by Jordi Burton
“What about you?” asked Alviva.
Doro shook his head. “You are guests of the royal family. To make you walk such an expanse would be rude. But I must walk.”
And so, Doro trudged along beside them as the mules carried them up the massive staircase. It was strange to Ostana, riding another animal. Sure, she’d been in carriages before, but werewolves didn’t need to ride anything else for travel; they could do it themselves. Again, she felt a sad sort of helplessness wash over her. Was this what all people felt like when they rode animals? What about the blonde sisters? They could fly in this land. Did it feel as superfluous to them?
When they reached the top, they were greeted by what seemed like the entire royal family of the demigods. It was at that moment that Ostana remembered she’d threatened the King of the Demigods, Euaristos, back during Anistes Droun. To her utter surprise, however, he wasn’t among his family.
Instead, Queen Theophania stepped forward to greet them. She was a slight, regal woman, with fiery red curls, bound back from her face with a gilded circlet, and large blue eyes. She wore a beautiful peplos gown, tied with a gilded belt. Gold fasteners, embossed with a stalk of wheat, glimmered at her milky shoulders. She hurried forward and took Ostana’s hands.
“Ostana, dear, you are well?”
Ostana remembered meeting Theophania many times over the years, whenever she’d had the distinct displeasure of spending time with her son, Zethus. But she’d always thought her to be kind.
“Yes,” said Ostana. “And you?”
She couldn’t help but notice that they looked remarkably the same as they did back home. Whereas Ostana was stuck with clawed nails, low-set ears, long-swinging arms, and a unibrow. Envy flared in her chest. How was it that everyone had a better lot in this world than her?
Theophania inclined her head. “Well, we can thank the Gods for our bounty.” She turned back to the palace. “Would you please join us for a repast? You must be tired from your journey.”
Sharing a look with Ayvery and Alviva, Ostana followed the queen. Her six children—Zethus, Isidora, Makedon, Klymene, Sotiria, and Adrastus—followed after her in a line. Spotting a familiar face, Ostana paused. The last time she’d seen Isidora Spiros had been when Ostana had set fire to the barn in Viire, and Isidora had run off into woods, disowned by her father for choosing to marry a stable hand. Guilt gnawed Ostana’s insides; her actions had caused that stable hand’s death. But what was Isidora doing here back with her family?
The inside of the palace was elaborate, even by Ostana’s standards. Every surface was colored with bright tiles, all displaying renditions of the twelve Olympians. The light from round cutouts in the ceiling bounced off the polished marble floors and reflected over the glittering surfaces. A large fountain in the shape of a peacock spewed clear water, filling the room with gentle, bubbling sounds. Servants darted all around, weaving around the people leisurely strolling through the palace. They all stopped to bow to Theophania and her family.
It was all so strange. It looked like the demigods had lived in this world for centuries, not for mere weeks. How were they so much farther along than the Nadmilise? What had happened to them in their time here?
As they entered a banquet hall, they all filed into seats around the table. Servants brought out beautiful trays of food, placing them in the center of the large, rectangular table.
Theophania’s youngest son, Adrastus, took a healthy portion of each of the dishes and piled them onto a plate. Crossing the room, he put it down on an altar, next to a candle, a bundle of incense, and a goblet of wine. Everyone else at the table grabbed hands. Ostana hesitated, before taking Isidora’s hand.
“We give thanks to you, dear Gods,” said Theophania, “for all that you give us. It is by your grace that we have such wonderful food to eat, and the wherewithal to appreciate what we have been given. It is by your hand, alone, that we live in such beauty. We are eternally grateful.”
Zethus inclined his head. “Thank you, Zeus, for your just rule, and Hera, for allowing our conception.”
Isidora cleared her throat. “Thank you, Poseidon, for the water that graces our food and our throats, and Hades, for protecting us in the hereafter.”
“Thank you, Apollo,” said Makedon, “for the sun that graces our world, and Artemis, for teaching us to care for and respect the animals we hunt.”
