The King's Seal

by Amy Kuivalainen

  After finding their hotel, everyone scattered with promises to catch up at sundown for dinner. They all had jobs to do: Galenos would be busy checking his surveillance of Milos; Alexis and Phaidros were still working at the magic they’d use to disrupt the ritual, and they’d also be going over invasion plans with Constantine and Lyca; Zo and Aelia were in charge of gleaning gossip from the locals at the bars. Marco and Penelope ended up at a table on the beach, shaded by a bright umbrella, cold beers in hand.

  “You can’t say you never got to have your holiday,” Penelope said, peeling a pistachio and offering it to him.

  “I’m starting to understand their appeal. Isabella almost packed my bag for me; she was so keen to get me out from under her feet.”

  “I don’t suppose I would have any chance of talking you out of coming with us tomorrow night and into staying here instead?”

  Marco laughed. “About as much chance as I would have convincing you to do the same. We’ve both come too far, and I need to know that this is over either way. I’ll be on the other side of Milos. You don’t need to have a single worry for me. Save it for yourself. You’ll be the one going to slay the monster. Who would’ve thought that you’d cause me so much trouble the day you walked into my police station back in March?”

  THE NIGHT was balmy, and their dinner was loud. They ate outside under the trees and sprawling bougainvillea, which were strung with lights. Phaidros and Aelia sat together, holding hands like shy teenagers, and Penelope had to admire Constantine’s resolve not to get upset or offended. If their positions had been reversed, Penelope wouldn’t have handled seeing Alexis with another woman so well. Zo kept Constantine distracted. They were thick as thieves, bantering about classical Greek poetry and how the world needed more writers composing epics, before the art was only studied and not practiced.

  Alexis was quiet as the others ate, joked, and told stories. Penelope didn’t have to ask to know that he was still thinking about magic. When she took his hand under the table, his eyes refocused and landed on her.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he whispered in her ear.

  The others paid little attention as Penelope and Alexis slipped away. They crossed through back alleys and down to the beach.

  “Are you okay?” she asked once they were truly alone.

  Alexis placed an arm around her shoulders as they walked barefoot across the sand. “I am. I know how to disrupt the ritual’s magic, but I feel so horribly unprepared. It seems too last-minute, and my mind won’t stop running over the steps I’ll need to do to build the magic. It’s complicated, and even with the extra power of the high tide, it’ll be draining.”

  “At least you know what to do. I have a ring that won’t translate and a spell I don’t know what to do with. I have to rely on faith—something I’ve never had an overabundance of—to see me through. If all else fails, we chop off Thevetat’s and Abaddon’s heads and hope for the best.”

  This earned a laugh from Alexis. “Constantine is rubbing off on you.”

  They reached the surf, and Penelope wriggled her toes in the cool water. Poseidon’s magic shivered as it reached through her and connected with the ocean. It felt different than it did in the lagoon in Venice. There was something else—something buried that called out to her. Paros is at the heart of the islands that made up the Cyclades Plateau, Penelope realized. It was in the same stretch of ocean that Atlantis had been destroyed.

  “What is it, Penelope?”

  “Can you feel that? There’s something underneath the water. It feels like…” She couldn’t find the words. She took his hand and tried to share the sensation through the moíra desmós. Alexis sucked in a breath as she reached for the power under the waves.

  “It’s home,” Alexis said. “It feels like Atlantis did—or parts of its magic, at least. I’ve never felt it like this in the water.”

  “Maybe because it’s the high tide? No wonder Thevetat chose Milos for his base. If there’s still power left in the scattered rubble of Atlantis, he might be tapping into it as well.”

  “It’s possible. I had no idea so much magic still lay in what was left.”

  “You never tried to find any artifacts or anything?”

