Chapter 1
Pan. Carver narrowed his eyes on the large, cloven-shaped hoofprints leading into the cavern. “That goaty son of a Cyclops was here again.”
The god of the wilds, shepherds, and flocks had just wreaked havoc in Thalyria, the world Carver had left behind. The up-to-no-good god was in Atlantis now, potentially to do the same.
On his right, Bellanca leaned forward and peered into the shadowed entrance. She crowded his sword arm, and he could smell the almond-scented cream she’d been using lately. The nutty-sweet fragrance permeated every corner of the rented rooms they shared. “There are more prints in the sand than last time,” she murmured. “Some even look human.”
Carver flexed his arm between them, trying to create more space for himself. It was hot enough on this godsforsaken island without the Firebringer squashing him. Bel barely moved, probably annoying him on purpose, and he shifted half a step to the side, the still-damp sand silent and a little spongy under his feet. The jumble of prints in the little-used cove couldn’t be more than an hour old. The inexplicable Atlantian tide seemed to be on its way back in again, though, which meant they likely didn’t have a whole lot of time before the water trapped them here with whoever—orwhatever—might still be in the cave.
They stared into the dimness, watching for movement. Carver listened. The dark cavity slicing open the soaring cliffwall below the city of Atlantapol was, as far as they knew, fast becoming a hotbed for seditious behavior. Rebellion brewed on Mount Olympus—and beyond. Thalyria hadn’t been spared. Atlantis wouldn’t be, either.
Carver drew his sword in silence, the leather harness on his back well-oiled and soft. Everything about the situation left a bad taste in his mouth. Gods plotting against gods was nothing new, but they were dragging whole kingdoms into their machinations now. His lips thinned. He’d been born into war and would probably die in one. He’d just expected to die fighting humans, not deities. And the murderous magical creatures gods dragged into the fray… Well, he supposed they were something else entirely.
Bel gave him a questioning look he knew well. He nodded, and she conjured a fireball, growing it in her hand to a strong orange-white glow before tossing the crackling sphere into the cavern. The light illuminated the rough rock walls and empty first chamber before fizzling in the sand several paces beyond the entrance. “Looks like this part’s empty.” And with that, Carver’s partner in arms and perpetual thorn in his side peeled herself off his elbow and strode forward.
He watched her advance, glad she remained cautious for once instead of charging in, hands blazing. They’d explored here before. Over the last six months, they’d explored every accessible part of the island. A lot of it was taken up by the thickly populated, sprawling city of Atlantapol with its steep, winding streets and numerous fishing harbors. Orchards, farms, and pasturelands occupied the western and southwestern sides of the island, where the terrain wasn’t as rugged and rocky. Beach ringed the entire landmass anywhere that wasn’t a cliffside, the strong tides fast and unpredictable—maybe not a surprise, considering Atlantis was trapped in a huge, open-sky trough at the bottom of the ocean.
Carver glanced over his shoulder at the incoming waves, wondering how quickly they’d charge up the beach this time. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it, and as far as he could tell, the rules of nature as he knew them didn’t apply here.
Turning back to the opening in the cliffside, he studied the ground again, mentally taking Bel’s fresh footprints out of the mix. “The tracks go in and out.” He looked back up at her. “It’s hard to tell if anything’s still in there.” Only once had they found one of the cavern’s inner chambers still occupied. They hadn’t found anything else of interest to their mission. Anywhere.
What madeherethe meeting place? Why this cave at the tip of Atlantapol’s great peninsula and not somewhere else? Couldn’t magical creatures find places to gather in the shadow of Mount Olympus? Present on all the gods’ worlds, the imposing peak seemed to rise straight out of the cliffy northern shores of the island and would be the perfect spot to escape notice, since Atlantians carefully avoided it. Here, they couldn’t be farther from Mount Olympus, and this close to the densely occupied coastal neighborhoods of the city, it was almost a given that humans would stumble upon these meeting grounds—maybe even thattheywould. Here they were, after all, he and Bellanca.
