“Of course she will be.” Her mother did well to keep the anger out of her voice. But Danae could tell from the pulsing vein in Eleni’s temple that she, too, was furious.
“Father,” Philemon took half a step forward, his eyes still firmly downcast, “I want to help search.”
“It’s a waste of time.”
Philemon mustered a glance at his father. “Please.”
Thaddeus sighed and rubbed his face. “Where have they looked?”
“They’ve searched the fields around the temple and our village. They moved on to Sangri this morning.”
Thaddeus nodded. “We’ll take my ship around to the other side of the island. See if anyone there knows anything.”
“Thank you.” Eleni’s hands twitched.
Thaddeus responded with a gruff “huh” that jarred Danae to the back of her teeth. If they didn’t leave soon, she was afraid she’d say something she’d regret.
“We’ll find her,” Eleni said to Philemon. “And the two of you will be married before you know it.” Her mother presented a brave mask, but Danae sensed the reassurance was really for herself.
The boy shot Eleni a weak smile.
“Come, son. We’ve got work to do.” Thaddeus placed a hand on Philemon’s shoulder and steered him out of the yard.
Danae watched them walk away along the path.
“What a bastard.”
“Thank the gods the son is nothing like the father,” Eleni muttered. “I pity his poor mother.”
Danae looked at her palms and the rows of crescent moons imprinted by her nails.
“Ma, what if Thaddeus is right?” She hesitated. “Do you think Alea has joined the Missing?”
“Listen to me,” her mother said with the heat of a newly forged blade. “Your father will find her. We just have to be patient.”
Danae nodded under her mother’s fierce gaze. All they could do was wait.
It was the blue hour. That quiet time between night and day, when the moon fades before the sun has risen, and the sky belongs to no one.
Danae ran down to the beach, an empty pail swinging in her hand. Normally, she’d never be sent out of the hut alone, but she couldn’t sleep, and her mother had grown tired of her relentless pacing, so sent her to “do something useful.” In this case, collect brine for the cheese they made from Mopsus’s milk. She was glad. If she spent any more time waiting in the hut, she would lose her mind.
She slowed as the dirt track gave way to white sand. The itch of the grains between her toes was a familiar comfort. This was the beach she had grown up on. It was in these waves she’d learned how to swim and caught her first fish. This was her true home.
She broke into a sprint, the pail bumping her side. She didn’t have long and would have to make every moment of freedom from her mother’s supervision count. As soon as she reached the rocks she began to climb. Pail slung over her shoulder, she clambered the well-worn route, over rock pools she’d plundered as a child, up onto the shallow cliff. Once at the top, she padded across the craggy surface until she could see the concealed cove below.
She dropped the pail with a clatter, pulled her tunic over her head and slipped off her sandals. A shiver of anticipation sang through her body as she dived. Sleek as an arrow, she sliced into the sea, the cool water drawing the tension from her sun-bronzed limbs. She needed this. As much as she wanted to be at home when news of her sister came, the sea was a salve to her racing thoughts. Besides, she wouldn’t stay long.
She surfaced, took a big gulp of air, then dived under again.
The cove held a secret. She liked to think it was one that belonged only to her.
She opened her eyes. The salt water burned but she was used to it. Then the ruins came into focus. She swam down, past swathes of mottled seaweed to the long-forgotten stones.
It must have been a special place. Many of the slabs were worn smooth with the grind of the tide, but some still had markings on them. She swam, following the circular layout, to her favorite stone. It was almost as tall as she was and stuck out of the seabed like a lone tooth. Carved upon it was a tree, its branches bowed with fruit mostly erased by the ocean. She stretched out a hand and traced the groove of its trunk.
There was something about the image that fascinated her. Perhaps the stones had once been part of a temple. Probably constructed to honor Poseidon, God of the Sea.
She flattened her hand against the carving.
