A Call to Paradise

Fifteen thousand drachmae. That was the price of the information Kassandra sought from the pirate queen, Xenia. After paying her crew's wages, and a shipwright to fix up the Adrestia after the beating she took in Keos, Kassandra only had 14,541 drachmae left to go.

Xenia knew she could name an astronomical price because Kassandra wasn't just some misthios who'd come crawling out from the backwaters anymore—she was Kassandra the Eagle Bearer now, and everyone in Greece knew her name after what she'd done in Korinth.

Killing the Monger had made her famous.

She no longer needed to look for jobs—jobs came looking for her. She'd already dismissed several messengers whose offers didn't pay well enough. Then Barnabas had handed her a letter that had put them on a course to Mykonos, where she now stood on a beach of fine, white sand, listening to him talk about the Silver Islands.

"Two sides of the same coin, these islands," he was saying. He pointed to the island on the other side of the channel. "That's Delos, sacred birthplace of Artemis and Apollon. And this," he said, throwing his arms out wide, "is Mykonos, where people do everything that's forbidden on Delos."

"Sounds like my kind of place—"

"I thought you might like it."

"—but the party will have to wait. There's work to be done."

He frowned slightly. "Gods forbid we enjoy a single moment on this glorious beach."

She'd enjoy nothing until she had 15,000 drachmae in her coffers and not a single coin less. "Read me the note again?"

"'Eagle-bearing misthios,'—that's you."

Kassandra rolled her eyes and made a keep going gesture.

"'Podarkes, cruel leader of the Silver Islands, takes money from our pockets and food from our mouths. All to feed his in-sat... in-sat-i...'"

"Insatiable," she suggested. The writer of the letter was well educated.

"Yes! 'His insatiable thirst for power.'"

Kassandra already knew what the letter said, but she'd wanted him to read it, so he could see the crude map sketched after the words.

We are a modest but fierce group of rebels, who'd pay you handsomely to help us overthrow our vile oppressor. I pray the winds guide you swiftly to our shores, misthios. Our people are dying.
-Kyra

"What do you know of the places marked on that map?" she asked.

He pulled the letter closer to his good eye, and studied the markings. "The first is a camp along the northeastern coast. That's easy to get to. The second... I'm not so sure. It's a hideout that looks like it's... underneath the city."

"It's time I met with this Kyra."

"I'll have the ship ready in case we need any... immediate departures."

Hopefully it wouldn't come to that—at least not before she'd had a chance to load the Adrestia up with some of the silver that gave these islands their name.

❧

The entrance to the rebel hideout was hidden in the outskirts of Mykonos City. She'd needed to study the map closely to find the forested outcropping of rock and boulders that hid the crack leading to the hideout itself.

It was a near-perfect spot for a bunch of rebels to hide. It was also completely unguarded.

Kassandra slipped between the rocks, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The cave was cool and dry, and she shivered from the sudden drop in temperature after the muggy heat outside. Far below, she saw the yellow gleam of torchlight, and she began picking her way down a rickety set of wooden steps towards it.

She could hear laughter as she approached—and was that singing?

The path led to a large, brightly-lit chamber. Inside, a trio of men sat around a fire, drinking and singing. There were others as well, men and women, perhaps fifteen in total. None seemed sober enough to put up much of a fight.

She stepped into the torchlight at the chamber's entrance, and said, "I'm looking for the one called Kyra."

The men around the fire jumped up unsteadily and grabbed their spears. She could have killed every one of them if she wanted. Instead, she let them wave their spearpoints at her throat.

"I've come in response to a call for help," she said, saying every word slowly enough for even a drunk to understand.

There was a flash of silver, then the sound of a knife thunking deep into the wooden beam next to her head. The blade had come within a handspan of her nose.

Kassandra exhaled, expelling her rising irritation along with her breath. "You missed," she said flatly, her eyes following the knife's path back to its source.

What Kassandra found was a woman standing at a table a short distance away, one hand frozen in follow-through, the other tilting back an outsized cup to drain its contents into her mouth before she slammed the cup onto the table. She was slender, with the whipcord build of a hunter. Not particularly tall. Dark hair, dark eyes—defiant eyes that were not at all pleased to see a stranger intruding in her hideout.

