Sisters of Sword and Song

by Rebecca Ross

  Bacchus stared at Laneus until he slunk away. Only then did the old priest look at Halcyon, and she felt a flare of shame.

  “I take it your parents do not know you are here, Halcyon of Isaura,” Bacchus said, voice pitched low. “Or Lord Straton.”

  “No, Lord.” Her jaw throbbed with the movement.

  “Laneus wanted to take your hand in punishment. I would not allow it.”

  She tried to swallow. Her tongue stuck to her teeth as she whispered, “Thank you.”

  Bacchus knelt and tilted a jar of water to her lips. Halcyon drank, the ache in her temples easing. She could smell the smoke and cassia spice in the priest’s robes. He wore a pendant of Euthymius around his neck, a circle of clay pressed with a mountain.

  When their gazes met, her heart trembled like a lyre string. Because she knew he saw the divide in her, the fracture.

  “I suspect that the very worst has happened,” he said. “To see you are alone. Without Osprey.”

  Osprey, Xander’s code name.

  “Yes, Lord.”

  Bacchus was quiet for a beat, and then murmured, “And where is the map?”

  “With Lord Straton. I have failed.”

  “Failure is never final unless you choose it to be,” Bacchus said. “Where there is life, hope can be found. Do not give up, Halcyon.”

  He left her fastened to the stave. There was no sense in trying to escape. Her kopis was gone. Countless eyes studied her; countless voices whispered about her. Some of them recognized her.

  It would not be long before word of her thievery spread. Her parents would hear of it and be further shamed by her.

  She bowed her head in the sunlight, sweating, shivering. Waiting.

  And she knew the moment he saw her.

  The market fell silent; there was only the clucking of a few hens, the rush of mountain wind, and hoofbeats coming to a slow halt on the dirt road.

  Halcyon raised her chin, opened her eyes. And looked directly at the commander.

  VI

  Halcyon

  Straton sat on his stallion a few paces away, staring at her, the sun setting his bronze armor aflame. It seemed that was all he could do: sit on his horse and stare at her.

  She thought she would be eaten by fear in this moment of their reunion. But Halcyon exhaled, relieved. It will soon be over, she thought.

  She watched him dismount. She refused to meet the gazes of the other hoplites in his company, hoplites she knew well. She had been part of their squad; they had trained together. They had been like brothers and sisters. Once they had been her pride, and she theirs.

  No more.

  The hoplites remained in a tightly knit group, mounted and awaiting orders, with shields depicting a scorpion on their arms. Straton approached her alone. He came to a stop before her, tall and immovable as a pillar.

  His eyes burned through her, but Halcyon did not appear afraid, not even when he unsheathed his sword.

  But she heard gasps from the people of Dree who had crowded the market.

  Even Halcyon felt a spasm of surprise. She had thought that he would take her back to Abacus. That he would want to speak with her before he executed her. She had thought she would have a moment to explain.

  The commander was renowned for his justice, his sense of honor. Years ago, he had been selected by the queen to become her war advisor. He often supped at the royal palace at Queen Nerine’s side, granting her counsel.

  He never broke rules, and it had taken Halcyon a few years to truly understand him, to learn how to gain his respect. But looking at his face now . . . his fury was tangible, and that lawfulness was unbalanced. All due to her.

  Straton stepped behind her, his sword ready to cut.

  And Halcyon’s thoughts tangled as she watched his shadow, his arm lifting the sword. She closed her eyes at last, waiting to feel the sting of his blade in her throat.

  Do not be afraid, do not be afraid, do not be afraid—

  There was a thunk, a vibration in the stave, and then Halcyon found herself falling forward, her binds cut loose. She rushed to bring her arms around, shoulders sore, and caught herself a moment before she would have smashed her face into the dirt.

  She was still sprawled on her belly when she heard a heated voice.

  “She is mine to set free! She owes me a debt!”

  Halcyon eased herself up to see Laneus rushing across the market. But the moment Straton turned to look down at him, Laneus halted, his face wrinkling with fear.

