“Still no Gift, then?” the king interrupted sharply.
Galen’s proud stance faltered, a flush creeping across his cheeks. He pinched his lips together, as though to suppress the emotions surging within him.
“No,” he mumbled. “Still no Gift.” He stepped back, retreating into himself, his words laden with shame.
Pelagios glanced between the king and the boy, his brow furrowed, but Pandion’s attention had already shifted to his third and youngest son. “And what about you?”
Alena held her breath, despite already knowing what the king and his court thought of the North Wind—of Leukos’ Gift.
Wide-eyed and hesitant, Leukos stepped forward and held out his hands. Ice-blue magic swirled into existence between his palms. The light coalesced into a delicate sculpture of a horse. Leukos cradled the icy creation, peeking up at his father from beneath his mop of messy black hair, waiting for approval.
Pandion’s impatient exhale broke the tense quiet. “Another ice sculpture?” His gaze shifted to the Silver Shield standing behind the boys. “What exactly are you teaching my son, Nisos? How is he supposed to defend Megara if all he can conjure are toy animals? You think that’ll be enough to stop the Rasennans? Enough to hold a shield wall?”
His voice rose with every word, booming through the vast chamber and making Leukos flinch. His grip faltered, and the delicate sculpture slipped from his hands, shattering against the marble floor with a brittlecrack.
Galen winced.
Pandion’s frown turned thunderous. “Get them out of here. They’re wasting my time.”
“Father,” another voice rang out—the eldest son, Aegeus. “They are still young and have much to learn. But with time?—”
“We don’t have time!” Pandion roared, silencing the chamber again. “The Rasennans are tearing through Argos as we speak, and soon we’ll be next.” His hand sliced through the air in a dismissive gesture towards the door. “I saidout! Don’t waste my time again, Nisos, or you’ll face the consequences.”
The young boys hesitated, their faces pale and stricken.
The Silver Shield bowed, his expression unreadable. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
He ushered the boys back towards the exit. Alena followed them out with a heavy heart.
Leukos looked close to tears. “He hates us.”
“Don’t say that,” Nisos scolded. “Megara is under threat, and your father needs powerful warriors to defend our kingdom. Come, let’s go back to training?—”
“He called us a disgrace,” Leukos retorted, his small fists clenched at his sides. “I prayed to the Sea God. I prayed to him every day this summer and even offered him a whole tuna, but nothing happened.”
Alena’s chest tightened as Leukos’ anguish poured out—the words of a child desperate to understand why he wasn’t enough.
Galen, still silent, placed a protective hand on his brother’s shoulder, though anger flashed across his expression.
Nisos sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And where did you get the tuna from? Did you steal from the kitchens again?”
Leukos clamped his mouth shut, wide eyes darting away in guilt. Before Nisos could press further, Galen knelt before his younger brother and took his hands in his own. “The North Wind has already given you a powerful Gift.” His tone was reassuring despite the tension etched across his features.“Remember what Mother said? You can’t receive another Gift from the Sea God—that’s not how it works.”
“I wasn’t praying for me,” Leukos admitted, looking down at their joined hands. “I was praying for you.”
Alena’s breath hitched. Even at a young age, Leukos had selflessly wanted to help his brother.
Galen’s grip on his brother’s hands tightened. For a moment, something vulnerable flickered across his face, then his expression hardened. “Don’t worry, little brother,” he whispered fiercely. “One day, you and I will be worthy enough for Megara, and Father will rue the day he dismissed us so easily.”
Alena woke in her bed in Tiryns’ palace. Dawn light spilled through the window, yet the dream of Leukos still clung to her.
It had felt real—too real—a glimpse into his childhood she couldn’t explain.
Was it because she’d witnessed the massacre? Had the North Wind left fragments of his memory lodged in her mind? Or was it his magic seeping into her, binding her thoughts to his?
Something stirred at her back. She turned and found Kaixo curled against her, fast asleep.
Since she’d returned, he had refused to speak to her unless necessary. He was still mad at her for leaving. Mad at her for his mother’s death. Mad at her for everything, it seemed. Yet at night, he still sought her reassuring presence.