And it was her hideout, to be sure. She prowled towards Kassandra, moving with compact balance, and Kassandra thought of a lynx on the hunt, all slink and stretch and focused belief, until those great paws extended, and the claws came out...

"Are you here to spy, Athenian?" the woman said, coming to a stop just outside Kassandra's reach. "Or maybe you're Athena herself, dressed in a dirty disguise?"

"I came here to help a 'fierce group of rebels,' but all I've found is a bunch of drunks."

The woman narrowed her eyes. "Podarkes has spies everywhere. This is the first night we haven't been fighting for our lives in weeks... and suddenly, you show up."

Kassandra pulled the letter from the pouch at her belt and held it out. "This is why I'm here. It's your symbol, right?"

The woman flushed, a quick, hard bloom of color that shaded the lines of her cheekbones the color of wine. "You're the Eagle Bearer? My apologies, misthios. These are dangerous times for anyone at war against the Athenian empire. I am Kyra."

"And I'm Kassandra."

"Kassandra," she repeated, as if tasting the sound of it. "They say you killed the Monger of Korinth... and that it wasn't even close."

"I did."

"Podarkes isn't nearly the fighter the Monger was, but he's been hiding like a coward behind an army of Athenian soldiers. We've never been able to get close enough without taking heavy casualties. This is why I sent for you."

"I came here to help you deal with one man, not go to war against an army."

"Which is why I sent word of our rebellion to Sparta, too."

A wise precaution. "And did Sparta answer your call for help?"

"Thaletas—one of their polemarchs—brought soldiers with him from Sparta, but he's lost many of his men. I've lost many men. Podarkes has been hunting us down without mercy. We're all that's left of the resistance."

"Then you can start by telling me how many—"

She heard footsteps running down the wooden walkway behind her. Heavy steps, belonging to someone big. Kassandra turned, her hand reaching for her spear.

A burly man burst into the chamber. "Kyra," he said, hunching over as he caught his breath. "Thaletas and his men were ambushed on their way here. They need help."

"Podarkes, you bastard." Kyra looked about ready to leap into battle all by herself.

Kassandra held out a hand to stop her. "You and your rebels are too drunk to fight. Leave this to me."

"If you think I'm going to miss a chance to kill Athenians, you're the one who's drunk," she said, waving away Kassandra's hand as she walked past. She took a sword down from a nearby weapon rack, and swung it left and right as her feet naturally settled into a balanced stance. She'd be competent with it at very worst, and Kassandra's estimation of her rose. Satisfied with the weapon, Kyra nodded at the burly man and said, "Praxos, lead the way."

These rebels were about to show Kassandra what they could do.

❧

Most of the rebels in the hideout were too drunk to swing a weapon without chopping off their own feet, but the handful that were sober enough ran swiftly through the forest on hidden trails they all seemed to know well.

Even that burly brute Praxos moved well for a man his size, and he led them up and over a ridgeline. As they crested the top, the forest cover abruptly stopped, like a green blanket sliding back to reveal a grassy, dun colored hillside that sloped down to the road in the valley below.

The road ran along the edge of another forest that covered the hillside opposite, and men were fighting in a grassy strip between the road and the trees. The Athenians must have attacked from the forest's cover, but the Spartans had held their own: the two sides were evenly matched. The chaotic sound of iron striking iron made Kassandra's blood surge, like a lodestone drawn to metal. She lengthened her strides, easily catching up to—and then passing—Praxos, and as she flew down the hillside, she felt a shadow at her shoulder. Kyra, matching her every step of the way.

Kassandra drew her sword as she came across two Athenians facing off with a lone Spartan, and she timed her arrival to match the Spartan's next attack. As he thrust his javelin at one Athenian, she swept through the other one and cut him down before he could swing his sword.

She kept moving, saw an Athenian kneeling over a fallen Spartan with his sword raised to strike, and she ran up behind him and grabbed him by his armor, dragging him backward and tossing him aside. She turned to finish him off, but Kyra was already there, her blade cutting across his throat.

Their eyes met, and Kassandra nodded once, quickly, one wolf acknowledging another before they rejoined the pack and the chase.