  “And what debt is that?” Straton said.

  “She, um, well, she broke into my storehouse and stole my provisions.”

  Halcyon sat back on her heels. She felt the commander look at her, but this time she kept her eyes on the sky. Yes, I have added to my list of crimes, Lord.

  “What did she steal, then?” The commander sounded extremely impatient. He was sheathing his sword, moving to where Halcyon knelt.

  “She stole a few radishes. Three fillets of fish. A pot of honey. A bowl of plums . . .”

  Straton opened the leather satchel hooked on his belt. He procured a silver Akkia and flicked the coin at Laneus with apparent disgust. The silver tumbled to the ground, and Laneus scrambled to recover it.

  “Get up,” the commander now spoke to her, rough-hewn.

  Halcyon struggled to rise. He took hold of her arm, his grip like iron, and dragged her across the market, the crowd parting for them. Eventually, Halcyon got her feet beneath her, and he shoved her forward to walk before him up the hill to where the temple sat. The white pillars gleamed in the light, and smoke plumed upward to the clouds in lazy strokes. And there stood Bacchus on the stairs, watching them come.

  “Lord Commander,” the priest greeted.

  “Lord Priest,” the commander returned as Halcyon struggled to ascend the stone steps.

  She finally reached the top, panting. She could feel the men’s gazes flicker to her; both sets of eyes were inscrutable.

  “A private chamber?” Straton requested.

  “This way, my lord,” Bacchus said, motioning for them to follow him into a narrow atrium. It led to an arched door, the ashwood carved with fauns and laurel trees, and within was a small chamber. The priest’s bedroom, sparsely furnished. There was a hay mattress in one corner, a stool, a table covered in scrolls, a brazier whose embers still flared warm.

  The same chamber where Halcyon and Xander had met with the priest, weeks ago. The memory was sharper than a blade in her side as Bacchus left them, closing the door in his wake.

  Straton refused to look at her. She felt as if she had turned into a shadow; she slid to the ground and sat in a heap, the last of her strength zapped.

  She could hear him breathing. He sounded just as ragged as her, as if he could finally drop his appearance and reveal how exhausted he truly was. He was no longer hiding his devastation. His heart was broken, had been broken for days, and his face exposed his anguish.

  If she was to ever have a moment to try to explain what had happened, why she had run . . . it was now.

  “Lord Commander . . . I am sorry.”

  He stiffened. Still, he did not look at her. “You are sorry it happened or sorry you could not get away?”

  His words cut deep. Halcyon wondered if he truly thought she was unrepentant for killing Xander.

  “Do you know me so little, Commander?”

  He ignored her.

  And she pushed herself to her feet, armor creaking. “You have only trained me the past eight years. You chose me for this, Commander. You chose me, and you chose Xander, and if you think I have changed overnight, that I have morphed into a creature that holds no morals, no feelings, then you are not the man I believed you to be, either.”

  He turned and glared at her. But a small gleam of respect had returned. Her words forced him to dwell on that which he did not want to: he had hand-chosen her, out of a thousand other possibilities. And he had chosen Xander. In a way, he had brought this upon them all.

&nb
sp; “Xander and I were doing just as you asked.” She reached out to steady herself on the table. “We were preparing to fight without our sight. I was blindfolded, and I was sparring with him, and I . . .” She stopped abruptly, because Straton’s face was suddenly terrible to behold.

  “And what then, Halcyon?”

  “Do you really believe it, Commander? That I would murder Xander?”

  He cast his eyes away. “It would be an easy out for you. If Xander was dead, you would be absolved from fulfilling the mission. If you had been afraid—”

  “But I was not afraid!” she cried. “I told you from the very beginning. I would go. And what is easy about turning my back on what I vowed I would do, Lord Straton? You cast me into a mold that I do not fit, and you know it and should be ashamed of such lies!”

  “I should be ashamed?” he snarled, stepping closer to her. “I think that is you, Halcyon. Coward of Isaura, who ran when she should have remained.”

