Phoebe froze mid-motion, her hand still in the satchel. Her silver eye flicked to Alena, unsurprised.
“Did you know?” Alena asked. “Did my mother ever mention it to you?”
“No.” Phoebe withdrew a few provisions—flatbread, plums, dried figs—and passed them over. “So, you’re half-sisters then?”
“Apparently.” Alena wrinkled her nose at the plums and set them aside. Figs, however, were her favourite, especially paired with the crumbly goat’s cheese the priestesses made.
Phoebe studied her for a beat, something shifting in her expression. When she spoke again, her tone was gentler. “Does that change how you feel about her?”
“What? No.” The answer came quickly. Half-sisters or not, Katell was her family. Still, the truth rattled her, unravelling everything she thought she knew.
“Good.” Phoebe tore off a piece of flat bread, glancing at the simmering pot. “Amazons weren’t always related by blood, yet we all considered ourselves sisters.” The firelight carved shadows into her face, catching her silver eye which sparkledlike a jewel. “Many of us were orphans or runaways. I grew up in Smyrna and fled to Ephesos when I was ten. The Amazons took me in, and I never looked back. I chose them as my family, and that bond was stronger than anything I’d known before.”
Alena’s heart eased at the words. Phoebe was right—it wasn’t blood that made a family. It was the choice to stand by each other, to protect and care, no matter the cost. And Alena had chosen Katell as her sister long ago. That bond wouldn’t break easily.
Phoebe’s gaze drifted to the fire, lost in memory. She rarely spoke of the Amazons, a fact that had frustrated Alena to no end. She’d had so many questions, still did, and Phoebe had delighted in answering none of them.
“I think I understand now,” Alena said. “San and Kaixo… they’re like family to me, too.”
Ever since freeing San from Bruna’s slave market, they’d grown close. She pictured San singing as they foraged in the forest, and Kaixo—his wild laughter, crooked grin, and stubborn scowls.
Her chest tightened, the ache of missing them blooming sharp. “I can’t wait to see them again,” she whispered.
Phoebe’s lips curved faintly. “So what exactly is troubling you about learning the truth?”
Alena shrugged, leaning her head back against the rock. Above, the night sky stretched wide, thousands of stars twinkling, the moon shining brightest among them. “I’ve been searching for answers about my family all my life. And now… now that I’m closer to finding them, I’m not sure I want to know.”
Phoebe took the pot from the fire, the rich scent of lentils wafting in the air. She scooped some with her bread and took a bite. “That’s probably why that fellow Damocles kept you in the dark. You and Katell are the Rebel Queen’s daughters, andhe was trying to keep you both safe from her enemies. And remember—your mother was married to a Rasennan before she became the Rebel Queen. His murder sparked her rebellion. Maybe Katell was his daughter?”
Alcaros had told her Katell was born after Andrasta had begun the rebellion, so her murdered husband couldn’t have been the father. But Alena, too tired to argue or speculate any further, only murmured, “Perhaps.”
After another dayof picking her way down rocky slopes, where stubborn patches of snow clung to the ground, Alena’s heart lifted at the sight of treetops ahead. Towering pines marked the forest’s edge, where the unforgiving terrain softened into a beaten track.
Birdsong threaded through the canopy, mingling with the murmur of streams spilling down from the heights. They paused beside a glacial pool, deep enough to bathe in, its icy water biting at their skin like both a curse and a blessing.
Phoebe lay stretched out on the rocks, soaking in a brief burst of sunlight breaking through the grey-clustered sky. Her olive skin, so much like Katell’s, was a map of pale scars, most tracing her forearms and legs.
Her bandage lay beside her, drying in the warmth.
Alena had almost seen her without it. Now she understood why.
The socket where Phoebe’s silver Gifted eye had once been was raw with old damage, the skin twisted and ridged, as if carved away by a blade.
The Amazon caught her staring and touched her face lightly. “A Rasennan Legate,” she said, her voice weighted with oldwounds. “It was just after the Battle of Kendrisia. We were hiding on an Achaean island, waiting for the tide to turn, when Parthian mercenaries found us. Captured every one of us.”
Alena stilled. Phoebe did not share stories like this often. Her voice, usually so composed, held a fragile edge that made Alena’s chest tighten.
“I was so angry back then,” Phoebe murmured. “I’d wanted to risk the tide, get out while we still could. But the priestess told us to wait. So we did. And we paid for it. A dozen of us.”
Her brow furrowed, eyes distant.
“My friend, Aella… gods, she was beautiful. Skin dark as night, smooth as silk. Always smiling, always fussing over her teeth—said she wanted them to shine like pearls.”
Phoebe swallowed hard.
“They sold her first. A brothel in Illyria, I heard. But not before they took her eyes.”
Her voice broke. Fingers clenched white against the stone. “I heard her screams. I threw myself against the bars of my cage, cursed them, but they just laughed. They listened to my friend’s screams and laughed. And then they sold us off, one by one, until a legate came for me. Stout man with a temper. He tried to haggle with the mercenaries because he couldn’t afford both eyes, and finally settled for one.”
