Chapter 1
The spear sang to her. Every slide of her hand along its shaft created a series of swiftly shifting notes, its cutting through the wind another.
Aziza twirled it over her head, letting the music of it quiver its way along her arms, into her heart.
Then she brought it down, around, the butt end catching Galenos in the stomach.
Even as her best friend grunted, she was spinning, blade end slicing out toward Leandros.
He leapt back, eyes glinting along with the sweat on his bare torso.
Hers wasn’t the only blade singing. She could hear theirs too, as metal sliced through air—Gal’s twin daggers, Lee’s favorite sword, all made of Therion steel, which had a song unlike any other metal. Just to irritate them, she closed her eyes, let a grin take her lips.
The brothers cursed her—“arrogant harpy” being, as always, their favorite epithet—and lunged in tandem.
But she knew this dance too well, even if they always found fresh ways to attack.
She dropped to the ground as she heard the music of Leandros’s sword swinging for her, retracting the shaft of her spear with a flick to keep it out of her way as she rolled, kicking at his ankles as she rotated.
He went down hard, the tremor of his large form hitting the ground vibrating up through her bones.
But she was back on her feet in the next moment, swinging the spear back to its full length and sending one of Galenos’s daggers flying with a satisfying twang.
She opened her eyes again.
He shook his head, challenge dripping from his smirk as sweat did from his dark curls. He shifted the blade from his left hand to his right—his dominant one. “Not this week, Zee.”
“Every week, Gal.” She tilted her head toward the rest of the warriors lining their circular practice ring in proof. A few women in the mix, but mostly men. The ones still hades-bent on besting her at their town’s weekly sparring match.
Something none of them had managed since her eighteenth summer, not outside of daily training, when she was more set on teaching her techniques than proving why she was the youngest trainer the town had seen in a century.
And she wasn’t about to let her streak end now, after seven long years defending it.
Her second cousin, Artemisia, clapped and hooted. “Put him in his place, Ziza! Again.”
“Back in the dirt where he belongs,” their friend Chloe shouted.
Then, being Chloe, added, “If you need someone to hold him there, I’ll climb on.
” She trilled her tongue in a sound of appreciation for Gal’s chiseled torso on display, which was no doubt as much to irritate Leandros as anything, given their on-again-off-again relationship that was sure to end one of these days in a vow.
Exactly once, Galenos had been distracted by such an innuendo from Chloe, had looked over at her with an inviting smirk.
Not a mistake he was ever going to repeat again, Aziza knew.
His dark eyes stayed latched solely on her as they circled each other, giving his scowling brother time to clear the floor.
Those were the sparring rules—once you were knocked to the ground or blood was drawn, you were out for the day.
Yet again, it was down to her and Galenos. Nearly every week ended with the two of them facing off.
“You could let him win once, you know,” a familiar but too-long-absent voice shouted over the others, from outside the sparring ring. “Soothe his poor, mangled pride.”
Everything in her wanted to freeze, to turn, to seek out that voice. Photina—the sister she hadn’t seen in months. She’d known her unit would be cycling back soon, but she hadn’t expected them until tomorrow.
She could see Galenos fighting the same instinct to look over—because if Photina was home, so was his sister. And his father.
The spark in his eyes shifted. Hardened. He wouldn’t give in, he never did—no one from Clan Ares ever would—but she knew that his determination would have turned, just as hers had, from “let’s see how long we can drag this out” to “let’s get this over with quickly.”
There was no need to think about what moves to make, how to counter his every lunge. He wasn’t likely to throw the blade—first, because then he’d be unarmed. And, of course, because they were just sparring and he wouldn’t actually want to lodge it into her flesh.
Probably. Though he’d done so before, and she had the scar on her calf to prove it. Of course, she’d also pulled it out and sent it back at him, and he had the scar on his shoulder to show that the spear might be her weapon of choice, but she was proficient with the others too.
Her father had taught her to look for the tells in an opponent’s body and face, to know their next move a split second before they made it.
For years, she’d studied the fighters in and out of the ring, absorbing each twitch and tic and coil of muscle and learning what they meant.
And when grappling, that was still what she relied on most.
But it was the song of the weapons she listened to when they were in use—something Patri hadn’t taught her, back before their training was cut cruelly short by his death in battle.
She’d asked him only once if he heard the songs of the different steels—the high notes of the cheap graysmelt steel they all learned with, the middling ring from the solid redforge steel they earned with their first official match and carried into battle with them…
and of course, the resounding base of the Therion steel that only the best warriors ever earned.
He’d given her a strange look and told her not to speak like an Elystrian, making poetry out of everything.
That steel had weight, had strength, but it did not have song.
Her father had been many great things. But clearly his hearing had not been perfect.
Because the song of the blades had only grown sweeter, more distinct, the more proficient she grew with each weapon.
It had served her on the battlefields for the three years she was on active duty.
It served her just as well in the sparring ring.
Each clang of Galenos’s Therion-forged blade against her shaft filled her, fueled her, until she found herself humming along with it.
“Hate it when you start that,” Galenos muttered, dodging out of the way of her arcing spear.
Rather than reply, she hummed louder—no one knew she was singing the blades’ song, but she’d long ago learned it threw her opponents off when she started humming mid-match.
She grinned, intercepting his next swipe, twisted in a way she’d been practicing at home, grabbed his wrist and spun toward his body.
She used the shaft of her spear to twist his wrist and elbowed him in the gut at the same time. He grunted, his knife clattering away.
His arm still trapped between hers and her spear, she bent, pulling him with her and dropping to a knee.
By the oracles, he was heavy. But her speed had been enough to make up for her lack of comparative mass.
Galenos flipped over her, a cloud of dirt spurting up as he landed on his back with a thud.
Whoops and cheers and weapons clanging on shields greeted her victory, the female voices especially loud.
Even as Aziza straightened, Chloe was darting over.
Her friend was a rarity among the people of Ellas, her hair so light a brown it was nearly golden, and she could have had her pick of men, had she ever decided on one she wanted to steal out with into the forest at night to meet more than a time or two—or in Leandros’s case, a time or two every few months.
When she sat on Gal’s stomach and clapped her hands to his cheeks, though, Gal just rolled his eyes. “Get off, Chlo.”
Instead, she leaned down and smacked a loud kiss onto his lips sure to make his brother see red.
Aziza turned away, pushing down, yet again, her own irrational jealousy that surged every time Chloe turned her always-shifting attention to Galenos.
She knew her friend meant nothing by it—well, nothing but wanting to annoy him and Leandros both.
Just as she knew Gal was one of the few men in Ares not trailing after the fair beauty with his tongue lolling out…
anymore. Not since he realized his brother’s affection for her was no fickle thing.
Even so.
Even so, now wasn’t the time to dwell on it, not with Photina elbowing her way through the crowd, a grin lighting her face and her arms out. “Baby sister!”
Aziza laughed, retracted the shaft of her spear and secured it at her waist, and launched herself at Photina.
“You’re home early.” Her sister still wore her bronze armor, her red cape, but that wasn’t about to keep Aziza from wrapping her arms around her and squeezing. “By the blade, I’ve missed you.”
Photina squeezed back, a few curls that had escaped her braid tickling Aziza’s nose. “Galenos’s patri had us marching double time to get here today. You know how he is once he realizes he’s within reach of Raisa’s arms.”
His father would have made a beeline for their home upon reaching the town limits, not even reporting to the elders before sweeping his wife up and kissing her senseless.
Aziza chuckled. Sweet, yes. Enviable, definitely.
Embarrassing for Galenos and Leandros, without question—which meant she’d always loved teasing them about it. “I should have anticipated as much.”