“Thank you, Ares,” said Klymene, “for giving us the strength to defeat our enemies and protect ourselves, and Aphrodite, for teaching us to love.”
Sotiria leaned forward. “Thank you, Hephaestus, for giving us the tools to reap the things that sustain us, and Hermes, for protecting us during our travel to this world, and every place we go therein.”
Adrastus returned to the table and took his mother’s hand. “Thank you, Hestia, for giving us the fire and hearth to sustain us and our food, and Dionysus, for the fruit of the vine.”
Finishing the circle, Theophania concluded, “Thank you, my dear ancestor, Demeter, for granting us a beautiful harvest and bountiful prosperity. And thank you, Athena, for your never-ending guidance and wisdom.”
They all bowed their heads in a moment of silence. Ostana shared a surprised look with the blonde sisters. Never once, in all the years she’d known Zethus and his family, had they ever prayed to the Gods. They’d never even mentioned the Gods, unless they were boasting of their ancestral powers. What had made them change their ways? When had they become so devout?
But then they started passing around food, and Ostana didn’t care. Everything was heavenly, from the creamy goat cheese on warm bread, to the crispy, salted fish, to the oil and olives, and the figs, and the grapes, and the lentil stews. But most welcome was the wine; all Ostana had had in Bahail was icy water from the river. The sweet wine hit the spot in a way nothing else could. It reminded her of the vineyards in Viire, which saddened her. But she didn’t have long to dwell, before Theophania started up conversation.
“So, the guards tell me you came on behalf of Anastasia?”
Ostana nodded. “We did. It is her hope to locate the High Council, establish some sort of communication.”
“And just where are you all hailing from?”
“South of here.”
Theophania nodded. “Ah.”
Isidora lowered her goblet. “And she is well?”
“Anastasia?” Ostana shrugged. “As well as she can be, I suppose.”
Zethus narrowed his eyes. “The High Council removed her from rule. How is she still using her title? I thought she was unfit.”
“The people voted to reinstate her.”
They all fell silent after that, turning their attention to their food. For the first time, Ostana wished she had the Nadmilise ability to feel others’ emotions. Their expressions were so reserved, it was difficult to tell what they were thinking.
This was also the first time in quite a while that Ostana remembered seeing all the Spiros children together at a table. Zethus was usually with whatever girl he was courting, while Isidora had been disowned by Euaristos. The two younger girls tended to eat in their rooms, while Makedon spent most of his time weapons training. It was strange seeing them all together. They seemed more docile than she remembered.
Ayvery cleared her throat; everyone’s eyes went to her. “Excuse me, Queen Theophania. My name is—”
“We know who you are,” Zethus said curtly.
“Alright.” Ayvery glanced at him. “I hope this isn’t overstepping my boundaries, Your Majesty, but where is King Euaristos?”
The tone of the room shifted palpably; the hair on the back of Ostana’s neck stood on end. Had something happened to Euaristos? Surely, if she and her sister, Kanna, hadn’t accidentally killed him when trying to get him to stop Anistes Droun, then the man was nearly indestructible. But there was something in the expressions of his family that made her think otherwise.
“He is not here,” is all Theophania said.
The clang of a bell reverberated t
hrough the palace. Everyone froze. Taking in their shell-shocked expressions, Ostana frowned.
“Is it some sort of alarm?”
Sotiria pursed her lips. “It is, but not the kind you think.”
“Hush,” said Theophania.
Zethus looked to Theophania. “They’ll have to join us, Mother.”
“We would be glad to join Your Highnesses anywhere you wish,” Alviva said with a grin.
Isidora pushed back from the table. “You might change your mind when you see where we’re going.”
Though her words sent a chill down Ostana’s spine, she still rose and followed the demigod royal family from the banquet hall. They retraced their steps back through the palace, and down to the entrance. But this time, they started down the steps on their own, without any aid from the mules.
