Wings of Fury

by Emily R. King

  The sound of galloping horses caused us to pause. Orrin and the two soldiers, who had supposedly left for the temple, charged at us. I leaped into the saddle behind my sister and kicked the mare’s flanks with my heels. We rode a short distance, then yanked back on the reins. Decimus and Angelos blocked our path. Bronte led the horse in a circle, searching for a way out, but the cliff extended behind us, and the other liege men, each on their own horse, could easily chase the two of us down on our mare.

  Decimus turned his sword on Angelos. The general’s right forearm bore the scar of the wound I’d given him all those years ago. “You must think me a fool.”

  “Sir?” Angelos asked.

  “You rode ahead to warn them.”

  Angelos backed up toward the bluff.

  Decimus bellowed something about loyalty while my sister and I rode back closer to the cliff.

  “What now?” I asked.

  “We abandon the horse and go up to the cave, then back down the north side of the bluff on foot. They cannot reach that thicker section of the forest on horseback.”

  Bronte knew the woodland better than me. I trusted her plan.

  We leaped off the mare and began to climb. The steepest part of the cliff, at the bottom, was tricky. Only one section was safe to go up, so Bronte led the way. As she scrambled upward, a large rock began to pull away from the wall and fall toward me. I jumped down, and it sailed past me, hitting the ground.

  Bronte waited for me above.

  “Keep going!” I started to climb again, but the safe path was no longer stable. I reached for a secure place to hold and pull myself up. It was too far above my head to grab.

  Bronte made it above the treetops. I glanced behind me to find Angelos backed up to the wall below me. Decimus, Orrin, and the four other soldiers had dismounted from their horses and now crowded around us.

  “This is your fault,” I said, skidding down beside Angelos. “You led them here.”

  “This has nothing to do with your stabbing Orrin, or Decimus’s tag?” Angelos retorted, his eyes fixed on the men. “How skilled are you with that spear?”

  “Good enough.”

  I pulled my shield off the saddle and slid it onto my left arm, then raised the spear with my right. In doing so, I bumped into a tree. The hamadryad pushed back at me with her branches, sweeping me forward. The movement spooked our mare, which reared up and took off into the woods. I bent my knees in a fighting stance and faced Decimus.

  “Althea.” Decimus chuckled. “You’ve more courage than your sister. Cleora shed tears all the way to the palace and fell to her knees before the Almighty.” He laughed louder, his thick belly straining against the cloth. “When he touched her, she soiled herself.”

  I growled and took a charged step forward.

  Angelos cut in front of me, blocking my way.

  Decimus’s laughter cut off. “Theo, when did you last see your mother?”

  “Do not mention my mother,” Angelos spit, so venomously that a shiver coursed down my spine.

  “A master may speak of his slaves,” Decimus replied. Angelos’s brow creased ever so slightly. “You don’t know? The palace slave master sold your mother to me this morning. He said she has at least one, maybe two, good years left in her, though my slaves don’t last as long as other people’s.”

  Angelos’s stare turned deadly.

  Decimus signaled to his soldiers. “Bring me the Lambros sisters. Orrin, fetch the other one before she gets too far.”

  Orrin mounted and rode off around the bluff. The four remaining soldiers started for us. Angelos and I backed up toward the cliff wall.

  “How are you with that sword?” I asked, my clipped voice revealing my nerves.

  “Good enough.”

  He raised his sword and charged. Before I could throw my spear, he cut the arm off the first soldier. The second rounded on him with a battle cry, and Angelos sliced him down the center, then dropped to his knees and cut through the thighs of the third. The fourth soldier landed on him. I jabbed forward, stabbing him in the side. While the man was pinned, Angelos swiveled around and sank his sword through the soldier’s chest.

  With an eye on Decimus, Angelos yanked out his blade and then my spearhead. The soldier dropped to the ground beside the one missing an arm. Angelos slammed his sword straight through the one-armed man’s heart, ending him, then raised his bloody blade to the general.

