Chapter 12

Three days pass in a blur of training, my new bracelet settled on my wrist, and a litany of what ifs clouding my thoughts.

By the time I’m sitting in a narrow boat rowing itself across the Akri Sea, an empty seat across from me and the Kavalio Isles fading into dots, my chest is tight with all the things that could go wrong.

What if the boat sinks in a sudden storm? What if I’m not allowed through Athansi’s gates? What if there’s no job waiting for me in the Olympian Palace?

I’m stuck in an imagined scenario of wandering through the palace, forever lost and searching for someone, anyone, when smoke billows in the other seat. The tight wisps unfurl into a silhouette, then into flesh and blood. 

Thanatos, his pale hair half-up in a tail, and wearing far too many layers heavy with embroidery for cloudless summer weather.

“Close your mouth before a bug flies in,” he says, shifting in his seat with a pained grimace.

My mouth snaps closed. The seat beneath me digs into my skin. 

Words tumble out before I can stop them. “We’re in the middle of the sea, there aren’t any bugs.”

His dark eyes snap to me. “A gull, then.”

“How would a gull even fit?” I raise an eyebrow, then cross my arms, the effect ruined when my elbow knocks into one of the moving oars.

He smirks. “I never said it would.”

“You’re odd.”

He huffs. “I’ll take that as a compliment, littlest gorgon.”

“My name is Chloe.”

“I remember.”

I scowl. Why am I so bold with him? Maybe because I’ve fought with him before, though with swords instead of words.

He turns his stare toward the horizon at my back, a clear dismissal. Fine. If he doesn’t want to pass the time with conversation, I’ll find something else to do.

Something else turns out to be twisting in my seat to watch Prasinos’ landmass coming closer with each plunge of the oars into the water.

The boat thunks against a dock far too soon. Even with the silence hanging uncomfortably between us, I dread stepping foot on the mainland for the first time.

My aunt’s warnings run through my head. The mortals discovering my snakes and imprisoning me, then severing Stam and Atia from my neck, leaving me helpless without their venom.

But I’m not helpless, not anymore. Eris made sure of that.

We trek across the beach and through the dunes surrounding it, feet sinking into the soft sand with each step.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“Kyma.” His long legs carry him farther ahead. “Hurry, our chariot awaits.”

I grit my teeth, breaking into a jog to keep stride with him. My legs burn from the shifting sand. Luckily, Kyma’s paved roads aren’t far off.

Kyma, the town my mother was from. The town where her life changed forever.

We pass more people than I’ve ever seen in one place my entire life. Men, women, children; so many their features meld together. 

Most stop and stare. Not at me, thankfully., but at Thanatos with his unusual hair and layers of fabric. Compared to their practical linen clothing, his fine silk speckled with intricate embroidery seems outlandish.

A child runs alongside us, trailing a hand along his cloak with a look of awe. Then her stare swings up to me and she gasps. “Your eyes—”

A woman hoists the child onto her hip and backs away. “Don’t, my sweet.”

The girl whines. Her mother whispers into her ear. 

She goes still, eyes wide. “Gods?”

I sprint to catch up with Thanatos, falling into step beside him, our shoulders brushing. He smirks.

“What’s wrong with my eyes?” I ask in a hush.

“Have you ever looked in a mirror?” he asks.

He doesn’t need to know it was the ancient, foggy, chipped mirror I sometimes snuck from Aunt Stheno’s storage chest.

“Yes, but I don’t see how—”

“Look around,” he says. “Look at their eyes.”

Shades of brown, blue, and muddled brown-green. Never the bright emerald color of mine, no matter how many more people we pass on the road, then in the town square.

“I see.” I duck my head at his low chuckle, my cheeks burning with a blush.

When I next glance up next, we stand in front of the town temple. My mother’s temple, once. Smells of burning incense, sandalwood and lavender, seep from every orifice of the tall stone building. Unlit lanterns hanging from iron poles stuck deep in the ground nearby sway with the light sea breeze.

It’s plain veering on ordinary yet there’s charm in the ancient, chipped columns holding up part of the overhanging roof and in the flaking but colorful paint creating murals on each bit of wall. 

I squint. The murals are nothing I expect; no battling gods and Titans, no scenes of frolicking water nymphs or satyrs. Nothing but sea creatures, so detailed they put Thanatos’ fine embroidery to shame.

“Come along,” Thanatos calls.

I join him in a covered chariot, a sturdy contraption of wood and metal wheels. There’s a single window cut into one side, rough fabric attached to keep out the elements, and I shove the cloth aside to watch as the temple retreats with each clip clop of the chariot horses.

In the following week, I have a lot of time to think. Thanatos alternates between deep sleep and vanishing to parts unknown. 

I don’t dare ask him why we can’t simply teleport to Athansi, afraid to wake him and get a knife to my throat or death coming for me early.