  “No.” Alexis shook his head. “In part, because it would’ve been too much like digging in a graveyard. Also, the technology wasn’t advanced enough back then, and Nereus was determined that we all move on and not look back. There was nothing to return to. I was always concerned that something magical would wash up on a beach and cause havoc, but there was no way I could control or police that. That’s one of the reasons I always investigated magic wielders—to be sure that they hadn’t learned from any survivors or found something left over from Atlantis that could hurt them or others.” He pulled her close. “Thank you for sharing that with me, for letting me know it’s still there.”

  “You want to feel more?”

  “Yes,” Alexis whispered.

  As they stood in the breaking waves, Penelope reached out with her magic again until she could feel the pulse of Atlantis. To anyone walking past, they would’ve looked like lovers embracing in the moonlight. How could she ever explain what it felt like to anyone but Alexis? She didn’t know if it was Poseidon’s magic or the part of her that had always known Atlantis had existed, but Alexis was right—whatever source she was connecting to felt like home. Full of magic and emotion, Penelope stood up on tiptoes and kissed Alexis. He was home and love and magic, and if she died tomorrow, he’d be right beside her. Instead of making her feel vulnerable, that thought filled her with a strength she didn’t know she was capable of.

  “Whatever happens, we’ll be okay, cara.” He cupped her cheeks between his palms, and his expression brightened. “I’m going to show you a memory tonight.”

  “That sounds promising.”

  “We’d better do it off the beach, or people will think we’ve lost our minds.”

  They headed back up the beach and to their hotel room. When Alexis pulled her down on the bed beside him, Penelope asked, “What are you planning?”

  His expression heated as he brushed the stray curls from her face. “Stop looking at me like that, or I’ll forget all about showing you memories and focus on making some new ones.”

  “I promise to make you a memory you won’t ever forget afterward.”

  Alexis gave her a filthy smile, then kissed her. Penelope fought temptation and shut her eyes as Alexis’s magic pulled her under.

  WHEN PENELOPE opened her eyes, she was standing next to a marble column in a bustling marketplace. Alexis was beside her, but it wasn’t the Alexis she’d curled up in bed with. This one had gold in his hair and at his wrists, and was dressed in a maroon tunic threaded with gold and belted at his waist. Her Alexis came to stand on the other side of her.

  “Gods, was I ever that young?” He stared at himself.

  “You still look exactly the same.” Penelope gave him a devilish wink. “I’m all for you bringing this look back.”

  “Good to know.” Alexis laughed, and the younger version of himself disappeared into the crowd.

  “Where are we?”

  “I thought I’d show you one of Poseidon’s feast days. You shouldn’t only see Atlantis at war. I want you to experience some of its beauty too, in case I’m not able to show you again.” He took her hand. “Welcome to Atlas, cara.”

  “Alexis…” Penelope was so touched she pulled him down to kiss him quick and hard. “Thank you. Show me everything.”

  And he did. For a day, they walked hand in hand through the city. He showed her the main agora, where politicians and philosophers argued. Priestesses of Poseidon threaded their way through the crowds in their deep aqua chitons and veils, with golden tridents painted on their foreheads. There were stalls selling everything from jewelry to cured squid.

  Penelope let the mad energy of the place pull her under its spell as Alexis acted as her tour guide, showing her the bull dancers and temples, the palace, and lastly
, the strangely tall and imposing tower that was the Citadel of Magicians. It was a spike of marble, its triangular roof painted gold and blue with an orichalcum statue of Poseidon on top of its walled gates. They passed underneath his stern gaze, and Penelope shivered, feeling the magic of the place even in the memory.

  “This place is amazing.” She tilted her head back to stare at the arched windows that wound their way in a spiral all the way to the top.

  “It was. There were usually about two hundred magicians under its roof at any one time.”

  They crossed through the marble pillars and inside the tower. Alexis showed her various rooms where magicians could work different elemental magic. She peeked in at magicians working earth, water, air, and fire magic. As they walked, she realized that the inside of the tower was vastly bigger than the outside, and she said as much to Alexis.

