. I looked Thanatos in the face and forbade myself from quaking in his presence.

  “You need not fear, my child,” came Artemis’ soft voice. “I will be with you every day of your reign.”

  “As will I,” Thanatos seconded.

  The silence grew too much as I stared into the eyes of Death.

  What does this mean? I asked finally, unable to control my emotions long enough to rationalize what was before me.

  “That is up to you,” Zeus replied for our ears only. “This comes at the petition of someone we all hold dear to us, the Oracle of Delphi. She has revealed to me a portion of the future. Upon hearing what she has foreseen, I approved her request. You will need Thanatos, my queen.”

  I had never met the Oracle. She lived in Washington DC, at the compound housing my secondary palace, which I would travel to after my coronation ceremony. Only upon becoming the Queen of Greece could I take my place as the official third member of the Sacred Triumvirate, alongside the Supreme Magistrate and Supreme Priest, both of whom were in attendance today.

  Zeus continued. “The Queen of Death does not have the same ring to it as Silent Queen does for certain. Perhaps you should remember this, if you ever decide to call upon your patron.”

  Never, I thought before I could stop myself. In the distant past, before the world was conquered and divided up, my forbearers led great armies across the Middle and Far East and into Europe, Asia and Africa. They tamed the world before Greece fell from power and the Bloodline was reduced to a symbol of the unity of gods and mortals rather than a military powerhouse. In another time, perhaps I would have welcomed Thanatos at my side.

  But I was unable to imagine how I was supposed to benefit from such a patron in this day and age and could only view his presence before me as a reminder I, too, would one day lose my mortal body and be forced to surrender to the curse of the Bloodline that would render me immortal and frozen in stone for all time.

  What had the Oracle of Delphi foreseen? What could the future possibly hold that required Thanatos at my side?

  It took every last piece of my willpower not to back away when Thanatos claimed the anointment oil from Theodocia and reached out to me. But I did close my eyes. The fingertip that drew the sign of the God of Death on my forehead was cold and sent a streak of fear through me.

  “Let his presence in your life be a reminder to you, my young queen,” Zeus cautioned quietly. “The Fates, while temperamental, have a preferred path for each of us. There will come a time when you must face yours.”

  Yes, Father. It was all I could think of to say. I was too overwhelmed by the idea Thanatos himself was supposed to become a fixture in my life, in the same way Artemis had been. Not only this, but the most powerful people in the world had witnessed his appointment. How was I to maintain the influence of the Bloodline when everyone knew I’d been touched by Death?

  This time, I wanted to cry for a very different reason.

  “It does not escape my notice I am being appointed a guardian to the Bloodline, the only creatures with souls who defy me when I beckon.” Thanatos’ tone was terse. “Through the grace of Zeus, your predecessors never truly die, Queen Phoibe. If you are at a loss as to how I have been assigned to you, I am even less satisfied. I believe it to be a personal insult.”

  His reluctance and bitterness convinced me he spoke the truth about not knowing why we were put together. I sensed his last comment was meant for Zeus, who was never under any obligation to offer an explanation to anyone for any action he chose to undertake. But Thanatos was right. The members of my Bloodline technically didn’t die. We faced a destiny worse than anything the God of Death could do to us. Of any god or goddess in creation, Thanatos was the last deity who ever should have been appointed as my guardian.

  Which made this experience more unsettling. If the god chosen as my patron didn’t know why he was selected, and resented the sacred Bloodline for rebuffing his power for ten thousand years, what exactly was in my future that would require the two of us to co-exist, if not cooperate? Artemis’ influence was inextricably entwined in my life, personified by Theodocia, who had become like a mother to me. The goddess guided Theodocia’s decisions and actions, and the goddess spoke to me regularly through Theodocia as well.

  No part of me believed I would ever have such a warm relationship with the God of Death, even if my circumstances hadn’t already excluded me from his influence. He would never become a father figure, and he held only one purpose and role in the pantheon: to guarantee Hades a steady supply of souls for the underworld.

  His baffling appointment was a bad omen, any way I considered it, and I found myself yearning for the ceremony to be over so I could consult with Theodocia.

  Without another word of objection, Thanatos stepped away. I centered myself the best I could before opening my eyes.

  The ceremony continued in the same subdued, tense manner. Zeus removed the jewel-laden crown of Greece from its place atop a plush, velvet pillow. He placed it on my head and held it as two of my servants raced forward to adjust it. When the heavy crown was secured, Zeus then handed me the scepter of Greece, a gold rod inlaid with filigree and writing and topped by brilliant purple gems. It was heavy and cold to the touch.

  He moved away, and I concentrated on holding the scepter without affecting my balance. At fourteen, I was considered frail in stature despite my ravenous eating habits and physical activity.

  The two priests and Theodocia took simultaneous deep breaths. Their glazed expressions faded, and they began to move naturally once more. Likewise, the gods and goddesses released the holds on their respective clergy members in the three rows behind them.

  No one spoke for a long moment, as if everyone in the chamber were trying to figure out why Thanatos had been appointed my patro
n. Finally, the High Priest of Zeus stepped forward.

  “May I present to you, the Queen of Greece, Sole Protector of the Bloodline, mortal daughter to the gods, ward of Artemis and Thanatos, and member of the Sacred Triumvirate, who has been extraordinarily blessed by our Holy Father,” he announced.

  The men and women present in the room all bowed and curtseyed. All I cared about was trying to read the features of Theodocia. She had her public face on, but the skin around her eyes was tight. She was worried. If not for the reception following my official succession to the throne of Greece, I’d take her aside and talk. However, my first act as the queen couldn’t be a selfish one. I’d been schooled since I was four about how to behave in accordance with my royal birthright. Duty always came first. Later, we would talk.

  A harp began playing. It was my cue to exit the ceremony.

  Turning, I waited for my servants to straighten the long train of my gown before I paced gracefully down the purple carpet towards the chamber’s exit. The crown of Greece was heavy on my head, the scepter threatening my balance with each step. I moved slowly. My audience had enough to talk about already without me tripping and providing more gossip for them to spread.

  Reeling from the unexpected twist to my coronation ceremony, I followed two priests of Apollo blindly through the temple and into the basement, a space large enough to host everyone present, for a low key, celebratory soiree. My assigned position was on a simple bench on a dais at the center of the room. I walked as elegantly as possible given the uncomfortable weight of crown, clothing and scepter and took my seat while my servants fixed the bunched up dress and train. Only when I appeared flawless did they allow the others to enter, in order of perceived importance.

  One by one, men and women approached the dais, bowed or curtseyed, offered a few words of congratulations, and then stepped away to form small cliques and enjoy the three thousand year old wine imported from Greece for this event.

  Managing to nod my head in acknowledgement after each person spoke, I barely heard any of their words. The marking of Thanatos on my forehead burned with coldness to the point it hurt, and I began to wonder if his appearance had a more ominous meaning than I originally thought. Was the Oracle of Delphi trying to tell me I’d be the first of my Bloodline to die a real death? I had never thought about a true, natural death. Such a heavy thought left me as distressed as I became whenever I thought about spending eternity in stone.