She drew her spear and went hunting.

A big Athenian wearing a helmet with a captain's crest pointed his axe at her and charged. She ducked under his first swing and jumped sideways to avoid his second, and she sliced his arm with her spear as his momentum carried him past. She faced him and waited. Jumped away from another swing. Waited again, trying to goad him into a downswing. Dodged again, and waited, infinitely patient. And when he finally swung his axe over his head and down, she turned sideways to avoid its chopping path and used her spear to pin down its shaft just long enough for her to swing her sword in a tight circle and bury it deep in his side.

She kicked him off her blade and scanned the field. The momentum had shifted in the rebels' favor, and the few remaining Athenians broke away from the fighting and began running for the trees.

"Let the cowards go!" A man's voice rang clear and commanding over the battlefield. Voices like his were as familiar as her spear. She'd heard similar voices countless times, in the training grounds, markets, and forums of Sparta, long ago. The cadence of a Spartan polemarch was like none other.

Kassandra searched for the voice's source, but it took no effort as Kyra led her eyes right to him. It was time for Kassandra to meet the Spartan commander.

Kyra ran up and clasped his arms in hers, and Kassandra had the sudden feeling of intruding into a private moment. She slowed her pace, then flicked the blood off her sword and spear before sliding them back into their sheaths. Better to approach with quiet blades, while his men stood around eyeing her warily.

The polemarch was covered in blood, dust, and bits of grass, and he was missing his helmet. His dark hair was braided in the style favored by Spartan soldiers, and his brow was prominent over fine features. Apparently Sparta had been busy stamping out copies of men like Stentor.

"You're alive," Kyra said to him.

"We took a few injuries, but none were killed, thanks to you." His hand lingered on Kyra's arm. Interesting. Seems he'd arrived on Mykonos and made himself right at home.

He turned to Kassandra. "You fight well. Spartan?"

"I was. But that was a long time ago," she said.

That caught Kyra's attention, and Kassandra felt herself being studied with renewed interest.

He grinned at Kassandra. "Spartan blood is eternal, stranger. What's your name?"

Kyra answered for her. "Thaletas, this is Kassandra. The misthios I told you about."

Something flickered within his eyes, and Kassandra wondered if her name had brought him an echo from the past as the rhythm of his voice had done to her. But he merely bowed his head with a formal stiffness and said, "They call me Thaletas. I was polemarch to the Spartans here."

"Was?" Kassandra asked.

"Our ship was sunk, and those who survived have been fighting ever since. There are only a few of us left." He sounded weary.

So these were the only remaining Spartans on Mykonos. There couldn't have been more than fifteen of them. Not even enough for a single row of a phalanx.

"I'm sorry for the loss of your brothers," she said.

He nodded. "As long as I can hold my spear, it'll be pointed straight at Podarkes. We'll find glory in vengeance."

"And I hope we can count on your blades, misthios," Kyra said.

They certainly couldn't count on pure numbers. Kassandra had seen maybe thirty fighters in total between the rebel and Spartan forces. Podarkes would have thirty men in a single outpost.

"My blades are yours," she said.

Could two blades and thirty rebels topple the leader of a nation? Kassandra was going to find out.

❧

Later, after the Spartans had taken their wounded back to their camp, and everyone else had returned to the rebel hideout, Kassandra stood beside a large table, contemplating a large map of the Silver Islands while Kyra and Thaletas argued over what the rebellion should do next.

"How long till Podarkes finds us?" Thaletas said, stabbing his finger into the map. "We're right under his nose!"

"His nose is so high in the air, he couldn't find the Statue of Artemis if she hit him in the ass."

"We know where he lives. I say we knock down his door and run our spears through his face."

That would be a suicide mission. Kassandra rubbed her temple with her fingers, trying to keep her face from showing exactly what she thought of his suggestion.

Kyra threw her arms up. "That's a terrible plan."

"The Spartan phalanx is impenetrable in a ground assault."

"Not when there's only twelve of you!" Kyra said, sharply. Then she softened her tone. "You think with your heart—that's what I like about you. But you're a general to those men now. You need to think with your head."