Bel ventured deeper into the cave and faded into the darkness except for the slight fiery glow of her hair and the denser coating of flames brightening her hands. Carver followed for a few steps and then hugged the rock wall close to the entrance, waiting in the shadows and watching the outside to make sure no one tried to sneak up on them from behind.
There was no movement in the cove, and he squinted against the hot glare of the morning sun. Shallow fishing waters spread out for leagues around the island. He could barely make out the great ocean wall surrounding them. The tide seemed to havealready made a small leap in their direction, and he frowned. It was either check out the inner chambers now or leave and miss out on whatever information they might be able to gather.
Pivoting, he trailed Bellanca into the gloom. Under most circumstances, he would avoid magical creatures and do his best to get Bel to do the same, but with the traitor Pan clearly up to something, and a god—orgods—plotting an insurrection on Mount Olympus, it was their duty to try to stop whatever was afoot in Atlantis. In a sudden and unexpected twist of fate, he and Bel had somehow turned into the island’s only two soldiers in Zeus’s army.
He came up beside her, and they both studied the sand. “What do you think?” There were more prints than they’d ever seen before, which was both tempting and worrisome. He didn’t want to finally get information only to take it straight to the Underworld.
Bel shrugged, but a daring spark lit her eyes as she turned to him—that magic-bright, blue-green flare that was always seeking out a challenge or an adventure.
Or a fight. She did like to pick them.
Her luminous gaze flicked toward the long tunnel leading to two large chambers deeper under the hillside. “I think we don’t know anything yet and need to keep going.” Fire blazed in her hand, brightening the dark edges of the cavern, and tiny, fast-moving flames sizzled down her long red braid, letting off the scents of baked sugar and hot, ripe cherries in the sunshine.
Carver moved closer without meaning to. Bel’s magic had never smelled in Thalyria. In Atlantis, it made his mouth water.
The strong glow of her magic revealed even more hoofprints at the back of the main chamber, all smudged together.
Her nose wrinkling, she scanned the ground. “I’d say a bacchanal happened here. Dancing?”
“Definitely satyrs.” Carver crouched, using the light she provided to get a better look at the tangle of prints. “And a lot of them.” Zeus might’ve stripped the people of Atlantis of their magic a long time ago, but magical creatures still roamed freely and could cross worlds—unlike humans. The universal peak of Mount Olympus gave them access to all the gods’ worlds.
He studied the tracks. Bel was right. Some did look human. Or at least notunhuman.
Just ahead of him, the only Magoi in Atlantis cocked her head, then shook it, her mouth flattening. “I don’t hear a thing. If anything’s left in here, it’s deep inside, all the way in the back chambers.”
Carver nodded. He stood, and they started down the tunnel that they knew would split and then eventually open into two large, cold hollows under the hillside. Bel’s magic lit the way for them. He was Hoi Polloi to the core and didn’t have magic, but he had a blade he’d trust more than most people any day. Bel kept her weapons at her belt, her hands glowing and ready. He’d seen her burn more than one enemy down to ash—human and monster. Maybe the goat god was next. Carver wouldn’t get in the way. Pan had been nothing but trouble.
With silent communication, they separated to opposite sides of the tunnel, Carver moving left and Bel moving right so as not to disturb the jumble of prints in the middle. More prints seemed to go in than out, and the persistent prickle on the back of Carver’s neck told him they probably weren’t alone in here.
“Stay behind me,” he whispered, the dull gleam of his sword pointing them toward where the underground passageway branched off in two directions.
The sound of derision that left Bel’s mouth could’ve won a trophy. “Stay behindme.”
“In Atlantis, men take the lead.” Neither of them werestrangers to prejudice, but in Thalyria, it had been about magic. Atlantians lost their magic and leaned hard into another way to discriminate. “Especiallyhusbands.”
