Sisters of Sword and Song

by Rebecca Ross

  “Eva?” Halcyon called, stepping forward to meet her.

  “I came to tell you that I am leaving,” Evadne said, clearing her throat. “Damon and I are going to ride ahead so we can position ourselves within the city before you arrive.”

  Halcyon said nothing, and it was hard for Evadne to read her expressions with the helm guarding her face.

  “This is not a goodbye,” Evadne added, even though it was in some sense. She did not know if Halcyon would survive the battle with Macarius, and Evadne tried not to dwell on that painful thought.

  “Do you know where Damon will be challenging Selene?” Halcyon finally spoke.

  “Yes. The Destry. Do not worry about me, Hal. If anything, I have the right to worry more about you.”

  She sensed Halcyon would not want to be embraced before her squad. Evadne began to turn away when Halcyon surprised her by taking hold of her arm, gently pulling her back around.

  She opened Evadne’s hand and set her kopis in it, curling her ink-stained fingers over the sheathed blade. How many times had this blade been passed between them?

  “I want you to wear this into the duel, Eva,” Halcyon said. “Do not be afraid to use it. Stab in one of these three places if you are in danger.” She pointed to the armpit, the throat, the eye. “Promise me?”

  Evadne nodded. “I promise, Hal.”

  Halcyon kissed her brow and watched as Evadne walked to Damon. He sang a charena charm over them, altering their appearance as he had before. And then they mounted their horses, ready to ride ahead of the legion.

  The commander intercepted them, just before they departed. He squinted against the light, his eyes lingering on his son. Evadne saw a storm of emotions in the commander’s face now that she had come to read it better: worry, regret. Hope.

  “I will await your signal, Damon,” Straton said.

  Damon nodded. He did not see the apology hiding behind his father’s pride like Evadne did. He did not hear the words that Straton silently said to him between breaths—be safe, I love you, I am proud of you—and Damon gathered his reins and looked at Evadne. Evadne with her wind-tangled hair and mud-stained chiton, his enchantment resting upon her like starlight.

  They took the road together, side by side in a furious gallop. And they left the legion, Straton, and Halcyon far behind them.

  “You will not like this, Evadne,” Damon whispered to her the next day, his fingers laced with hers. His unseen enchantment covered them both as they stood on the outskirts of Mithra, their horses left behind in a nearby grotto. “But the water is going to be our way in.”

  Evadne was exhausted as she stared at the eastern quadrant of the city, where the River Zan cut through it like a silver blade. It was an hour before dawn, and Mithra was strangely quiet. The gates were closed, the firelight flickering over the iron and wooden doors, locked against the world.

  “All right,” she whispered in return, even though she hated the thought of it. Ever since the mountain passage, the thought of submerging herself in water was horrifying. She felt Damon’s hand tighten on hers for a moment—wordless reassurance.

  He led her on foot around the eastern portion of Mithra. They walked as close to the wall as they dared, even though Damon’s enchantment held steady and tangible as their own skin. Evadne glanced up to see the queen’s guards patrolling the wall, and she wondered where Queen Nerine was now. If she was in the palace, safe and well, or if Selene was with her, poisoning her mind as Macarius had poisoned Halcyon’s body.

  They reached the riverbank and stood in the reeds. The Zan was wide, shallow at the edges, deep in the center. But the current was slow; they could easily swim across it to the Mithran port.

  “What about the scrolls?” Evadne asked. The scrolls were tucked into a leather satchel Straton had given her, the strap tight across her chest.

  “They will be safe,” he replied. “I enchanted them days ago. Nothing can destroy them.”

  She had no other excuses. And the sun was beginning to rise behind them, the stars beginning to melt. Straton’s legion would be arriving that afternoon, and it was paramount that Damon and Evadne find a way into the city.

  “Do you trust me, Evadne?”

  She did. And he waited until she breathed the word yes before stepping into the river. Deeper, deeper. And Evadne followed him, tentatively at first, the water cold, seeping into her clothes.

  “I will not let go of you,” Damon whispered.

