by Rebecca Ross
“Evadne. My gods, I cannot believe he actually did it!” She struggled to rise, but for once, Evadne moved faster. She set the torch in an iron sconce on the wall and sat before Halcyon, their knees touching. The floor was cold, and Evadne reached for Halcyon’s hands, feeling how frigid she was.
“You speak of the mage?” Evadne asked, rubbing Halcyon’s icy fingers in her palms. “Lord Straton’s other son?”
“Yes. Damon,” Halcyon replied. “I asked him if he would bring you to me, but I never imagined he would.”
Evadne swallowed her questions, refusing to waste this time she had been given. She brought Halcyon’s hands to her lips, to blow warmth into them. “You are like ice, Hal.”
Halcyon snorted. “They do not give blankets to murderers.”
“You are not a murderer.”
Halcyon was quiet, staring intently at Evadne. When she finally spoke, her voice cracked. “Why, Eva? Why did you do it?”
Evadne lowered their entwined hands. “You remember the day you left to join the legion, all those years ago?”
“Of course. I still dream about it some nights.”
“As do I. And it took me a long time to get over your absence. I cried every night for an entire season. I hated having our room all to myself. Eventually, the pain faded, but I always missed you. Every day, I wondered what you were doing, what other friends you now had, if you even thought of me anymore.”
She paused, her voice wavering. Halcyon’s eyes gleamed; her fingers tightened around Evadne’s. “At first, I could not understand why you had to go to the legion. But then I did, and I was proud of you. And then I envied you, because you had ascended; you were the joy of our parents. You were destined to do great things, and I was destined to remain in the grove, forgotten. But when I watched you crawl out my window the other night, knowing you were in trouble and yet uncertain as to where you were going . . . I felt it again. The pain of you leaving. I told myself that I would not be left behind this time. That I would follow you, that I would go wherever you went, even if that meant helping you carry a punishment you do not deserve.”
Halcyon leaned forward, to touch her brow to Evadne’s. They sat like that for a moment, and the coldness, the dankness of the cell seemed to recede.
“You are brave, Eva,” Halcyon whispered. “Far braver than me. There is such steel within you, little sister.”
“Oh! That reminds me.” Evadne leaned away, reaching into her pocket. “I brought this.” She laid Halcyon’s kopis on her sister’s lap.
“Where did you find it?” Halcyon’s fingers shook as she traced the leather sheath.
“I took it from Laneus.”
Halcyon smiled. “Good.” She took the kopis in her grip, but she did not keep it. She set it back in Evadne’s palms, curling her fingers over the sheath. “I want you to have it, Eva. But you must keep it hidden, or else he will take it away from you.”
“He” being Straton.
Evadne tried to forget about the glimpse of pain she had seen in the commander’s face, when he thought he had been alone. But a lump formed in her throat, and it reminded her that there was more happening than she knew of.
“Hal . . .” She drew in a deep breath, tucking the kopis back into her pocket. “Why did the commander choose you to be Xander’s shield mate?”
“I do not know,” Halcyon replied, too swiftly.
Evadne knew she was lying. She struggled to hide her frustration, that Halcyon would still withhold things from her, even after all the trauma that had happened.
“He must have had a reason, Sister. Lord Straton does not strike me as the sort of man who does things without purpose. Did he ask you and Xander to do something no one else could know about?”
Halcyon’s eyes narrowed. The gleam of joy guttered, and she laid her finger over Evadne’s lips.
“Why are you asking these things, Eva?”
Evadne drew Halcyon’s finger away. “Because I sense there is more to what happened, and he is trying to conceal it by punishing you unjustly.”
Halcyon’s anger flashed. Evadne had rarely seen her older sister mad; she had always been mild-tempered and patient, even when they were girls. Seeing it now only heightened Evadne’s suspicions about the commander.
“Where did such an absurd thought come from, Eva? You must let it go and swear to me that you will keep your head down while you serve Lord Straton. Do not go looking for answers, or you will irritate him, and I cannot bear it, Evadne. If something were to happen to you . . .”