As she joined them, reluctantly trudging down, Ostana realized that every single person in the palace was doing the same. Looking out at the city, she saw everyone moving en masse towards the gymnasium. Was it some sort of prayer gathering? Was that why Isidora said they wouldn’t want to go, because it was boring? Or was it something else altogether?
Either way, she was covered in sweat by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs. It seemed her illness from earlier was back with a vengeance. She slowed and wiped her brow, letting the others go ahead of her. What was she going to do if she was ill in this world? Her stomach squirmed, like live worms were trying to burrow their way out through her skin. She doubled over, heaving. Had it been something she’d ate? Was it the pemmican from Bahail? It was rather old.
Alviva hovered beside her. “Are you alright?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Ostana nodded. “Just go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”
Reluctantly, Alviva joined her sister. People streamed past Ostana, until she was alone at the base of the palace. She lowered herself onto one of the steps and turned her face to the sky.
Dusk was upon them, shooting the sky through with shades of deep indigo. The moon looked like a ghost, hanging there in the still-lit sky. Something about it calmed Ostana, despite the fact that every inch of her skin was on fire, and she was fairly certain her eyesight was blurry. She didn’t remember ever feeling so awful in her whole life.
As the night grew darker, Ostana heard cheers and shouts rising up from the gymnasium. So, perhaps, it wasn’t a temple. Unless it was a newfangled sort of temple. But she doubted it. The demigods here didn’t seem the type.
Steeling herself, she forced herself to get to her feet and head towards the gymnasium. It took everything she had to put one foot in front of the other, to walk through the empty town.
But, as darkness enveloped the city, and the moon illuminated the sky, Ostana slowed. Then, very suddenly, searing pain tore through her abdomen. It reminded her of when she’d given birth to Aagney, and she’d been writhing on the table in the Sehirian castle. The pain had completely outweighed her embarrassment at going into labor in front of all of her peers. And then, holding her little baby in her arms had driven every other thought from her mind.
Now, however, she knew she wasn’t in labor. This was something else entirely, something that scared her. It felt like her blood was boiling, like her skin was cracking and falling away.
A cry tore from her lips as the pain intensified. She focused on the leaves of a tree some feet away, trying to center herself, but it was no use. Pain drove every thought from her mind, until she was just a whimpering mass on the ground. She could hear her bones cracking, shattering, tearing through her skin. It felt like needles pushed through every inch of her, like her teeth were too large for her mouth.
She fell forward, every inch of her on fire. As she looked down at her hands, she saw fur sprouting, her nails elongating into claws. Fear gripped her. What was happening to her? Was she shifting? But how? And why did it hurt so much?
But then, a primal instinct overtook her. She threw her head back and howled, an earsplitting sound that came from deep in her chest.
And then, everything went dark.
***
Ostana awoke, naked and covered in blood. She rolled over in the pale pre-dawn light. Her mouth tasted like ash, and her whole body felt bruised. Opening her eyes, she found herself in the middle of the gymnasium, surrounded by bodies.
Turning, she retched into the sand. Seeing what looked like blood spew from her lips, she recoiled. What in the name of the Gods had happened to her?
“Don’t move!”
Sitting back, she realized she wasn’t alone. Nearly a dozen armed demigods surrounded her, the serrated blades of their spears trained on her. They were looking at her like a feral dog. But why? She couldn’t remember anything that happened to her after she left the palace. There was just the searing pain, her illness, and then nothing. But then she realized they thought she’d killed all those people lying around her. To her horror, she couldn’t say for certain that she hadn’t.
What was happening to her? Had she turned into a wolf? If she had, why couldn’t she remember? By the Gods, it didn’t make sense! She’d never hurt anyone as a wolf before, unless she’d meant to. And she’d never lost time before. Was it something to do with being in the Old World? Had it somehow changed the way she shifted?
Isidora raced in front of Ostana. “Stop!”
“Princess,” said one of the guards. “She is dangerous. Please move.”
“I will not!”
Closing her eyes, Isidora raised her hands and dropped to her knees. Ostana watching in fascination as she began to pray.
