by Kat Ross
“Perhaps you’re right.” Thena chewed her lip. “But if I shatter his mind, the Pythia will be very angry.”
“Has he told you his name yet?”
“He’s told me nothing.”
Maia made a noise of commiseration. “That’s a first for you, isn’t it? Don’t worry, I won’t gossip. The others can be so cruel sometimes.”
Thena glanced at the two girls who watched eagerly from the entrance to the yard. They both had the ability to control a witch, but the Pythia had not chosen them for today’s demonstration. Thena knew they were jealous of how high she stood in the Pythia’s favor.
Phoibe was practically a child, with soft, doughy cheeks and an impulsive giggle. She usually wore the bracelet of Beryl, the Danai witch whom the Pythia had made a special pet of. When Beryl wasn’t being questioned, she could be found kneeling in the corner of the Pythia’s chambers, cow eyes staring at the wall. Phoibe brimmed with self-importance at being made her guard. The idiot girl seemed to believe it was a special task, but she hadn’t yet broken a witch herself. Thena doubted she had the stomach for it, although it was always possible Phoibe would surprise her.
Icy blonde Korinna was by far the more dangerous one. She had broken two, quickly and ruthlessly. Now she gave Thena a slanted look, then turned to Phoibe and whispered something. Phoibe’s lips curved into a smirk.
“When we were performing the blessings this morning, Korinna said that if she wore Andros’s bracelet, he would be meek as a lamb by now,” Maia reported with a consoling look. “The wretched girl says she will take him in hand herself when the Pythia tires of your failure.”
Thena felt a surge of white-hot fury but tamped it down, for at that moment the Archon Basileus strode into the yard, his blood-red cloak billowing behind him. He stared at the witches, who in turn stared straight ahead. Their posture was perfectly relaxed despite the heavy collars circling their necks. Thena checked her connection to Demetrios through the bracelet. The results reassured her. He was perfectly content to stand there all day until she had need of him. Maia held the leash of a Danai. Both had worked with their witches for a year or more.
She felt the Archon’s cold gaze pass over her and kept her own eyes on the high wall surrounding the yard. A bird nested in one of the crevices near the top. White wings flashed as it flew off in search of food for its babies. But then she sensed him approaching and had no choice but to face him or appear disrespectful.
“You will give me a demonstration, yes?” he asked softly.
“Most certainly, Archon.”
The Archon Basileus had a thin, vulpine face with a mane of dark hair that swept back from his brow in a style that made Thena think of a cobra’s hood.
“Fine specimens.”
He studied the witches for a moment. Thena had grown used to them, but she saw them now with an outsider’s perspective. Demetrios, tall and chiseled, with the elegant proportions of a marble statue. The Danai, slender and feline. Both gave off an aura of stillness that might change in the blink of an eye.
The Archon frowned. “Are they truly safe?”
“This will be the first time we permit them to use the power,” Maia put in nervously. “But my Tellias has proven to be most obedient. He never speaks until spoken to and—”
“Get on with it, then,” the Archon interrupted, striding away toward the soldiers.
Maia and Thena exchanged a look.
“Don’t give him too much power,” Maia whispered, but Thena thought she might have been talking to herself.
Thena drew a deep breath. Demetrios didn’t turn to her, such a thing would be improper, but she sensed his full attention. Each knew the other in ways that were deeper than friends or even lovers. She had held him when he wept, cleaned him when he soiled himself. She had saved him from his wickedness, turned him to the light, and she was grateful that while they may have gotten off to a rocky start, they trusted each other implicitly now. Thena would never bear children, but she thought she would have made a good mother if the god had not called her to service.
The Archon reached the soldiers and sat down in a chair that had been brought out for him. He folded his hands on his lap. His face was composed, but Thena could see his knuckles were white.
“Proceed,” he said tersely.
Thena’s weariness gave way to nervous excitement as she released a thread of Demetrios’s power.