So instead, I think. Of my aunts, of Eris, and of Nyx and her beautiful, unsettling palace in dusty Tartarus. Of the red dirt stuck to my sandals even now, towns away and the Akri Sea far in the distance.

Sometimes, the man driving the chariot stops to stretch and care for the horses. Thanatos walks off to do gods know what each time. But often, he returns with food, finding me where I’m pacing to hand me a share, so I don’t press. My mouth is too full of hearty bread or dried meat, besides.

We pass through Sartis, a city of tight roads and buildings packed so close that many share walls. In the center of the city, a bubbling fountain sits in front of a squat, grimy building.

Thanatos catches me looking during one of the rare moments he’s awake. “Their temple to the gods.”

I wrinkle my nose, both at the smells of sweat and putrid waste filling Sartis and the disrepair of the temple.

The one in Kyma was old and lovely, but this one claims neither title.

But then my thoughts stick to Kyma’s temple, my mother, and the past. Why wasn’t I revolted at the site where she was assaulted and punished? I should’ve been. 

Guilt eats away at me in the days that follow, so much so I hardly notice Athansi lurching closer on the horizon, the Olympian Palace’s roof glittering from afar. 

“One more day,” Thanatos says during one of our stretching breaks, handing me a hunk of bread.

The chariot horses lap at a stream nearby, the man between them. He picks stones from their hooves, gentle but sure.

I hum, chewing bread peppered with seeds that crunch between my teeth. 

Sunlight beams across the horses, turning their coats russet. Something about the color reminds me of the siren, Desma, and the message from her mysterious cousin named Agathe.

Thanatos moves, heading back toward the chariot.

“Who’s Agathe?” I blurt out.

He pauses with one hand braced against the chariot’s side. “Where did you hear that name?”

His tone is airy yet a thread of something curious, something unsettling, laces his voice.

I won’t tell him about Desma—it’ll get back to Nyx, I’m sure. “I overheard a soul talking on the boat to Tartarus.”

He snorts, humorless. “Try again. No one she knows has died recently.”

“So you know her.”

He freezes, shoulder tensing. “I know enough.”

“Enough to tell me who she is?”

“No.” He sighs, stepping into the chariot. 

By the time I’m seated across from him less than a minute later, he’s asleep. Short, quiet snores escape his mouth. It’s a lovely mouth, lush lips and slightly pink. It’d be better if he smiled more, though.

Why am I thinking about his mouth? I shake the thoughts away, turning my gaze to the world passing by outside with my cheeks burning.

I wake to smoke, acrid and cloying. 

The chariot wall digs into my cheek and side, the wood warm. I jolt upright, rubbing at my face. The fabric curtain blocks the view of the outside world, but not the smoke. My thoughts come sluggish. Yawning, I pull the curtain aside. 

A field of wheat, once golden, is burning down to ashen stems. At the side of the road leading to Athansi’s pristine walls where our chariot has stopped, a perfect view of the burning crops and armed masses await.

Fighting?

My mind snaps to wakefulness, foggy thoughts clearing all at once.

A group of people, goat-legged and furred from the waist down, push against an armored group of men. Satyrs fighting the guards of Athansi. 

Despite the Satyrs’ powerful kicks and the long loincloths they wrap around the other group’s throat, the guards have metal armor and honed swords on their side. The guards are winning.

In the chaos, a child’s cry fills the air.

I’m pushing out of the chariot and stepping away from the safety of the road before I can think otherwise. Breathing bears down on my neck; Thanatos, ready to join the fight with his cloak flapping and a short sword held at his side.

Somehow, we stand side by side when we join the fray, despite not a word passing between us. He deals with the guards bearing down on my sides. 

I clear a path straight through, punching at throats bared by a fault in their armor, and shoving when I catch one with their back turned. But soon enough, the guards catch on. They bring out their swords against me, and I grab the nearest weapon, a pitchfork. 

It’s awkward and ungainly in my hands, but I use its size against them. The thick hardwood stem blocks the worst of their thrusts and jabbing the tines forward pushes them back.

Heat swells from the nearby fire. Sweat pours down my face and neck. Despite my weeks of training, my arms ache. But the child’s cries grow louder. I push on.

A guard falls to the side, leaving an unobstructed view of a child, a tiny satyr standing with a dead man at their hooved feet. 

I rush forward, Thanatos attacking the encroaching guards as little more than a dark blur. 

The smoke from the burning wheat renders everything distant and hazy, and my throat burns from breathing it in. 

Already the guards and satyrs tire. Neither immortal, they can’t heal from the smoke invading their senses the way I can.

Another guard steps into my path, bigger than the rest. The armor around his neck, firmly in place, offers no opportunity for punching or kicking him in the throat. I grit my teeth and raise the pitchfork. 

His first thrust, parried by the pitchfork stem, sends painful vibrations up my arms. I push against where our weapons meet. He doesn’t budge. His eyes, dark blue, glint through a slit in his helmet.

