by Kat Ross
“We were crazy to try that,” Nico muttered.
Domitia shrugged. “No crazier than seeking the gates.”
“Maybe. And what will you do?” he asked with a smile. “After the Gale falls. Name yourself queen of the mortals?”
She didn’t smile back. “I’ll think I’ll go home,” she said quietly.
He looked at her in astonishment. “You don’t mean the Kiln?”
“Is that so strange?” Her shoulders hunched defensively. “I miss it, Nico. I felt alive there.”
“But you’re the only one Gaius listens to. He’s…. You know how he is.”
She knew. He could see it in her eyes. She’d always known.
“He does what he must.”
Sudden, helpless anger seized him. “He rapes children. Murders those who try to stop him. He’s a monster.”
Cold blue eyes turned on him and for an instant, it was as though he were looking at Gaius. Nico felt a chill.
“He ensures that we continue. The only failure is to die. Yes, my father is a hard man, but you wouldn’t be standing here if he wasn’t.”
Nico mastered himself with effort. Domitia was a true believer. Many were. The Kiln was a crucible, burning away everything but the primal instinct for survival. Compassion, empathy, love—these were luxuries that would get you killed in a hurry.
Yet he loved Atticus. And Nico had glimpsed a different way since he left the Kiln. The possibility that he had changed in some irrevocable way disturbed him.
“Do what you will,” he said. “But the collars have to be destroyed once this is over. They’re too dangerous.” He looked at her slender neck. “Don’t you ever worry about the mortals trying to put one on you? Now that they know you’re a witch?”
Domitia gave a merry peal of laughter. “None of them are stupid enough to try.”
“Yet they’re trained in capturing daēvas.”
“Alone and unsuspecting daēvas. The other clans are weak, and not just in the power. They wouldn’t last a day in the Kiln.” Her forehead creased slightly. “But perhaps I should have a talk with Thena. She’s the one who brought me the Danai heir from Val Moraine. She wears his bracelet.”
Nico vaguely remembered her from when he first arrived.
“Where do you keep him?”
“In the initiates’ chambers.”
“I wish to see him.”
Her gaze narrowed. “For what reason?”
Nico himself wasn’t entirely sure. He shrugged. “Curiosity. Are you denying my request?”
She gazed at him for a long moment. “No, go ahead. And tell Thena I wish to speak with her.”
He strode over and picked up the damaged globe, slipping it into a pocket. “I’ll work on this later.”
Nico crossed the dusty plaza to the three-story stone building that sat next to a walled yard. Flies droned inside, but it was otherwise deserted. He climbed the stairs, pausing to check the rooms on each floor. Several had chains set into the mortar, although the occupants were absent. Others clearly belonged to the initiates.
When he reached the top, he heard a voice. Nico moved silently down the hall. When he reached the door at the end, he paused outside to listen. A girl was speaking. Her voice sounded cheerful and friendly, but something about it made Nicodemus uneasy. It was as if she were playing a part, like the dramas the Greeks staged at the amphitheater.
“…shall I call you? You need a new name. A proper name.”
There was no response to this.
“I already know your old name. It’s Galen Bacera. Your father is Victor Dessarian, but you don’t carry his name.” He heard the rustle of skirts. “You look like him though.”
“May I have some water, Mistress?”
“In a minute. We have to decide on your name first. Calix, perhaps. What do you think of that?”
A hint of sullenness. “I don’t care.”
“Now, now, Calix. You mustn’t pout. It’s a fine name and you’ll get used to it in time.” A pause. “I must say, you’re far nicer than your brother.”
The chains clanked. “I don’t understand, Mistress.”
“Your brother, Darius.” Her voice took on a slight edge. “I called him Andros. He didn’t want to tell me his true name. You wouldn’t believe the things I tried, but he still wouldn’t tell me. Not to the very end.”
“Is he…dead?”