  “Althea,” Bronte called from above, beckoning to me from the ledge. She had an arrow cocked in her bow. “Come on!”

  Angelos and Decimus approached each other, swords at the ready. Decimus was massive, but Angelos was big too, both broad shouldered and jacketed with brawn. I glanced back at Bronte, but she had gone. I thought she would cover me while I ascended, but something—or someone—must have drawn her away.

  Decimus and Angelos were locked in combat. Iron clashed with iron. Angelos’s back foot hit a gnarled tree root, and he lurched to the side. Decimus leaped forward and threw him against a tree, his blade against Angelos’s throat.

  I stepped over to the hamadryad beside me. “Sorry about this,” I said, and drove the end of my spear into her trunk.

  A rumbling quake rent the air. I pulled my spear out and then drove it into the next tree, and the next. One by one, the rumbling grew louder. Branches swayed and swatted at me so hard they knocked me on my back. Roots closed in around my wrist, wrenching away my spear. I wrestled my weapon back and got up, ducking another blow from a bough.

  Other branches batted at Decimus, throwing him aside. More boughs swept at Angelos and struck him to the ground. He wrenched himself free from their spindly grasp while I chose another path up the ridge.

  Sharp rocks cut into my palms, and my footing gave way more than once, but little by little, I climbed to the top. Bronte wasn’t on the ledge. I ran into the cave, but she wasn’t there either. Angelos ascended to the ridge, breathing hard, his sweaty hair wild about his blood-speckled face. He saw me alone and marched to the other side of the ledge.

  I joined him and looked down. On an outcropping below, Orrin yanked Bronte by the hair as she kicked at him. Her hunting bow was crushed on the ground beside them, and her quiver of arrows was scattered about.

  Angelos leaped off the ledge and landed on the outcropping. Orrin threw Bronte aside and struck at Angelos with his sword. Before I could jump down too, a hand grabbed the back of my head, spun me around, and threw me. I fell straight forward, hitting the ground hard enough to jar my chin. Stars filled my vision. I rolled onto my back and blinked up at Decimus.

  He snatched my ankle and dragged me until I was under him, trapping my legs between his thighs. He pushed my arms to the ground, and his mouth landed on mine. I bucked and slammed my head into his.

  Decimus sat up straight, his nose bleeding. “Damn you.”

  He slapped me hard, sending me sideways. My jaw popped and my eye felt close to bursting. He landed on me again, restraining me, and ran his finger through the blood streaming from his nose. Then he painted it across my lips.

  “This is my oath,” he seethed. “You are mine, Althea Lambros. In all your days, you will cling to me or you will cling to no one. Let the Erinyes have me should I fail to make you my woman forevermore.”

  Ice filled me. The taste of his blood in my mouth stained my insides like a frosty brand.

  I rolled over and retched.

  Decimus stroked my head, his voice deceptively gentle. “Your rebelliousness is in the past now. You’ll come with me and wear your velo. No other man shall look upon your face again.”

  I picked up a handful of gravel, speckled with my blood and vomit. “All right. I’ll come with you.”

  He kissed my forehead, blood wetting his lips and teeth.

  I flung the stones at his eyes, and he reared back with a roar. I rolled out from under him and staggered to my feet, then picked up my spear and drove it through his shoulder.

  He stumbled back. I leaned into him, pinning him.


  “Bitch,” he hissed.

  I leaned deeper into the spear, pushing his pain into his flesh.

  Behind him, Bronte pulled herself up onto the ledge. Blood covered her front, and she held a single bloodied arrow in her hand like a knife.

  Decimus grabbed the spear where it entered his shoulder, and with a strength I expected only from a god, he pushed against me. My heels skidded over the gravel. I shoved back with my full body weight and my full temper. The spear sank even deeper into his flesh. Decimus cried out and pushed harder. Dizzy and aching, I tried to hold my ground, but he yanked the spear out of his shoulder and rose with it in hand.

  “I’ll take out one of your eyes for that,” he snarled.

