by Morgan Rice
In a matter of seconds, she went from standing in the middle of a circle of enemies to one composed of friends. Sartes was already stepping forward.
“We’ve taken most of the rest of the castle,” he began. “There might be a few guards holed up in the outer rooms, but—”
Ceres loved her brother, but for now, she only had time for one man. She turned and clung to Thanos, kissing him because it seemed impossible not to do it. He kissed her back, and Ceres could feel the passion there, the desire.
“And I’ll just be quiet, then,” Sartes said.
Even that didn’t stop Ceres. She’d crossed an ocean to try to get back to Thanos, and sprinted through the castle to try to save him. All the times she’d been in danger, all the times she’d been lost, it had been Thanos she’d thought of. She clung to him despite the cheers of the men around her reminding her that they were anything but alone.
When she finally stepped back from him and looked around, Ceres could see the eyes on her. The only eyes that mattered to her were Thanos’s, deeper and more beautiful than she remembered, but she had to keep in mind that she was more than just one person. She was a leader here.
Even so, she clung to Thanos’s arm while she addressed them. With the energy of the battle leaving her, elation mixed with weakness, and wasn’t that a perfect reason to lean a little harder on him.
“We’ve done it!” she declared. “You’ve done it. The castle is ours!”
While the cheers resumed, Ceres turned back to Thanos, throwing her arms around him once more.
CHAPTER TEN
Akila grunted with effort as he hauled himself up onto the roof of a granary overlooking Delos’s harbor. He forced himself to keep low as he crept to the edge of the roof, looking down to see the troops gathered there and massing in the side streets.
“They’re trying to run,” one of his men said. Akila recalled that his name was Barist, and before the rebellion he’d been a farmer on the south side of Haylon. “Maybe we should let them go.”
“If a wolf takes your sheep, do you satisfy yourself with chasing it off?” Akila asked. “No, because it will be back the next night, and the next. We let them go now, and we fight them again tomorrow.”
Although it seemed to be nothing but fighting at the moment. Akila tried to remember his life before the rebellion, and it seemed like the distant past, rather than just a matter of months.
He had to focus on the present, though.
“Barist, take some men to our ships and use them to blockade the harbor. Lina, your group is to use the rooftops to get to the harbor chain and get it up as quietly as you can. Arek, your group is the hunters beating the grass; get along the main streets and force the imperials to reposition. They’ll do it there and there if I’m any judge.” Akila pointed to two spots. “Which means that Pendro and Albus, you’ll have your people there and there. Stay out of sight until you hit. The rest of you, hold back with me. We’ll wait for surprises. Go.”
His people hurried off, and even with the battle nerves there, Akila could see the confidence his soldiers had underneath it. Confidence that came partly from winning on Haylon, and partly from their belief in his plan.
That was the hardest part of being a leader. He had to stand there looking confident, convincing them all that of course his plan was going to work, when it was inevitable that he wouldn’t see some of them again. If he’d just been one of them, he could have charged forward into the fray without worrying about it. Instead, he had to worry enough for every one of them, and he had to stand to watch, holding back however much he wanted to help.
So he stood and he watched, and thankfully he’d picked his spot well, because it meant he could see his people all the way down to the docks. He was proud of them as they ran down there. Part of it was for the speed and skill with which they did it, moving with the expertise they’d acquired fighting against the Empire on their home island. Part of it was that they were prepared to do this in a city that was not their own, helping those who were trying to break free from their so-called masters.
A young soldier came to stand beside him, obviously nervous about the fight to come. If he was lucky, the young man wouldn’t have to move from that spot for the duration of what was to come.
“What do you think about Ceres?” the young man asked out of nowhere. “Is she really everything they say?”
Akila shrugged. “You’ve seen her yourself in the Stade. She is one of the Ancient Ones. She’s everything Thanos described. Now, focus on the battle.”
“Yes, Akila.”
Yet Akila found himself thinking more about Ceres. She really was everything Thanos had said she would be. He’d assumed that Thanos was speaking out of love, exaggerating her cleverness, her abilities as a fighter, her bravery. Yet, from what Akila had seen, Thanos had understated things.
Akila had been impressed by Ceres the moment he’d seen her fight. When he’d heard some of the stories about her leading the force to take the city, that had grown into deep respect. She had a natural authority that made people want to listen, and actually seemed to care for all those who fought for her.
There was the question of her Ancient One blood though. That made things complicated. That she possessed it was undeniable, given the things she’d done. That she was using it for the good of the rebellion was also obvious.
The question was what happened next.
“No more kings,” Akila whispered, his hands tightening on the edge of the roof. This was about changing the system of the Empire, not just who was in charge, regardless of their bloodline.
Besides, the Ancient Ones didn’t exactly have a spotless reputation. They’d had immense knowledge and power, but they’d been as flawed in their way as anyone else. The Empire’s story of throwing off evil overlords might not have been the whole story, but it was part of the story, and Akila had no wish to go back to that.
