Pulling her shoulders back, she walked on. Carver shouldn’t even be here. Atlantis was her mission.
The walk to the castle was mostly uphill, and Bellanca stopped to catch her breath before she got close enough to be seen by the guards at the outer gate. She took in the imposing structure. She knew the layout from Carver. Main gate. Courtyard. Second entrance. Throne room to the right. Dining and private rooms to the left. Big staircase in the middle.
Beyond that, she wasn’t sure of anything. Eryx was a family of one, so if worse came to worst, she’d just go up the stairs and search for the only rooms that looked occupied. Chances were, she’d find Cleito close to Eryx.
But if all went well, she wouldn’t need to blindly navigate the upper floors of the castle.
The original plan with Carver had involved fighting their way in and snatching Cleito. It might still come to that, but while she’d lain by his bedside as nighttime claimed the island, she’d thought of a different way to get what she wanted.
The certainty she’d been missing earlier settled over her. She donned the harpy helmet and wiggled it into place to clear her vision of the beak-like nose piece and hard cheek sections. Most people would probably be afraid, but she couldn’t find it in her to fear Eryx or anything she might find here. She was angry. She had purpose, and if there was one thing that made her feel secure in life, it was having a clear objective. The only thing that made this task tricky was not wanting to kill everyone who got in her way. The castle guards were her future army—or at least the already trained men in it. No women, of course, but she’d change that, and she wanted as many soldiers as she could inherit from Eryx. She wanted all of them.
Ready to take what she’d come for tonight, Bellanca hid her bag behind the laurel bushes lining the street before stepping out from the shadows. Still wearing the voluminous cloak that grazed her ankles, she walked in the middle of the wide cobbled road, straight toward the castle, unhurried. The half-dozen nighttime guards outside the main gate saw her and watched. She stopped a few paces from them, and they shifted nervously.
She waited, tension crackling in the night air like unseen lightning. She wanted these soldiers sweating before they even heard her voice. She wanted them scared before she moved closer.
Her cloak floated around her like dark fog on the sea. The helmet would reflect the moonlight. She let out just a little bit of fire, an orange-red glow that would line the edges of her body and shine through the helmet’s empty eye sockets. Shemight not look like a real harpy, but she definitely looked like someone’s nightmare.
The guards all grouped together, murmuring uneasily. Weapons out, they backed toward the closed gate. She heard low-voiced prayers.Poseidon. Poseidon.They’d do better to entreather. She was the dangerous one here.
“I am an emissary from Zeus, All Powerful.” Not exactly false. Not entirely true, either. “I require an audience with King Eryx and his oracle, Cleito.” Her voice resonated inside the helmet, deeper. She sounded formidable. Calm. She was both those things, although the calm was the kind held tight in the palm of a hand. If she opened her fingers, she could burn everything down.
The guards huddled in front of the lowered portcullis. Finally, the one who seemed to be in charge nodded. He rapped on the gate, ordering it open. The guards inside the gatehouse complied, and the metal grate slowly lifted.
Bellanca strode forward, passing underneath the iron-tipped teeth of the entryway as it opened. No one tried to touch her. Behind her, the gate clanged to a halt at its pinnacle. She headed straight for the castle entrance across the courtyard. The guards hurried to catch up to her, surrounding her but keeping their distance. She resisted looking around or at any of them. Her measured stride and utter focus ahead would terrify every single one of them. Not giving them a second glance meant she didn’t fear them at all. And she didn’t.
She repeated her exact same words to the next half-dozen guards at the castle entrance. They took less time to react, the gate guards spurring them on and sweating as if it were the middle of the day and not the middle of the night.
The soldiers ushered her into the throne room. Bellanca waited again, still and silent. The only thing she allowed herselfto truly look at was Eryx’s opulent throne in front of the wide, north-facing windows. The dark outline of Mount Olympus blotched the night sky in the distance. Eyeing the high-backed golden chair with its ornate armrests and bloodred cushions, she imagined herself sitting there. Her lip curled. Eryx’s throne was garish, looked uncomfortable, and it wassingle. She’d set a pair of comfortable chairs on the dais, because ruling alone washernightmare.
