Rise by Jeanne Reames

Rise by Jeanne Reames

Author:Jeanne Reames [Reames, Jeanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781626499003
Goodreads: 45719797
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Published: 2019-07-15T00:00:00+00:00


Philippos granted Amyntor’s request for a private audience, and the two men faced off in the king’s study the day after their sons had fled the city. “What do you want?” Philippos asked.

“An explanation.”

“Shouldn’t I be asking that of you? You gave them supplies.”

Amyntor propped himself on the table edge. “Of course I did. Would you rather I’d let them go hungry? I wasn’t the drunk fool who pulled a sword on his own son.”

The king’s face went red, then purple. “You are insolent.”

“Sometimes.”

This blunt response made Philippos laugh. “Does Hephaistion have any idea how much he’s like you?”

“I think he might.” Amyntor looked down at his nails. He was more nervous than he pretended. Philippos wasn’t arbitrary, but he did have a temper. “Should I worry for my land and horses?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Did you set up my son to fall with yours so you could take my wife’s inheritance?”

Laughing again, Philippos sat down at the table. “Herakleis!” He rubbed his dead eye under its patch, then abruptly slammed a fist into the table. Against his will, Amyntor started. Philippos was a master of theatre as sure as any actor; the mask he wore was the mask of command. “Maybe you should tell me just who set up whom here?”

“Suspicious to the last, aren’t you?”

“I have good reason, I think.”

“You have no reason!”

One of the Pages—banished outside the door—knocked on the wood, calling, “Sir?”

“I’m well, Neoptolemos.”

“I suppose,” Amyntor said, “I should be grateful you let me in here alone with you at all.” Then he stood. “Your son trusted you, played your game. But when he heard you were marrying that stump Amyntas to Kynannē, it made him suspicious; and I fail to see why you didn’t just tell me about it when we spoke two days ago. I asked you bluntly.”

“It wasn’t settled yet.”

“Well, confound it! If you can’t trust your own son with plans before they’re chiseled in stone, how can you expect him to trust you? Then, at the feast, you supported Attalos against him, even to drawing a sword . . . Philippos, what possessed you? Dionysos?”

Philippos sighed. Morning sun leaked in the high window to slide across the big oak table. “Attalos was a guest, under hospitality’s protection. If the boy had given me a moment to collect my thoughts, I’d have rebuked Attalos myself, but he’s always so ready to doubt me. His mother’s fault that, may she rot up in her foggy highlands.”

Amyntor crossed arms over his chest. “I’ve no doubt Olympias didn’t help matters but it’s you he imitates: his manner of speaking, his gestures, even his swagger—it’s all yours.” Amyntor could see this pleased the king, so he sank his barb. “If you’d been freer with your praise and less free with criticism, he might’ve attached himself to you instead of to her.”

Philippos’s expression altered profoundly. He looked like a man who’d taken a mortal thrust. “Who are you to censure me?”

“A father. You’re a king. The best Makedon’s ever had, to be sure, but you never learned to be a father.



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