by Kat Ross
Basileus watched with hooded, unreadable eyes, though she saw his shoulders relax. The transformation had been so perfect, even he had his doubts.
It had gone off without a hitch. When the Pythia entered her tent, Thena had thrown a cup of wine in her face from the golden chalice. Only a few drops touched her tongue, but it was enough to render her senseless. It had been a simple matter to collar her after that. Thena had stared down at the Pythia for a long moment, imagining the entertainments to come.
Then she’d taken the brooch from the Pythia’s gown and opened her mind to it, just as she’d done with the bracelets. Thena had been most uncertain about that part of the plan, but it turned out to be simple. She’d studied the Pythia’s features and imagined them as her own. There was no mirror in the tent so she couldn’t be sure it worked, but when she touched her face, it felt different. The nose was longer, the lips wider and thinner.
The true test had come when she walked outside. She could tell from the look of fear in the eyes of the Shields that they were not looking at Thena. They were looking at the Oracle of Delphi.
Nico’s knife had plunged into the wineskin held tight under her arm, though the flames had been a surprise. Her scream then had been all too real. But they never touched her, and then it was done. The Pythia had been rolled into a rug and carried out in the guise of Thena’s burned body, while Thena played the dead Pythia.
All a show for one person—Galen.
She’d nearly forgotten to remove the bracelet, which would have been fatal. Out of everyone present, Galen was the only one who would have known she still lived. But at the last moment before she left the tent, the god whispered in her ear, reminding her. She’d hidden it away in the same box that held the extra collars. The instant the gold stopped touching her skin, Galen vanished from her mind. It came as a relief. His misery was like an annoying wasp buzzing around her head.
She didn’t understand why the witch had to be deceived—surely it would have been simpler to kill the Pythia while she lay sleeping rather than stage a charade of murder—but it must be part of the god’s plan. One day, all the witches would be collared, including Darius.
Especially Darius.
Now she walked over to the rolled-up rug, which was rocking back and forth. Muffled cries came from inside. Thena kicked it with a slippered foot, unwinding it across the floor of the adyton. Domitia lay there, red-faced and sweating. She raised a hand and frustrated rage contorted her face.
“Come now,” Thena said in a reasonable tone. “You know you cannot use sorcery against me.”
The witch ignored her. “Basileus,” she growled, touching the iron around her neck with trembling fingers. “If you do not remove this instantly, you will die the most painful—”
Thena administered a sharp lesson and Domitia subsided, biting her lip until it bled. Rage simmered through the bracelet as Thena stuffed a gag in her mouth.
“Do not make threats you cannot carry out,” she said sternly. “The harder you fight, the worse it will go for you. Obedience is the only way to avoid punishment. I shouldn’t have to explain this. Now go sit in the corner quietly until I call for you.”
A second lesson was required, but Domitia finally complied. She watched with a venomous expression as Thena approached the Archon Basileus. They eyed each other with mutual distrust.
“Leave her to me,” Thena said. “She will be properly broken in no time. But for now, we must restore order to the city.”
His gaze sharpened at the note of command in her voice. “You do understand the division of authority? Lord Nicodemus was quite explicit in his instructions, and he will be most displeased if they are not carried out to the letter.”
Thena nodded with the proper degree of deference this time and Basileus looked appeased.
“We shall do well together.” She flashed her dimples. “Apollo has ordained it. I hope your faith is strong, Archon. The god sees into men’s hearts.”
Basileus gave her a stony look, peering down his long nose. For now, she needed him to control the army and nobles, but he would learn where the true power lay soon enough.
“I will send criers across the city ordering all free citizens to assemble in the plaza,” he said. “Under pain of death.”
Thena clasped her skirts, gazing up at him through her lashes with just the right degree of uncertainty. “Of course, you have far more experience in such matters than I do, Archon. But the people are afraid and fear can make men unpredictable. They might riot, or even revolt outright.”
Basileus considered this. He was not a stupid man, merely corrupt and ambitious.
“Perhaps we should take a lighter touch at first,” Thena continued. “Tell the people it is Apollo’s will and that the Oracle has important news to share.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “A mailed fist in a velvet glove.”
“Indeed.” Thena beamed. “You are a wise man. I must prepare for the assembly, then. Would you excuse us, Archon?”
He cast a furtive glance at Domitia and seemed eager to be on his way.
“For the Gods’ sake, keep her manacled,” he muttered. “With a permanent guard. If she ever….” He trailed off and swallowed, looking a bit green.
“Don’t worry. I have long experience managing witches.”
“And you set one free!” he burst out.
Thena’s smile slipped. “That was different. She is in good hands.”
Basileus actually laughed at that. Then he strode to the door, his red cloak billowing across the stone floor. A dozen Shields of Apollo waited outside with spell dust should it be needed, but Thena felt her old confidence returning. Everything the god promised her had come to pass.
And she was the best at breaking witches. Everyone said so.
She crouched down before the former Pythia, seizing a hank of flame-red hair and tipping her face back.
“I’ll take you to your quarters shortly,” she said softly. “We shall get to know each other very well in the coming weeks. Better than you’ve ever known anyone in your life. I already know your true name. Domitia. If you’re good, I might even let you keep it.”