Two melons had been placed in the center of the yard. The witches knew what was expected of them and at Thena’s signal, the green globes rose into the air, riding an invisible updraft. Little whirlwinds of dust danced on the ground. The melons began to spin, faster and faster. Thena could feel power flow through Demetrios into her bracelet and back out again, a shivery sensation of heat and cold at the same time. Her cheeks flushed and she nearly laughed with exhilaration, then chastised herself for enjoying the sinful magic. Still, she couldn’t help sharing a secret smile with Maia, whose eyes were also bright with pleasure.
The melons rose higher, and higher still.
“I did not come here to watch the witches juggle,” the Archon drawled, though his face was pale. He moved his hand in a brusque chopping motion. “Cut them off.”
Thena severed Demetrios from the power just as Maia did the same with Tellias. The melons plummeted to the ground, shattering into pieces. The Archon Basileus stared at the mess with a thoughtful expression.
“Could they lift a man in similar fashion?” he asked.
“I…don’t know.”
“Well ask, girl!”
Thena hurried over to Demetrios. He gave the barest shake of his head. “Too heavy,” he murmured.
“He says it is not possible, Archon.”
Basileus fingered his heavy gold chain of office.
“But there are other ways to kill with the power?”
Demetrios nodded. Thena frowned, unsure where this was going.
“Yes, Archon,” she said. “But I can give you another demonstration—”
Basileus cut her off with a wave and said something in a low voice to his men. They hurried out of the enclosure, returning a few minutes later with two prisoners in irons. Thena could smell the men from across the yard. They wore rags and the flesh of their faces was boiled away from long deprivation.
“Since the witches performed so ably, I would like to see the effect of their powers on a human.”
“The Pythia said—”
“Do you challenge my authority, girl?”
Thena cast her eyes down. “No, Archon.”
His voice softened. “I see you have a woman’s tender heart. Don’t worry, child, these creatures have been in the dungeons so long, no one even remembers their names. Both committed foul deeds undeserving of mercy, you have my word on it.”
Maia looked ready to bolt at any moment. She had one hand wrapped around the bracelet, as if she could hide it from view. Her witch, Tellias, still stared straight ahead. He didn’t so much as glance at the prisoners. Thena had always suspected Maia was weak, despite her tough talk. Now Maia cast her a pleading look, which Thena ignored.
It’s too late to indulge in qualms. We do what we must. Perhaps the Pythia is testing us. If so, I will not waver.
“Give me a moment Archon,” she said smoothly.
She sensed Korinna watching her intently as she walked over to Demetrios. His eyes caught hers. In the bright sunlight, she noticed that the green irises were ringed in gold, like a wolf’s.
“You understand what the Archon wants?” she whispered.
He glanced briefly at Basileus, who watched them both closely.
“Is that your order, mistress?”
Thena noticed the slight emphasis on the word but didn’t rebuke him for it.
“It is.”
Thena stood back. The Archon had risen to his feet. He eyed the prisoners, then pointed to the smaller of the two, a man with jug ears and thinning grey hair. The soldiers hauled him to the center of the yard and threw him to the g
round amid the smashed chunks of melon. He looked around, eyes wide and rolling like a startled horse.
“Please,” he managed.
Thena gave Demetrios his power, more of it this time. The prisoner swatted the air as if troubled by a fly, then began to claw at his throat. He writhed in the dirt, eyes bulging, although he made not a single sound. The Archon stared at the spectacle in horrified fascination. Thena felt her own bile rise and choked it down. The man gave a final twitch and lay still. The power flowing through Thena’s bracelet ebbed away. After a moment’s hesitation, the soldiers ran forward and dragged his body away.
Phoibe had turned white as marble. Korinna gave her an absent pat on the arm. Her mouth was tight but her eyes glittered.
“Now the other,” Basileus said briskly. “But I wish to see a different technique this time.” He turned to Maia. “Make that clear to the witch.”
Maia swayed on her feet and Thena feared she would faint and humiliate herself, but then she drew a ragged breath and conveyed the order to Tellias—as if he had not heard the entire exchange himself.