Evadne softened; she heard fear lurking in Halcyon’s voice, and she framed her sister’s face in her hands to hold her steady. “Nothing is going to happen to me, Hal.”
“Swear it to me, Evadne,” Halcyon whispered, trembling. “Swear to me you will be wise, you will remain safe.”
It was a promise that Evadne did not know she could grant. But she smiled and nodded, and the tension that had been building in Halcyon eased.
The cell door creaked.
“Evadne,” Damon spoke, his voice faint yet urgent. “We must go now.”
Evadne’s heart ached as she reached one last time for Halcyon, wrapping her arms about her. She felt the crinkled back of Halcyon’s sackcloth, and when Evadne leaned away, she realized it was dried blood.
“Hal! You’ve been bleeding!”
“I know,” Halcyon whispered. “It will be all right.” Now she framed Evadne’s face in her hands, holding her steady. “I love you, Evadne. Be safe, be wise, and I will see you again soon. I promise.” She kissed her cheeks, and Evadne thought she would weep, the weight of ten years suddenly becoming visceral. “Go now.”
Evadne kissed her sister in farewell, and more than anything she wanted to return the words to her. I love you, Halcyon. But she knew if she spoke, she would shatter into hundreds of pieces.
She stumbled to her feet, her nose suddenly running, her eyes blurring. But just before she took the torch back from the sconce, Evadne set her eyes on Halcyon. Her sister smiled, and for a breath, it would seem like they were girls again.
How different would they be in ten years?
Evadne found Damon’s hand, invisible and waiting. With her other hand she took the torch, and the world plunged back into darkness.
X
Evadne
Evadne? It is time to wake up.”
Phaedra’s voice broke Evadne’s dream, rousing her. She sat up on her pallet, groggy, until she saw the last thing she’d expected: her mother and father waiting for her, cross-legged on the floor of their room with a spread of breakfast. Her parents had hardly spoken to her after the trial. Evadne knew they were upset, angry at her for striking the new bargain with Straton. But it was evident that they now had something to say to her.
They must have heard me slip out last night, Evadne thought, stifling a groan. She joined Gregor and Phaedra on the floor, careful not to make eye contact with them. How was she to explain what had happened the night before? How would they respond to the fact that she’d snuck off with the son of their enemy? That she alone had been granted a private moment with Halcyon?
“I remember the night you were born, Pupa, like it was yesterday,” her father began in a gentle voice. “You came into the world so quietly, so still that I thought the gods had already taken your breath. But then you reached out and held fast to my finger, and I thought that I would never let you go. Sometimes I forget that we have descended from the god of the wind. A god who broke himself for love of another. But every now and then, a generation will remember what it is like to fly, and they will grow their own wings. Such as Halcyon. Such as you, Eva.”
Evadne was shocked. This was the last thing she expected her father to say, and she strove to hide the tears that welled in her eyes.
Gregor reached beneath the collar of his tunic. Evadne watched, confused as he brought forth a silver chain that flashed in the sunlight.
“Hold out your hand, Pupa.”
She obeyed with her mouth
gaping, her palm upraised. The moment her father set the lapis lazuli pendant into her hand, she knew exactly what this was, even though she had never seen it before. She had only heard legends of it. She had heard her cousin Lysander describe it with near-painful longing in his voice. It had been the crux of Uncle Ozias’s falling out with the family. The reason why Ozias had renounced them ten years ago. Because he had wanted it, almost more than anything.
And now it gleamed on Evadne’s palm, silver and blue, like a piece of the sky.
Kirkos’s relic.
The enchanted object that the god of the wind had given to the kingdom before he had broken his wings and become mortal. Her ancestor.
“Father . . .” she whispered, overcome. She did not know what pierced her more: The fact that her father had possessed the relic all this time and had kept it hidden and safe—he could have left the Common Court because of it! He could have become a member of the Magical Court years ago—or the realization that he was giving it to her. A small piece of magic. A small piece of home.
