by Rebecca Ross
Evadne watched her sister closely; she watched how she breathed, how she spoke, how her eyes had become overcast. Do not surrender, Halcyon, Evadne wanted to shout at her. Do not go down without a fight.
Halcyon’s gaze flickered at last, finding the commander. Straton’s eyes were already on her, his expression rigid as a shield.
“Xander let down his guard,” Halcyon said, so softly that the archon had to bend closer to hear her. “Xander had yielded, but I did not . . . see it. I was already in motion, and my sword caught him in the throat.”
The assembly was quiet. No one seemed to breathe in that moment, the moment of Halcyon’s confession, when she stared at the commander and the commander stared at her.
“I have brought pain to your family, Lord Straton,” Halcyon continued. “I am sorry, and I know my words will never be enough to atone for it. Not a moment passes when I do not wish it had been different, that I had been the one to fall, and Xander the one to live. I am a coward, and I do not deserve to live.”
Shock rippled through the crowd. Evadne felt her father’s hand slip away from hers, to cover his face. On her other side, Phaedra was pale, devastated as she stared at Halcyon. Even the archon appeared disarmed by Halcyon’s candid words, and he looked at Straton. Evadne noticed it happened again: the commander made a subtle movement with his fingers, tapping his knee.
The archon set down his quill, rising to his feet. Evadne realized he was concluding the trial, that he was about to give the verdict. No one moved or spoke as they waited, breaths suspended, to hear the fate of Halcyon.
“Halcyon of Isaura,” the archon began, and her name rang like steel on stone. “By my power and jurisdiction over the city of Abacus, you have been found guilty of accidental manslaughter. For this, you will spend five years working in the common quarry of Mithra. You have also been found guilty of cowardice. For this, you will spend the next five years shackled in Mithra’s prison. Last, you will spend the final five years of your sentence serving the house you have wronged, which is the house of your commander, Lord Straton of Mithra. By the gods, this will be done, and should you try to escape this sentence, you will face immediate death.”
The assembly became a whirl of noise. Half of the crowd booed at the verdict; half of the crowd applauded. Evadne was silent, unmoving, but her thoughts raged.
Halcyon’s sentence was going to devour fifteen years of her life. She would be thirty-five years old by the time she would be free.
And Evadne thought of how terrible the common quarry was. How it was mainly composed of relic hunters, vicious men who had murdered to get what they wanted. And she thought of how terrible the prisons of Mithra were. Halcyon would be chained in utter darkness. She would not have company or see daylight for five years. And Evadne thought of Halcyon’s service to the commander and his house. Her sister would have to serve a family who resented and despised her.
Halcyon might survive this sentence, but she would be broken by the end of it. Death would have been easier, and Evadne saw the same shock ignite in Halcyon’s eyes. Her sister stared at the commander, but now the commander would not meet her gaze. Evadne finally understood Halcyon’s meekness and Straton’s subtle signals.
Halcyon had come to her trial expecting to be given death.
And Evadne had prepared for this moment. She had believed that Halcyon’s sentence would be execution and she had a speech rehearsed; she was planning to pour her words out like precious oil before the archon, to plead for Halcyon’s life. But now Evadne had to swiftly weave together a new plan.
The commander was hiding something, and Evadne refused to let it ruin her sister’s life.
“Lord Archon?” Evadne was rising, speaking before she could change her mind.
The archon heard her voice, even over the tumult. He scowled, his eyes sweeping the front of the assembly until they found her.
“Lord, may I speak?” she called out to him.
“Evadne!” Phaedra hissed, horrified.
“Pupa, sit down,” Gregor begged, taking hold of her arm. “Please sit down.”
Evadne only looked at them, at her father’s alarmed eyes, at her mother’s barely concealed panic, and said, “Let me speak.”
Gregor released her, but he had never appeared so old, so frail.
“Yes, what is it, child?” the archon said to her, holding his hands up so the crowd would hush.
“Evadne . . . no.” Halcyon’s voice arced like an arrow.