  “The palazzo in Venice is much the same. Too much magic made the citadel sentient as well, and it kept growing to accommodate the magicians that came to learn. Nereus could never determine for certain if it was an original spell of Poseidon’s or if it was too much exposure to raw magic. There are levels upon levels of books beneath us, like the Archives, so either theory is possible.”

  Next, he showed her the library, and Penelope felt like crying at the thought that so many books now lay at the bottom of the ocean. Standing on the ground floor, Penelope could stare up at the levels upon levels above her, and down at ones that fell away into the darkness beneath. Light streamed down from the top of the tower, reflecting off carefully positioned mirrors of glass and crystal. They bounced the light from one to another and filled everything with warm light. It was the most breathtaking place she’d ever seen, and she hung onto Alexis, unable to find the words.

  “I would’ve never left,” she said eventually.

  Alexis had a happy, melancholy look on his face as he held her. “Before you ask—no, you won’t be able to pick out a book and read it unless I read it in the past. Still, it is nice to come and visit.”

  IT WAS long past midnight when Alexis pulled them out of the memory and back into their bed on Paros. Penelope opened her eyes, surprised to find they were filled with tears.

  “Thank you so much, Alexis.”

  “You are very welcome, cara. Thank you for making those memories good for me again. I stopped venturing into them because of the pain they caused. You have healed me in so many ways—saved me in so many ways.” His grip on her tightened. “You’re a miracle and a blessing, and I want nothing more than to spend whatever time I have left with you. It doesn’t matter if the curse of our long lives breaks tomorrow or not; I’ll be here with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but by your side—tomorrow, when we face Thevetat, or in a hundred years, when we will undoubtedly be hunting another mystery. It would seem Carolyn was wrong: there is a man in existence that comes before my hunt for Atlantis.” Her smile widened. “You’re my true love, after all.”

  “And you are mine,” he said, moving on top of her. “Now, Doctor Bryne, I believe you promised me a new memory I’ll never forget.”

  MARCO WAS DOING his best to play the role of curious tourist with too much money as the chartered helicopter dropped him off at the Milos airport. He’d come hours ahead of the others and felt strangely exposed without them. Galenos had rented him a car in advance, and Marco went through the motions of picking it up in Adamantas, going shopping for trinkets, and eating at one of the restaurants. He killed time until his phone alerted him at 3 p.m., after which he drove to the Catacombs of Milos.

  Marco joined the scattered groups of tourists, reading the informative plaques with feigned interest. The catacombs were dated from the first to the fifth centuries, with speculation that they predated the necropolis of Rome. Apparently, Saint Paul himself had been shipwrecked there on his way to Athens after teaching on Crete. Also, over two thousand Christians were buried there.

  Marco stepped out of the hot sun and down the stone steps into the cool, dark gloom. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as the hush of the place settled over him. He wasn’t superstitious, but the place had a morbid holiness. He crossed himself before forcing himself farther inside. A helpful-looking tour guide told him that the catacombs would be closing in fifteen minutes, and he assured her he would be out by then.

  Marco tried not to look hurried or suspicious as he moved deeper into the catacombs, thumbing the coin-sized metal discs in his pocket.

  “You only need to place three of them down and then get out of there. If you see any priests, don’t engage with them, and don’t look at them for a second longer than you need to,” Lyca had warned him. Then she’d taken his face in her hands. “Don’t get killed unnecessarily.” It was the only pep talk he’d received from her, and it was, quintessentially, Lyca.

  The catacombs had three sections, and in a shadowed corner of each one, Marco placed one of the small black metal discs carved with glyphs. He didn’t understand how a tiny piece of metal could stop Thevetat from drawing on the power of the dead. Galenos had tried to explain, but Marco glazed over within seconds. All he knew was that they would somehow activate when the time was right and wouldn’t alert Thevetat until it was too late.