“I’m afraid so.” Her voice grew harder still. “He died badly, screaming in the brazen bull. Poor thing. But you wouldn’t care, would you? You helped the mountain witches set chimera on him.” She laughed. “I made Nikias tell me all about it. I know what you did. So you see, I don’t feel sorry for you, not one bit.”
Nicodemus doubted the girl had ever felt sorry for anyone in her life. Where did Domitia find these people?
“Ah, well. Witches are traitorous. It’s in your blood.”
Nicodemus heard a splash of water, like a ladle being dipped into a bucket.
“Here you are, Calix. Good behavior is rewarded, just as wicked behavior is punished.” The benevolent tone returned. “I promise to be clear about which is which, and as long as you listen closely and follow the rules, we’ll come to be good friends.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“You see? Already you are proving to be much more pliable than your brother. I am pleased with you. But it’s important that you renounce your evil ways. Magic is a sin. I would hear you say it.”
Silence.
“Don’t be obstinate. It won’t end well, Calix, I promise you.”
“The Pythia worked magic,” he burst out.
“Shut your filthy mouth.” The words came slowly, each one spat out like a mouthful of rotten meat. “Don’t you ever, ever speak such a lie in my presence again.” Heavy breathing. “I think a lesson is in order.”
A sharp scream cut the air. Nicodemus kicked the door wide and strode inside. The smell hit him in a foul wave. Old blood and fear sweat. It reminded him of the burrow he’d found his mother in. A dark-haired youth slumped in chains fixed to the wall, his eyes glazed.
“What’s going on here?” Nico asked quietly.
The acolyte’s face, which had been ruddy with rage, instantly shifted to a dimpled smile that didn’t touch her eyes.
“Nothing. I’m simply minding the wi…the talisman, as I was instructed to do.”
“Ah. Were you instructed to torture him?”
The smile slipped a notch.
“I was only reprimanding—”
Nico stared at her, gratified to see a flash of fear. “The Pythia has summoned you to her chambers. I wouldn’t delay.”
Thena scurried off. Nico studied Galen. He was young and sturdy, with the dark good looks of the Danai. But his face bore the ravages of suffering and bitterness. Nico knew the look well.
“Does she always treat you like that?”
Galen finally raised his eyes.
“No. She’s usually much worse.”
The iron collar made Nico’s bile rise, though he understood its necessity. Still, he wouldn’t condone Thena’s bullying.
“I’ll talk to her.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Nicodemus.”
“That’s not what I meant. What are you?”
Nico was taken aback. Had no one explained matters? “A daēva, like you.”
Galen licked his lips. “I don’t understand.”
“I am a Vatra.”
Nothing. Not a flicker of recognition.
Nico felt a sudden surge of anger. The other clans had erased his people from the histories as if they’d never even existed. Left them to die. At least the mortals still remembered.
“You can’t be a daēva,” Galen whispered. “I saw you work fire.”
Nicodemus tamped down his fury. It wasn’t this boy’s fault.
“It’s our birthright,” he said, quoting the words Gaius had ingrained in all of them. “Fire purifies. It’s the only element that can’t be po
lluted.”
Galen looked at him like he was mad.
“Have you never wondered about the Kiln?” Nico snapped. “Have you never wondered who made the Gale and why fire is forbidden in Nocturne?”
There was a long pause as Galen considered this. “Not really, no.”
“Fucking hell,” Nico muttered.
The chains clanked as Galen shifted. “Tell me one thing.”
Nico waited.
“What will she do with me? The Oracle?”
The raw plea in his eyes was too much. Nico couldn’t afford to feel sorry for the talismans. Meb had been a nice enough kid too, under the grubby, feral exterior.
“I have to go,” he said brusquely, turning away.
“Wait!” Galen’s voice chased him out the door, fading as he strode down the corridor. “Please!”
Nicodemus hurried past the Shields of Apollo and down the long, winding steps that descended from the Acropolis. He wanted to be alone. To get as far as possible from the mingled smells of burning laurel and blood and whatever it was that oozed from the cracks beneath the temple. He’d return to the Archon’s palace and try to repair the globe. He also had the talismans he’d taken from the emperor’s collection to look over.
