Bellanca’s hands heated, the desire to hone new skills and test her limits crackling inside her. Where had the power come from—this deadly magic that was a hot blast of light rather than blazing fire? She’d never repressed any abilities and had always taken what she had and tried to make it bigger, better, stronger. She was probably too old for any innate magic to be popping out at this point, but a gift from the gods was usually something a person asked for and earned before possibly receiving. She hadn’t asked the gods for anything. She’d just wanted to help Carver.
Someone called for bread from the patio, and she shook herhot fingers out before grabbing a basket of freshly baked rolls off the counter. Dimitri’s cooking was so good it was bringing in new customers, and the taverna ended up full to bursting every day now. Unfortunately, the constant demands usually kept Bellanca too busy to slow down and eavesdrop on what customers were saying. She’d accepted a position at the taverna to put her ear to the heartbeat of the city, but she was getting a weak pulse at best—and running herself ragged for it.
Spiro should’ve hired at least two more people to help with the influx of new patrons, but since none of his staff of three had keeled over from exhaustion yet, he apparently wouldn’t consider it.
At least he’d hired her—and that was before word fully spread about Dimitri’s skills in the kitchen.
The previous cook at Spiro’s died of old age—and probably asphyxiation, considering the working conditions—leaving Lilika behind the counter trying to help Dimitri get plates ready and Theophania about to crack under the pressure of having to serve everyone by herself while her husband munched honey-sweetened nuts, gambled at dice, and chatted with the regulars. All Bellanca had done shortly after arriving in Atlantis was help steady a precariously tilting platter while she waited for her order of… That’s right—fish. At least there was some variety in types and tastes, but there really wasn’t much else on the menu. The next moment, she’d had a job, which she’d definitely needed.
She and Carver had arrived with only the clothes on their backs, the weapons on their bodies, and that fortuitous pouch of royal jewels. After paying up front for a year’s worth of coveted, harborside lodgings, her long-dead mother’s remaining treasures had run out faster than Bellanca expected, and they couldn’t exactly use their Thalyrian coins in Atlantis. She’d melted down what they had with her clandestine magic, and Carver had soldoff the metal for its base value. Once those profits had gone into feeding, clothing, and arming themselves, it was either find employment or turn to thieving.
She’d suggested the latter. Carver rejected the idea.
Now, Bellanca understood that Spiro had protected her that day. She’d been on one of her first forays into the center of Atlantapol without Carver, and she hadn’t yet realized that women didn’t eat outside the home without a male family member. Considering the number of male patrons who’d been eyeing her suspiciously until she suddenly became a server who ate her fishbehindthe counter at Spiro’s, Bellanca wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d been targeted for sacrifice soon after.
Everyone here was always trying to throw someone else’s wife, mother, or daughter under a Cyclops’s boot simply to keep their own wife, mother, or daughter from getting tossed into the sea for Poseidon.
The need to protectownorselfoverotherwas human nature and something Bellanca understood all too well. She’d lived it for most of her life, and it was nauseating to be back in a powerless, waiting position while murderous royals took innocent lives and devious gods moved pawns into place and gambled with the fate of worlds.
Bellanca didn’t want to play her hand in Atlantis until she had the key to rekindling magic, which left her on edge all day, every day as she helped Theophania with the orders coming out of the kitchen. Unlike most men in Atlantis, Dimitri worked like a dog, cooking the orders as fast as they came in and keeping his broad shoulders between Lilika and the atrocious heat coming off the ovens and friers. As the morning rush continued, even beautiful, fresh-faced Lilika started to sweat and wilt as she raced to prepare plates and pass them to her mother and Bellanca over the counter.
Spiro let out a bark of laughter from his tower of cushions, and Bellanca internally scowled. At leastsomeonewas having fun. And at least she had some fresh air, unlike the poor duo in the kitchen. Outside, she could hear snippets of conversations, and minimal gossip was better than none. Right now, someone yammered on about Poseidon.Save us. Save us.She almost rolled her eyes. Why didn’t anyone turn to Zeus for help or forgiveness? He was the one who’d punished Atlantis to begin with.
Maybe an island people just couldn’t think beyond Poseidon. But why hadn’t either god stepped in? Someone very powerful was after Zeus’s throne. War loomed on his doorstep. The Olympian brothers needed allies right now, and all they’d done was sendherinstead of simply giving Atlantians what they wanted—magic and the true horizon.
It wasn’t so hard, especially in return for loyalty. So why the games? Why her? Who was making these decisions? Because she didn’t like them.
Bellanca dropped off more plates, deflecting a lecherous look from a man about Spiro’s age by flashing her ring. The simple band of metal was turning out to be her most useful purchase in Atlantis—along with the dark-brown shawl that barely showed her singe marks.
The man shrugged and turned back to his companions. “Did you hear? Two more taken from their homes last night. Both ancestral Magoi.”
Bellanca slowed her steps, lingering near the table. She bent to pick up fig leaves that had dropped from a nearby tree onto the big, russet patio stones.
“Twelve and thirteen years old, I heard,” another man said.
The last one grunted. “Boys, too. What’s this island coming to?”
Bellanca crushed the leaves in her hand. They startedsmoking, and it took a concentrated effort to keep them from catching fire. Little girls went missing, and it barely merited a conversation. Boys, though. That was a problem.
“One of the parents apparently found gashes on the bedroom window frame. They talked about claws or talons.” The man’s voice lowered so much that Bellanca could barely hear him. She kept her back turned, slowly picking up the last leaf—her final excuse to stay there. “Sounds suspicious.”
“What? Do they think a giant bird stole their kid?” One of them snorted. “Idiots.”
Bellanca straightened and went to collect the next orders, dumping the smoldering leaves into the refuse basket behind the counter.
Some families had been found ripped to shreds—clawed and mutilated—and the kids always disappeared without a trace. Not even a footprint. Oversized talon marks confirmed what she and Carver had been thinking about the recent rash of kidnappings and sometimes murders. Magical creatures—probably harpies like the one they’d surprised in the conspirator’s cave—were on the loose and well outside their usual boundary around Mount Olympus.
Stealing kids from their beds was bad enough, but these kids all had a potential for magic, which always manifested in early adolescence. She’d arrived to spark magic again in Atlantis, and someone was already robbing her of her future Magoi. Was the enemy promising imminent magic and indoctrinating these children to their cause before Bellanca could make her move? If so, they might’ve already gathered a hefty little force somewhere on the island while she still only had an army of two.
These latest victims were boys, but girls had gone missing, too. By her count, that was almost twenty children since she’d been in Atlantis. King Eryx hadn’t reacted so far—too busy withhis own obsessive quest to recover Atlantis’s lost magic—but Atlantians were increasingly nervous and anyone with a kid was downright scared.
The whole thing made Bellanca’s stomach churn. Children were missing, families were frantic, and what if she somehow ended up pitted against these kidnapping victims in order to complete her gods’-given mission for Zeus?
A chill cold enough to douse her internal fire slid down her spine. She hadn’t signed up to battle kids.
A customer got handsy while Bellanca was distracted by her dark thoughts, forcing her to show her ring again as she wove through the tables. The wedding band was her first line of defense, and Atlantian men generally respectedthe ringbecause it meant she was another man’s property. Foot stomping and soup dumping came next, and Carver was right—avoiding them was best.
Hiding her annoyance behind a sip of water, Bellanca eyed all the platters to deliver to the terrace tables. Didn’t these people have jobs to get to? Fish to catch? Wives to harass? At least she was a wife in name only.
