“Of course you have,” cut in Olympia. “Or you wouldn’t be here.” She was still eyeing Danae with suspicion. “They used to only let daughters from the best bloodlines be candidates. They must be getting desperate.”
Danae’s cheeks flushed. Olympia would probably faint if she found out she was actually sharing a carriage with a fisherman’s daughter.
“The current Pythia isn’t from nobility,” said Lyssa in her high, reedy voice. “She’s the daughter of a silk merchant.”
“Shut up, Lyssa.” Olympia folded her arms and stared out of the window.
The Pythia was the priestess who translated the prophecies of the oracle. It was the most sacred appointment in all of Greece. There had been only one Pythia in her lifetime, but Danae knew she was chosen from a selection of virginal novice priestesses, sent from all the major cities.
“Have you ever had a vision?” Dimitra leaned forward.
In her mind’s eye, Danae saw the tree sprouting from Alea’s heart, its branches lowering a golden apple toward her.
She was spared answering by a deep grating sound. The girls scrambled to the windows. The city gates were closing behind them.
Danae sat back and for the first time since arriving in Athens, felt like she could breathe freely. She’d done it. She was on her way to Delphi. Her hand went instinctively to Alea’s brooch.
“The Pythia must be sick,” said Dimitra. “Why else would they be gathering novices to replace her? She can’t even be forty yet. Surely it isn’t her natural time to pass into the Underworld?”
“What would happen if she died before a successor is chosen?” asked Danae.
Dimitra shrugged. Even Olympia didn’t have an answer.
The girls lapsed into silence, and for a while Danae watched the open plains and patches of forest roll past. Soon tiredness weighed heavily on her. She tried to stay awake but, lulled by the rocking motion of the carriage and the soft embrace of the pillows, her eyelids drooped, and she joined her companions in sleep.
Danae woke to the jolting motion of the carriage coming to a halt. The light was fading. She must have been asleep for hours. She looked out of the nearest window and saw rugged hills sloping away from the road. The terrain was even sparser than before, with only the occasional tree appearing between tufts of rough grass and cracked, dusty earth.
There was a knock on the carriage door, then it creaked open. A guard leaned in and placed a tray of food onto the cushions between them, followed by a jug and four cups.
Danae stared. The tray was laden with figs, a bowl of honey, cured meats, cheeses and sweet cakes. It took all her restraint not to shovel everything into her mouth at once. Instead, she forced herself to mirror her companions and pick daintily at the meal. Days of hunger roared inside her, nearly drowning out the taste of the first few bites. She dunked a fig into a pot of honey, then groaned with pleasure as the sweetness burst over her tongue. Dimitra laughed and passed her a cup of water. She drained it in one.
“You look familiar.” Lyssa was staring at Danae. “Have we met before?”
“No, I don’t think so,” she replied in what she hoped was a nonchalant tone.
Lyssa shrugged. “Maybe you’ve just got one of those faces.”
“Well, common people do all have a look,” said Olympia.
Danae fantasized about grabbing Olympia’s blond hair, dragging her out of the carriage and rubbing her face into the dirt.
“I think it’s a good thing Carissa’s here,” said Lyssa. “The new Pythia should be chosen on talent, not birth.”
Olympia snorted. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Next, you’ll be saying we should choose our kings. Ridiculous.”
“Why not? Father says Theseus is running Athens into the ground.”
“Careful,” Dimitra placed a hand on Lyssa’s arm and glanced at the door. “You shouldn’t repeat things like that, ever. You could get your father in trouble.”
There was another knock. Lyssa twitched and looked worriedly at Dimitra who squeezed her hand.
The guard opened the door. “I’ve been instructed to escort you to the, ah—” he cleared his throat “—toilet facility.”
One by one they stepped down from the carriage. Their procession had pulled in off the road for the night. The other carriage was ahead of theirs, and the three wagons stood behind them.
“What are the wagons for?” asked Danae.
Olympia laughed. “Gold of course, for the treasure house.”
