She heard him come up beside her, and she looked up and gave a small smile.
“You coming up?” he asked pointing over his shoulder to the stairs that led to the bedroom.
“In a bit,” she said, gesturing to the half-finished ale.
He shrugged and left her there.
She heard him climb the stairs followed by a few boards creaking above. She was alone except for a couple of men passed out in the corner.
Pen left her tankard on the table and left the Traveler’s Rest entirely. The crickets and frogs by the river were all she heard so far.
He was out there.
The night was clear and cold with a full moon. The river looked beautiful under that light.
Pulling her new cloak, the last thing Milanos would give her, tight over her shoulders, Pen walked around the inn, away from the river. The forest was thick here, with several places to hide in. Pen wasn’t subtle about her walk, even purposefully stepping on dead branches.
Bushes rustled behind her. She paused and turned not expecting to see anyone. She didn’t either. The one following her wouldn’t be that careless at this point.
After a few minutes of walking, she came to a small clearing full of tiny purple flowers. Pen knelt in the center of the clearing, as if in prayer. Maidens would come out to pray to the goddess Zein like this on the full moon often enough.
Pen pulled out a kitchen knife she nicked from the tavern. She slit the pad of her forefinger on her left hand, not wanting to worry about another gash on her palm. She did this close to her body, hoping no one noticed the odd movement.
Tucking the knife into her sleeve again, she left her hands loose between her knees. She withdrew a tendril of blood no thicker than a hair.
She kept the tendril low, under the purple flowers, and snaked it towards the tree line. Once that line was complete, she turned it right and circled it through the trees. It took some doing, maneuvering around without sight and weaving through the foliage with only touch, but she made it around and connected with where she started.
Pen sat in the center of a hidden circle of blood about twelve feet in diameter. She kept her head bowed studying the flowers before her. She was tempted to close her eyes to concentrate on the circle, but if she fell asleep it would melt.
She counted the little clusters of flowers that grew in her line of sight, then the flowers themselves, then the petals on each flower.
The moon moved considerably, but it was still completely dark when something finally happened.
A boot broke clean through the thin line of blood, like a trip wire.
Pen snapped awake and struck as fast as thought. Her blood retracted around her as she spun to her feet towards the intruder. She shot enough out towards where the line broke and struck true. Shadows shifted in the trees, accompanying a larger thud and the rattle of a bush. She saw the figure between the trees stumble as the blood swirled around him. Pen tightened the ropes of crimson around his arms, neck, waist, and legs. He fell to his knees with a grunt, pinned by the ropes.
Pen froze, perfectly awake now, staring at the immobile shadow before her. She hadn’t bound his mouth, but he stayed quiet. He was still inside the tree line, so she couldn’t make out who it was.
“Let me go,” the kneeling man growled.
His voice was deep and angry, filled with authority that he was accustomed to.
“Who are you?” she demanded instead, keeping the bloody bonds intact. “Why have you been following me? How are you not dead?”
She bit her tongue at the last question, not intending to ask that one.
“Let me go,” he said in that same slow tone. “I won’t run, Pen. Clearly you want to talk.”
“Stand up,” she said.
She couldn’t lift a full grown man, not without enough leverage, and she had no intention of unbinding him. She could drag him forward if need be.
“I am Phaos,” he said standing and walking forward on his own into the moonlight. “Now, unhand me!”
She did, refusing to feel chastised like a child. Her heart still pounded at the implications of catching the god like this.
Once the blood ropes were back into her hand, Phaos straightened himself and shifted his tunic, clearly annoyed.
Pen could make out his light hair in the moonlight. In the day, it was probably a golden blond with the beard to match. He stood tall and regal with a long, pale tunic cinched at his waist. A sword hung at his right hip, the hilt resembling beautifully carved bird wings and a talon at the pommel holding a giant ruby. An inner light seemed to glow from the blade.
“Why are you the one following me?” she asked unable to hide the disappointment from her voice.
“I can’t keep an eye on my niece?” he said. “We’ve all been watching you, Pen.”
Wanting to bark at him again for the idea of the gods watching her every move, she held her tongue instead. It was the first statement that made her pause.
“It’s true, then? Maniodes is my father. Not just an ancestor, he’s actually my father?”
Phaos paused now, seeming to collect his thoughts. “Well, no. That was an exaggeration on my part, but you might as well be my niece.”
“But … I dug up his grave, and his body was gone,” she insisted. “People don’t vanish like that when they die.”
“Maybe you didn’t dig deep enough?” he shrugged.
“I dug that hole myself when he died!” she shouted at him.
“It’s been a few decades, it’s possible he sank lower. Look, that’s not why I’m here.”
“I dragged you out of the forest, that’s why you’re fucking here. It didn’t exactly seem like it was of your own accord. Why are you following me? And why not Maniodes? That would at least make more sense.”
Phaos rubbed his temple and sighed, as if Pen were a child to babysit. Her blood boiled at the idea, but she stayed quiet for now.
“My brother is a bit busy, so I’m covering for him,” Phaos explained. “As for tailing you, we’ve all been a bit curious about you. I wasn’t worried when you were hiding away, peacefully, but now you’re causing a stir. The last time that happened, you sealed away Nyx, so yes, we’re tailing you.”