Before they could argue about what came next though, they still had to win the city. Akila watched as his people moved into position, and he still wanted to jump down to join them. Instead, he had to watch while the force heading up the main street advanced, blowing horns and making as much noise as possible.
The imperials should have retreated then, exactly to the spots he’d picked out, but they didn’t. Instead, Akila saw them advance.
“Life is always more complicated than strategy,” Akila quoted. “Damn it.”
“Do we go down to help them?” the young soldier beside him asked.
Akila wanted to say yes. He wanted to lead the charge himself, but that wasn’t what a general got to do. Instead, he gestured to half his men.
“Go down there and reinforce them. You, boy, run to the ambushing forces and tell them to wait for my signal. They’ll break. I know they will. And be ready for surprises. There’s more to this. I’m sure of it.”
He tried to sound more confident than he was. Tried to give no sign of how hard this decision was to make. If he was wrong about this, his people down on the main street might be slaughtered. Even if he was right, some of them would die, but not as many as if he committed his people now.
It was instinct that made him hold back. Instinct, and the nagging question of why the Empire’s soldiers would attack, rather than trying to flee to safety. They weren’t the committed warriors of the rebellion, so committed to their cause that they might die rather than give in. They were men out for their own survival.
So the attack only made sense if it was a feint.
When he saw the first imperial soldiers breaking from the cover of the buildings around the docks, he knew he’d guessed right. Perhaps seeing the reinforcements coming down from the roof, they’d assumed Akila had committed his forces and begun to sprint for the ships. The force fighting his soldiers on the main street turned and broke, obviously hoping to join their friends.
Akila drew a horn from his belt, waiting for them to get closer to his ambushing forces. Closer. Now. He blew the horn, and its note rang out
even over the violence of the harbor.
He saw his people jumping out of the spots where they’d prepared their ambushes, slamming into the Empire’s forces while others started to bring boats around to block the harbor. He heard the clash of blades and the screams of the dying, saw one fighter in the colors of Haylon go down, a sword jammed into her chest.
From above, it looked almost serene, with patterns to it that might have been some strange work of art. Yet Akila knew that there was nothing beautiful about the violence taking place at ground level. He saw a man impaled by a spear, its wielder cut down in turn by two rebels. A soldier fell from the harbor, and might have swum but for the weight of his armor.
Akila saw a small group of the Empire’s soldiers break away, somehow slipping through the converging groups of rebels and running for one of the boats tethered in the harbor. They leapt aboard, and Akila could see the danger there. If they punched a hole in the blockade that hadn’t yet full formed, if they could foul the harbor chain, how many more might get clear?
Now Akila drew his sword, trying to judge the way down. He leapt to a lower piece of roof, not waiting to see if his people would follow. He knew they would. He ran, making for the harbor edge. He could see the Empire’s soldiers bringing their boat around, but they were still close to the edge of the quay.
Akila didn’t hesitate. He ran, felt the edge of the stone beneath his feet, and leapt. He landed on the deck with a thump. He heard the thud of other feet hitting decking, but by then he was already rushing forward to engage his first opponent. A sword scored a hot line across his shoulder, but Akila stabbed out, bringing the man down.
Another soldier slammed into him, sending them both tumbling to the deck. Akila kept his grip on his sword and caught the soldier’s sword arm at the wrist. They wrestled there, rolling as they both sought to free their weapons. Around them, Akila could hear the sounds of more violence.
He snapped his head forward, catching his opponent on the bridge of the nose, then shoved up sharply, pushing the man away. Akila leapt to his feet and thrust into him, hearing the man’s gasp as the blade went into his lung.
Around him, the fight was already drawing to a close. That was what Akila wanted. A commander who sought some drawn-out battle was a commander who didn’t value his soldiers enough. Even with that brevity though, Akila could feel his heart racing, his lungs sucking in great gulps of air. The pain of the wound in his shoulder was seeping in past his adrenaline now, even as blood spread through his shirt.
His men pulled the boat back to shore with the expertise of islanders. Akila stepped out and looked around, searching for the next place he could do some good.
There was little left to do, though. The few imperial soldiers who weren’t dead were already surrendering, the troops from Haylon spreading out in control of the island. Akila would have smiled in victory, except that in that moment he saw the young soldier he’d sent with his message.
The young man sat against one of the iron posts to which the larger ships were tied, and the blood covering his chest told Akila that he wouldn’t be standing again. His eyes were still open, and his breath came in brief gasps as Akila approached.
“Am I… am I dying?” the boy asked.
Akila could have lied, but he didn’t. False hope was worse than no hope. “Yes.”
“I got the message through,” the young man said. “I did it, Akila.”
“You did,” Akila assured him, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He kept it there until the light faded from his eyes.
He stood, looking round as his men cheered their victory. This was another part of being a leader. Feeling alone even as everyone else felt the rush of elation that came with still being alive after a battle. They’d won the harbor.
But Akila could think only of the dead.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Waking up that morning was one of the happiest experiences of Thanos’s life. He woke stretched out atop his own bed, still dressed from the day before. That wasn’t what made it happy. Nor was the fact that he was back in his own room, in a place he’d never thought he’d be able to return to.
