Sisters of Sword and Song

by Rebecca Ross

  As Evadne sprawled on her back, the dog lunged for her face, but something had come between them. A branch, swinging with incredible force, catching the dog in the mouth.

  It was Halcyon, and Evadne had watched, stunned, as her sister beat back the dog, beginning a dangerous dance with it, wielding nothing more than a branch she had picked up from the roadside. And when the dog had snapped her branch in two, Halcyon had still not been afraid. She had taken the animal to the ground.

  “I cannot seem to remember now,” the commander said, and Evadne drew her right foot farther back. “Did Halcyon kill the dog?”

  Evadne flushed. Her fingers clenched in her lap—she could hear her pulse beat in her ears—but she was calm, collected as she countered him. “What do you think, Lord?”

  Straton smiled, but it was a bitter one. It cast a sinister expression on his face, and Evadne finally glanced away.

  “I imagine she did,” he drawled. “It was, after all, why your parents decided to bring her to me. It was the moment, Halcyon claims, when she knew she was not destined for the grove but for something else.”

  As much as it irked her, the commander was right. Halcyon was gifted. Killing the dog to save Evadne from a mauling had been the final sign Gregor and Phaedra needed.

  Halcyon was not made for the grove. She did not belong there.

  “Is she surprised to see that you limp?” Straton asked. His audacity brought Evadne’s gaze back to his. And he seemed to be waiting for it, to see what her eyes held, because he continued, “Your foot would have been healing when she departed for Abacus years ago. She must hate to see that your old pains still give you grief.”

  “I imagine she will be surprised,” Evadne replied in a near hiss. “When she finally sees me again tonight.”

  The commander set aside his ale. “You and I can cease with the pretense, Evadne.”

  “I do not know what you—”

  “Where are you hiding her? I know she came to you for aid last night. Where are you keeping her?”

  Evadne drew in a deep breath. She saw his game, how he had provoked her, hoping her anger would loosen her tongue. Her voice emerged flat. “I do not know what you speak of, Lord Straton. I do not know why you have come here, asking after Halcyon. We have not seen her, but we expect her to arrive tonight. You can wait to talk to her then.”

  “She did not tell you,” he stated softly with realization. “Although how can I blame her? I would not want to tell my sister such a crime, either.”

  “Lord Straton—”

  “Do you want me to tell you, then, Evadne? Do you want me to tell you what Halcyon has done and why she is running from me?”

  Evadne could not breathe. Her heart was pounding so hard she worried that she would be sick at the commander’s feet.

  He continued to wait for her to answer, but when Evadne remained silent, he sighed and sat back in his chair.

  She thought he would withhold the knowledge, and she began to rise, even though he had not dismissed her. And his voice rose with her, honed to cut.

  “Your sister has committed murder.”

  The words hit her like a stone. She stood before Straton, her mind trying to reconcile what he had just uttered with what Evadne knew of her sister.

  Halcyon was good. She was loyal. Courageous. Respectful. She was nigh perfect.

  How could she have murdered someone?

  Evadne sat back down, her legs quivering.

  But Halcyon had also been away for eight years. Did Evadne even truly know her sister now? She had snuck home, blood beneath her nails, uncertain what the commander would do if he caught her. And what had she said to Evadne?

  “It was an accident.”

  Straton laughed, a hacking sound that made the hair stand on Evadne’s arms. “Is that what she told you? That it was an accident?”

  His scorn was blistering. Evadne covered her mouth, her composure beginning to crack.

  “Halcyon slayed a fellow hoplite,” the commander said. “And then she ran. She is a murderer and a coward, and if you do not tell me where you are concealing her, I will punish her tenfold when I drag her to—”

  “Get out.”

  Gregor’s voice sliced through the air. He walked deeper into the chamber, to stand behind Evadne, his stare fixed upon the commander.

  Straton quieted, surprised that Gregor had interrupted him.

  “You cannot come into my home and speak to my daughter in such a way,” Gregor stated coldly. “Leave. Now.”