  And she believed him. Just as she had not let go of him in Mount Euthymius.

  The floor of the river was slick and soft; it fell away suddenly, but Damon held fast to her, and they made their way across the river, the current bearing them slowly and steadily downstream, to the port.

  Vessels bobbed in their berths. The queen’s guards walked along the docks, armed. Damon and Evadne emerged from the water alongside the quay. They waited until the guard had turned, his back angled to them before they drew themselves out of the river with a small splash.

  There was still a gate bolted between the port and the city. But there was also a door nestled in the wall beside it, nearly hidden among ivy, and Damon worked his magic to quietly open it. He and Evadne slipped over its threshold into the open courtyard of an armory. They passed a group of guards sitting at a table, playing knucklebones. The guards would notice the door was ajar, but by then Damon and Evadne would be halfway through the deserted eastern market.

  “Where are you taking me?” Evadne whispered.

  “Home.”

  The commander’s villa sat somber and silent in the predawn hues. It almost felt abandoned as Evadne and Damon worked their way through the gates and down the path through the garden, to enter through a shadowed servants’ door.

  At last, they were safe within the villa’s walls. And yet Damon did not let go of her hand or his enchantment. He guided her to the main floor, and then up to his chambers. They only passed Toula, who was beginning to light the braziers, who would indeed notice the strange duo of dirty footprints that mysteriously marred her freshly scrubbed floors.

  Damon relinquished Evadne’s hand once they were in his room, and she watched her body return to sight. Her clothes and hair were still wet, and she dripped river water onto the floor as Damon broke his enchantment, appearing just as disheveled as her.

  They looked at each other for a moment. Breathless. Uncertain.

  Evadne turned first, walking to her desk. She removed the leather satchel from her shoulder and set it in her chair, noticing there was a stack of beautiful chitons folded on her desk. Upon the clothes sat a small carven box.

  “Your clothes order,” Damon said, trailing her.

  Evadne traced the soft linen; it glimmered gold beneath her touch, as if sunlight had been woven into the fabric. Damon took the small box in his hand, sliding it into his pocket without a word. “I am going to go speak to my mother and sister. Ensure they are well and see if there is any other news I can glean. You should change into dry clothes, and I will bring us back something to eat.”

  Evadne nodded, listening to him leave. And then she was alone in his chambers, and she slowly unwound from her clothes, wringing the water from her hair. She drew one of the new chitons onto her body; it whispered and shone, and she found her old brooches in the sodden heap of her discarded clothes. The golden olive wreaths that Rhode had chosen for her weeks ago.

  How distant that day felt now, Evadne thought, pinning the wreaths into place on her shoulders.

  How distant, as if that memory belonged to another person.

  She sat at her desk, opening her satchel. She intended to study Damon’s latest enchantment, which still had no name. She found the charena scroll perfectly dry and intact. And then she saw the second scroll. The one Damon had been writing in the other night.

  She hesitated. Her fingers hovered above its wooden handles, and she wanted to take it into her hands, unroll it on her desk, read it.

  But she could not bring herself to do it. What
ever he had been writing, he did not want her to see.

  She took up the charena scroll and began to study it, pressing his words into her memory. The light was streaming into the room when Damon returned, carrying a tray of food.

  “How are your mother and sister?” Evadne asked.

  “They are well. Been under house arrest for days now, as have all the other citizens of Mithra. Selene’s orders to ‘keep them safe,’ of course.” Damon noticed she was reading the charena scroll. And as he set the tray down, she saw how his eyes glanced to the open satchel, where the other mysterious scroll still waited. He had forgotten about it. The tension creased his face as he bent down to gather the satchel, carrying the strange scroll into his bedchamber.

  He closed the door behind him. Evadne could hear muffled movements through the wood as he changed, and she sighed and began to eat.

  Damon returned dressed in clean garments, the tangles combed from his damp hair. He sat across from her and joined her in the meal, and they were quiet. Uncertain again.

  When their hunger had abated, Damon moved the tray aside.