The second prisoner, having witnessed the fate of the first, had to be restrained by the Archon’s soldiers. He struggled madly, then fell limp when Tellias finally turned his fierce gaze on the man. Thena turned away, trying to shut out the pitiful begging. It was one thing to torture a witch, but this was a human being, even if he was a criminal. Still, she understood the necessity. Delphi had many enemies. The witches would find out eventually that some of them had been taken captive, and they would come. Delphi had to stand ready. That was the whole purpose of this exercise: to forge the witches into weapons. She hadn’t been told it would involve an actual execution, but it was still a swifter death than others she’d witnessed.
The Danai regarded the prisoner without emotion. Suddenly, the man gave a strangled cry, an awful animal sound. Blood gushed from his nose, turning his rags a deep red. It trickled from his mouth, his ears, even his eyes. Thena stood frozen in shock. She had no idea witches could do such a thing. Even the soldiers looked appalled. They backed away, hands gripping sword hilts. Only the Archon wore a small, thin smile on his face.
She turned to Maia and felt a shiver of apprehension. A thin line ran from one nostril. Maia absently swiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked down at the red smeared across her knuckles. Then she began to scream, high piercing wails that made Thena’s gut twist.
The soldiers drew their swords and rushed toward Tellias, but before they could reach him, Demetrios wrapped a muscular arm around his neck and snapped it in a single twist. An instant later, six blades ringed his throat.
“No!” Thena screamed. “Don’t harm him!”
Demetrios held his arms out slightly from his body, palms open.
“T’was the other witch, you fools,” Basileus growled, looking shaken. “Stand down.”
Maia lay unmoving, a single thread of scarlet tracing a path across her lips and down her slender neck.
“Is she dead?” the Archon asked. He’d risen from his chair but made no move to approach her.
Thena looked up dumbly. Korinna stood with her hands pressed over her mouth is if she held in shrieks of her own. Phoibe gave a muffled sob.
“Go look!” he snapped.
Thena forced herself to move. She knelt down next to Maia and pressed an ear against her chest.
“Her heart still beats.”
“I said, stand down!” the Archon barked.
The soldiers stepped away from Demetrios, but they stared at him with loathing.
“Burn the witch’s body, and those two as well,” the Archon ordered, flicking his gaze at the ragged pair sprawled in the dirt. He rounded on Thena, voice shaking with anger.
“How could this happen? I thought they were leashed!”
“They are….I do not know….”
“Gods, what a mess.” His cold gaze seemed to include Maia in that description. “Get your witch out of my sight.”
Thena escorted Demetrios back to his chamber, hands clutching her skirts to keep them from shaking. She sensed his anguish at her silence but couldn’t bring herself to look at him. It was not his fault, she knew that. If he hadn’t acted, Tellias would have killed them all. The soldiers were fools if they believed their blades were any match for him. And yet she couldn’t get Maia’s screams out of her head. The emptiness in her eyes when they lifted her up.
I should have taken the bracelet from her, Thena thought numbly. Severed him myself. If I’d only been quicker….
Afterwards, when the Pythia had finished questioning her, Thena sat in her room for a long time, staring at nothing. Then she went to see Andros.
Darius heard her footsteps and braced himself. A storm of emotion had been raging in the priestess’s mind for the last hour. Fear, rage and sorrow mingled together. Something had happened, but he had no idea what it was.
He knew every inch of the room now, every crack in the stone, although he couldn’t say how long he had been there. He slept until she came and woke him up, and when it was over, he slept again. Sometimes the weather was sunny, sometimes cloudy or rainy, but always daylight. He could see a wide slice of the plaza through the window. Soldiers passed by, and a few pilgrims. None of them was Nazafareen.
Sometimes the priestess would take him to a walled yard, where he would be permitted to walk the perimeter. The first time, he had tried to run. Not because he held any real expectation of escape, but to test what they would do. The punishment was severe and he hadn’t tried again. Soldiers watched, but it wasn’t them that stopped him. It was the collar.