Thena cocked her head. The Pythia looked smaller with the collar around her slender white neck. Her blue eyes were no longer intimidating but filled with uncertainty. To think Thena had once scurried to do her bidding!
“I’m glad we have a little time alone together before we must face the multitudes. I’ve thought often of this moment. But it is not for me to judge you.” She gave a slow smile. “No, I am merely Apollo’s instrument. Isn’t that what you told me once?”
Muffled noises came through the gag. Thena ignored them, dragging Domitia into the corridor by her hair.
“All is well,” she assured the Shields outside with a tight smile. “You will stay at your post. This is part of the training.”
They exchanged quick looks but obeyed her.
The few initiates who remained in the temple scattered out of the way as Thena hauled Domitia to the storeroom, maintaining a steady flow of muscle-cramping pain through the collar to keep her docile.
The brazen bull waited, mouth agape. Thena could already hear the terrible bellows that would come from the device concealed within its throat. She kicked the panel open and bundled Domitia into the bull’s belly, slamming it shut against her frantic struggling. Strands of sweaty hair hung in Thena’s face. She brushed them aside and composed herself.
“Do not fear his judgment. If you are truly innocent, the god will spare you,” Thena said loudly. “May you be purified, witch.”
It wasn’t quite as satisfying as Thena had imagined. Yes, she could inflict the sensation of fire on Domitia’s body, but there was no smoke, no stench of burning skin.
No ugly scars.
But that could be rectified when they had more time together.
After a while, Thena grew bored and opened the panel. Domitia’s chest heaved and Thena yanked out the gag. It would be a shame if she suffocated. A
Vatra witch could be very useful once she’d been properly trained.
“Oh well,” Thena said. “I guess you weren’t innocent after all.”
“Fuck you,” Domitia snarled. “You’ll never break me. Never. You have no idea what—”
Thena shook her head and put the gag back on, tighter this time.
“You will address me as Mother from now on,” she said. Then she bent over and kissed the gag where Domitia’s lips would be. Humiliated outrage rolled through the link between bracelet and collar. And a touch of fear….
The door banged open and Thena quickly straightened. The Archon Basileus stood in the doorway, his brows rising as he took in the bull and the open panel, but he said only, “They are ready for us.”
Thena blinked. More time must have passed than she thought.
Hours.
Basileus gestured and four burly Shields of Apollo trotted inside and seized Domitia by the arms, their gazes fixed straight ahead. She fought like a wildcat until one cuffed her hard on the side of the head.
Domitia had never inspired love among her soldiers, Thena reflected. They were not sorry to see her brought down, and the hatred she’d stoked for the witches was coming back to haunt her.
“Keep her out of sight for now,” Basileus said. “But close by.”
Captain Leonidas nodded curtly and they dragged Domitia into the corridor.
“Play your part and I will play mine,” Basileus said to Thena with quiet menace once they were gone. “But if you think of betraying me, you will find yourself outmatched. I have a vast network of spies and allies, both high and low. That crowd outside could easily be turned into a mob demanding your pretty little head.”
Thena smiled sweetly. “My loyalty is first to the god and second to Delphi. If you rule justly, Archon, as I’m certain you will, there is nothing to fear from me. I am merely a simple farm girl.”
Basileus looked as if he doubted this, but he gave a gruff nod and straightened his heavy gold chain of office.
“The people grow restless. We should go.” He turned to the door and although he tried to conceal it, Thena saw an excited glint in his eye. How long had he schemed for this moment?
Ah well, she thought with amused indulgence. Let him enjoy it while it lasts.
She followed him to the pillared portico facing the plaza. Crowds filled it from edge to edge, spilling down the outer stairways that led to the streets below the Acropolis. She strode halfway down the steps and paused, Basileus at her side.
“Free citizens of Delphi,” she shouted in a clear, commanding voice, raising her arms to the sky. A sudden breeze whipped her white gown around her legs. “Heed me now.”
The crowd hushed, watching with expectant faces. She pointed to the words inscribed on the lintel of the temple.
“Know thyself. That truth is meant to lead us from darkness to light. And yet we have been deceived! A poison has eaten away at the heart of our fair city.” She made a sharp gesture and four Shields dragged a bound Domitia from the Temple and threw her down at Thena’s feet. Confused murmurs and a few shocked gasps broke the silence.
“This creature was no true Oracle. She did not speak for Apollo. She is a witch!”
Thena let this sink in. Jeers and angry shouts erupted. A few stones flew through the air and Thena took a hasty step back. The Shields pushed the crowd back with their spears, bellowing for order.
“Enough,” Basileus snapped, flourishing his crimson cloak. “We will not submit to anarchy. The Archon Eponymous is fled. I therefore invoke my authority to name this woman the new Pythia. She speaks for the god!”
Thena raised her arms, expecting to bask in the adulation of the crowd, but they stayed silent.
“Apollo has revealed his will to me,” she said, raking the front rows with her gaze. “The Tyrants must return. We must place our faith in the Archon Basileus. Only strength and unity can save us from the witches.”