The child tapers off into whimpers, swaying in place. With the smoke clouding everything, including her lungs, it won’t be long before she falls asleep and never wakes up.

I push harder. The guard slides back in the ash and dirt. He fumbles his grip on the sword, sliding it along the length of the pitchfork stem, shaving a layer of wood until he reaches the end and his sword hits open air. Then he stumbles beneath the weight of the sword pulling him one way, leaving his right side bared. 

I thrust the pitchfork forward. Thin metal plating crunches beneath the tines. The points press through into flesh, resistance giving way to a bloodied, smooth slide. The guard stumbles back, mouth open but wordless, then falls to his back in the dirt. The tines pull free with a gush of blood.

Breathing hard, I move to stand over him, dropping the pitchfork. I pull the sword from his lax hand while he stares at the sky, breaths labored, blood pouring from his chest. I can’t make myself walk away, frozen above him while he takes a rattling breath, then no more.

A tiny whimper. The child.

Darting forward, sword clutched in one hand, I pull the child close, propping her on my hip, then run back toward the road. 

Guards lie lifeless in the dirt and satyrs sway on their feet beneath the press of heavy smoke. Thanatos pushes them, herding toward the road back the way we came, while I follow, elbowing to the middle of the pack to better protect the child in my arms from anymore guards who might appear.Wheat fizzles down to embers to our side. The city walls loom, unbroken and unmanned, at one end of the road and our chariot at the other. 

Thanatos leads our haggard group to the chariot. The horses stamp, the whites of their eyes stark in their russet faces. The man in charge of the chariot waits, pale and grim. He says nothing but gives us a terse nod.

Thanatos ushers the youngest of the satyrs, children with baby fat still clinging to their cheeks, into the chariot. None of them bear injuries, thankfully. Even in the chaos, their families protected them well.

With a last squeeze, I lift the child off my hip. She clings to my tunic and hair, silent tears streaking down her sooty face.

“Dada,” she cries, upper lip trembling.

I hush her with strokes along her hair. Her sobs grow and only then do I notice the blood smearing my hand.

Flinching back, I mumble an apology. A satyr woman takes my place, murmuring sweet reassurances into the child’s ear.

The rest of the group huddles around the chariot. Thanatos speaks softly to one of the oldest, a stooped woman with wrinkles creasing her face.

“Take the chariot and horses, get far away from here. Pack quick and light,” he says, stare never leaving Athansi’s wall.

“You have our thanks,” the old woman croaks. “We lost our belongings in the fire, but we’re a hardy bunch. We’ll find things to eat and a place to settle soon enough.”

He shakes his head, unclasping his cloak and swinging it off in one smooth movement. “Take this. Sell it in Sartis for no less than eleven gold coins, then settle on an island far from here.”

“I can’t take this,” she says, but already her hands stroke the fine fabric.

“Take it. I have no need for it.”

“Thank you…” She trails off, waiting for his name.

“Thanatos.”

Her eyes go wide. She bows her head.

Something like sadness flickers across his face. “No need for that. Are your people ready to leave now?”

She pivots, eyeing the battered remains on her family. They watch back with undisguised surprise. The youngest, huddled in the chariot, crane their necks to stare out the window.

“The young and injured stay in the chariot,” she says, command in her voice. “The rest will walk.”

They nod, shuffling on their hooved feet. 

The man in charge of the chariot spares Thanatos a last look before spurring the horses into motion. They snort, throwing their heads at the influx of weight in the chariot, but plod ahead regardless.

The group walks close to the horses, a living barrier between the road and their youngest in the chariot. The child glances back, offering a wave, tears running down the soot coating her cheeks, then turns to face the road away from Athansi.

We watch until the dust raised by the horses fades far into the distance.

“You gave them your cloak,” I say.

“I had no need for it, not in the way they did. The embroidery alone will catch any merchant’s eye. They’ll have enough gold to buy supplies for their journey.”

“You won’t miss it?”

He snorts. “It was just a scrap of fabric I embroidered in my boredom. There’s nothing to miss.”

“You embroidered it?”

His grin comes sudden but bright. “What, you don’t believe I can wield a needle as well as I brandish a blade?”

I splutter. “I didn’t mean offense—”

He throws his head back, laughing.

“You’re teasing me.” I push his shoulder, smiling.

His dark eyes gleam. “Yes.”

I duck my head, looking away from his warmth, and my gaze falls on the ashen wheat field with dead bodies strewn beside it. My throat constricts. The pitchfork stabbing through that guard’s armor, then flesh. His rattling breaths. His sword forgotten by the side of the road, the hilt coated in his blood.

My stomach gives a lurch. A single warning. I rush to the side of the road. Vomit spews from my mouth, the acidic tang searing in my sinuses until my eyes sting. When my stomach is empty, when everything smells of rotten food and smoke, I pant, kneeling on the smoldering grass by the field.

Thanatos rubs my back in long strokes. “There’s a stream nearby. We’ll wash up there.”