by Kat Ross
As she darted up the steps to the Acropolis, she passed a group of women dancing and spinning with abandon at the base of the staircase. One turned and caught her eye, and she thought the woman might have winked at her, but then the crowd surged around them and the dancers were lost to view.
Selene peeked above the city wall and Nazafareen knew she had until the moon touched the flat roof of the Philosophers Guild to get to the docks, which gave her about two hours. When she reached the plaza, she paused, then approached two soldiers who stood outside the temple, doing her best to look like a frightened servant girl.
“I carry a message for the prisoner Herodotus,” she said, keeping her eyes on the stone paving blocks.
“Wait here.”
The soldier strode off and returned a few minutes later with his captain. Nazafareen’s heart sank as she recognized the burly man who had dragged them from the fountain. She let her hair fall into her face and prayed he wouldn’t recognize her.
“What’s your name, girl?” he demanded.
“Ashraf,” she whispered. “I’m a servant at the library.”
“Show me this message.” He thrust a hand out.
Nazafareen gave him the scrap of paper. He scanned it with narrowed eyes. She wished she could have read it herself. What if the note said something treasonous? To her vast relief, he handed it back.
“Escort her to the prisoner,” the captain said.
They crossed the plaza to another building. She tried not to look at the brazen bull as they passed, tried not to remember the screams so horribly transformed into bellows. Nazafareen felt her own anger rising at the barbarity of it. She drew a steadying breath. And then she was standing before a small, barred window, with Herodotus on the other side. The faint smell of straw and animals drifted out.
“Make it quick,” the soldier said, moving away to stand with hands loosely clasped.
Nazafareen nodded.
“Ashraf,” Herodotus exclaimed, peering through the bars. “What are you doing here?”
Her heart broke as she looked at him. He had a black eye and his usually neat beard was caked with dried blood.
“I’m so terribly sorry,” she whispered. “I carry a message from your wife.”
She gave him the note. Herodotus read it once, and then again. His eyes grew watery and Nazafareen looked away in embarrassment.
“Thank you for coming, my dear,” he said. “Now you must get away from this place.”
She knew he was right, and yet Nazafareen couldn’t make her feet move.
“What are they going to do to you?” she asked.
“It depends. I have friends in the Ecclesia. They will argue on my behalf.”
“Will it work?”
He smiled slightly. “Probably not.”
She felt her own eyes stinging and roughly swiped a sleeve across her face. “Isn’t there anything anyone can do?”
“Go, child.”
“Those two scholars framed you up, didn’t they?”
He turned back.
“I know they did. I wish I could prove it. Why do they hate you?”
“It’s nothing that concerns you, Ashraf,” Herodotus said gently. He glanced pointedly toward the soldier. “I thought you had a ship to catch.”
Her shoulders sagged. “I suppose I do.” She took his hand through the bars and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me.”
Herodotus smiled. “Men's fortunes are on a wheel, which in its turning suffers not the same man to prosper forever. My fate is in the gods’ hands now, my dear. Fare well.”
Nazafareen trudged across the plaza. She felt ill with worry for the old librarian and furious that she couldn’t do anything about it. She wished the daēvas would conquer Delphi. Even the Valkirins couldn’t be as bad as the Pythia and the Archon Basileus. She was rounding the corner of the temple when a hand grabbed her arm. Nazafareen raised a fist to punch her assailant in the face when she saw it was Javid. He made a shushing motion and pulled her around the back of the temple into the deep shadow of a pillar.
“How did you find me?” she hissed.
“I ran into the cook at the agora. He saw you coming up the steps.” Javid paused and glanced around. “He said someone was at the library asking about you,” he whispered.
She frowned. “Me? Are you sure?”
“Unless there’s another girl with only one hand, new to the city,” Javid replied grimly.
“One person or more?”
“Just one, I think.”
“Do you know what they looked like?”