  Straton took his time gathering his weapons. But he kept his eyes on Gregor, who returned the bold stare, and they spoke a silent language Evadne could not understand but all the same felt like a kopis grazing her skin.

  The commander departed, slamming the door.

  Once he was gone, Evadne could breathe again, and she drew a shaky gasp. She felt her father’s hand on her shoulder; his touch was gentle until she tried to stand.

  “Not yet, Pupa.”

  He moved to kneel before her. His eyes searched hers.

  “Gregor,” Phaedra warned. She appeared at the edge of Evadne’s vision, as did her aunt and uncle and her cousins. “Wait until he has ridden away.”

  Evadne should not have been surprised that her entire family had eavesdropped. They must have heard the exchange between her and Straton. And Gregor continued to stare at her. She saw the twitch in his cheek.

  Maia hurried to the window, peering out into the courtyard. It felt like an hour had passed before she announced, “He’s gone.”

  Gregor rushed a hand over his beard, deliberating. “Is it true, Evadne?” he asked. “Did Halcyon come to you last night?”

  “Father . . .”

  “Answer me!”

  Evadne flinched. Her father rarely raised his voice, and when he did, it had never been directed at her. She sat deeper in the chair.

  “Do not lie to me, Daughter. Did that man speak truth? Did you aid your sister?”

  If she spoke, she would break. Evadne nodded, her throat narrow.

  “When did this happen?”

  Evadne made no reply, struggling to hide her tears. But she watched the revelation unfurl in his eyes. He was thinking of last night, when he had come to Evadne’s room. The window had been open to the wind and the rain . . .

  “Where is she, Evadne? I hope you hid her well, because Lord Straton is going to kill her when he finds her.”

  “I-I did not hide her, Father!” Evadne stammered. “I gave her food and drink. She refused to tell me what she had done, why she was running, or where she planned to go.”

  Again, that terrible expression overcame Gregor’s face. He rose and glanced at his brother and nephew. “Nico, Lysander, come with me.”

  Evadne knew the men were going to search for Halcyon. And Evadne would not sit idly, waiting for them to come home. She stood and breathed, “Father, wait.”

  Gregor paused, but he did not look at her. “I want you to stay here, Evadne. Do not leave these villa walls, do you understand?”

  Was he punishing or protecting her? She could not tell, but nor would she stay here. She walked to him, and Gregor had no choice but to lift his eyes, to look at her. There was such fear, such bloodshot agony within him.

  Evadne whispered, “I think I know where to find Halcyon.”

  V

  Halcyon

  Halcyon had set her hope on the mountains. It was the only place she could think of where the commander might not follow. The mountains of Corisande, especially the western ridge that was called Dacia, were known to be harsh. Not many mortals lived at such heights due to the foul weather but also because of the proximity to the dreaded Mount Euthymius.

  Halcyon, however, no longer feared that summit.

  And as she departed Isaura in the storm, she knew she was ill-prepared for the hike. She would need to stop somewhere to pilfer, somewhere like the village of Dree.

  Halcyon set her pace, risking the road because it was faster. But soon she had to s
low to a walk, so exhausted she could hardly feel her legs. She had been catching sleep hours at a time, whenever she felt safe. And while she wanted to keep pushing herself, her mind was becoming foggy.

  She had time. The storm would slow Straton. And the grove of Isaura was difficult to find, one of the last magical enchantments Kirkos had cast before he fell.

  Halcyon veered from the road. She knew there was a grotto nearby, a place where she and Evadne and the cousins had often explored. It was also a place where travelers could find shelter, and she searched it warily.

  It was empty, and Halcyon lay down on the ground and rubbed her calves, groaning. She closed her eyes, setting her mind to wake in an hour. Even here, in the deepest pit of slumber, no dreams could reach her. She did not see Xander, like she had the other times she had slept. Xander with blood cascading down his body, reaching for her, haunting her nearly every time she closed her eyes.

  When Halcyon woke it was almost dawn.