Evadne met her sister’s gaze, saw Halcyon’s mounting distress.
“Speak up, girl,” the archon said, impatient.
It had gone deathly quiet in the hall, every eye hooked to Evadne, who was suddenly trembling. In her mind the night before, she had envisioned herself being as brave and strong as Halcyon had always been. She had not pictured herself shrinking, her voice sounding like a poorly plucked kithara string.
“Lord, I am Evadne of Isaura, Halcyon’s younger sister. And I would ask to take half of her sentence, to serve it alongside her.”
The air teemed with astonishment. It was suffocating; it was difficult to think coherently. But over the noise came Halcyon’s cries.
“No, Eva! Lord Archon, I do not accept this arrangement!”
For the second time that day, the archon was shocked. He stared at Evadne as if she had lost her mind.
“Lord Archon,” Evadne said, speaking louder, to overpower Halcyon’s frantic refusal. “Let me serve at her side. Instead of the fifteen-year sentence, let it be seven and a half years total, split between the two of us. That is two and a half years in the quarry, two and a half years in the prison, and two and a half years in service to Lord Straton of Mithra.”
The archon slid his gaze to the commander. So did Evadne.
Straton rose to his feet, his eyes keen as he regarded her. He was the only one who did not appear surprised by Evadne’s reckless offer, but she wondered if he ever truly revealed what he felt in his expressions. His gaze dropped to the floor, to her right ankle.
“I am more than capable, Lord Straton,” she said. But even as she said the words, her ankle throbbed in disagreement.
“It is admirable of you,” Straton said, “but this is Halcyon’s sentence, not yours.”
“Eva . . . Eva, it is all right,” Halcyon said, hoarse. Her chains clanged as she reached out. “Please, Sister. Listen to Lord Straton.”
Evadne ignored Halcyon. She continued to hold the commander’s stare and dared to say, “I know you once held my sister in high regard, Lord Straton. For you to have chosen her as your son’s shield mate expresses that perhaps more than anything. I know justice must be served here today, and my family is grateful that you have spared her life, Lord. But there will be nothing left of my sister come the end of this punishment. If you will not agree to let me serve it alongside her, then give me a portion of it.”
“You are naïve, Evadne of Isaura,” the archon said, drawing her attention. “You know nothing of justice among warriors. What I have deemed for your sister is the lightest of punishments, considering her crimes.”
Again, Evadne had to hold her retort. But her jaw clenched, and her gaze returned to Straton. She was not a fool; she knew it was the commander who had decided Halcyon’s fate. The archon had merely enacted it.
Straton, likewise, was not a fool. Evadne could tell he read the trail of her thoughts; she had addressed him, not the archon, knowing the commander was the one in power here.
“Lord Archon,” Straton said in a placid tone, glancing to where the judge stood behind the rostrum. “I have considered Evadne’s pleas and would like to present an altered arrangement for you to consider. Halcyon will serve five years in the quarry and five years in the prison. Evadne will serve five years in my household. And that will complete the sentence for Halcyon’s crimes.”
The archon furrowed his brow, as if he had to weigh the new arrangement. But Evadne already knew it would be done.
“So be it,” the archon an
nounced. “Halcyon, your younger sister will take five years of your sentence by serving the house of Lord Straton. Both of you will begin your sentences at dawn on the morrow. Halcyon, you will be transported to the common quarry, and Evadne, you will travel to Mithra with Lord Straton and his family.”
The guards unchained Halcyon from the stand to escort her back to her cell. Evadne stared at her sister, hungry to memorize everything about her before she was dragged away into the shadows.
And Halcyon, who Evadne had never seen cry, who had only ever been strong and courageous before her, covered her face with her hands and bitterly wept.
IX
Evadne
Evadne lay on her pallet that night, moonlight pouring in from the open window. The inn was quiet; Gregor and Phaedra had finally escaped into dreams after hours of tossing and turning. Evadne listened to her father’s gentle snores, her mind consumed with thoughts of tomorrow, when she was to join Straton and his household. When her life would change.