“He didn’t say. I’m sorry, I should have asked. Is it one of your relatives?”
She bit her lip, wishing she could tell him the truth. “I don’t know, Javid.”
What if it was another Valkirin assassin? But surely the cook would have remarked on it. Nearly everyone in Delphi had dark hair and eyes, and olive skin.
Her heart beat faster. Darius? He would blend in. But how could he have found her? Delilah thought she was going to Samarqand. It was probably just the girl who’d given her the message. Still, she couldn’t leave without knowing.
“I have to ask the cook. It might be my…older brother.”
“Won’t he try to take you home?”
“No, we were always close. But he could have come looking. He’s stubborn that way.”
Javid blew out a long breath. He glanced at the approaching storm. “Fine, but we’d better hurry. The ship leaves in less than an hour, and they won’t wait for us. I already gave the captain all our money to hold the berths.”
Impulsively, she got up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. It was soft as a girl’s.
“Thank you, Javid.”
He rolled his eyes, but his face reddened a little. “Don’t worry about it.” He peeked around the corner of the temple. “Looks like the coast is clear. Let’s go.”
32
Quarry
The three chimera slipped unnoticed through the city gates.
Amid the noise and general tumult of the festival, no one saw a thing as they slunk through back streets and alleys, transparent bodies now brown as mudbrick, now white as marble. No one saw them, but they left their mark.
In a tavern called the Villa of Good Fortune, a petty squabble escalated into the drawing of blood. Two streets away, a young man spurned by his lover suddenly decided to drink a cup of poison. A group of children who had been giving scraps to a mangy dog turned ugly and started pelting it with stones.
No one saw the chimera, but they left a trail of death and woe.
When the quarry escaped underground, they’d fanned out, speeding across the rocky plain in different directions. The scent had been lost.
But then the wind shifted, and the one who’d turned west caught the stink of him again—faint but unmistakable. It gave a long, high-pitched howl, summoning its brothers. The other pack had peeled away days before to pursue its own quarry—a female—but she wasn’t their concern.
Malice burned in their hearts. He was close now.
Three sets of eyes turned toward the Acropolis.
Very close.
33
An Unbroken Pitcher
Darius stood at the edge of the plaza and watched red and yellow flames dance in the braziers flanking the stairway. He wasn’t terrified of fire anymore. It fascinated him. He’d seen daēvas consumed by it, including one he’d loved like a sister, but she had gotten too close. He wouldn’t make the same mistake.
The cuff around his wrist told him Nazafareen must be nearby. To his intense frustration though, it wasn’t as precise as if she’d been bonded to him. He scanned the Acropolis, heart pounding with anticipation.
Of all the places in Delphi, she had to come to the temple of the fire god. Holy Father, Nazafareen could be a difficult woman to love sometimes. But then it seemed his luck was changing at last, for Darius saw a flash of honey-colored hair disappear behind the pillars of the temple portico. He strode ac
ross the plaza, passing a marble fountain with a pair of golden eagles spewing water from their beaks. Soldiers watched from the shade of a towering plane tree. None challenged him. During afternoon hours, the temple was open to all.
He hurried around the corner, hoping to see Nazafareen, but instead nearly bumped into another young woman. She had striking looks, with dark hair and olive skin. Her mouth opened in an O of surprise as he stepped into her path. The clay pitcher in her hand went flying. Without thinking, Darius reached out and grabbed the handle.
He knew right away that he should have let it smash on the paving stones and cursed his stupidity. He saw in her eyes that he’d moved too quickly, too gracefully. But then her cheeks flushed and she smiled.
“You have nimble hands,” she said. “Thank you.”
Darius relaxed. She was just a mortal. She’d probably never seen a daēva in her life.
“Perhaps you can help me,” he said.
The young woman inclined her head amiably. “If it’s within my power.”
“I’m looking for a girl.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“My cousin.”
“There are many girls here.”
“This one lacks a right hand. She had an accident as a child.”
