“Quiet!” Amalia yelled, and an unnatural silence swept over the entire amphitheater. All one could hear was the echo of her solitary word.
She was respected—terrifying, but respected.
Every eye in the stands narrowed in on Dimitris. Men and women waited for him to say, what—some inspiring speech about victory and dying by sword to enter the great rolling hills of Elysium? He had no motivational speech planned. Most would die, or knew someone intimately who would. The rest would surely be injured whether it be physically with scars they bore for life across their flesh and bones, or the other kind of scar. The one that burrowed deep in your soul like a wraith, tormenting day in and out.
Dimitris cleared his throat and composed the most eloquent thing he could think of.
“I do not have much to give you all today—I am sure that does not ease your minds nor your quaking hands. As many of you have learned, Hades has risen, already sparking his war on the smaller isles and although we have not been called to battle yet, in time we will. For years now, this isle has been protected by thewards of my father and uncle, shielding its people from the horrors and torment that lay beyond. It is not lost on me—nor Alexander—that you may not want to fight. That it is easier to stay here and live rather than bleed for those who did nothing to protect you for years. You are refugees of the horrors Edmund and Khalid have inflicted on our seas, on our homelands and it is for that reason that you must rise! The Olympi forsook us, but the Grechi will not. So stand with us, brothers and sisters. Fight for our freedom. Fight for liberation. Fight for peace!”
A roar went off throughout the amphitheater, mixing with the clacking of swords against shields, boots on the ground, fists against chests. The melodic war cry was so loud it sent the birds scattering skyward from their nests in the trees for miles and wolves howling from the forest floor below.
Freedom. Liberation. Peace.The three words were chanted over and over until voices began to go hoarse and Dimitris lowered his fists from the air.
One voice, however, did not quiet. Sebastian stood in the crowd, a few rows back from the stage, his face drawn and eyes narrowed. Even with the early morning light around him, a darkened cloud seemed to hover, sharpening his features. “And we are just expected to followyou? A man we have known for merely a week? You think you can waltz into our home and demand our sacrifices for the good ofyourpeople? I will not. And neither will my soldiers.”
A low murmur weaved its way through the stands as men and women alike looked side to side, seeing if their compatriots agreed with Sebastian. This gods-damned old-flame of Thalia’s was beginning to be a real thorn in Dimitris’s side. He was too brazen, and an army filled with brazen men was never successful. Dissentwould weave its way through the ranks, eating away at every member until, eventually, soldiers would choose a side. It had to be stopped, cut off at the head, otherwise the Skiathan elite would fall.
“You already have a commander,” Dimitris called out to the crowd, and Amalia straightened at the clear nod to her rank and reputation. “I do not wish to lead your soldiers, I have my own army that reports to me back home on Nexos. But Iwilladvise you, as I was sent to do by my brother. The world of Odessia is at a turning point—one where we no longer have the luxury of standing aside while others take the blow for being smaller or weaker. Nexos has long stood behind our own wards, protected from the wickedness of the kingdoms around us, yet when we were called to action, we rose to the cause. Protecting those who cannot protect themselves is not a privilege, it is not a duty we must partake in. Were some of you not once slaves? Poor? Beaten? Abused? Do you wish that upon the rest of this world now that you have managed to escape thedaimonsthat plague it? We are no longer fighting for power amongst ourselves. We are fighting for life! And I pity those who cannot see that.”
Sebastian spit toward the ground where Dimitris stood, though made no further comments. Anger rose deep in Dimitris’s bones, swirling about in his blood. The same incessant buzz that came with the need to shift—to lean into his primal nature to protect, to kill. That man deserved to be taught a lesson—for the way he treated women, for how he stood against his own commander. But it was not time for that. In and out, Dimitris breathed, counting in fours until the urges inside him subsided, until he could think clearly again.
Turning toward Amalia, he removed his sword from its sheath, holding it pointed down to the ground, bowing behind it. “The men and women of theAphroditeare at your disposal—for training, supplies, or any other way you deem fit—until we are called to the battle front.”
