The first stone fell short, pinging off the steps of Athena’s temple. The second hit one of the guards on his bronze breastplate. He didn’t so much as flinch.
She swore under her breath.
Flattening herself to the pillar she was hiding behind, she glanced back at the palace, then gazed down at her torn clothing. She had discarded her initial idea of how to distract the guards as too risky, but she looked so terrible it might just work.
Muttering a swift prayer to Hermes, the patron god of tricksters, she ran across the courtyard.
“Help! Someone help!”
The guard’s heads swiveled toward her, and she let the horror of what she’d been through in the last few days pour rivers down her cheeks.
“A man in the palace. He killed a guard then attacked me, he was looking for the queen.” She fell to her knees, sobbing.
Between her fingers, she saw both guards bolt toward the palace. A moment later she was on her feet, pacing up the temple steps.
Stage one was complete. The next would require stealth and patience.
She waited, concealing herself behind one of the broad stone pillars, until the last worshipper left the temple and the doors were bolted shut. Athena’s painted eyes stared down at her as she crept from her hiding place. The stillness of the vast hall sent a shiver down her spine. The mirrored pool was so calm it seemed to capture the moon, emitting its own ghostly light. She desperately needed to wash, but bathing in the holy water would be an unspeakable act of sacrilege.
Each step she took felt clumsy, each breath louder than the last. She didn’t belong in this sacred place, in the presence of a goddess. Even one made of bronze.
Averting her eyes from Athena’s ivory face, she sank down behind the statue’s plinth, and pressed her back into the cold marble. Her body desperately needed sleep, but she was afraid of what dreams would come if she closed her eyes.
Instead, she focused on what would happen next. If the priestesses of Athena were anything like the sisters of Demeter, they would start each day with morning prayers and blessings.
That was when she would strike.
Danae bolted from the temple like a horse stung by a gadfly.
She ran faster than she’d ever done in her life, a pale blue cloak clutched in her fist. People dived out of her way, but she didn’t stop, not even to glance behind her. If Phalerum had taught her anything it was to make damned sure she’d given her pursuers the slip before slowing down.
While the priestesses were occupied with the morning ceremony, she had crept from her hiding place and skulked through the shadows while the novices disrobed. It was all going so well until one of the novices spotted her, and she’d been forced to create a distraction, only just managing to make away with a cloak in the commotion.
After sprinting down the acropolis steps, Danae quickly washed herself in a horse trough in a nearby stable yard, then donned the novice’s cloak. She allowed herself a moment to enjoy the luxurious softness of the material against her skin, then let the flow of people guide her through the city. They were all going to the same place.
From what she’d gathered, there were only two ways in and out of Athens. One was the walled passageway to Port Phalerum, the other was the gate now towering before her. She ducked behind the canopy of an olive seller’s cart and tugged her pale blue hood down over her face. If she was right, Queen Phaedra and the Pythia candidates would pass this way to leave the city.
She didn’t have long to wait.
A block of guards marched down the road, parting the traffic, and through the now clear passage processed several more guards on horseback and two ornate carriages followed by three wagons stamped with the Athenian twelve-pointed sun.
The procession came to a halt, and Danae glanced between the carriages. One must contain the novices, the other Queen Phaedra. She had no idea which was which. Her attention was drawn by a bone-rumbling creak as the city gates began to open. Pulse quickening, she turned back to the carriages.
She had almost reached the first when a pair of hands clamped down on her shoulders. She spun around to face a scowling guard.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I... I’m late,” she blurted. Heart palpitating, she drew herself up. “I’m a candidate.” She held the cloak tightly closed around her tunic, hoping the guard wouldn’t notice her tattered sandals.
“Why aren’t you with the others?”
“I wanted to say a last goodbye to my sister.”
The guard’s eyes narrowed. Danae’s mind raced, searching for anything that might help convince him. Then she remembered the man she’d followed the day before and prayed with all her soul that he was indeed a high-ranking officer.
“I’ll be sure to let my father know how helpful you’ve been.”
He frowned. “Who’s your father?”