Her dark eyes lit up. “Why yes, I have seen her. Just a moment ago.” Her smile widened. “I’m in a bit of a hurry, but I’ll show you if you like.”
Darius smiled back, suddenly nervous. Would Nazafareen be glad he came? Or angry? She had a bad temper when it erupted, which was mainly if she thought some injustice had been committed. He also wished to know who this brother was the cook had spoken of.
Darius handed her back the pitcher. “Thank you.”
He followed her into the cool dimness of the temple. Rush torches burned along the walls, but he’d had years of practice resisting the lure of fire. They descended a winding stone staircase. He smelled incense and sweet pine resin.
“Where is she?”
“Just up here.” Dimples pocked her rosy cheeks as she gave him another reassuring smile. “She came to give an offering to Apollo.”
Darius stopped. Something was wrong. He felt it in his bones. The passage was deserted. There were no other pilgrims here, no worshippers. Why would Nazafareen come so deep into the temple? She’d renounced her own faith ages ago and he somehow doubted she’d adopted a new one in such a short time. The cook said she intended to leave the city. He grabbed the girl’s sleeve.
“What game are you playing?”
She looked flustered. “No game. I told you—”
He leaned in to tell her he wouldn’t be going any further when her hand came up. She blew and a cloud of fine, sparkling dust hit his face. Darius coughed, throat stinging. He heard her murmuring words and then sight and hearing deserted him. It was like sinking to the bottom of the sea. He tried not to panic, but his heart beat wildly.
“Hurry!”
“He’ll come to any moment now!”
Someone shoved him hard from behind and Darius fell to hands and knees. Fury bloomed in his chest. They had no idea who they were dealing with. He reached through the Nexus and seized earth, intending to pull the Temple of Apollo down around their ears. The ground began to tremble.
“Hurry!”
His vision slowly returned, though it remained blurry around the edges. A shadow moved to his left and Darius lashed out with air, knocking it to the ground. He drew deeper, filled to bursting with power, when a metal collar snapped shut around his neck. The Nexus winked out like a snuffed candle flame. An instant later, agony coursed through his limbs. An alien presence surged into his mind. He felt her fear, mingled with excitement.
Darius found himself on his back, looking up at the girl in white. Tendrils of dark hair had torn free of her braid, framing her oval face as she stared down at him with a look of triumph. Soldiers flanked her on either side.
“Tell the Pythia we’ve caught her witch,” she said.
34
They Bend Light
“What are you doing here anyway?” Javid asked as they crossed the plaza.
“Some girl found me after I left the library to meet you. She wanted me to carry a message to Herodotus.”
He shook his head and made the sign of the flame, a quick touch of forehead, lips and heart. “You’re lucky they didn’t arrest you too. Did you see him at least?”
Nazafareen scowled. “Yeah. That evil woman is probably going to burn him like she did the other poor philosopher.”
“Keep your voice down.” He glanced at the group of soldiers ahead but his expression was sympathetic. “That’s horrible.”
“I know. I wish I could do something.” Her gaze roved across the plaza, pausing on the stairs. She had a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. Just like in the Umbra.
“Javid—"
They both turned as a soldier came running full tilt out of the temple. He gesticulated wildly at the others.
“Holy Father, what’s happening now?” Javid moaned.
“No idea, but we’d better get out of here.”
She started walking quickly. The fountain lay just ahead, and beyond it the stairs leading down from the Acropolis. The soldiers under the tree scrambled to their feet and dashed for the temple. Nazafareen ducked her head as they came close but it was too late.
“You!”
It was the captain who’d read her message. The one who’d hauled them out of the fountain. Now that she was with Javid, standing before the very scene of their crime, he had no trouble remembering her face.
“Run,” Javid hissed.
They turned and dashed for the stairs. Nazafareen glanced back. Two of the soldiers continued toward the temple, but the rest were in hot pursuit.