  Cursing, she stumbled up and gathered her food sack, eating a few more figs and a soggy honey cake as she ran alongside the road. The storm had passed, and her mind felt sharper now; she was able to push herself faster.

  She and Xander had traveled this very course only weeks ago. They had come in the night to meet with Bacchus, the priest of Dree. No one had seen the two hoplites slip into the village, into the temple. No one had seen them leave. It had been difficult for Halcyon at the time, to be so close to home and not be able to stop and see her sister, her parents. But she had told herself that her eight years of training were about to end, and her reward—a visit with her family—was imminent. She only needed to remain focused on the task before her.

  But how things had now changed.

  She crested the summit and stood in the golden hue of dawn. The valley between her and Dree was deep with wildflowers, their purple blooms bending in the breeze. Goats grazed nearby, drifting like a cloud. The scene was idyllic. Halcyon continued to regard it, surprised. The village had appeared different in the night, when she had last been here with Xander. But in the light, she discovered it was just as she remembered from childhood. The village was built at the footstool of a craggy slope, the houses crafted from the pale rocks harvested from the mountains. The roofs were thatched in straw. And at the crown of Dree sat the Temple of Euthymius, the god of the earth, their patron. Within those pillars, fire always burned, and offerings of grain and oil were given.

  Humble people dwelled here, people like Halcyon’s family. They worked to survive; they were diligent and productive. Potters and sandal makers, goatherds and bakers, weavers and blacksmiths.

  How was she to steal from them?

  Again, she considered going directly to Bacchus for aid, but Bacchus was a priest. He would sense the bloodshed on her, and there was a good chance he would hold her until Straton arrived.

  I will repay it all, she swore as she began to approach. I will give back everything that I take as soon as I can.

  The village was just beginning to stir. Halcyon chose the outermost abode, hiding behind a stack of hay. There was a garden to her left, a rectangle filled with lettuces and radishes and herbs. She harvested a few, lightning swift. She then snuck to the storehouse, a small, lopsided building just behind the main dwelling. It was warm and musky within, but there were shelves crowded with provisions. Pots of millet seed and barley, jars of preserved fruits and honey and oil, fillets of smoked fish and dried strings of goat meat.

  Halcyon began to fill her sack. Her hands trembled. The exhaustion began to tug on her again.

  The door swung open. Sunlight flooded in, limning her thievery.

  Halcyon spun, raising her hands. And she froze, just as the man on the threshold did, gaping at her.

  He looked vaguely familiar. Sandy-brown hair that dragged into his eyes, huge uneven shoulders, a patchy beard and mole on his chin.

  “Halcyon?” the vile boy of Dree cried, only he was not a boy anymore. He was a man, and he dwarfed her, now. Laneus. His name rushed back to her in a shiver.

  Once, she had knocked him out cold with a perfect punch.

  Once, he had despised her, because she was faster than him.

  Once, he had wanted to be accepted into Straton’s legion but had been denied. Because the truth was he was lazy and cruel, and boys like that made for twisted warriors.

  It seemed his hatred for her still thrived.

  “Is the legion not good enough for you, then?” he sneered, stepping closer. Halcyon was trapped. There was only one door, and his girth was blocking it. “You had to slink home and steal from us now? You remember what we do to thieves?”

  Halcyon struck first. Her fist moved faster than light, crunching his nose.

  He howled and spun to the right, taking out a shelf, and Halcyon darted past him as he thrashed.

  She flew back to the garden, rounding the haystack only to slam into another man. Laneus’s brother. The impact nearly bowled him over, but he snatched her, regaining his balance. He had her arms twisted behind her before she could rally, and her sack of goods dropped with a sad plop between them.

  “Who is this, Laneus?” his brother called. “Was she stealing?”

  Laneus emerged from the storehouse, his nose crooked, his face coated in blood.

  For a moment, Laneus evaporated, and Xander stood in his place, face pale with the sting of death, his blood a river that crept across the ground to touch her toes. . . .

  Halcyon closed her eyes, struggling to hold her spirit together. She heard a snicker, a gloat.

  “You do not recognize her, Aedus?”