What have I done?
She was exhausted, and it made her recklessness feel even greater. She was a fool to believe she was capable of exposing a man as powerful as Straton, to believe she could ease a fraction of Halcyon’s suffering—and all she wanted was to sleep, to forget about the horror of the day.
She heard a rustle of wings.
Evadne glanced to the window, where a small bird was perched on the sill. It looked like a nightingale, its cream and tawny feathers gilded in starlight.
She held her breath as she watched the bird flutter from the window to the foot of her pallet. It chirped, hopping closer to her. Evadne sat forward and extended her hand in wonder as the bird perched on her finger. It softly trilled, as if it was trying to say something to her. But before Evadne could whisper to it, the bird flew back to the sill and waited.
She rose, following the nightingale to the window.
The bird took flight. She watched as it swooped down to the street, to a boy who stood in the moonlight, his hand outstretched. The nightingale rested on his finger, and Evadne felt her heart stir, awed until she recognized him. Straton’s son, Xander’s younger brother. The mage.
He continued to stand in the street, waiting. For her, Evadne knew.
She thought about ignoring him, but her curiosity bloomed. What did he want? Why had he come to her in the dead of night when he was bound to see her in the morning?
Her family’s room was on the second floor of the inn. Evadne leaned out the window to see if it was possible for her to climb her way down. The mage caught her attention, pointing to the front door of the inn.
She found Halcyon’s sheathed kopis and donned her sandals. Her parents continued to slumber, oblivious as she stole across the floor.
The door opened soundlessly. Evadne entered the corridor, edging along the wall to find the stairs. The dining hall was empty, and the main door was unbolted. It was slightly terrifying, she thought as she exited the inn. How effortlessly the mage had charmed a bird and multiple doors. And she could not help but wonder if he was going to harm her.
She stopped on the threshold and stared across the distance at him.
He continued to stand in the middle of the deserted street, the nightingale perched on his hand.
Evadne began to close the space between them. She remembered Macarius’s trickery, that hollow emptiness in her stomach, and she stopped a full arm’s length away from Straton’s son, her wariness evident.
“I intend no harm to you, Evadne,” he said, his voice a deep timbre that made him sound far older than he was. He looked as if he could only be a year or two her senior. “I have come tonight out of honor for Halcyon. I spoke with your sister a few hours ago, and she asked to see you. I can sneak you into her cell, but you will have to trust me.”
Evadne thought she had misheard him. “What?”
The mage whispered to the nightingale, and the bird took flight, vanishing into the shadows.
“We do not have much time,” he said. “I am going to cast an enchantment that will render me unseen. Anything that touches me will also be invisible. So you will need to take my hand and hold it until it is safe to let go.”
Evadne stared at his hand, the silver ring that gleamed upon his finger. The thought of holding his hand made her hesitate. “Why? Why are you offering this?” She did not trust him, and made no attempt to hide it.
The mage was silent, studying her. His voice was cold when he said, “Because I would do anything to have the chance to speak to my brother one last time.”
She had nothing to say to that. But her cheeks warmed; she felt a tangle of shame, anger.
“Do you want this or not?” he prompted, impatient.
“Yes,” she whispered, and the air hummed between them, the magic waiting for him to breathe it in, to speak it out.
The mage turned away from her; it made her anxious until she realized he was singing, and he must want some privacy. Even so, Evadne did not look away from him. She caught bits and pieces of his spell; he sang in the God Tongue, just as Macarius had done, but his voice was not nearly as polished and beautiful as Macarius’s had been. His voice was deeper, smokier. There was a bite to it, like gravel under bare feet, and Evadne shivered.
She watched as the edges of him began to glimmer, as he faded into silver dust. And then he was gone, as if he had never been. Evadne stood alone in the street, the night wind whistling through buildings, dragging hair into her disbelieving eyes.
“My hand is before you,” she heard him say. “Reach out and you will find it.”