  There it was. The word she was waiting for. Coward. It split her open, and she staggered, because she believed it.

  She should have remained with Xander. She should have waited beside his body, waited for the commander to come.

  But even now . . . she knew that she would do it all again. She would still run, frantic from terror, his blood glistening on her hands.

  “For eight years I have trained you,” Straton said. “Eight years I have prepared you for battle, for the unknown. I have taught you everything I know. And in the past when I saw fear in you . . . you did not allow it to snare you.” He scrutinized her. Halcyon felt bruised. “Why have you proven me a fool? Why did you run from me, Halcyon?”

  “I feared you would kill me, Lord,” she answered honestly. “That you would not believe me when I said it was an accident. I ran to save myself.”

  “Cowards run,” he snapped. “You should have remained. You should not have fled.”

  She was silent, thinking of the mission that had been given to her. How in just one breath, everything had fallen apart.

  “I was blindfolded,” she said, knowing these words would smolder in her if she didn’t release them. “We had a chosen word, as you suggested, to indicate the yield. And I did not hear Xander’s yield. And I knew it, the moment my sword nicked him. I knew I had given him a mortal blow, and I . . .” Halcyon could not breathe as she remembered it. The gurgle, the sound of a sword dropping. She had ripped away her blindfold to behold Xander’s sliced throat. A seemingly small nick but one that would drain him in a matter of moments.

  His blood had been a torrent, a flood.

  Halcyon covered her face with her hands. The commander hated tears. She wrestled them away, her fingers dragging down her face.

  “Xander was the brother I always wanted. I loved him. And I know that I have compromised the mission. I stole a life that I never intended to harm, and then I ran from you. I am a coward, as you say, and you should kill me. It is the justice I deserve.”

  Straton was silent. He was breathing heavily again, as if Halcyon’s words had pierced him. He walked to the lone window in the chamber and stared at the outer world, the silver in his hair catching the light.

  “Have you told anyone else?” he asked. “Have you told your sister about the mission?”

  “I have not broken my oath to you, Lord.”

  The commander turned to look at her. “Then you know what I must do, Halcyon.”

  He had warned her and Xander both at the beginning, before he had divulged any details of the mission, that it might come to something like this, if the worst befell them. They had agreed to it as they had taken their code names, Xander and her, believing they were invincible.

  But the worst had happened. And only Halcyon remained to carry the burden, to keep the mission hidden. Hemlock had been watching the commander for moons. Hemlock, a person who was still unknown to them but was proving to be their greatest obstacle, scheming to impede them.

  She bowed her head and whispered, “Yes, Lord. Do what you must.”

  She wondered if the commander would try to press onward with his plans. Would he dare to ask his other son to complete what Xander and Halcyon started?

  They were running out of time.

  Straton walked to the door and opened it. He waited for her to come forward, allowing her to lead him back through the temple, down the road to the market, where the crowd still teemed and the hoplites continued to wait.

  Halcyon stood by the stave, watching as the commander approached one of the hoplites. She knew who the warrior was by the mere crest on her helm, the long horsehair stained white and red. It was Narcissa, the leader of the Scorpion Squad. Halcyon’s captain.

  Narcissa listened to Straton’s order, her green eyes flickering to Halcyon. She dismounted and removed her helm, her long brown hair bound back in braids. There was no emotion in her face as she procured her whip from her saddle, no hesitation in her stance as she walked to Halcyon. She stopped an arm’s length away, and the two women stared at each other.

  “Halcyon of Isaura,” Narcissa said. “You have slayed a fellow hoplite, your own shield mate, Xander of Mithra. You have fled from your commander. You have broken the most sacred of our laws.” She paused, letting her whip unwind in her hands. Its long tail lay coiled like a serpent. “You shall receive twenty lashes for your cowardice. Remove your armor and kneel before the stave.”

  Halcyon began to unyoke her cuirass. It felt as if she was underwater; the sound was muffled, and her arms were heavy. But she lifted her armor and let it go; the bronze clanged on the ground beside her. All she wore now were her sandals and her red chiton, damp with her perspiration.

