Well after dark, they heard Dione in the stairway. Bellanca felt unexpected panic rise in her chest at the thought of sending the girls back to the life they’d always known—the one that taught them to erase themselves for men and fear each day because it could be their last and was never truly their own.
She gathered them without thinking and spoke low and fast. “You know what happens at the high wall over the harbor every evening. I hope to the gods the day never comes, but if someone ever tries to take you, youfight. Even if you go down, go down with noise.”
She half expected Carver to minimize her warning or soothe nervous feathers again, but when he walked by on his way to open the door for Dione, he lifted his hand and squeezed the back of her neck under the tight knot of her shawl-covered hair. Her eyes widened. His touch was startling, heavy and warm. But the brief, very unusual contact wasn’t a warning. It was understanding and encouragement, and it zinged all the way to her toes.
Chapter 6
Carver could only thank whatever crooked fisherman had supplied King Eryx’s usual daytime throne-room guard with a catch that gave them all food poisoning because it put his entire unit inside the heart of the castle for the first time since he’d joined up.
He prowled the perimeter of the great, marble-columned hall, Eryx in his sights and Bel on his mind. The sooner she burned the son of a Cyclops to the ground, the better. The man kept Cleitoon a leash. For the moment, Carver was sticking to the edges of the room because every time he walked closer to Cleito and Eryx, he growled.
The oracle had barely looked up all day, muttering to herself and jolting every so often as if struck by some foresight she couldn’t escape. She was just a young woman—probably younger than he was—and terrified, constantly curled in on her own body as if that would protect her from the next slap, kick, or vision. Eryx hit her more than once, roaring at Cleito to say something useful, spittle flying from his mouth, and Carver had a serious internal debate about tossing it all to the Underworld and just doing the necessary to get the poor woman away from the king.
He stopped himself. It was hard, but he held back. He didn’t want the oracle to suffer, but this was bigger than one person. Bigger than Cleito. Bigger than him or Bel. This wasa kingdom hanging in the balance, with all the potential for positive change new leadership could bring. This was a War ofGodsin the making—a possible total upheaval of everything they knew—and while Zeus’s mostly absent rule left a lot to be desired, a vengeful god hiding in the shadows and willing to use anyone and their suffering to further a power-hungry agenda wasn’t acceptable, either. Andthatwas what he’d witnessed in Thalyria. It had almost broken the strongest people he knew, had almost wrecked his family. People he loved had almost died, and that was it for him. Cold halt. End of discussion.
Worry for those he’d left behind twitched through him. He shook it off, thinking they were probably in a better place than he was right now, and paced down the throne room again. He wasn’t watching the entrances or the activity in the room aside from what was going on right around Cleito. He didn’t care if something happened here. Good riddance to Eryx if someone, or something, attacked him. Carver could only hope that whatever was stealing kids from their beds would come and shred him to pieces. Unfortunately, it was unlikely. If the kidnappers were harpies, as they suspected, or something else, they were taking children, and Eryx didn’t have any. He probably thought himself invincible anyway.
Eryx fancied himself almost a god, which was right in line with Atlantis’s previous rulers. Carver couldn’t think of much worse than giving a man like him magic. Maybe Zeus was right to prolong Punishment when people like Eryx always managed to sit on the throne.
Half-lost in his thoughts, Carver turned down the darker, western side of the throne room. As opposed to the other three sides with several big, arching windows giving stunning views over the island and ocean basin, this solid wall helped thwart the heat of the afternoon sun. He reached the panel of scrolls he’dpassed three times already and slowed just as he had the previous times, trying to discreetly scan the titles written up the sides. They seemed to be mostly maps and historical documents. Eryx’s family tree was the only scroll open and on display for whoever wanted to read it. His family had ruled for generations—since well before Punishment. Carver leaned in, peering at the parchment. Tiny, largely faded elemental symbols he hadn’t noticed earlier in the dim light had been sketched next to everyone’s name until Zeus eliminated magic from Atlantis. He stopped, his eyes narrowing. Most were water symbols. A few air. No fire. Eryx’s family was full of elemental mages, and they mostly controlled liquids and could pull water from thin air.