“We’ll make for the alleys near the docks,” Javid panted. “We can lose them there.”
Nazafareen nodded. She’d always been fast and figured she could outrun a bunch of men in little skirts. They hit the top of the stairs and flew down three at a time. Suddenly, Javid skidded to a stop, grabbing her arm. The sky overhead had grown dark as pitch, but the clouds hadn’t yet reached the western horizon and the sun shone directly in her eyes. Nazafareen raised a hand to shade her forehead. It took her a moment to make out what he was looking at.
Three shimmering shapes loped up the staircase.
“Holy Father, I feel them,” Javid muttered, his eyes wild.
They passed in and out of shadow and seemed the same color as the stone, but now she could see the faint distortion of light, like ripples across running water.
“I do too,” Nazafareen whispered.
Her heart clenched in fear. Dark thoughts tumbled through her mind. The dead Valkirin, and how she’d kicked his corpse. The broken gate. How close she’d come to killing Javid. The bellows of the bull. Roasting flesh. Death and misery.
Nazafareen looked back. The soldiers stood at the top of the stairs, swords drawn.
She closed her eyes. She could feel the creatures—not just the evil miasma they brought, but the complex wards that gave them a semblance of life. No blade would harm them. No magic could stop them.
Except hers.
Break them, a voice in her head screamed.
Her hand shook.
The soldiers charged down the steps. Below, the beasts (chimera, the voice growled) devoured the distance, leaping up a flight at a time. Each was the size of a young lion.
Forgive me, she thought, unsure who she meant the words for, and let go of the leash on her magic. It had been straining to break free. Now a lance of white flame leapt from her palm. It struck the first chimera and she heard a faint popping sound, followed by a gush of pinkish, dirty water. The others didn’t slow.
Nazafareen started walking down the steps. Again, she raised her hand, and the second chimera dissolved. Shouts erupted behind, but the cold rage that burned in her belly had only one focus. She waited and watched the last one come. She saw it clearly now. The fine network of ve
ins and arteries that carried whatever dark matter it used for blood. The pulsing organs and teeth like needles of ice. It leapt for her throat, and died in a blaze of white flame. The stench of its offal filled her nostrils, rotten as a week-old fish.
“Holy Father.”
Javid stood next to her. He was repeating the phrase over and over like an incantation. She saw fear in his eyes, but he hadn’t abandoned her. Nazafareen shook loose from her trance and they started down again, but the stairs were covered in the ichor the chimera had left behind. Nazafareen was a full flight ahead when she realized Javid had slipped and fallen. He rolled on the ground, clutching his leg.
“Javid!”
She started back up the stairs but the soldiers reached him first. Four of them lifted him off the ground and rushed back toward the Acropolis. The last two glared at her for a long moment.
She raised a hand, fighting back nausea, and they turned tail and ran. She screamed Javid's name as they disappeared over the hilltop.
“Cowards!” Nazafareen shouted.
It had been a bluff anyway. The soldiers carried no talismans. Her breaking magic was useless against them.
Nazafareen felt the old familiar sickness coming on. She spat, and it sizzled when it struck the stone.
Enough, the voice whispered. If you die, you’ll never help him.
A small crowd had gathered at the base of the stairs. They gave way before her, staring in superstitious dread and jabbing forked fingers at her but not daring to come close. Nazafareen kept her eyes straight ahead. Down at the docks, the barge would be readying to sail downriver, but she couldn’t leave Javid in the Pythia’s clutches.
I’ll find a way to save him, she thought, stumbling into the warren of side streets. I just need to rest for a bit first. A quick rest.
Nazafareen hunched her shoulders, wandering aimlessly. Her legs trembled. Colors seemed too bright, the shapes of things distorted. She swept a hand across her brow, expecting to feel sweat, but it came away dry. How strange. Finally, on the verge of collapse, she looked up and dimly realized her feet had brought her to their old alley.