Kassandra knew it was only a matter of time before one of them asked her to weigh in on the matter.

The polemarch's voice began to rise. "All you do is hide in caves and lurk in shadows. We didn't come here to hide. We came here to fight."

"And we will. But right now we're outnumbered. We must be strategic. Kassandra, what do you think we should do?"

The choice was obvious. "Kyra's right. Attacking Podarkes head on would be suicide."

Thaletas's fist hit the tabletop so hard it shook the flame out on one of the lamps resting on the map. "Sailing here was suicide. Right now, my men are on the beach. That's where I'll be."

"Thaletas, don't," Kyra said, reaching for him.

"When you decide you actually want to win this rebellion, come find me." He pushed her hands aside and stomped past her, heading for the exit.

Kassandra rolled her eyes and waved a dismissive hand after him. "Spartans."

Kyra looked at her. "You would know, I suppose." She shook her head and her lips curved into an amused smile. "But don't mind him. He'll feel better after he kicks something." She reached for the surviving lamp and used it to light the one that had gone out. The skin of her forearm stretched over fine bones and smooth muscle, and her hand wore the scars and callouses of an archer. She was definitely no servant or farm girl—someone had taught her long ago to draw a bow and swing a sword. It would be interesting to know who.

"How many men do you have now?" Kassandra asked.

She blew out a quick breath of frustration. "Twenty. Thaletas has twelve." Her hand swept over the map. "If we could somehow convince the people we had a chance at taking Podarkes out, more might join us."

"And Podarkes has hidden himself where?"

"Not hidden as much as fortified. He's holed up in his house, surrounded by guards. We've tried stealth. Poison. Everything has failed. He even brought in new slaves from Athens, ones with no ties to Mykonos..."

"So they'd be harder to persuade into helping an attack from the inside."

"Exactly." Kyra's eyes burned in the lamplight. "After our last attempt failed, he put every one of the servants to the sword."

Kassandra had seen enough cruelty to know that Podarkes was just one of its many faces. "We'll need to flush him out of his hole. Get him moving out into the open."

"Do you have any ideas?"

"A few. But I need some time to think on them."

"Don't take too long, misthios. Thaletas might try to beat you to it."

Clever, trying to pit her against Thaletas. "You and your men should get some rest tonight," she said. "Because tomorrow, we're going to get right to work."

❧

Kassandra emerged onto the deck of the Adrestia just after sunrise. Night's cloak had faded to a chilly, pale blue light, and the crew was beginning to stir as the morning's watch arrived to take their posts. She paused next to a burning brazier on the deck, enjoying the brief moment of warmth against her skin.

Barnabas was standing at the top of the gangplank, directing the changeover in the watch. He looked surprised to see her.

"Leaving already? It's barely sunup."

"I've places to go, people to kill." She'd meant to say it as a joke, but her words had come out more bitterly than she'd intended.

He crossed his arms and blocked her path, fixing her with a hard look. "You've been running yourself into the ground since we left Athens."

"I took weeks off in Argolis." Long days and nights waiting for her shoulder to heal, her frustration growing every moment she wasn't moving forward towards her goal. And even worse, within that forced rest, within the quiet of her thoughts, she'd had to think about the question the mad priestess Chrysis had asked her about killing: Do you enjoy it?

Barnabas wasn't having any of her answer. "Only because your shoulder hurt so badly you couldn't draw your spear. And even then, you spent that time chasing down every lost goat and missing person in the country."

"Someone has to earn enough drachmae to pay your crew."

"They're your crew too, Kassandra. They stay here because they want to work for you."

Kassandra had never given Chrysis an answer to her question; a lie by omission. Would the crew stay if they knew what she should have said? Would Barnabas stay if he knew the answer should have been yes, that she did feel pleasure in killing, that it was beginning to feel so good she could hear it calling like a Siren even now?

A bitter taste rose in the back of her throat. She'd found only one thing that would calm the queasy feeling that kept trying to make a permanent home in her stomach. "I have to find her."

Barnabas's look softened. "I know. They know. The gods put you on the path to your mother, but at this rate, you're going to make a mistake and get yourself killed."

"You know why I can't rest on this." She'd given him only a rough outline of the Cult's plans, but it should have been enough for him to understand her priorities.