  “On your knees,” Narcissa said.

  Halcyon turned to the stave and wrapped her arms about it. Another hoplite came forward. Iason. He bound her hands to the wood, and she knew it was not to hold her here but to hold her up when she lost consciousness.

  Iason did not meet her gaze. He looked stricken as he backed away.

  Halcyon felt the commander’s presence to her right; he divided the wind, and his shadow reached for her across the ground.

  The sound of footsteps. Narcissa approaching, unsheathing her kopis. She tore Halcyon’s chiton to expose her back.

  There was a moment of silence. Of trembling peace. And then came the first lash.

  VII

  Evadne

  Evadne stood in Dree’s market, her eyes vacant as she stared at the bloodstain on the ground. It had taken her and her family a few hours to arrive at the village. And she would have thought this was all some nightmare, that she would wake if she could only rouse herself. Save for the blood. The blood was real. It still glistened in the evening light, as if the dirt would not drink it.

  She wondered how long it would take for it to fade.

  The commander and his hoplites were gone, journeying back to Abacus, Halcyon with them. Evadne had caught a glimpse of her, through the gaps between armor and spears and horses. Halcyon was like a fallen goddess, dark hair draped over her face, the wounds on her back dressed and covered with white linen.

  Her father had pushed a path through the hoplites, utterly reckless. He had finally been granted a moment with Halcyon, a moment where he touched his daughter’s unconscious face and breathed her name, as if she would awaken. Gregor only stumbled away when the commander said something to him, words that Evadne could not hear.

  And then Halcyon and her people were gone.

  Gregor knelt in the dirt between the tracks of the wagon wheels, just as numb as Evadne. The people of Dree began to drift from the market, the entertainment waning. A few remained, staring at Gregor. But none of them offered to help him, to comfort him.

  And then Evadne saw the vile boy of Dree, the one Halcyon had beaten all those years ago. He was standing nearby, laughing with another young man. Something familiar was hooked to his belt. Halcyon’s kopis, sheathed in leather.

  Evadne was striding toward him before she knew what she was doing, that ange
r kindling, burning away the last of her shock. She walked right up to him, and he broke his conversation off midword, arching his brows at her.

  “And who are you?” he asked.

  Of course he would not remember her. Not many people did, for who recalled the quiet sister when there was Halcyon?

  “That does not belong to you,” she said, indicating the kopis.

  He glanced down at his belt. “Well, I do not think Halcyon will be needing it anymore. Do you?” And he laughed.

  She wanted to strike him. Gods, how her fists curled, and she wished that she had asked Halcyon to teach her how to fight.

  But the moment never came. Another voice joined the conversation, one that Evadne knew and respected. Bacchus, the priest of Dree.

  “And have you become a thief now, Laneus?”

  The glee on Laneus’s face froze as he stared at the priest.

  Bacchus continued, “Because I do not recall Halcyon bestowing her kopis to you. You should give it to her sister for safekeeping, or perhaps you would prefer to spend a few days tied to the stave?”

  Laneus’s lips curled, but he unfastened the kopis and dropped it at Evadne’s feet. She heard him growl an obscenity at her, one that made her blood boil, but she had the kopis now.

  She bent to retrieve it, holding Halcyon’s small scythe in her hands. And it almost made her weep, to have a remnant of her sister.

  “You should help your father home, Evadne,” Bacchus said gently. “His soul is grieved.”

  She turned to see her father still kneeling in the dirt. Uncle Nico and Lysander also watched him, eventually having no choice but to draw him upward. The sun was setting. It was time to return home and bear the news to the others who had remained behind in the villa for appearances’ sake. Evadne could not even begin to imagine breaking such news to her mother.

  “What did Lord Straton say to you, Gregor?” Nico asked, holding his brother up.

  Evadne thought she had never seen her father look so frail. He looked like he might die; his skin was gray, his eyes unfocused. She realized he was in shock.