“O mighty Zeus, please let me call on an infinitesimal fraction of your tremendous power!”
Nothing happened. Isidora opened one eye and glanced around. Ostana was dumbstruck. If she was trying to save her, she was doing a terrible job. All Ostana wanted was to return to Bahail and hide. She was so ashamed.
Isidora tried again. “O gracious Demeter, I ask to use a sliver of your incredible power!”
This time, a wind whipped through the gymnasium, filling the area with the scent of hay and wildflowers. When Isidora got to her feet, her eyes were glowing with pale green light. She raised her hands and shoved outward. Wind tore through the gymnasium, sending sand stinging across Ostana’s bare skin. When it dissipated, a field of poppies engulfed the guards. A heady scent rose from the petals, and the guards dropped, one-by-one, knocked unconscious by the flowers.
Placing her hands together, Isidora intoned, “Thank you, great Goddess. I owe you many bounties.”
When she turned to Ostana, her eyes were again their usual color. She hauled Ostana to her feet and led her from the gymnasium. Only when they were a safe distance away did Ostana speak.
“What was that?”
Isidora didn’t look at her as she spoke. “Demeter is my mother’s ancestral mother, while Zeus is my father’s. Therefore, my siblings and I all have access to their powers when they choose to grant them. Usually, it pertains weeks of praying in their respective temples, and giving numerous offerings.”
Ostana halted. “I meant about me. What happened?”
“Every week, we hold a fight to honor the Gods. They select their champions, give them access to their powers, and have them fight each other till only one champion remains.”
“Why do you fight?”
“We don’t have a choice. We’re slaves to the Gods, at their beck and call.”
Ostana frowned. “And I… attacked during the fight?”
Isidora nodded. “You killed a lot of good men.”
A harsh ringing sounded in Ostana’s ears. She’d killed men in cold blood. But she hadn’t wanted to. She hadn’t even known that’s what she was doing. And yet, that didn’t matter. It was still her, just like it had been her that helped Adrian, fed him information about Anastasia, and ultimately got her brother killed. She’d have to live with all of those lives on her conscience.
“I’m so sorry,” she breathed.
“Hear me when I say it isn’t your fault, Ostana.”
Perhaps Isidora was right? She hadn’t meant to kill anyone. But how could she distance herself from what she did as a wolf, when she could still taste the blood on her tongue?
“Will it happen again? Will I… kill people again?”
Isidora started walking again. “The knowledge from the Gods tells us this will happen to you every full moon. But only on the first night of the moon.”
“By the Gods.”
“Look, Ostana, one night a month isn’t too much to ask for freedom the rest of the time, trust me.”
Ostana wasn’t comforted by the haunted look in Isidora’s eyes. Vaguely, she wondered if the demigod Princess had fought in the gymnasium. She’d have to fight thirteen other champions to win, to earn a break for her family.
As they rounded a corner, they ran smack into Ayvery and Alviva. As they looked at Ostana, she was glad to see their eyes were devoid of fear.
“I can hide you here until it’s safe for you to leave. If you flew off now, our people would surely hunt you down.”
Ayvery pulled a gown from a knapsack and passed it to Ostana. She gratefully dressed, brushing sand and grime from her skin.
When she was dressed, Isidora led them down a narrow street. They quickly moved from building to building, seeking cover in the shadows. On the outskirts of town, Isidora led them down into a cellar. It was dank, and smelled of mold, but it was certainly better than being killed.
Isidora motioned to Ayvery’s knapsack. “You should have enough food and wine to last till I return.”
“Thank you,” said Alviva. “For all your help.”
Isidora nodded. “Be safe.”
As she left, Ostana sat back in the dirt with a frown. She really hoped that Isidora could get them out of the city before the next full moon.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
E riccen Ros dropped down into the city in Ha’ae gol Sima, the sorcerer kingdom, just after sundown. His bothers, Aelnold and Norden, landed beside him, peering through the foggy night. They hunched their shoulders against the brisk wind, heading for the lights they spotted at the end of the forest.