"She's alive." He said it the same way he talked about the gods, with a steadiness that allowed no doubt to creep in. "I can't imagine how she wouldn't be—if she's anything like you are, the Cult should be fearful of her."

If Kassandra humored him, maybe he'd let her pass. "Perhaps you're right... What do you suggest I do?"

"Get yourself a room at the inn and sleep someplace more quiet than the Adrestia. Go find a beautiful beach to look at." Then he grinned. "Or maybe a beautiful woman."

An image came to mind, unbidden: defiant eyes and fine-boned hands.

She asked him, suddenly, "What's it like being home again?"

"You remember!"

She shrugged off his surprise.

He held his arms out and took a deep breath. "I don't know yet. But just being here feels wonderful! Hopefully I'll get a chance to see all my old moorings again."

"You'll have to tell me which olive grove you were born in," she said.

"The most beautiful one, of course!"

She reached out and clasped his shoulder. "Take some time and see if it's as beautiful as you remember. And let's keep a skeleton crew on board. The rest can rotate through leave and enjoy the islands—and tell them I'll pay well for information if they hear anything interesting."

"Aye, aye," he said, just before he pulled her into a sudden hug. "I know you're humoring me, Kassandra," he said quietly into her ear. "But think on what I said. You look exhausted." Then he let her go, wandering away towards the helm.

He knew her well enough to be right. She could feel the weariness running up and down her bones, as if they'd been cracked open and filled with lead. But even if she did what he asked, and found someplace quiet and slept, it would be a fitful, anxious sleep filled with unsettling dreams. Better to keep moving, to keep dreams and thoughts at bay with her focus. Always forward, one step at a time.

❧

Kassandra leaned against the akroteria on the peak of the Temple of Artemis, waiting for Kyra to arrive at the appointed hour after sunrise. The priestesses had finished their morning rituals; the scent of pine and burnt offerings wafted up from the temple's sanctum. Soon the walkways would fill with people as the city began to wake up.

It wasn't long before Kyra appeared, walking up the path with her familiar, compact glide and that hint of sway at her hips. She gave no sign of having seen Kassandra on the roof as she passed by, nor did she seem worried about being seen herself.

Once Kyra had disappeared up the curving path, Kassandra leapt off the roof, rolling as she landed. She'd discovered something during her time in Argolis: she could leap from great heights and land without injury—heights that would kill most mortals. She didn't know if this was a gift from her bloodline or from her spear, but she wasn't about to jump off a cliff without the spear to find out.

Either way, it explained one of her life's great mysteries: how she'd survived the fall from Mount Taygetos. She'd always thought it was because she'd landed in a rather large pile of corpses.

She walked up the path and found Kyra standing at a small overlook, gazing out over the city. In the distance, Kassandra could see waves glinting in the morning sunlight, making silvery cuts in a sea of pale, milky blue. The surrounding hills were cloaked in deep greens, with glossy palm fronds near the water gradually giving way to spiky pines in the higher reaches. This island wore all of its colors in full, gorgeous force.

"Podarkes has made it hard for me to travel openly," Kyra said as Kassandra approached, "but I still like to come here to remind myself of what I'm fighting for."

"I was wondering about this as a meeting place," Kassandra said, gesturing around them.

Kyra turned to her. "Doubting my judgement already, misthios?"

"I'd call it curiosity more than doubt. You're the one who knows these islands."

"Most people are sympathetic to our cause, even if they don't want to involve themselves in it. It's the Athenians and their soldiers that worry me." She looked back out at the city. "Which is why I'm hoping you've brought some ideas with you."

"I have."

Kyra waited.

"You have your rebels. Thaletas has his Spartans. Together you're an unconventional army—the sort of army that needs unconventional tactics." She tapped a finger against her lips in thought, before asking, "How often do Athenian supply caravans leave Mykonos City?"

"Nearly every day. Food, mostly. Some supplies. The fort and outposts are already armed to the teeth."

"Know when the next run leaves?"

"No, but I can find out."

"Do that. And think about who among the people might need this food the most, because we're going to borrow it—"

Kyra raised an eyebrow.