  “Will you write the missive to my aunt?”

  “Yes, of course.” Evadne found a square of papyrus from the shelf, and Damon had her trim it to be a small rectangle.

  She opened her ink pot, dipped her quill, and waited for him to speak.

  To Selene—

  I challenge you for Acantha’s All-Seeing Crown. Today. In the lobby of the Destry. Three hours past midday.

  Evadne watched as he charmed the ink dry, as he rolled it up and bound the papyrus with twine. He set it on the desk and then stared at the charena scroll, which lay open and vulnerable. Evadne’s handwriting dark and elegant on its papyrus.

  They still had a few hours.

  Damon spent them sleeping in his chair by the window; Evadne spent them memorizing his enchantment.

  But soon her worries began to multiply. She closed the charena scroll and stood, her body teeming with anxious energy. She did not want to wake Damon, so she paced his room quietly, the marble floor cold on her bare feet.

  She was missing something.

  She touched her waist, where her chiton now had pockets. Halcyon’s kopis, she recalled. It sat in her dirty clothes, and Evadne bent to retrieve it, buckling the little scythe to her golden belt.

  She remembered her sister’s stabbing instructions, felt her stomach clench. Why would Halcyon say that to her? Surely Evadne would not need to stab anyone . . .

  “Evadne.” Damon’s voice was deep, roughened by sleep.

  She looked at him, still sitting in his chair. Dust motes hung in the light between them. And a sweet note of longing, waiting to be sung.

  “I have not changed my mind,” she said, sensing he was about to pose the question to her. To give her a way out. “I am simply . . . anxious.” And she resumed pacing, and he merely watched her at first.

  It was almost time, she thought. Why couldn’t she catch her breath? Why did he appear so calm?

  She heard Damon rise, but she elected to ignore him until he said, “I have a gift for you.”

  She ceased her restless pacing and watched as he withdrew the wooden box from his pocket.

  Her fingers were cold as she took the box from him, opening the lid.

  Two bronze wings sat within, waiting for the light to touch them. The wings of Kirkos, fashioned as pins for her to proudly display on her raiment, proclaiming who she had descended from. Stunned, she traced their beauty, and she knew Damon had ordered them custom-made for her. Because they were not cast in gold or silver, as most people would desire. They were crafted from bronze. Bronze as Halcyon, as Xander, as the legion.

  “They are beautiful,” she whispered.

  “May I?” Damon asked, and Evadne nodded, tears in her eyes.

  Slowly, he unpinned the golden olive wreaths from her clothes. He selected one of the wings and gathered the loose linen at her shoulder. She felt his knuckles brush her bare collar as he pinned the first wing, then the second, in place.

  Damon’s hands lowered, but his eyes continued to admire her, the bronze wings flaring in the light.

  “I think we are ready now,” he whispered with a smile.

  And yet he did not move. And neither did she.

  Not yet, her mind, her reason, was begging again. Not yet, not yet . . .

  But her heart swallowed the warning whole, and Evadne lifted up on her toes. Her ankle throbbed, but she hardly felt it as she framed Damon’s face in her hands, as she raised herself closer to him. He did not move. For once, she had cast her own enchantment, and he was at her mercy.

  She kissed him softly at first, a brush of butterfly wings against his lips. She breathed in the scent of his skin, emboldened, and kissed him again, deeper.

  Still, he seemed unable to move, to respond. But then he drank her breath, he caught her fire. The air became amber, electric between them. His arms came around her and he pressed his palms to her back, bringing her against him, the last of the distance melting.

  Her fingers lost themselves in his hair as she learned the secrets of his mouth, as he learned hers. Tentatively and then eagerly.

  Time did not exist for them anymore. Nor did conniving aunts and stolen relics and an impending battle. They were entangled with each other, edging across the floor breath by breath, and his hands were in her hair and his mouth was on her neck and Evadne was warm and vibrant from the splendor they had sparked. And then she stepped into the desk, and Damon all but toppled onto her, his hand reaching out to catch himself. He overturned the jar of quills, the missive for his aunt falling to the floor.