But as he walked through the crowded streets, he kept thinking about that iron collar, about Thena, and Nico felt a cold stab in his belly. The collars would work on any daēva, Vatras too. Would work on him, if he stepped out of line.
What exactly had Gaius told Domitia to do?
6
Apollo’s Arrow
Thena strode across the yard, her face perfectly composed. But her heart thudded in her chest, a sickening stew of rage and confusion.
She knew the witch spoke truth. She’d seen it with her own eyes, the one called Nicodemus burning the Polemarch and the Oracle of Delphi summoning flames to dance on her fingertips. Neither of them had used spell dust. They worked elemental magic.
They were witches.
Fire witches.
In the holy Temple of Apollo.
The Pythia claimed she spoke for the Sun God, but that was another lie.
Thena’s mind and soul rebelled at the thought of how she’d been used, but it was useless to pretend otherwise. Worse than useless. It would be cowardly, and she was not a coward.
So the question was, what did it mean? For the last two years, she’d listened to the Pythia and the Archon Basileus talking about the Vatra War. If they were fire witches, why hadn’t they burned everything like they did before? The answer was obvious. Because they wanted the talismans. But for what exactly, she wasn’t sure.
She entered the Temple, its lintel bearing the words Know Thyself.
For the first time, Thena felt lost. She could simply run away. But where would she go? Back to her father’s farm? She couldn’t imagine that mundane life anymore. She had done things, seen things her sisters would never understand.
And she had grown to enjoy wearing the bracelets, to revel in the power they gave her.
She could try to steal away with the Danai talisman. But she’d never get him past the Shields of Apollo. They guarded the temple day and night now.
Thena knew she was supposed to go straight to the Pythia, but her feet took a different path through the corridors, until she reached a storeroom on the eastern side—one she had not visited in weeks.
It was the place of her nightmares. Of her greatest shame.
The brazen bull gleamed in the torchlight, it’s wicked horns curling to sharp points. She knelt by the hatch and pressed a trembling hand against the cool metal.
Flashes of memory shivered through her. The Pythia, urging her to climb inside. Those cold, ageless eyes.
If you are truly innocent, he will spare you….
And then:
May you be purified, child.
The smell of burning flesh. Her dress catching fire. Screams echoing in her ears.
Thena’s hand fell to her legs, rubbing the scar tissue through the thin material of her gown.
And she saw the truth. It was not the god who had judged her, but the witch.
A trick.
The Pythia made her think Apollo was punishing her, when she summoned the flames herself.
Tears ran down Thena’s face. She angrily brushed them aside. She still had a higher purpose. The witches were scheming to do something terrible, and she would watch and wait, like she did before.
I am the god’s instrument. His shining arrow.
She touched one of the sharp, curling horns with a fingertip, then hurried to the adyton.
The Pythia sat on the tripod with her eyes closed. Once, Thena would have wondered what mystical secrets Apollo was revealing to her. She would have felt awe and a touch of jealousy. Now she knew better. It was all a sham. Thena erased the loathing from her expression and knelt at the Pythia’s feet.
“You called for me, Mother?” she asked.
A long moment passed before the Pythia deigned to respond. Finally, her pale eyes slid open.
“How do you fare with the talisman?”
“I gave him his new name today. Calix.”
“Names mean nothing. I want him broken.”
“Yes, Mother. It takes time—”
“We don’t have time, you stupid girl.”
Thena fixed her eyes on the stone. “I won’t fail you, Mother.”
The Pythia stood. Suddenly, the room felt stifling. Sweat trickled down Thena’s back.
“I still speak for the Sun God. Do you believe me?”
“Yes, Mother,” Thena said meekly.
But the Pythia seemed to hear a false note in her voice. She seized a hank of Thena’s hair and jerked her head back.
“Do you believe me?”
