“You are in here, so clearly some people do.” Her sister tapped her fingers against a tattered journal she held in her lap while herpsychí, shrunken to the black cat form, circled near her legs.
“I am on official business for Alexander.” Thalia held up the piece of paper. “Apparently something important is in one of his journals here.”
“And that is the same reason I am here.” Dafne held up a similar piece of parchment, extending it toward Thalia. The combinations on the letter were inked in the same script as hers.
Δελφ0327
Δελφ1259
“Where did you get this?” Thalia questioned moving closer to pluck the letter out of her sister’s spindly hands.
“Dimitris asked me to help him. Apparently these journals are in theKoreátos Glóssaand I had mentioned to him on the ship that I was fluent.” Dafne cocked her head toward the table, where a second book lay open.
No one had asked Thalia if she knew theKoreátos Glóssa, as if she too was not from where the ancient language first took its roots. A language that had slowly faded from existence over the years since the Grechi rose to power. It was rare for anyone alive today to be able to read it, let alone speak it, but their parents had taught them before they were sent to Delphine. Both Dafne and Thalia continued their learnings while serving on Delphine, despite protests from the head priestess. Unlike theElliniká Glóssa,the language of Thalia’s ancestors was not banned under penalty ofdeath, merely washed away like a changing tide, deemed unusable in their craft.
Pulling out the empty chair across from Dafne, Thalia slid down, flipping the journal around. Her fingers traced the lines of the open page where the words depicted Ander’s time in Hespali, his aunt’s kingdom. Most of it seemed normal, boring even, describing the trade routes that Avra brokered and records of ships that made port there. Most of it except one line, scribbled in barely legible ink, blurred by the smudge of a hand or worn over time.
You will find it there, hidden deep within the mazes of the Port of Hespali.
Thalia turned back a few pages, then forward, scanning for any other mention of a maze, or whatitmight be. There was nothing, no trace of a connecting phrase or description.
“Am I reading this incorrectly?” she whispered to herself, though Dafne responded.
“No, I have translated the entire journal and there is not one other mention of a maze, nor of a hidden object. It’s strange too—the inflection of this script is similar but doesn’t match the other journals. Someone else wrote this particular line.”
That wasn’t possible. The assortment of journals that were kept in this part of the restricted section were Alexander’s and his alone. Every other book was written with that same harsh curve of his script and was bound with the same leather and black singed combination on the spine. From what Thalia knew, she was the only one that resided in Skiatha that studied theKoreátos Glóssa, and it was very clearly printed with those distinct characters.
“Maybe something startled Alexander as he was writing, or perhaps he just had too much to drink and confused some of thecharacters or the order. Did you have a chance to look through the other journal?” she asked Dafne, who proceeded to slide the other book across the table. Dafne sighed, twisting her mouth to the side. “There’s nothing of interest in that one either. It is just notes about the King of the Olympi, Zeus. It details out his powers, where his temple used to be. I’m not sure how that is connected at all.”
“No—it doesn’t appear to be.” Closing the book, Thalia went in search of her own assigned combination.
Hours went by scanning every stack in the crystal dome, coughing every time she pulled one out, scattering dust about, but the particular journal Alexander had sent her to retrieve did not seem to exist in any of the nine circular rings of shelves.
Tomorrow she would return and comb through each and every journal once more, just in case she’d missed it or reversed the order of the combination. The warded room did not let you leave with any of the originals—unless of course you were Alexander, but there would be no need for him to send her to transcribe a version if he already had it.
It had to be here.
Chapter Thirteen
Dimitris
Dafne was beginning to get on his nerves. Not in a bad way exactly—but the girl was more easily distracted than herpsychí,who seemed to continuously chase after every speck of dust that floated by or glimmer of light that cast a beam on the wall. She had knocked on his door the prior night and when he reached the entryway, the raven-haired seer was nowhere to be found, but a folded up note asking him to meet her in the training ring the next morning was lying outside his door. So, he made his way over to the attached gymnasium where the men and women from the barracks trained each day and sat along the wooden benches by a wall stacked with weapons for around an hour before Dafne waltzed in.
She was dressed to impress—impress any warrior that fought on the mats that day. Familiar black training pants stretched over her thighs and a slim-fitting, burgundy cotton shirt clung to her arms and stomach. The color choice accentuated Dafne’sdaimon-likeeyes, and she prowled across to Dimitris like the predator she was. That was where any poise or grace stopped.
Ten times—ten times he tried to get her to focus on his movements, starting with a simple dodge and block set that he had practiced with many young soldiers before. It was supposed to ease her into footwork and focus. For a moment she would follow along, and then another pair would begin training on the mat next to them and her head would whip to where the blood began to spatter from noses and lips. Her eyes would flare and she would flash a terrifying smile, then Dimitris would cough and her attention would turn back to him with a not-so-apologetic glare.
“You realize that you won’t be able to land a blow like that if you don’t learn the basics first,” Dimitris groaned as yet again Dafne spun away, this time to watch a few shirtless men stop to take drinks of water.
Women. How typical could they be?Wasn’t Dafne supposed to be avoiding men like that after what she went through? Or perhaps Thalia underestimated her sister’s resilience. Maybe if he took his own shirt off, she would focus on less of her surroundings and actually train.
“I know enough about fighting. I thought you would help me with moves like that”—she pointed at a man and a woman using very advanced hand-to-hand combat tactics on a mat across the gymnasium—“notwhatever dance this is.”
Running his palm over his face, Dimitris shook his head. These two sisters would be the death of him. They did what they wanted, when they wanted, and had little affinity for reason.
A long sigh escaped his lips. “You saw the way I trained the men on theAphrodite, this is no different. You are the one who asked me for help.”
“Technically, my sister recommended I train with you, but now I am bored.” Her deep-red lips fell into a pout and she folded her arms.
