“Not lesser people.” Lilika frowned. “Those brothers and husbands and fathers need us. We’re important to them.”
Bellanca held back a snort. “Important free labor.”
“You make good wages,” Lilika instantly pointed out.
Ugh.This wasn’t going as planned. “We only know Atlantis,”Bellanca said. “Maybe it’s different in other places. And what happens when you get to the Underworld? More of the same? Why? Punishment—and only for Atlantians—can’t possibly extend to there. Todeath. I just can’t believe it’s like this in all the gods’ worlds.” Sheknewit wasn’t. A queen ruled Thalyria. Bellanca had led armies and gone on vital, world-changing quests. Atlantis was a kick in the teeth.
“I agree with Bellanca,” Dimitri said as he added more wood to heat the clay oven for another round of baklava. He brushed off his hands. “But a woman who stands out here is a target, which is why no sane man in a family will let that happen and no sane woman wants to try.”
“A vicious cycle,” Bellanca agreed around the last of her food. The combination of dry nuts and sticky honey made talking with her mouth full more challenging than usual. It was a bad habit anyway. She’d started doing it as a way to reject her royals-must-strictly-observe-court-etiquette-but-go-ahead-and-mass-murder-anytime-you-feel-like-it background, but it had quickly turned into an uncouth tendency she couldn’t seem to shake. Carver hated it. Admittedly, his irritation lessened her motivation to correct herself. She liked watching him go up in metaphorical flames.
“It’s been this way for as long as anyone can remember.” Lilika glanced fondly at her father as he held court from his mound of cushions under the high, thick grape arbor, his arms spread wide and his smile even wider. “It’s the only protection we have.”
“Right.” Bellanca nodded. There was no in between—except being even more likely to go headfirst over the city wall in a tragic attempt to placate a god who probably wasn’t even listening.
“I think times might be changing, though,” Lilika added, thatshy smile back again as she carefully avoided meeting Dimitri’s eyes. “I can smell it on the tide.”
“Really?” Bellanca sniffed the air. “All I smell is brine and inequality.”
Dimitri snorted so hard he choked on fish smoke. Lilika grinned and handed her the last piece of baklava. Bellanca cut it into three portions and popped one into her mouth as she grabbed two orders and headed back outside to help Theophania again. The cooler air, while still hot, slapped new energy into her soul.
Or maybe that was her friends, giving her back pieces of what she’d given up the day she walked down a one-way path to Atlantis.
Being at Spiro’s was starting to feel like having a new team—somewhere to belong and where she might be needed. This team couldn’t replace the companions she’d left behind in Thalyria, but they were different from what she was used to and easy to be around.
As they worked, Spiro gathered admirers, king of the restaurant. Customers came and went. Fish got eaten. Bellanca wasn’t unused to hard work, just different work, and she couldn’t say she hated her life in Atlantis—apart from the constant threat of human sacrifice.
She smiled to herself, drawing curious but not threatening gazes. She even had plenty in common with her new friends, including a past completely without trauma. With them, she didn’t have a murderous royal family and a legacy of letting horrific things happen before her eyes for fear of even more horrific things happening if she protested. She didn’t have the nightmarish memory of an evil queen taking over her mind and making her try to kill everyone around her, including Carver. And her battle scars were all hidden under the simple, plain dressshe wore where no one could see how many there were or how deeply they’d marked her.
Bellanca had learned something about herself since walking through that magical gateway. She was a natural storyteller. Or maybe a natural liar. She didn’t really care, as long as she could give herself loving parents who’d tragically died of a fever, an exasperating but fair and responsible husband with whom she’d recently moved to the big city from a farm on the far side of the island, and zero worries other than a potential push over the high wall of Atlantis in service to king and island.
The new history she’d invented for herself made it easier to keep her temper in check when she really couldn’t afford any accidental flare-ups.
She worked hard for the rest of the day with barely a moment to chat in the kitchen. Her friends supplied her with bites to eat to keep her going, Spiro waddled over surprisingly fast to swat away a group of off-duty soldiers who’d had one too many drinks and weren’t respectingthe ringas they should, and Theophania treated her like a second daughter.
As usual, Carver came to collect her and her wages before sunset, his guard shift over. He took the customary and necessary quarter hour to make conversation with Spiro. Then, like everyone else—some from windows and balconies and some from street level—they watched King Eryx tow the day’s sacrifice through the streets of Atlantapol, him in a horse-drawn chariot and the sobbing, pleading woman stumbling along behind it. The cheering and jeering from Atlantians nearly sent Bellanca up in flames, but just when she was about to experience an incendiary incident, Carver squeezed her hand.
He didn’t say a word when she accidentally burned him.
Chapter 4
Sitting back in his chair, Carver contemplated the woman across from him. They’d barely been awake for an hour, and Bel had already made him both fume and laugh more times than he could count. Why was that combination so addicting? He felt like a glutton for punishment, and yet he couldn’t tear himself away. The fact that he was even in Atlantis proved it. The highs were too high. But the lows were damn low. And now there was an added complication. Sometimes, when she walked across their living room in her bare feet and nightgown, his mind actually tricked itself into thinkingwife.
Heat spread through Carver’s middle. He cleared his throat.
Bel shot him a wary look. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
His pulse gave one quick surge. Roughly, he said, “Like what?”
“It’s hard to describe.” Her eyes narrowing, she cocked her head. “It’s different.”
“Try.” He wanted to know what she was thinking. It usually wasn’t what he expected, which was half the fun. He reached for an apricot from the platter between them and took a bite as he waited for her to spit out whatever was in her head.
Finally, she said, “Like you wish I could magically produce lamb stew instead of flames.”
A laugh burst from him along with some apricot juice. Itdribbled down his chin. “I would kill for lamb stew right now. I’m losing my appetite for fish.”
Bel tossed a cloth at him. “Didn’t anyone teach you manners?” She grabbed a piece of bread and chewed with her mouth open.