She didn’t wait long, but the guards made the unfortunate mistake of waking one of Eryx’s in-castle advisors instead of waking the king himself. She’d asked for Eryx—and Cleito—and not the middle-aged man who nervously approached her, hesitant and obsequious. Had he handed the whip to Eryx today? How many times over the years had he hurt or frightened Cleito?
“How can I be of service?” He tilted his head down and to the side, spreading his hands a little as if wanting her to produce a name for herself. He watched her carefully, his cold, snakelike eyes a brownish-olive she recognized as a lesser shade of Magoi green. Bellanca’s eyes had always been a bit bluer than anything else and had fooled more than one Magoi into thinking she wasn’t that powerful. Right now, there was no contest. Only one of them had magic.
She shot forward and grabbed him by the throat. He gasped, his eyes widening. This man would never be a part of her court or her army. Her only use for this mud-eyed weasel was as a deterrent to any guards who might want to play Eryx’s hero.
In the blink of an eye, fire licked her hand, and the stink of burning flesh filled her nostrils. The advisor struggled violently, twisting and trying to break her grip. She held on, burning him until her handprint would mark him for life, and then shoved him away from her.
“I did not summon you.” She deepened her voice, each word resonating ominously beneath her helmet. She circled the advisor, her steps slow and calculated. He huddled on the floor, his head down. But then his eyes flicked up, seething with anger. Withenvy. This man wanted magic back as much as Eryx, and he’d stop at nothing.
She glowed a little hotter, brighter, hate for him and everyone like him boiling inside her. She’d only killed in battle—and she considered it a battle, the day she’d burned down her brother. This was the first time she’d wanted to kill someone just for the sake of ridding the worlds of him.
Before she could do her worst, she pivoted and found the guard who’d seemed to be in charge at the castle entrance. “Bring me King Eryx and his oracle, Cleito.” She’d just used magic. She doubted anyone would try to placate her with another advisor.
Even as he nodded, the guard’s focus shifted to something behind her. It was the warning she needed to whirl and dodge the knife the advisor slashed out at her. In response, she threw out her hand and willed a small pulse of sun-flare magic toward her attacker. It came out mixed with her usual fire and slammed into his face, melting it. He dropped, his head a steaming heap in a cradle of bone on the marble.
Bellanca stared. That wasn’t quite what she’d intended. She’d found the bright thread of her new magic deep inside her, but she hadn’t managed to separate it from the magic she was used to as she called it forward. The added surge threw off her aim. She’d targeted the advisor’s chest. Either way, it was a death sentence, and in the end, an exploded head sent an even stronger message.
The guards in the room raised the alarm immediately. They scattered, surrounding her. Bellanca stayed where she was, careful not to look like she wanted to attack any of them. She’d retaliate, but she didn’t want to hurt anyone if she didn’t have to.
And the king would still come to her. She was sure of it.
Eryx finally arrived—unfortunately with his entire nighttime garrison.
He approached warily, leaving several paces between them. Cleito trailed behind him, half-hidden, her head bowed and her pale arms wrapped around her shivering, too-thin body. Bellanca took in the Chaos Wizard’s long, lank hair, dirty, bare feet, and threadbare nightgown. Shock and outrage hit her, but oddly, it was mostly pride that surged through her like a rush of hot, powerful magic. Cleito had endured, survived. Even while scared and abused and lost in her own head most of the time, sheresisted.
As much as she wanted to stare at Cleito, Bellanca forced her attention to Eryx. He held Cleito’s leash in one hand and his sword in the other. She’d never seen him up close before. Objectively, he was handsome—in a cold, hard way. Chips of ice in his Magoi eyes. A sharp, short beard. High cheekbones. He looked athletic and strong and would’ve been quite a catch if he wasn’t a vicious son of a Cyclops. Just like her brother Galen.
Galen had used magic for terrible things. She had no doubt Eryx would do the same the moment he had the power within him.