In a similar fashion, Amalia drew her sword, though she pointed it under Dimitris’s chin, lifting it up so their eyes met. “You need not bow before me, Prince. I am not royalty, only a fellow leader of a people who wish desperately for safety and liberation from the horrors the Olympi once wrought upon our lands. We accept your aid with our utmost gratitude.”
Cheers rippled through the crowd once more and it was clear that the words Amalia spoke were some sort of law. They had a long way to go before the battles—at least Dimitris hoped so. For now they would wait, preparing for the wrath Hades may rain down upon them.
Chapter Sixteen
Thalia
The supply room in the barracks was full of chattering soldiers, all with a bit more spark in the way they moved following Dimitris’s speech. Who knew the prince could speak such eloquent and inspiring words? And for a cause he recently thought to be foolish and unnecessary, no less.
Had it taken the missive from Alexander to inspire him? Or had it been his proximity to these very soldiers who had already fought tooth and nail for their freedom once and would not let it be stomped away again? Or perhaps, even, it was her? Perhaps he wanted to fight for a world where women’s lives weren’t gambled away like gold or cattle.
The forges had run through the night the past week, in attempts to make enough weapons that when they were called to the isles they could supply more than just the Skiathan men and women. Even with the additional work, they were running low on iron and bronze. Every unneeded pot and even some of the older, more worn armor was melted down and crafted in the molds to make more of the double-edgedxiphe. Rocks were collected and polished for spears and arrowheads, and the women who were not trained as soldiers spent their time fastening each weapon together.
Now, all of the weapons—all except the soldiers’ personal items—would be transported to the northern shore of the isle where they would be loaded onto the Skiathan fleet, ready to set sail as soon as they were called upon. She would assist a small group with the transport. Dimitris was supposed to help as well, but the prince was nowhere to be seen—most likely being questioned or praised by the Skiathan legion after that speech. No doubt Amalia would be the first to sing his praises, although she usually went for the brutish men like Sebastian rather than someone as princely and proper as Dimitris. Not that Thalia would be jealous if she did—it wasn’t as if the prince was hers to claim.
This does change things for me.
How many more times could Thalia ponder those words before they made her feel something other than distrust and ungodsly fear. Because if she let him in—if she truly fell into the abyss that was his love, his soul, his everything—and then he took it away, what would she have left? She would once again be the fool that let a man control her emotions. Led her on to leave her face down in the dirt.
And Thalia Aremanties was no fool.
Not anymore.
It was only lust. It had to only be lust. Dimitris was just too caught up in emotion to realize it.
Picking up a linen carrier, Thalia moved to the table wherexiphewere stacked as high as she could see. One in particular, though, caught her eye. Next to the pile of swords, a singularxiphossat mounted on a wooden frame. As she reached toward it, the sword seemed to glow with an iridescent lavender hue, reflecting sunlight at dusk despite the windowless room. A peaceful melodic hum filled Thalia’s ears before it was cut short by someone speaking.
“Thank you, Thalia, for volunteering your time here.” Cal’s voice carried into the room as Thalia felt him approach behind her.
Spinning around, Thalia almost knocked over the weapon from its holder. “Cal, I didn’t realize you were assigned this post as well. I thought you would be at the docks helping with repairs.”
Storms had raged in Skiatha for the past month, Thalia was told. Many of their ships required maintenance that would be swifter if the God of Craft was there to assist. Cal leaned in toward thexiphos, picking it up and inspecting the delicate scrawls of theElliniká Glóssathat lined the bronze blade. Running his finger over the edge of the blade, Cal drew a small bit of blood, letting it absorb into the metal.
“I do plan to travel to the docks shortly, but I wanted to make sure you received your gift before I made my way out there. Think of it as an early present forHaloa. I don’t want anyone to think this beauty is for them—not that the sword would allow it.” Outstretching the blade to Thalia, Cal knocked his chin forward, beckoning her to pick up the blade.