Evadne lifted her hand, seeking his. Their fingers bumped, awkwardly weaving together. Evadne’s heart beat like a drum as she felt his enchantment steal over her. It was like a veil being drawn against her skin, softer than silk. She watched herself fade into golden dust, succumbing to invisibility.
“We must move quickly,” he said. “Do not let go of me until I tell you to.”
The mage set a harried pace, guiding her through the maze of streets, past unsuspecting guards. Evadne struggled to keep in stride with him, her ankle flaring in protest by the time they reached the agora.
Up the stairs they went, sightless and quiet as breath. The guards took no note of them as they patrolled the colonnade; they did not hear the doors crack a sliver, and the mage began to lead Evadne through the divide. Her chiton snagged on the handle. She bit her lip, her fingers nearly yanked free from his, but the mage clamped down like a vise, refusing to let their hands come apart.
Carefully, she untethered herself from the brass handle as one of the guards turned, frowning before he shut the doors behind them.
The agora’s lobby felt vastly different at night. The air was thick with silence. Oil lamps burned in iron stands, their flames casting rings of light on the polished floors.
The mage guided her forward, past the assembly chamber and down a corridor. A door sat open; firelight spilled into the hall. Evadne felt the mage slow in trepidation as they prepared to pass it, and she didn’t understand until she could glance into the open doorway.
Straton was in the chamber. A desk was before him, covered in scrolls and papyri, and the commander sat with his hands covering his face, his armor and weapons hanging behind him on the wall. He was so still he might have been asleep, but then his hands dropped and his face was creased, agonized.
Evadne did not want to feel compassion for him.
But she did, like a pinch in her soul. And his son’s fingers tightened on hers, and she could only wonder why he was risking himself like this.
They left the commander behind, passing another set of armed guards as they came to a stone stairwell. The air grew cold as they descended into the prison; torches burned along the wall, awakening stone carvings of beasts and the hoplites who had slain them.
They entered a chamber where two guards sat at a table, playing a game of knucklebones. The entrance to the prison was just beyond them, a huge sliding door latticed in iron, locked. But the mage mu
st have smuggled the key, because he brought Evadne to the door and the keyhole turned until it clicked.
Again, he made the door crack open without sound, and the two of them passed over its threshold before it closed behind them, the guards completely unaware.
And this is why mages are forbidden from common prisons, Evadne thought wryly. The law stated that mages were not allowed in such places. The risk of enchantment was too great—charmed tortures or charmed escapes. But every now and then, it was permitted. If the mage was trustworthy.
The mage must have been here earlier, when he visited Halcyon. For a reason Evadne was anxious to know.
“Grab that torch in your other hand, but take care with it,” the mage murmured to her, and she did as he requested. As soon as her fingers had come about its handle, the torch went invisible, and the light vanished.
They moved down the corridor, the mage thankfully knowing the prison’s layout, even in the dark.
They passed cell after cell. Evadne could hear mutterings, moans of pains. The sound carried eerily, loud and then faint, like she was trapped in a dream.
Finally, the mage came to a stop. “This is your sister’s cell. You can release me now, so the fire will return.”
Evadne unwound her fingers from his. The flames in her possession blazed into sight, and she watched as her body returned, taking up space once again. The mage continued to be unseen, but Evadne felt his sleeve brush her arm as he unlocked the door.
“I will stand guard here, but I fear you will not have long,” he whispered. “When I open the door, be ready to take my hand to depart.”
“Yes, of course,” Evadne said. “Thank you.”
He made no reply but opened Halcyon’s cell door, and Evadne stepped within it.
Halcyon was sitting against the far wall, her eyes closed. Her chest was rising and falling in a frantic pattern, and Evadne’s heart twisted to see her sister shaven and in sackcloth, held in a cell that knew only despair.
“Halcyon,” she breathed.
Halcyon opened her eyes. The worry in her face melted, and she smiled, as brilliant as if they were home, in their bedroom. As if none of this had happened.
