“Broken temple. Sacrificial virgin.”
He frowned. “What virgin?”
“Her blood. Her blood is burning.”
“Who’s blood?”Bel’s? This virgin’s?Apprehension knotted Carver’s middle. A trio of guards moved within earshot, and he had to wait until they circled past to question Cleito. She stopped muttering, and he was afraid he’d lost her attention by the time he could talk to her again. “Where’s the key? What’s the Shard of Olympus?”
“Fire in the sky. Broken temple.”
Gods, oracles were impossible. Carver nearly growled in frustration but didn’t want to alarm her. “Cleito, please help me. Help Bel. Where’s the key? Can youseeit?”
She finally looked up, and Carver’s pulse shot off like a lightning bolt straight from Zeus’s mountaintop. “Fire in the sky.” Cleito focused on him, her swirling, worlds-deep, golden-eyed gaze terrifying and infinite.
Great, mighty Olympus.Cleito wasn’t just a seer. She was a Chaos Wizard—and Zeus’s prophet.
“Broken temple.” She stared, seeming to see straight through him. “Her blood is burning. And you’re the flame.”
Chapter 7
Bellanca couldn’t make heads or tails of Carver’s encounter with the oracle. No, theChaos Wizard.They were a rare breed. Seers were an obol a dozen in comparison. There’d only been one Chaos Wizard in Thalyria, which was much bigger than Atlantis. He’d lived in a shack and occasionally spouted prophecies that changed the world.
He wastheoliptos—the one who receives the knowledge of the gods. Apparently, so was Cleito.
Unfortunately for a Chaos Wizard, that meantallthe knowledge, anywhere in space and time. The jumble in their heads was so boundless and huge that it took a god, usually Zeus, pulling forth a specific thread of information for a prophecy to pop out and for it to make any sense.
“Broken temple. Sacrificial virgin.” Frowning, Bellanca dug her bare toes into the sand. After Carver had come to collect her at Spiro’s, they’d bypassed home and headed to one of the great peninsula’s countless little beach creeks that offered privacy and pretty views. The tide was on its way out, which gave them plenty of time before they had to scramble back up the steep hillside and go home. Their rented lodgings bordered the harbor, and neither of them had had the stomach to watch Eryx dump some poor woman over the wall. “But why are you the flame?” she asked, sliding a confused look at Carver.
He shrugged. He sat next to her on the sun-warmed sand,a slight breeze ruffling his tunic and hair. “Maybe she looked at me and sawyou. We’re”—he hesitated, waving a hand back and forth between them—“connected, right?”
Bellanca narrowed her eyes, first on that tanned, sinewy forearm hovering between them and then on Carver. Was that a question? Of course they were connected. Did he think they weren’t?
Her chest constricting, she turned back to the sea. “And ‘her blood is burning’? What does that mean?”
“Probably the fire magic inside you. You’re sparking right now.” He nodded toward her head and hair. “It’s hard to miss.”
She buried her magic a little deeper under her skin. She didn’t need to hide it from Carver, but right now, giving free rein to her unguarded reactions made her feel strangely exposed. “Maybe.” She sighed. “We could speculate from here to the Underworld, but without something more precise, none of what Cleito said really makes sense or tells us anything new that helps us right now.”
Carver picked through the sand and uncovered a pinkish, palm-sized stone. He drew back his arm and tossed it into the water, but it was too small to make a satisfying sound. “‘Sacrificial virgin’ is new.”
Bellanca made a face. “Well, that might be about me, too.”
His whole body swiveled in her direction. “Are you a virgin?”
She stared back at him. Why was he looking at her that way? It made answering hard. “Of course I’m a virgin. When would I have had time for…cavorting in my life?”
His lips twitched. Sliding that piercing gaze to the side, he picked up another stone. “Cavorting?”
She tensed. First he was surprised by what she’d said, and now he was laughing at her? “What doyoucall it then?”
Carver smoothed his thumb over the tide-polished rock. He seemed to weigh it in his hand. His eyes dipped to her mouth. “Making love.” His gaze flicked back up. “Fucking.” Her jaw dropped, and he grinned. “Anything in between.”
Heat washed over her, different from fire or magic. He’d never once been vulgar around her—competitive, surly, horribly quiet, sarcastic and biting—but never vulgar. And… She swallowed. She didn’t hate it.
Clearing her throat, she murmured, “I wouldn’t know.”
“Right.” He cocked a brow, definitely laughing now. “No time.”
“We can’t all find our one true love early in life,” she said in annoyance, instantly regretting her words. Her stomach sank. “Or lose them. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you of…”
