Apollo sat waiting at the field’s edge, tongue lolling. In front of him, a teenage boy gripped a spear, its tip wavering in warning. Behind him, two men dug into the stony soil, each dullthudof the spade ringing in the still air.
The boy paused as they approached, lowering the weapon slightly. His wool tunic was streaked with ash and dirt, and his eyes widened at the sight of Phoebe—leopard pelt over her shoulders, sword at her side, shield slung across her back.
Alena gave Apollo a gentle pat. “He won’t harm you.”
The boy’s jaw tightened. “Tell that to the corpses the wolves have been feasting on since the raid.”
The words hit like a slap.Raid?
Phoebe’s brow furrowed. “What raid?”
“Slavers,” the boy said bluntly, his voice rough with more than just youth.
Alena’s stomach turned to stone. “Slavers?”
“They came in the night, just as the snow started to melt,” a broad-shouldered man with a bearded, dirt-smeared face saidbehind him. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a dark smear across his temple. “They’ve been sweeping the valley, hitting villages with no protection. Taking whoever they can.”
Phoebe’s mouth thinned. “What about Rasennan patrols? The legions? Achaea is an imperial province, its people cannot simply be taken and enslaved.”
The man let out a bitter laugh and spat in the dirt. “Patrols? Those bastards look the other way. Some say the Emperor himself called for more slaves in the stone quarries. Says he needs labourers to build his temples.”
Temples. Stone.
Alena stepped forward, her voice trembling. “Did you see two Non-Humans? A woman and her son?”
The man gave her a long look, then nodded grimly. “They were taken. Like the rest of the villagers. The ones who resisted…” He gestured towards the grave. “We’re burying them now.”
Alena’s breath fled her lungs. The ground seemed to sway beneath her feet.
San and Kaixo were alive, but who knew what horrors they had endured since?
“Where were they taken?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
“We heard the slavers were heading for Dodona,” the man said.
Alena’s heart lurched. She recognised that name. “The sanctuary? Home to the oracle?”
The man shook his head. “Not anymore. The Rasennans dismantled it. Temples, sacred groves—all gone. They’re stripping the land now, working some ancient limestone quarry.”
Alena stared, stunned.
Dodona, once sacred to the Father—King of the Twelve—had been among the oldest sanctuaries in Achaea. Damocles had told her stories of it: a place where heroes sought wisdom and oracles spoke in the rustle of leaves and the whisper of wind. If it was truly gone, no wonder the Achaean Twelve’s power had waned.
She turned to Phoebe, throat tight. “How far is it?”
Phoebe’s jaw set. “Further south. Three days on horseback, at best.”
Alena didn’t hesitate. “We’re going.”
Even if it were a month’s voyage across the stormiest seas, she would go. She had to.
Phoebe’s lone eye flared in warning. “If you think I’m letting you charge into a Rasennan quarry guarded by soldiers, supervisors, and gods know what else, think again. This isn’t Bruna’s arena. Quarries are fortified—watchtowers, barricades, and chained gates. We’d need a small army just to reach the slaves.”
Alena dropped her gaze, heart hammering too hard to think. San and Kaixo were her anchor—her family. She’d already lost Katell. She couldn’t lose them, too.
But Phoebe was right. Rushing in blind would only get them all killed.
She bit her lip, eyes sweeping the charred wreckage. There had to be another way.