  His breath was heavy as he leaned his brow against Evadne’s. The bronze wings were skewed, a moment from slipping away from her shoulders, when Damon stepped back, distance blooming between them again.

  She rolled her swollen lips together as she straightened her garments, as Damon bent to retrieve the missive.

  Without a word, he walked to the window and summoned a nightingale. Damon whispered a spell, and the bird took the missive and flew, carrying it to wherever Selene presided in the city.

  And then he turned to Evadne, hand outstretched.

  It was time.

  The Destry sat like a jewel in the afternoon sunlight. Damon and Evadne entered the solemn, dim lobby, their footsteps echoing.

  At first, Evadne believed she and Damon were alone, standing among the divine columns. But then she caught a glimpse of light, and she turned to see Selene standing between the pillars of Magda and Ari. Her scribe was beside her, a tall man with arms cut with muscle, his head shaven, his eyes green as jade.

  The All-Seeing Crown was in Selene’s hands.

  “Hello, Damon,” she said, ignoring Evadne’s presence. “Do not be shy. You called this challenge. Come forward.”

  Damon still held Evadne’s hand. Selene took note of this as they approached, coming to a gradual stop. A good portion of distance still remained between the two groups.

  “I thought I taught you better, Damon,” Selene said, her voice cold.

  “You have taught me many things, Aunt,” he replied. “Once you were a great mage. One I trusted and respected.”

  “But no more, I take it?” Selene arched her brows. “All because you have chosen to side with your father’s illogical choices. He and Nerine will run the kingdom into the ground, Damon. It is time for people like us to rise and reclaim our status in this society.”

  “I am sure the queen will have something to say about that, Selene. When she is finally free from your cloying enchantment.”

  Selene smiled. The light gleamed on her teeth. “I suppose that depends if you can win back this crown. Because that was your plan from the beginning: to crown Nerine with Acantha’s relic, to break through my spell. I confess, your tenacity surprised me. But unfortunately for you . . . the crown is now mine.”

  She lifted the crown, as if she was about to set it upon her head.

  Evadne felt Damon’s gri
p tighten on her hand, and she heard his breath suspend. She knew they were doomed if Selene crowned herself. She would have the power to look into their past, their present. Their future, should she desire, to see the outcome of this challenge.

  Selene stopped just before the crown touched her hair. That scathing smile of hers returned, and laughter trickled out of her.

  “You think I have not already worn the crown, Damon? That I have not already seen what comes of this?” She lowered it again. “Cast off your pride and heed me. You do not prevail here. But there is still time to change your course.” She paused, her eyes softening as she regarded him. Evadne could see that once, long ago, Selene had loved Damon.

  Damon was silent. Evadne could feel him trembling. And she feared he was about to consent, to give up the plans.

  She is lying to you, Evadne wanted to say to him. She cannot look into our futures without us being present.

  Damon set his gaze on Evadne, as if he had heard her thoughts. He stared at her, and his eyes were haunted by sorrow, by desire. By fear.

  She shook her head. Do not surrender to her.

  “Come,” said Selene. “Let us put aside this challenge and the threat it poses. Let us mend our relationship.”

  Damon, resolved, looked at his aunt again. “I will not side with you, Selene. Deliver the crown to me and Evadne or answer the challenge I have given you.”

  Selene’s face hardened.

  “Then know that what befalls you is your own doing, Damon of Mithra.” She held up her hand, her silver ring winking in warning as her magic gathered.

  She breathed in every possibility, every particle of shadow and light. And she began to sing.

  XXXIII

  Halcyon

  Halcyon crouched behind an outcrop of rocks, her eyes set on the distant city of Mithra. Iason and Narcissa were both with her, watching for Damon’s signal. The sun baked the field between them and the city gates. Heat rose up in waves. The grass wilted and locusts whirred in crooked lines. Perspiration dripped down Halcyon’s body, drenched the tunic beneath her cuirass. But she hardly noticed. Her eyes were for the city, for that barely visible rooftop of the Destry.