“It is time for you to wear it, Daughter,” Gregor whispered. “Keep it hidden and secret, or else they will take it from you.”
Evadne studied it, traced the charm with her thumb. The lapis stone was carved in the shape of a wing, and the pendant was the length of her pinky. The chain was long enough that she could keep the wing hidden beneath her clothes.
“Does it truly . . .” She could not even speak the question. She met her father’s gaze, wide-eyed in wonder.
Gregor smiled. “Yes. When you wear it about your neck, it will answer the command of your heart when you desire to fly. But again, Pupa . . . you must be very shrewd, very careful.” He took it from her palm to drape it upon her. Evadne listened to the chain whisper, felt the gentle weight of the wing come to rest over her heart.
“It suits you,” Phaedra said.
Both her father and mother, then, had known of the relic and had hidden it.
“Do Uncle Nico and Aunt Lydia know?” Evadne asked, tucking the pendant beneath her clothes.
“No, Eva. It has been our secret for a long time,” Gregor replied. And there was a hint of regret in his voice. Evadne wondered if he was thinking of his lost brother, who may or may not be a prisoner in the common quarry, shackled among fellow relic hunters who had let ambition and greed overcome them. The place Halcyon was about to dwell for five years.
They struggled to eat after that, the morning pulsing with anxious energy. But Evadne forced down an orb of flatbread and a few figs before it was time for her to depart. She was to meet Straton at the market well, just across the street from the inn. And yet now that this moment had come, Evadne felt like clinging to her parents.
Gregor rose first, drawing Evadne to her feet. He gave her a fierce hug, one that stole her breath, and pressed a kiss to her brow. And then he turned away to hide his tears, unable to watch her leave.
Evadne gathered her small bag of possessions, Halcyon’s kopis safely stored at the very bottom. Her mother walked her down the stairs to the front door of the inn. A door Evadne had slipped through like a shadow earlier.
Phaedra stopped on the threshold. She cupped Evadne’s face in her hands and studied her, the rise and fall of her daughter’s profile, the darkness of her eyes, the freckles on her cheeks.
“It does not matter that you serve Lord Straton’s family now,” she whispered. “You are your own self. No one owns your soul or your body or your fate. No one but you, Evadne.”
Evadne breathed in those words, let them twine with her blood and her bones, so she would never forget them.
“You have done a courageous thing, one that the gods will see and bless you for. And I am proud of you, Evadne. Use Kirkos’s relic only in time of dire need, and even then, be wise with it, my love. It is an extraordinary gift, but it can be dangerous if misused,” Phaedra whispered and kissed her cheeks. She relinquished her daughter, as she must. Even though it made pain bloom in both of them.
Evadne began to walk toward the market.
She did not look back, even though she felt her mother’s gaze.
And each step Evadne took drew her farther from her former life. Fear and doubt warred within her until she thought of Halcyon, who had always been the symbol of valor, a constellation for Evadne to chart her course.
She set her hand over her breast, feeling the lapis wing resting against her heart, thrumming with magic. A promise rose from the earth, from the wind, moving through her like a chorus.
There is steel within me.
I will not bend.
I will not break.
The Second Scroll
A Crown Made of Secrets
XI
Evadne
Straton waited by the well.
He looked like a god upon first glance, tall and broad and merciless, with the sun blazing down the bronze scales of his armor, as if he were forged from fire. His helm was in the crook of his arm, the black-and-white horsehair blowing in the morning breeze. A small leather satchel was buckled at his belt, and a sword was sheathed at his side, the scabbard trimmed in emeralds.
Evadne wondered how many people he had killed as she arrived to meet him.
His eyes briefly assessed her. She could only hope that she did not look forlorn, afraid.
“Come with me.” Straton turned and walked through the market, the vendors, servants, housewives, and hoplites swiftly stepping aside for him. Evadne labored to maintain his pace, drawing the eyes of those she passed. Again, the whispers rose, chasing her heels.