That was more than unsettling. People watching her was one thing she hated, but the gods were too. The only reason she didn’t lash out at the idea was because of the last demigod she knew of, Furos. He had nearly destroyed everything, and he was Phaos’s direct son.
“I’m not a danger to anyone,” Pen defended.
“No?” he questioned folding his arms over his chest. “The last Warrior, Jaysen, tried to name himself emperor of Ichorisis. My Ichorisis.”
“I’m not—”
“And you did seal away a god, which no one else has done before, just because you were upset.”
“My family died!” she screamed. “By my hand. I wasn’t in the best mindset then.”
“And demigods are known to be a bit destructive over time,” he sighed. “My son, Furos, is proof enough of that. We are just being cautious.”
The knife in her hand seemed to form on its own accord. Phaos glanced at it and touched the hilt of his own sword. She kept the blade down, glad it was there, but not wanting to piss off the god.
“The Blood Warriors didn’t end up with the best history, and I fucked up in the beginning. I get that, but I’m going to Stymphalia to help them.”
“Why?” Phaos asked.
“I don’t know. Raisa asked nicely, and it sounded important.”
She almost admitted that the figure by the lake had scared her, but that was when she thought it was her father’s ghost, doubting her own sanity.
“Why were you outside of Kression?” The question escaped before she could contain it. “Why were you by that lake?”
Phaos paused again. “I had my reasons.”
Pen waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.
“What? That’s it?” she barked.
He shrugged. “I w
anted to see what you’d do.”
“You sonofa—”
She bit her tongue again to stop before insulting the god. It had been enough to draw blood this time too. The iron taste filled her mouth as the anger rose.
“What do I have to do to get you to stop following me?” Pen asked forcing the blood knife back into her hand, trying to not be threatening.
“Honestly, nothing,” he replied. “We’re going to keep watching you, until I deem otherwise.”
“Can’t Maniodes vouch for me?”
“He has.”
“And that doesn’t matter?”
“He’s the only reason you haven’t been put down yet,” he admitted.
The bloody knife nearly appeared again, but she stayed put with her growing rage. She was not some rabid dog.
“But I will be more discrete,” Phaos said. “Now, I’m going to walk away and lose the other one who followed you here.”
“Wait, what?” She was sick of people following her.
“The man you’ve been traveling with,” he clarified. “I can feel his presence not far from here, but behind me. He’s not close enough to hear anything well except you yelling now and then.
“You will lie to him,” Phaos continued, “about this encounter. Mortals are nosey and curious beings, and I love them, but we do prefer a modicum of privacy.”
“But I don’t get that kind of privacy,” she noted.
“You will in time, but you must prove we can trust you. This will be one of those moments. Keep the direct influence of us a secret.”
“Fine,” she relented, begrudgingly, “but Palamedes will be pissed. What do I tell him?”
“You’re resourceful,” he gave. “Figure it out.”
With that, Phaos left and walked back into the woods, opposite from where he said Palamedes was. As she watched, his form seemed to shrink into itself and he sprouted wings. An enormous brown hawk rose to the skies.
Pen made her way back to the Traveler’s Rest, pushing past branches hard enough to snap a few, seething in the anger and resentment. Somehow, she managed to avoid Palamedes and go straight to bed.
Chapter Fourteen
Pen
Pen met Raisa and Palamedes on the main tavern floor with a bowl of sweet porridge. Raisa was enjoying her breakfast, but Palamedes just stirred his around and watched Pen sit.
She wondered if he’d say anything. She had promised herself she’d be discrete and calm about the coming conversation.
Palamedes took a spoonful of porridge, not saying anything.
It was Raisa who spoke first.
“So, how did you sleep last night, Pen? I didn’t hear you come up.”
“That’s because you sleep like a log,” Pen replied.
Raisa chuckled, unable to deny the jab.
“I slept fine,” Pen said. “I just came up late. What about you, Palamedes? You went before I did.”
She watched him innocently, curious on what he was going to say.
“Fine,” he shrugged.
Pen cursed at him in her thoughts after the silence that followed but was also a bit grateful for the stall. Maybe he wouldn’t bring up the meeting in the forest, and they could continue on.
“We should hit the road,” Raisa said pushing aside her empty bowl. “You ready?”
“Aye,” Pen said. “Just need to grab the packs from upstairs.”
After breaking their fast, Pen stood, gathered their packs, and went to meet Raisa and Palamedes outside. The day was honestly warm and beautiful. She couldn’t enjoy the sights with her heart hammering in anticipation of Palamedes talking.
She was allowed a moment when she noticed Raisa was alone on the porch.
“Where’s Palamedes?” she asked.
“Just watering some bushes before we head out,” Raisa replied pointing off to the trees.
“Oh, okay.” Pen settled next to Raisa on the porch railing.
“Hey, are you all right?” Raisa said on the porch now.
Pen paused, noticing the concern in her friend’s eyes.
“You’re quiet, which is normal, but you look more distracted and bothered by something.”