“Yes, yes!” Thena cried, wincing in pain. “You speak for the Sun God! You are the true Oracle!”
The Pythia’s fingers tightened in her hair. “Have you told anyone what you saw the day Nicodemus came to the temple?”
“No,” Thena panted. “No one, I swear.”
“Good. If I find that you do, I will strip you of the bracelets and you will be nothing. A scullery scrubbing the temple floors for the rest of your life. Do you understand?”
Thena had to admit a grudging admiration. The witch knew her well. She could have threatened Thena’s family, but she seemed to grasp that Thena didn’t particularly care what happened to them. But to have the bracelets taken away? That would be worse than death.
Thena kissed the hem of the Pythia’s gown. The lie came easily.
“Yes, Mother. I will never betray your trust again, I swear it.”
The Pythia’s fingers relaxed and she stroked Thena’s hair like a child. “That is good. I don’t wish to treat you so roughly, sun daughter, but I had to be sure. Leave me now.”
Thena kissed her hand and walked out with as much dignity as she could muster, her scalp still stinging. On her thin cot that night, she thought of the many ways she would like to see the Pythia die. She thought of Demetrios, her pale Valkirin prince, and she thought of Darius. The one who had nearly broken her. She’d hoped taking his brother might ease the loss, but the slight resemblance between them somehow made it worse.
I will find you.
Thena’s cheeks flushed with anger and a peculiar kind of desire. She arranged her raven hair so it fanned out against the coarse blanket.
Yes, I will, someday.
It was only a matter of time.
7
Victor’s Folly
Nazafareen stomped to the lip of the rock shelf, squinting through thin flurries of snow. She wanted to punch someone. Any Valkirin would do.
Atop the facing peak, the icebound fastness of Val Moraine caught a shaft of moonlight as the ragged clouds parted. Between it and the place she stood stretched a chasm so deep it seemed to have no bottom. And floating over that chasm like a bit of dandelion fluff was Darius, though at least they’d hung him the right way up. Nazafareen scowled as Frida strode up
next to her.
“Why are his eyes closed?” she demanded. “Is he unconscious? Did you hurt him?”
Frida shook her head. “The Danai sleeps. He has nerve, I’ll give him that.”
Nazafareen clenched her fist. Part of her almost laughed. The rest was quietly appalled. “He must be freezing.”
“Even the Danai don’t feel the cold as mortals do. He’ll live.”
The sight still made her skin crawl. What if the bonds accidentally loosened?
“Well, you have to take him down,” she said briskly. “You’ve made your point. If you want me to soften Victor up, it won’t make my task easier to have his son twisting in the wind.”
Frida crooked a finger. Darius swept toward the ledge, blinking sleepily.
“Careful with him now,” Nazafareen hissed.
A moment later, Darius was deposited on solid ground again. She went to his side, reaching for his poor bruised face, but it struck an invisible barrier. She let the hand fall with a sigh.
“How’s your jaw? Broken?”
“Don’t think so.” He spoke tightly and she could see it pained him.
“You’ll be free soon, I swear it. They’re letting me go inside. Any message for your father?”
His blue eyes flickered. “Leave it to you. Megaera said she…taught you some choice obscenities.”
Nazafareen smiled. Her heart ached with tenderness and fury both. Someday, she’d pay Broken Nose back for that blow. Oh yes, she’d break something else, something he valued more than that lump of flesh on his ugly face.
“It’s time,” Runar called gruffly.
Darius gave her a brief nod.
“I’ll just wait here,” he mumbled.
She gave him a twisted smile and walked over to Runar. He stood near the edge with Frida and Stefán—and Katrin, who stared daggers at her.
“We’ll ride together, Breaker,” Katrin said. “Be sure to tighten your buckles. The crosswinds can be strong.”
If this was a veiled threat, Nazafareen paid it no mind. Her gaze was fixed on the dark spot across the chasm, where the tunnel led inside to Val Moraine.