  Bronte ran up behind him and stabbed him in the side with the arrow. As he arched back in pain, she picked up a large rock and smashed it over his head. Decimus went stock-still, then his eyes sank closed and he toppled to the ground.

  I teetered on my feet. My sister slipped her arm around my waist, her movements surprisingly swift and steady. The blood must not have been hers. We shuffled to the path and started down the cliff, sliding on our bottoms for the last steep section.

  A few of the hamadryads, still upset, swatted at us with their branches. We weaved around them to the soldiers’ horses. Only two of the four remained, and we each mounted one.

  Angelos appeared on the ledge above, his chest heaving and his bloody sword shining in the sunlight. Orrin attacked him from behind, then the two men disappeared from sight. I clicked my tongue, and my horse took off.

  Bronte rode hard, passing me to take the lead. We tore through the woods down the pathways she knew well. My face and head ached fiercely. My jaw felt out of place, and my left eye was so swollen that I could hardly see out of it. Once we were well away from the soldiers, Bronte slowed. I matched her pace, thinking she wanted to talk, then noticed she was favoring her bloody side.

  “You are hurt,” I said.

  “The cut is shallow. Angelos intercepted Orrin’s strike and threw him off me.” She didn’t say it, but any deeper and it would have been a death blow. “Perhaps we should rethink having Angelos as our guide. He has experience, and he isn’t asking for payment.”

  “But, Bronte, he took our little sister.”

  Bronte pulled back on the reins, halting, and I did the same. “You’re not the only one who misses her,” she said, her voice strained. “Sometimes, in private, I sing the lullaby Mother sang to all four of us, and I think of what might have been had our half sister been spared. But if we’re going to take a chance on someone, shouldn’t it be on someone sent by fate?”

  “Do you really believe fate sent him?” I hadn’t told her what the oracles had said about sending us a guide.

  “How else could he have known about the Boy God?” she posed. “Prometheus says, ‘Fate leads those who listen and drags those who resist.’”

  I touched the string around my finger. You will recognize him by his good deeds. Angelos had certainly proved himself beyond giving away a basket of olives, and I wanted to believe what he had told us about his meeting with the oracles. If Cronus really had a living son who could dethrone him, I wanted that, too, for my sisters and for every woman in Thessaly.

  “We’ll turn around,” I said. “But if we don’t spot him right away, we leave.”

  We rode swiftly back to the bluff. The entire time I wondered if we were wasting our time. As we arrived, Angelos was sliding down the steepest part of the cliff. At the bottom, he brushed himself off and stalked over to us.

  “Where’s Decimus?” I inquired, scanning above.

  “Last I saw, Orrin was trying to rouse him to consciousness. I would rather not wait around for them to rally.”

  “Still interested in being our guide?” Bronte asked.

  “I’m interested in helping my mother. Should that entail leading you to Crete, so be it.”

  “Taking you on as our guide doesn’t mean we trust you,” Bronte hedged.

  “Nor does it mean I trust the two of you.”

  “I also don’t like you,” I muttered.

  “I cannot return that sentiment.”

  His slight smile caught me off guard. “I don’t care either way,” I said tersely, then nodded at my saddle, motioning for him to mount up.

  Angelos vaulted into the saddle behind me. “You care what I think, just a little.”

  “Let’s hope your sense of direction is better than your intuition about women.” I leaned back into him as he chuckled, then I snapped the reins, and we rode for the sea.

  7

  A salty wind barreled down the road that cut between the whitewashed stone huts, rousing me from my exhaustion. The seaside village consisted of housing for merchants and boat builders and, of course, taverns for the fishermen and sailors that came and went from the docks.

  I dismounted and stretched my lower back in front of an open-air tavern full of customers. Angelos got down after me. Trying not to touch him more than necessary had made our two-hour journey to the seashore highly uncomfortable.

  Bronte slid off her horse, her blood-stained chiton hidden under her cloak, and adjusted her velo. I had always admired her modesty mask. Its double serpent heads met at the forehead, and their long bodies wrapped down the sides of her face. The tails met at her chin, completing our father’s family crest. The mask itself had belonged to his mother, our grandmother, whom we never met. Bronte’s velo was the only possession we had from our father’s family. She was given it at birth, a tradition. Girls were born, and immediately they were made to cover themselves. It was hard to imagine our lives could be different.