“I, um, it’s nothing. I’m just thinking about Malliae.” She hated lying to Raisa, but trusted that she wouldn’t pry.
“I should have insisted we avoid it, go straight to the city.”
“I wouldn’t have let up on going there.”
“I knew you wouldn’t,” Raisa barked.
Pen laughed, surprising herself at Raisa’s little outburst, mainly because she was right. After a second, Raisa joined too.
“What are you laughing at?” Palamedes asked, finally coming through the tavern door.
“The fact that I’m basically a dumbass,” Pen jested.
“All right, let’s head out,” Raisa said leaving the porch and heading for the road.
Pen joined her, glad she didn’t ask more, but anticipation vibrated in her veins.
“Hold on,” Palamedes called stopping them both. “You’re hiding something.”
Pen silently cursed. She turned back to him, but kept calm.
“I’m not hiding anything,” she denied, keeping mild annoyance and confusion in her voice. She wasn’t much of an actress.
“I followed you into the woods last night, and you met someone,” he accused. “Who was he?”
“I went to bed after you did.”
“I followed you,” he growled, “from Kression. I left my home and sick twin brother to follow you.”
Pen was taken aback; he’d never mentioned a brother before. He’d never mentioned any family. She had gathered that the coin he had was his father’s but nothing else.
“And you are hiding something from us,” Palamedes continued.
“I’m really not,” Pen said, “but, please, enlighten me on what you think I did last night.”
“I don’t know, but it’s something big, and the gods themselves are scared of you,” he said. “Something is going on, and I want to know what.”
“Why would the gods be scared of her?” Raisa asked.
Pen had to tread lightly here. Raisa was too rational to be one-sided. If Pen came off as too hostile or defensive, Raisa might sense that Palamedes was right.
“How much did you drink last night, Palamedes?” Pen asked.
Rage lit in his eyes.
“I was not drunk!” he roared.
Pen stepped back, not expecting a reaction that explosive.
“Raisa, you have to believe me on that much,” he turned to her, practically pleading.
“I do,” she said with a hand out to him. “Pen, what exactly happened last night? Did you meet someone?”
“No,” Pen said meeting her eye. “I just went to bed.”
“Palamedes,” Raisa said. “I don’t think anything sinister is happening here. If Pen did meet someone, then that’s her business.”
Palamedes forced a breath out, but he was listening to her.
“Your family were worshipers of Maniodes, right?” Raisa asked him. “If there is something going on, I don’t like not knowing but I trust Pen, and you should trust her too as the daughter of Maniodes. And she might not know the details just because she’s connected to the gods.”
“You don’t really believe that,” he said.
“I trust Pen,” Raisa said. “She has told me a lot of weird shit, even about the gods.”
“This is—” Palamedes cut himself off. “I’m done. I did not sign up to follow the Warrior who murdered her family, robbed her in-laws, and tried to dig up her dead father.”
“Hey!” Pen shouted. “I did not murder them, and you fucking helped with the last two.”
“And I wouldn’t have in the first place,” he yelled, “but I did because I thought there was some bloody higher purpose to it.”
“I warned you from the beginning I didn’t want to drag anyone else into this,” Pen stated.
“Aye, you did,” he sighed. “Fuck it, I�
��m going home.”
With that, he turned his back and walked into the forest towards the road.
“Palamedes, wait!” Raisa darted after him.
Pen watched Raisa go, trusting and hoping that she would come back. After several moments of Pen pacing around, not knowing what to do, Raisa stormed back into the clearing muttering and cursing.
Palamedes wasn’t behind her.
“He left,” Raisa shouted. “He’s just walking back to Kression. This is exactly why I told you to be nicer to people!”
Pen didn’t reply, but took the scolding.
Raisa cursed but came to Pen’s side, still somber.
“I am sorry about that,” Pen said.
“Are you hiding things, Pen?” Raisa asked in a rush.
Pen paused, not sure how to continue, but not wanting to outright lie.
“The gods asked me to.”
“I fucking knew it.”
Chapter Fifteen
Raisa
The road before them was well used, which was nice, better than stumbling through the forest anyway. Raisa could see the Central Mountains in the distance. They shot up cutting Ichorisis in half with Phaos’s grand Mount Xiphos in the center of that range. The barren rock of the mountains on this side stretched out to meet her and Pen.
She wondered if the Followers of Phaos used this road; it was likely. They might catch up to the pilgrims, given their destination.
Raisa glanced to Pen walking beside her. Pen usually watched the road ahead, but she caught Raisa’s glance this time.
“So … how was Palamedes when you tried to talk to him?”
“Angry,” Raisa said.
“I struck a nerve with the drinking comment, didn’t I?”
“So, you are observant of other people’s feelings?”
“Come on, that’s not fair.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Raisa said. “I can’t help but be mad too, for his sake. And yes, you struck a nerve. His mother turned to drink when his father died. She ended up dead in an alley because of it, leaving Palamedes and his twin, who were only ten, to fend for themselves.”
“Oh gods,” Pen said, “and his brother?”
“He started coughing, about two months ago I think, and sometimes there’s blood.”
Grief of the Undying (The Ichorian Epics Book 3) Page 8