As if hauled up from the depths of the earth itself, a sleek shadow surged upward, its massive jaws snapping open as it broke the surface. The sea serpent’s scales glistened as it rolled through the waves, its ridged back bristling. Water sheeted off its body as it coiled forward with eyes dark and gleaming with hunger.
My breath seized. It was the Skylla, the same monstrous shape that had torn at our hull days ago, dragging men screaming into the sea. The same nightmare I thought we had barely escaped. And now—it was here, not wild at all, but bending, bowing to Theron’s call.
Bastard.I knew he had chosen to let it attack.
A roar followed and the ocean convulsed as another vast shape rose out of the water. Its hide was mottled gray and black and barnacles crusted across its ridges. Eyes like lanterns glowed in its massive head. It screamed, the sound shaking the very cliffs, and the Sidonians faltered, their formations crumbling as they dropped their spears.
“What is that?” I whispered as Roz stirred beneath my chiton, its small body tightening. The ribbon-tail slid against my skin, and for a moment it felt less like a creature searching for comfort and more like a soldier bracing for a command … poised, alert, ready to strike.
“The Cetus,” Theron said proudly, like he was introducing me to his pet bird.
Menelaus’s laugh cracked beside me. “The old sea-wolf,” he said, triumph swelling in his voice. “They swore it was Poseidon’s punishment, but now it’s mine. And it bends to Sparta.”
I could only stare as the monster hauled itself from the surf. Massive clawed limbs struck the sand, gouging trenches as it drew its vast body forward. Each step shook the beach, the weight of it crushing shields and bodies alike beneath its bulk. Its barnacled hide glistened in the light, water streaming from its scales in rivulets.
Theron wasn’t done yet. He moved a hand through the air lackadaisically, and tentacles lashed out, each one thick as a mast. They slapped down upon the beach, crushing men beneath their suckered grip. I didn’t need anyone to name thismonster. The Karybdis was a primordial force that even the gods had tread lightly around. It heaved itself into view, a mountain of muscle and eyes and writhing limbs. Its stench, a foul mix of brine and rot, rolled across the deck. Menelaus gagged, jerking his head aside, one meaty hand clamping over his beard as though that might block the reek.
Theron rolled his eyes, and his lips bent in faint disdain. “Gods forbid war should smell unpleasant,” he muttered, as if the sight of a king retching bothered him more than the monsters tearing the beach apart.
Spartans and Sidonians alike froze.
I could scarcely believe my eyes. Three monsters, stories, nightmares, gods of the deep, were on the beach in front of me. And Theron was commanding all of them.
My gaze tore to him. Fear spiked in my chest as I realized once again how powerful he was.
It seemed to never end.
My gaze snapped to Menelaus, searching his face for even a flicker of concern over the display of power before him. But there was nothing. He was only wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes filled with a greed that made my skin prickle.
Theron’s sigils were still glimmering faintly on his skin, his expression maddeningly casual, as if directing nightmares cost him nothing at all.
As if he felt my stare, he turned his head—and winked.
I scowled. Gods help me, he was enjoying this.
The Hydra shrieked, forcing my attention back to the beach. Its heads thrashed as the creatures closed in around it. The Karybdis’s tentacles snapped two necks like reeds, slamming the writhing heads against the cliff face until bone cracked and ichor sprayed. The Cetus lunged, its jaws seizing another head, tearing it clean from the body and thrashing it into the surf. The Skylla surged low, coiling up the Hydra’s trunk, its teeth ripping flesh with a frenzy that left the beast screaming.
It ended as quickly as it began. The Hydra writhed and staggered, collapsing beneath the weight of them. Its lifeless heads soon sank into the red foam.
And then the feeding began.
The Karybdis’s tentacle swept across the beach, plucking Sidon’s soldiers as if they were dolls. Screams shredded the air as men vanished into its maw, their shields tumbling uselessly across the sand. The Cetus stalked along the shoreline, snapping up those who tried to flee, their pale faces disappearing in a froth of teeth and blood. The Skylla darted through the shallows, its jaws snapping down on stragglers as their comrades stumbled over each other to escape.
One Spartan screamed as a tentacle coiled him by mistake. The crunch was sickening, the body gone in an instant.
Theron arched a brow. “Oops,” he muttered, as if he’d knocked over a cup of wine instead of loosing nightmares on two armies.
Menelaus only laughed, drunk on the terror of the soldiers and the triumph unfolding before him. He threw his arms skyward as though he were even now demanding Olympus take note.
“This is Sparta’s mercy!” he roared. “Let Sidon learn it. Let everyone hear it. Sparta is unstoppable. Our kingdom will burn the seas, the skies, the earth itself—whatever it takes to reign!”
The words hung heavy in the salt-thick air, daring the heavens to answer.
I glanced at Theron. For a heartbeat, something flickered in his gaze, strange and glinting. Then he felt my eyes and smoothed it away, his expression settling back into feigned disinterest, as though nothing had ever stirred there at all.
A war cry split the air.
My gaze lifted to the cliffs and found Achilles. He stood there, atop the heights, his bronze armor stark against the ochre stone. Directly in front of him was the Sidonian commander who had protested Sidon’s innocence.