  “The harbormaster is keeping our boat for us,” I said. “Do you know where we might find him, Angelos?”

  “Theo,” he corrected. “It’s safer to avoid surnames. Wait here. I’ll ask inside.” He strode into the tavern.

  The back of my neck burned. I touched my tag, the skin tender.

  “What is it?” Bronte asked.

  “Do you see anything on my skin?” I lifted my hair.

  “Nothing except your tag.”

  “Is it red? Blistered?”

  “No. Why?”

  “It hurts.”

  Bronte’s mouth turned downward. “Hurts how?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Althea . . .”

  “It isn’t important.” I added an overly bright smile so she would leave it alone.

  A pair of hoplites stumbled out of the tavern, unsteady on their feet. The taller of the two spotted us and weaved in our direction.

  “Never seen velos like these,” he said, his gaze roaming up and down us. “Such pretty things must be covering up something special.”

  “We should have a peek at what’s under there,” said the shorter man.

  “Our velos stay on,” Bronte answered firmly.

  The taller hoplite jerked his head to the side. “Don’t be rude. We think you’re pretty.”

  Shorty maneuvered behind me and reached for my velo’s ties, but I stepped sideways before he got ahold of them. Bronte dodged the taller man. They were so close I could smell the sour ale on their breaths. Bronte and I turned back to back. Shorty reached for her.

  “Don’t touch my sister,” I growled.

  To my surprise—and the surprise of both men—Shorty halted.

  Theo had exited the alehouse and was strolling over. “Everything all right?”

  “Just having a good time,” Shorty answered.

  “The women don’t look like they’re having a good time.” Theo extended his arm and slid his hand into mine. I froze, my jaw locked down tight.

  The taller man took a step back. “Are they yours?”

  Theo squeezed my hand. “We’re together.”

  “Our apologies, Officer,” Shorty said. “We didn’t know they belonged to you.”

  My jaw clenched so hard my eyes ached. I didn’t belong to Theo Angelos or any man, and I never would.

  Theo tipp
ed his head at them. “You both have a divine day.”

  The tall one paused and looked back. “Aren’t you Colonel Angelos?”

  Theo’s fingers briefly tensed around mine. “I am.”

  The men’s faces burst into grins. The tall one grabbed Angelos by the shoulder and shook him in a brotherly way, part affectionate, part excited.

  “You were the youngest soldier in history to join the guard,” he said. “You made battalion leader by the time you were, what, sixteen?”

  “Fifteen,” Shorty said.

  Theo inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring.

  “You trained my brother,” Shorty went on. “He’s at an outpost in the Aegean Sea now. They called you the Bear because you never lose a fight. He said when Theo Angelos declares he will do something, he will do it, no matter what. Didn’t I hear you’re up for general? That would make you the youngest soldier in Thessaly to achieve that rank.”

  “So I’ve been told.” Theo couldn’t have sounded more lukewarm.

  “No wonder he has two wives,” the taller one said.

  The hoplites chuckled heartedly. They didn’t seem to notice that we didn’t join in.

  “Divine day,” Theo repeated, a clear dismissal.

  They ambled off, chatting animatedly about “the great colonel Angelos.”

  I yanked my hand from Theo’s. “Those men think we’re your wives.”

  “A necessary story, to divert them.”

  “I had the situation handled.”

  “Hmm,” he said.

  Fire burned in my vision, blurring everything red. I wasn’t certain which I wanted more—never to see Theo Angelos again, or to see my mother one more time.

  Bronte slid her arm through mine, our elbows locked. “Shall we go?”

  “I traded the horses to a server in exchange for his silence.” Theo pointed toward the docks. “He said the harbormaster is this way.”

  I glared at him, willing him to say or do something that would break my thin hold on my temper. He averted his gaze and waited.