"—and not give it back," Kassandra said with a smile.

"I like the way you think."

"Just wait till you see how I fight."

"I did, yesterday."

"That was just an appetizer... But I did appreciate getting to see your skill with a sword."

Kyra's flush was back, a light shading of rose across her cheekbones. It made her seem younger, and she must have known that it did, for she crossed her arms and said with irritation, "Did you think I wouldn't know how to swing a sword?" The youngling was showing her teeth.

"I didn't know what to think about my mysterious letter writer. You could have been anyone."

"And what do you think of 'your mysterious letter writer' now?"

"I'd like to know if I could beat her in a footrace."

Kyra laughed. "Is that it?"

"There's still time for more judgement."

"You'll get your footrace, I promise you that. But first, we clean out this caravan, and you can judge what you want from the bodies I'll leave behind."

"Then it sounds like we have a plan."

❧

Kassandra sat at the top of an escarpment above the road to Miltiades Fort, hidden in a shadowed notch between boulders as she waited for the supply caravan. They'd brought only a handful of fighters, unwilling to risk the entirety of the rebel force, and though Kassandra couldn't see them, she knew there were men stationed at either end of the ridgeline. Kyra had concealed herself high in the rocks somewhere to the west, further down the road.

A shadow swooped across the face of the boulder next to Kassandra. Ikaros, flying just above her head. He let out a warning call, and his wings beat as he lifted himself higher before he banked in a turn towards the west. Her eyes followed the road to where it emerged from the forest, and she saw flocks of birds rising from the trees like smoke in swirling winds.

The first wagon appeared moments later. One soldier sat up front, driving a team of two plodding horses, while two more soldiers walked alongside. Eventually, five wagons rolled out of the forest; sixteen soldiers in total. The rebels were outnumbered nearly three to one. They'd wait for her to attack.

She bided her time with a statue's patience until the first wagon was below her, and then she leapt from the rocks onto the soldier driving it, ramming the spear through his neck and letting her momentum carry both of them off the seat and down to the ground, his body softening her landing. Her lips skinned back from her teeth into a wolf's grin as the world became clear and sharp, and the soldiers and horses around her began moving more and more slowly.

Horses ran past her; their lines had been cut in an attempt to keep the caravan from losing the wagons. Up ahead, soldiers fell one by one, arrow fletchings blooming in their throats. She could get used to this kind of help, Kyra clearing a path for her while she hunted the soldiers who'd taken cover behind their wagons.

She passed the second wagon, and saw a flash at the edge of the darkness beneath it. She froze, just in time for a spearhead to fly out, barely missing her thigh. She grabbed the spearshaft and yanked it back hard, dragging the soldier out into the open before she spun it out of his hands and pinned him to the earth.

Two more soldiers were crouched beside the third wagon. She drew her sword as they stood, slashed and parried their attacks, as an arrow bounced off one's helmet. Iron clashed. Her sword swept one man's blade aside while her spear found the weak spot between his chestplate and his belt, knowing it left her vulnerable to an attack from the other man. She spun around, her sword arm lifting to parry the strike she knew was already on its way—just in time to see an arrow punch through the man's throat. His eyes went wide, then he dropped to his knees, his sword falling from nerveless fingers.

Kassandra raised her spear and saluted the rocks above her in gratitude.

She cut her way through the soldiers at the fourth wagon, and when she reached the fifth, she saw that the pair of rebels stationed on that end had done their job.

The Athenians were dead. She stood in the road, basking in the warmth that had wrapped her in its silky embrace, as the blood of others dried on her hands and legs.

Kyra ran up to her, then quickly looked her up and down. "None of that's yours I hope," she said, nodding towards Kassandra's blood-spattered armor.

"Not a scratch on me. You?"

"My draw arm might be tired tomorrow, but it'll be worth it."

"Signal your contacts to take the wagons, and have your men strip the weapons and armor from the dead. We're taking it all with us. Let's move quickly, before the next patrol comes through."

From this point forward, no caravan would be as lightly guarded as this one, but they'd punched Podarkes in the nose, and reclaimed some of the food he'd stolen from his own people.

It was a small step forward worth celebrating.