  Marco followed the line of tourists out of the catacombs and headed to the car park. Two men passed him, and even though they looked like any other tourists, Marco’s skin crawled when he caught the scent of incense and death on them. It smelled like the cave in the Bahamas. He looked down at his phone, pretending that he didn’t want to vomit.

  No one seemed to notice as the men took a bundle of keys offered by the tour guide before they slipped back into the catacombs. Marco climbed into his car and gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. He had the urge to stop them before they began any horrible magic, but that would give him away, and then their whole plan would be ruined. Fighting his policeman instincts, he started the car and drove back to Adamantas. Constantine’s friends would soon be arriving at their hotel—if they hadn’t already—and Marco was meant to join them before they settled in to wait.

  AT DUSK, Phaidros, Aelia, Constantine, Lyca, Zo, and Galenos were dropped off by helicopter on the south side of Milos. Phaidros didn’t know how many favors Constantine had called in to get them their own private helicopter, but he wasn’t about to complain, because approaching the villa on the cliffs would’ve been a lot harder by automobile. This part of Milos was sparsely populated, and the only roads in the area led to Thevetat’s compound.

  Zo, Lyca, and Galenos disappeared into the trees, heading for the north side of the villa, while Phaidros, Aelia, and Constantine would approach from the west.

  “This is starting to feel like old times,” said Constantine cheerily. He pulled out a dagger. “Now, remember, you two: no using magic. If they sense it, we’re all dead.”

  “Not our first time, Con, darling.” Aelia’s violet eyes flickered to Phaidros. “Are you ready?”

  Phaidros kissed her once. “Okay, now I am.” He told himself it was for luck, but the truth was, he wanted to get one more in just in case they all ended up dead.

  They crept through the trees, hunting the small groups of priests that patrolled the borders. Constantine grabbed one priest around the mouth and slid his dagger across the man’s throat before he could register what was happening. Aelia was a golden shimmer in front of him, taking out the priest’s companion with a blade through the ribs. She took the comms earpiece from the dead man and slipped it over her ear, then froze as Phaidros shot two arrows over her shoulder. Another guard fell to the dusty ground.

  “Watch your back,” he whispered.

  “That’s what you’re here for.”

  Constantine came out of the darkness, hands bloody. “Where is everyone? The satellite images from the last week has had this place crawling with people.”

  “Galenos will be able to tell us as soon as he gets into their surveillance.”
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br />   Aelia waved them silent, tapped her earpiece, and hurried through the trees. They scattered as another three priests approached down one of the roads.

  “Is that blood?” one asked, the beam of his torch hovering over the dark stain on the ground.

  Phaidros loosed three arrows just as Constantine came up behind the group on the other side.

  “Now you’re showing off,” he said.

  “You were taking too long. Where’s Aelia?”

  A yelp sounded through the trees, and he ran toward it. He shouldn’t have worried—Aelia’s gladius shone silver in the moonlight, and she was surrounded by bodies.

  “Will you boys hurry up?” She flicked the gore from her blade. “I just saw Lyca go into the villa. We should be clear to move.”

  “Right behind you,” said Constantine.

  They left the scrubby trees and reached the manicured gardens surrounding the monstrosity of a villa. The dark ocean spread out in front of them.

  “It almost seems a shame to destroy it,” Phaidros said.

  Aelia snorted. “Consider shopping for a holiday house that hasn’t been tarnished by demons.”

  They followed Constantine up the marble steps of the main entrance, and Phaidros did his best not to step in the pools of blood. He’d seen Lyca kill during the war, and she’d lost none of her savageness over the years. There wasn’t a single priest left whole.

  “Galenos?” he whispered.

  The shadows shifted in an empty doorway, and Lyca appeared. “The surveillance room is this way, but I can show you where all the other priests are hiding.” She waved them through the house.

  Zo stood in the shadows of the balcony. He wore fury on his face and had death in his eyes.

  Phaidros joined him. “What is it?”