Yes, that is her. The sister of the hoplite who killed Xander.
She’s paying a portion of Halcyon’s punishment. Fool of a girl.
What possessed her to do such a thing?
Perspiration beaded her brow when the commander finally stopped in the booth of a silversmith. A worn blanket served as a roof, shielding them from the brunt of the rising sun as they waited for assistance. Evadne stood slightly behind Straton, gazing at the array of jewelry set on the craftsman’s table.
One tray brimmed with divine tokens. Each of the eight gods and goddesses were represented in silver. Even Pyrrhus, god of fire, had tokens made in his honor, despite the fact that he was still trapped in Mount Euthymius. Kirkos, however, was forgotten, and Evadne felt a pang of sadness, that his decision to become mortal had rendered him insignificant.
“Lord Straton!” the silversmith cried, emerging from an open doorway. “I apologize for the wait. How may I assist you?”
“I need an amulet,” the commander said.
The silversmith glanced to Evadne. She read his thoughts, the arch of his brows—he knew exactly who she was. “Yes, of course,” he replied, and invited them into his work chamber.
It took a moment for Evadne’s eyes to adjust to the dim light, but she soon saw there was a long table set against a wall. Silver ingots and iron instruments were scattered across it. A great scroll was also unrolled among the clutter, inked with designs.
The silversmith fumbled around a few jars, finally displaying an amulet on his palm for Straton to see.
“That will do fine,” the commander said.
Evadne remained standing on the outskirts until the silversmith motioned for her to come closer and stand near the fire. She knew what was about to happen, should have been preparing herself for it. But no one at Isaura was a servant. No one in the grove wore an amulet exposing who they were beholden to. Their arms were bare, sun-kissed, brawny, strong. They were their own masters, knowing they had to labor in order to eat, to survive.
Evadne moved as if she were underwater.
She extended her arm, waiting.
She did not watch as he brought the silver band about her upper arm, welding it snugly in place, Straton’s crest dangling from it. She distracted herself with thoughts of Halcyon, wondering where her sister was at the moment. They would be traveling the same direction; the common quarry was on the outskirts of Mithra, Evadne’s destination. For the next fi
ve years, there would only be a matter of miles between the sisters. Miles that would be impossible to cross.
Although . . . perhaps in time, Evadne could.
Perhaps she might fly there.
As she followed Straton from the silversmith’s shop, the amulet glittering on her arm, Evadne plotted how to earn the family’s trust. If she appeared humble and honored them, perhaps they would come to trust her just enough to grant her a visit to the quarry.
It was an improbable fancy, but it gave her a burst of hope and energy as she trailed the commander back through the market. She relented to look down at the amulet. Straton’s crest was of a sword. One side of the blade boasted a full moon, a tribute to Ari. The other side was etched with a sun, a tribute to Magda. Both sun and moon goddess blood in their family.
No wonder one of Straton’s children had inherited magic. The divine ran deep in their blood.
He led Evadne through a second market. Merchants haggled at their stalls, and a long line flowed toward a baker’s booth. The sweet aroma of cakes mingled with the stench of fish and donkeys and heated iron, and Evadne’s eyes watered. She missed the loamy aura of the grove.
At last, they passed through an iron gate and arrived at a private courtyard, hedged by tall white walls adorned with a flowering vine. A group of people were gathered here, with horses and wagons. Evadne came to a stop when she realized this was the commander’s family and their servants, preparing to depart Abacus. Her face flushed when she drew their eyes and felt the pointedness of their stares.
She was not welcome among them.
And she did not know where to go, what she should be doing, so she merely watched as Straton approached his wife the healer, who was regarding Evadne with a cold gaze. He bent to whisper something in the lady’s ear, her blond hair stirring with his breath, and Evadne looked away, her eyes settling on their daughter. The girl was dressed in another beautiful chiton with a silver band winking on her brow.