Feet shuffled. People shared doubtful glances. They remembered the Tyrants all too well. This would not do, Thena decided. She strode over to Domitia and seized the manacles binding her hands, dragging her forward. Those closest shrank away, causing a ripple to flow through the densely packed plaza. A child began to cry.
Thena held up the ring of keys. “Shall I unchain her? She works fire. Shall I let her burn you up? Or will you submit to the will of the god?” Stupid, cowlike faces stared back at her. Thena’s temper snapped. Spittle flew from her mouth as she turned to one of the Shields. “Tell them what you saw.”
The soldier swallowed. “She speaks truth. The Oracle worked fire.”
“You see? We are punished for our heresy. We have sunk into sin and dissolution. But we can still be saved. We can still walk in the light!”
For a moment, the crowd hesitated. A few looked ready to riot. But then a half-hearted cheer began toward the back and was taken up through the ranks. It never swelled to the feverish pitch Thena had hoped for, but it would do for now.
Basileus leaned toward her. “Let’s quit while we’re ahead. Our authority can be shored up later.”
Thena gave a brief nod. “I will make a pronouncement shortly,” she shouted. “Return to your homes. All will be well, children of Delphi.”
The crowds shuffled off under the watchful eyes of the Shields. Thena made her way down the cramped staircase to the adyton, the navel of the world, breathing deeply of the fumes that wafted from cracks in the stone. She perched on the tripod and closed her eyes.
“Come to me, Son of Delos,” she whispered. “O Bringer of Light, lift the scales from my eyes. Give me your guidance.”
And Apollo did.
28
A Test of Faith
Awareness returned to Darius in a sudden rush.
He shoved away the corpse that sprawled across him and sat up, adrenaline lighting his nerves on fire. Dim light filtered into the burrow from one of the chimneys. A mass of flies crawled over seven more bodies on the earthen floor, the blood beneath them already congealed. One was a scrap of a girl with bright auburn hair. Her head was twisted at an unnatural angle.
How long have I been out?
He forced down a wave of nausea. Something was wrong.
An emptiness.
A perfect, devastating quiet.
In this filthy little chamber, but also inside him.
It took Darius only a second to realize what it meant. He knew before he saw her.
The bond never lied.
And the bond was gone.
Nazafareen sat against the wall, her eyes half open. The hilt of a sword protruded from her chest. For one endless moment, the world tilted on its axis. Darius felt he might slide right over the edge. He crawled to her, animal sounds tearing from his throat. Marble flesh met his touch, hard and cold. The emptiness spread like ink in water until it swallowed him whole.
He wrapped arms around her—both of them strong and whole now—rocking wordlessly back and forth.
He was supposed to be her protector. For years they’d ridden into battle together, facing down monsters and emerging bloodied but victorious. They were bonded—an intimate partnership that outsiders could never understand.
And with the bond, she would have lived as long as he did, hundreds of years—maybe more. Even in his darkest moments, Darius never imagined she would be gone before him.
But he had failed her in the worse way imaginable.
She had died alone, while he lay sleeping a few paces away.
Darius carefully drew Nemesis from its sheath in her body and put the tip to his own breast.
What if you cannot find her in the afterlife? What if she’s gone on without you?
His hand trembled.
Black despair bubbled up.
It is only what you deserve, witch, Thena murmured in his ear. You were sent to test my faith, and now yours is being tested.
What will you do to get her back?
How far will you go?
Darius froze, the tip of the
blade digging into his flesh.
A stone chamber, chains binding him and Thena’s voice rising and falling as she related the tale of the star-crossed lovers, Eros and Psyche. The lamp and the drop of hot oil. The vows carelessly broken. But no, that wasn’t the part that mattered. It’s the end I want, he thought with a touch of madness. The very end of the story.
Psyche had performed three impossible tasks to win her husband back—including a journey to the Underworld to beg a favor from the Queen of the Dead.
The Drowned Lady.
Herodotus had spoken of her. So had Meb and Katrin. They’d met her. Talked to her.
She was real.
In that instant, Darius’s despair hardened into something else.
He gently closed Nazafareen’s eyes and cleaned Nemesis on his coat until the sword was spotless. Then he unbuckled the baldric and slung it over his own shoulder. He kissed her bloody lips. No taint of decay touched her, not yet.
“I’m bringing your sword,” he whispered. “Wait for me.”
Darius crawled out from the burrow, squinting after so long in darkness. The Vatras had left a clear trail heading east toward the Gale, but he would not follow. Revenge was meaningless. Instead, he made his way back to the Red Hills. The flood had emptied its wrath on the plain, leaving streams of muddy knee-high water in the canyons. He remembered the terrain and waded through them until he found the rocky overhang where they’d fought the drakes.
Darius ducked inside, the hard knot in his chest loosening. He’d been afraid it was still broken. But the surface of the gate was no longer black and still. A gleaming current flowed across it, giving off a green glow.
A doorway to the Dominion.
I’ll find you, he thought grimly. You, who style yourself the Drowned Lady.
And I’ll trade my soul for hers.