❧

Later that night, the hideout swirled with the spirits of celebration and libation. The rebels had claimed a small portion of the caravan's takings, along with a few jugs of wine. Now one of the rebels was seated in the corner, pounding out a complicated rhythm on a small drum, while the others had clumped together into small groups around the chamber.

Kassandra leaned up against a wooden pillar, sipping from a cup of wine. She'd gotten most of the blood out of her armor, and the cold stream-water she'd bathed in had chased the warmth and pleasure right out of her, leaving her numb and a touch queasy. The murderous craving was getting harder to fight, and where once she'd at least try to knock out common soldiers like the caravan guards instead of killing them, today she hadn't even bothered.

She took a drink, and the wine seemed to taste vaguely of copper.

She'd seen the rebels at work, and now she tried to dispel her dark thoughts by watching them at play, hopefully without any blades being pointed in her direction. Praxos, Kyra's big lieutenant, was seated at a table along with two other men, all of them howling with laughter as he told some tale. The drummer tapped out a one-handed beat as she drank from her cup, before launching into a rhythm that spiraled out in variation after variation, all looping around a constant thump like a heartbeat.

But it was Kyra her eyes kept wandering to, watching her work the room. She flew from group to group, a whirlwind of energy that left laughter and excited voices behind her as she passed. Her skill with sword and bow had earned her the respect of her men, but it was her attention that had won her their hearts.

Soon enough, Kyra's path around the chamber brought her near, and Kassandra found herself the target of that attention. "Lower your shield, Spartan," Kyra said as she approached. "Are all of you so damn serious all the time?"

Kassandra suddenly wanted to say No, she wasn't always like this. But after Argolis, she wasn't sure if this tendency to brood was her new normal or not. Better to give Kyra a safe answer instead. "It's been a long time since I've considered myself Spartan."

"Sounds like there's a story there."

"There is, but it's better suited for another time, I think."

"So mysterious," Kyra said, shading her voice darker to exaggerated effect.

"I think we're even in that regard."

That seemed to amuse her. "Oh? You have burning questions, misthios?"

"You could tell me how you ended up leading a rebellion."

Amusement turned into a scowl. "So I can justify my leadership to you, too?" How quickly her moods could shift, like spring weather: sunny one moment, stormy the next.

"That's not what I meant," Kassandra said. "Have I done something to make you think I doubt your abilities?"

Kyra studied her silently for a moment before saying, "No," along with an apologetic bow of her head. "I'm sorry. I'm just... used to having to prove myself, over and over again."

"You have the respect of your men. They'd follow you to Hades if you told them that's where the next battle would be."

"That didn't happen overnight. Even Thaletas needed to be... convinced."

"I'm not Thaletas."

"No, you're not." She looked thoughtful. "I imagine you've had to do similar convincing in your line of work."

"Sometimes. I'm just glad you haven't wanted to throw another blade at me."

Kassandra was beginning to enjoy making Kyra blush. This time, the color crept deep into her cheeks. "I know, I know. You came all this way, and I was cruel to you." She rotated her wine cup within her fingers, making its carvings of Pan and his retinue seem to dance. "But you did show up out of nowhere. I mean, look at you."

Kassandra waited for further explanation.

"You came swaggering in, ready to take on Ares himself. And I thought: Oh, she could be trouble... And then you were—but for Podarkes. He has no idea what's coming for him, and now I have hope again."

"Good."

Kyra gestured around the cave. "You asked how I came to lead this rebellion. Podarkes executed my family when I was very little. I survived on the streets, raised by hunters, rogue warriors, and mercenaries like you. They're my family now. They took care of me, and now I'm taking care of them. And one day, I'll fire an arrow into Podarkes's black heart—payment for every Delian family he's destroyed." She drained the rest of her cup. "But enough about his evil, we should be celebrating tonight. Drink your wine, and I'll introduce you to everyone."

They did the rounds, Kassandra exchanging names and clasping arms and trading those nods common to warriors that meant We may have seen the same things in battle, but we're not friends. Like most fighters forced to work with mercenaries, they respected her blades but didn't trust her, which was fine by Kassandra. Trust was for leaders and commanders like Kyra. As long as the rebel fighters stayed out of Kassandra's way, they'd all get along just fine.