He was happy that he was waking up at all. He truly hadn’t expected that yesterday, when he’d been hanging in a cage, waiting to die. He’d survived, and the Empire’s hold on Delos had been broken, at least for the moment. All thanks to Ceres’s bravery and her ability to bring people together.
Ceres was the other reason Thanos was so happy right then, and by far the more important of the two. She lay there beside him, fully clothed just like him, and still sleeping, her chest rising and falling softly with every breath.
Thanos couldn’t remember if they’d intended more than simply sleeping when they’d come to his chambers. He’d been too caught up in the excitement of still being alive then, and caught up in the shock at seeing Ceres. He’d been so sure that she was dead, and to see her alive like that had sent a flood of relief through him even greater than the one that had come with knowing he wasn’t going to be killed.
There had been so much he’d wanted to say in the wake of the battle for the castle. There had been so much he’d wanted to do, as well, but he and Ceres hadn’t gotten any further than simply holding one another last night. They’d both been too exhausted after everything that had happened. They’d fallen asleep looking at one another, and thoughts of Ceres had filled his dreams.
Thanos felt a little guilty about that, because he knew he should have been thinking about Stephania. His wife, the mother of his child, the woman he’d come back for. He’d only done that though, after trying to find Ceres.
The woman he loved.
He woke her with the gentlest of kisses, feeling her rise up to meet him, kissing him back tenderly.
“I really, really hope this isn’t a dream,” he heard Ceres whisper.
“It’s not,” Thanos promised her. “Although it would be a really good one if it were.”
In a small betrayal, his memory supplied an image of waking up in these rooms on another day, watching Stephania stretched out there almost exactly where Ceres was. He pushed the thought away.
“I wish we could stay here like this forever,” Ceres said.
Thanos smiled at that, reaching out to touch Ceres’s face. “Me too.”
He knew they couldn’t, though. Sooner or later, someone would come to demand something from them, they would have to get up and see to all the things that went with the taking of a city. Not that Thanos had ever done that before.
“Where have you been all this time?” Thanos asked.
“It’s a long story,” Ceres said. “And I want to hear what happened to you. How did you come to be in a cage?”
He’d rather have heard about her, but one of them had to go first, and they had enough time. Enough for everything, he hoped.
“They thought I killed the king,” Thanos said. “My father.”
“Oh, Thanos,” Ceres said, and he knew that she was probably the one person there who understood the complex web of emotions that came with finding out that you weren’t who you thought you were. She certainly knew what it was to lose people. “But what about the rest of it? There’s so much more I want to know.”
No, there were too many things Thanos wanted to know to be patient.
“I think I deserve to know what happened after they carried you away on that prison ship,” Thanos said.
“If you’ll tell me what happened when you disappeared on the island,” Ceres countered.
So they told it to one another like that, in fragments, until the two halves of it seemed to blend together into one whole. Thanos told Ceres about his time on Haylon with Akila and the others, and he listened with awe as Ceres told him about her time with the Forest People on their island. Thanos watched her worry for him as he told her about the assassination attempts against him, and then listened to her story of meeting her mother, knowing how much it must have changed everything she thought about the world. He told her about the Isle o
f Prisoners, and the horrors he’d seen there.
“You really went there for me?” Ceres asked.
As if there were any real question when it came to that.
“You’re worth going anywhere for,” Thanos replied.
She took his hand in hers, bringing it to her heart. Thanos could feel the beating of it there, reminding him that she was alive, and with him, and real. “Well, I hope I’m not going anywhere right now.”
In everything that he told Ceres, there was one name that Thanos couldn’t bring himself to say: Stephania’s. He told her about the time he’d spent spying for the rebels on Haylon, but not about Stephania killing the man who’d threatened to expose him. He’d told her about fleeing the city, but not about everything Stephania had done to make it possible. He’d told her about coming back to find his father, but not about the reason he’d come to the city in the first place.
It wasn’t that he wanted to lie to Ceres. She was the one person in the world he wanted to share everything with. Yet, at the same time, he didn’t want to risk ruining this moment. He didn’t want to spoil the perfect thread of connection between them by bringing up the woman who was his wife only in name. Who’d tried to kill him.
Whom he’d come back for, and written his love for.
She wasn’t here though, and that made a difference. If she’d been here, Thanos might have felt compelled to do the right thing and stand by her side for the sake of their child. Instead, Thanos was here with Ceres, and things had never felt more perfect.
“Stay with me forever,” Thanos urged.
It was the sort of thing young lovers said, but he meant it. He wanted to be with Ceres for as long as she would allow him to, and never leave her side.
“I hope so,” Ceres replied with a smile. “Although I guess we’re going to have to leave this room at some point to organize the defense of the city, and after that we’ll need to work out things like where we live and how we undo all the damage the Empire has done.” Thanos heard her sigh. “There’s so much to do, Thanos.”