The priestess wasn’t always cruel. Sometimes she brought him honeyed milk or little cakes, like a pampered pet. But no matter how they began, her visits always ended the same way. And she was growing sicker. He could sense it. The slow unfurling of a dark bloom of madness. Perhaps the seed had always been inside her, but it had woken now. In his imagination, the petals were a bruised purple-black, spiky and smelling of sweet rot.
Holy Father, I’m as crazy as she is.
Since that single occasion when she’d brought a female daēva to look at him, Darius hadn’t seen or heard another, though they must be here somewhere.
He knew his only chance lay in pretending compliance. Chained to the wall and stripped of his power, he had no hope. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The old coldness was creeping back. Buried memories of life as a slave to the magi in Karnopolis and later as a Water Dog, when he felt nothing for anyone and less for himself.
The old coldness Nazafareen had thawed with her relentless decency.
He hated it, but it was the only thing keeping him sane.
There were times now when he no longer cared if he lived or died, only that the priestess would not win. If she did, he would be truly lost.
The door flew open and she strode into the room. Her face was red and puffy from crying.
Darius tensed, but she didn’t lash out.
“Why are you doing this?” she demanded in a low voice.
“I’m not doing anything,” he replied warily.
A strange laugh bubbled from her throat. “Therein lies the very problem, witch.”
“I’m sorry you’re upset.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re sorry?”
“Yes. I felt you weeping.”
She breathed hard for a moment. “I almost wish I’d never met you.”
As do I, Darius thought.
“Stupid girl!” she burst out. “She trusted him and he killed her. Worse. They say she lives, but her mind is gone.”
“Who?”
“Maia.” She began pacing the room. “Her witch turned his power on her. She thought he was broken but he wasn’t. My Demetrios killed him.”
“She was a friend?”
“Yes. No.” She stopped in front of him. “Why am I speaking to you like this?”
Darius kept silent, but he felt something pass between them. A strange, unwelcome intimacy.
“Maia said I was being soft on you.”
He held her gaze, although his heart sank.
I must learn what she cares about. Find her weaknesses and use them.
“Do you think it’s true?” he asked.
Thena's eyes grew flat. Distant. “Perhaps.”
Suddenly, Darius felt terribly afraid. He had trouble reading her, but he sensed her teetering on the brink.
“If you remove this collar, I swear on my honor not to harm you. We can make it look like I escaped—”
She placed a hand on his mouth. Her face stilled. Darius saw she had fallen, but not in the direction he’d hoped for.
“Be quiet. Witch.” And then, so softly he strained to hear her. “What is your true name?”
They stared at each other. He sought his own dark places, though they would only shelter him so far.
“What’s yours?” he whispered back.
And so the game began.
The Archon Basileus stood stiffly in the adyton, wishing for a cup of strong wine to steady his nerves. It had all happened so fast. If he held the authority to issue the order, all the witches would be put to the torch immediately. They were too dangerous. But he knew they were integral to the Pythia’s plans and he was wise enough not to press the matter.
The girl lay on a litter, her eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling as the Pythia examined her.
“I doubt the poor thing will ever recover,” she said at last. “A tragedy. Take her away and see she’s cared for.”
Two soldiers stepped forward and carried the litter from the chamber. The Pythia returned to her tripod, propping her chin on one hand. She’d kicked her slippers off and Basileus saw a webbing of old scars on her left ankle where the hem of her gown hitched up. They were jagged but regular, almost like tooth marks…. He tore his eyes away before she noticed him staring.
“Don’t look so glum, Basileus,” she said. “The other witch proved his loyalty. The error was mine in trusting the girl’s judgment. She was young and unseasoned. The fault lies not in the means of control, but in the person holding the leash. She could have severed his power instantly, but she panicked. If anything, it shows what formidable weapons the witches can be when they’re properly trained.” The Oracle sighed. “Let us move on. Give me your report on the search for the scroll.”