  She felt fingers in her hair, yanking her head back. She opened her eyes to see Aedus staring down at her, mouth slack.

  “No . . . It cannot be her.”

  “It is. Hold her now. I want to give her a proper greeting.”

  Halcyon watched, impassive, as Laneus prepared to strike her. She let her mind slip far away, preparing for the pain. She was in the grove; she was a girl, again. She was writing Haleva messages in the soil for Evadne to find . . .

  “Enough of this,” a man snarled, and Laneus’s fist froze before it could smash her teeth.

  Halcyon sharpened her focus, looking to where an old man stood a stone’s throw away, leaning on a staff, glaring at the three of them.

  “Your mother taught you better than this,” he rasped, his gray hair long and unkempt. “You shame her memory, Laneus. As do you, Aedus.”

  “But, Papa!” Laneus said, gesturing to his bloody nose. “Look what she did! And this is—”

  “I know very well who she is,” the old man responded. He stared at Halcyon a long moment, but she could not read the lines on his face. “Take her to Bacchus. Now.”

  The brothers obeyed, grumbling. They waited until they had dragged Halcyon out of their father’s sight, up the road that wound to Euthymius’s temple.

  Halcyon never saw it coming. Although she should have expected it.

  Laneus struck her, as he had always wanted, along the curve of her jaw. It was the only time he would ever beat her: when she was overtaxed, when she had not eaten a proper meal in days, when she was held prisoner.

  And Halcyon folded into the darkness.

  When Halcyon stirred, the world had changed. Or so it felt to her. She was bound to a thick post in the center of Dree’s market by her wrists and ankles. It forced her to remain on her knees with her chest and face defenseless, the plank aligning with her spine. She knew exactly what this was, even before she fully opened her eyes, quietly testing the ropes that bit into her. She was fastened to the Thief’s Stave, a public place of shame that she had passed many times as a girl, never imagining she would one day wake to find herself tied to it.

  The stave was the mildest of punishments for thievery. The thief would be knotted to the wood and would wait in shame for another to come and pay their debt. Some thieves, such as those who stole jewels or horses might find themselves bound for days.

  She was fortunate Lan
eus had not pressed the heavier charge upon her, one that would result in losing a hand.

  The sun was hot on Halcyon’s hair, and her head felt as if it had split open. She cracked her eyes to see the blur of people moving about the market, and then one particularly ugly face came into focus. Laneus.

  “I caught her, I did,” he was saying to anyone who passed by. “Stealing my winter goods. I caught her before she could take one morsel from me.”

  “Looks like she got a little swing at you,” a man said mirthfully, indicating Laneus’s nose, which still sat crooked on his face.

  Laneus sputtered some indignant response, and Halcyon closed her eyes once more, struggling to swallow. Her throat was dry; her lips were peeling. How long had she been bound here?

  “You thirsty, Halcyon?”

  She kept her eyes shut, even as she felt Laneus’s presence draw close. He was pouring water out on the ground; the trickle was like music to her, and Halcyon inadvertently strained toward it.

  “Come now, Hoplite. Show us your illustrious strength,” he goaded. “Break your binds, like the goddess everyone believes you to be.”

  “If water means so little to you, Laneus, then perhaps you could do without it,” a deep voice spoke, and at once the water trickle ceased. “The same could be said of your food stores. If you have plenty, it would not harm you to share.”

  Halcyon looked up and saw Bacchus standing nearby, the breeze stirring his brown robes. He was an old man of mysterious age, his hair a thin crown of white on his head, but his voice was strong and resonant.

  Bacchus was the only priest of Euthymius in the kingdom. The only mortal who could speak with and hear the god of earth and beasts. He also possessed the relic of Euthymius, and he wore it openly, fearlessly. The Golden Belt was cinched at the priest’s waist now, etched with mountains and fauna. Bacchus was common-blooded, but wearing the belt gave him the ability to command animals.

  Halcyon wondered if he would be required to return the relic to the Mages’ Council, as the new decree stated. Or if he would defy the edict.