The implications set in, further darkening his mood. Bel wasn’t bad with a sword—and more skilled with knives—but he needed to make her better. If she brought magic back to Atlantis and gave Eryx the same water powers most of his ancestors had possessed, her fire might not be enough to beat him. They’d cancel each other out and be left in a physical clash.
Eryx was neither old nor out of shape. The king was in his prime and trained daily, mostly to show off his skills and muscles to his nobles, men and women alike, who decorated the castle gardens and common rooms every day like useless, cut flowers that would eventually fade and get replaced. Bel had real-life battle experience and fought to get the job done, not to show off. She’d also been using her magic—and using it under pressure—for years, while Eryx had never once felt his power simmering in his veins or learned how to wield it. Those advantages weren’t negligible, but would they be enough? The question haunted him as his gaze swept over the multiple water symbols again.
Dexios caught up to him at the ornate and worrisome family tree. Stopping to peruse the open scroll, his friend struck a relaxed pose, but Carver wasn’t fooled. They were all on edgethis close to Eryx. The king was mean and volatile. He wasn’t known for bothering his soldiers, though. Eryx was more of a pick-on-the-weak type, and these days, Cleito was his target.
“Brushing up on your history?” Dex asked. “Or, if you can’t read, I’ll help. It says,Why are you frowning like that when we’re finally inside and out of the burning-hot sun?”
Carver cracked a humorless smile. “Because now I have to look at Eryx. And Cleito.”
Dex glanced at the center of the north wall where the throne dais put Atlantis’s king right in line with Mount Olympus in the distance, albeit a little lower. The teasing grin slipped off his face. “She’s in bad shape.”
That was what they’d been hearing. And it was the gods-damned truth.
Carver started walking again, unable to stop himself from sliding a sidelong look at the king and his seer. He clenched his hands into fists. “If he kills her, that’s the end of his oracle.” And theirs. On top of that, Eryx had dragged her around with him all day, showing off his cruelty and allowing his nobles and advisors to poke, prod, and sneer at Cleito almost as often as he did. One moment they would mock her for her incoherent mutterings and dazedness and the next they would harass her for the clear and precise answers they all so desperately wanted. How was Carver ever going to get close enough to question her about the Shard of Olympus? And even if he did, would she talk to him?
“He won’t kill her.” Walking beside him, Dex shrugged. “He hasn’t yet.”
“‘Hasn’t yet’ is a poor guarantee,” Carver ground out harshly.
Dex flicked a look toward the throne dais, frowning. “It’s hard seeing someone so mistreated. Maybe the hot sunwasbetter. I’d rather sweat myself than sweat for someone else.”
Carver huffed. He didn’t think burying his head in the sandwas the right solution, but he agreed with Dex on one thing: this was hard to watch. “I could always take the heat, but just one day of this seems unbearable.”
Nodding his agreement, Dex murmured, “And who knows how long the new assignment will last.”
Carver nearly groaned aloud. He was finally where he needed to be, and it was awful. At least his whole unit had moved, which kept him and Dex together. They’d gravitated toward each other because, without making it too obvious, neither of them had seemed to buy into the Atlantis around them. At first, Carver had feared a trap. Test the loyalty of the new guy with a false friend. He got it. For the gods’ sakes, he’d done it himself. But as time went by, he’d started to trust Dex. And Dex had introduced him to Silas. Right now, the older man patrolled the far side of the room. The three of them would eventually end up together. They always did.
Making friends had changed a lot for him. Atlantis hadn’t seemed as lonely after that, and constantly fighting with Bel hadn’t rubbed him so raw. He liked Bel’s friends, too, the little family she’d let slip under her skin at Spiro’s. He was amazed at how quickly she’d adapted to them.
As for him, Carver was aware enough to know he missed having brothers. And a father. Dex and Silas couldn’t replace the people he’d left behind, but spending his life bitter about his losses and alone despite the people surrounding him seemed to have lost its appeal somewhere along the line. He’d tried bitter and alone and hated that version of himself. Sometimes it still reared its ugly head, though.
“What’s on your mind?” Dex looked at him from under lowered brows as they prowled the perimeter. “Something’s wrong. I can tell. Is it your wife? Trouble at home?”
Carver’s pulse surged like a rogue wave crashing up the shore.“Why would there be trouble with Bel?”
Dex hesitated. “Well…she doesn’t exactly strike me as easy.”