By the time they reached Praxos, he'd switched from telling tales to arm wrestling, and judging by the group gathered around the table he was putting on a show.

"He's always been the strongest," Kyra said, after he slammed another hand onto the tabletop. He hadn't even worked up a sweat.

But Kassandra had seen enough to want to have a go, and she said to Kyra, "Hold this?" as she handed over her wine cup and stepped up to the table.

"You wanna roll, misthios?" Praxos said, eyeing her from his seat.

She answered by sitting down across from him. She gripped the edge of the table with her left hand and rested her right elbow on the tabletop. His hand grabbed hers, a ham hand connected to a thick forearm and biceps that dwarfed her own. She'd have to move damn near perfectly to pull this off. The challenge made her grin.

One of the other rebels served as the referee, and he checked their hands, then began the countdown. "Tria... Dio... Ena... Go!"

The instant he gave the signal, she shot her hips forward and leaned back, pulling her hand up into a position of advantage over Praxos, and she turned her wrist, forcing his to bend back and negating his arm strength as she drove his hand down onto the table.

The man standing next to her clapped his hand on her shoulder. "By Zeus! I should have put money on you, Eagle Bearer."

Praxos extended his arm. "Good match, misthios. I'll be wanting another chance at you once I figure out how the Hades you did that."

She shook on it and said, "Anytime."

Kyra was staring at her. "That wasn't just brute strength," she said, handing Kassandra back her cup of wine. "Show me how you did it."

"Let's find a table, then."

Kyra led her to a table deeper within the cave, away from the commotion and bustle of the celebration. They sat down.

"Square up to the table," Kassandra said.

Kyra turned and aligned her body with the table's edge.

Kassandra rested her elbow on the tabletop. "Now take my hand."

They clasped hands, and the touch of Kyra's skin sent a jolt arrowing through her. It was like the first time she'd ever held her spear: the sudden rush of delighted wonder at the feeling of power hidden within it. The bones of Kyra's hands may have been fine and slender, but the muscles wrapped around them were surprisingly strong.

Kyra was studying Kassandra now, her dark eyes focused as her gaze swept over Kassandra's cheekbones and down her jaw. She seemed on the verge of saying something.

Kassandra cleared her throat. "This trick is all about leverage, about getting your hand into position on top."

"On top," Kyra repeated. Was that amusement glinting in her eyes?

"So what you have to do is drive your hips forward"—Kyra's fingers twitched in Kassandra's grip—"and lean your shoulders back as soon as you hear the signal to go. This'll pull your hand back over your opponent's."

Oh yes, Kyra was definitely amused, and Kassandra couldn't help but grin rakishly as she slowly demonstrated the moves one at a time.

"And what happens when I'm on top?" Kyra asked with practiced innocence.

"Victory will be close at hand." Kassandra suddenly twisted her grip, bending Kyra's wrist back and breaking her strength, before she forced Kyra's hand to the tabletop.

Kyra shook out her wrist, then plunked her elbow back on the table. "Let me try."

They clasped hands once again, and Kassandra felt a sudden flush of desire as their skin touched. The desire wasn't the surprise—the surprise was how good it felt, how it made her feel normal again, if only for a moment. The part of her that knew better understood there was something going on between Kyra and Thaletas, that she should tread carefully, that she needed to learn more about Kyra before she could interpret the signals Kyra was sending off.

There was another part of her that didn't care about any of that.

But she managed to contain herself the rest of the evening, aside from some mild flirting, and when the oil lamps began to run out along with the wine, she excused herself despite Kyra's attempts to get her to stay in one of the hideout's spare bunks.

She stepped out into the moonlight, a cool breeze rustling the tops of the palm trees and tugging at her braid, and gazed out over the forested hills.

It was a bad idea to mix business with pleasure in a situation as volatile as this one, but she wasn't sure she was going to be able to stop herself. Especially after she'd spent an evening feeling normal again for the first time in months. And what had Barnabas said about finding a beautiful woman?

Kassandra certainly had.

She took a deep breath that held the scent of flowers, and smiled.

Continue to "The Puzzle in the Wanting"...