Chapter 1 #2
She pulled back, clapping her hands to Photina’s shoulders, gaze tracking over every visible inch of her, on the hunt for new scars.
There’d have been battles since the last crystal arrived from her, skirmishes at least. There’d be stories for her to tell around the commonhouse table tonight, and the ones they’d save for their family fire later.
She hungered for all of them. Part of her yearned to be out there with her sister and the rest of their family, keeping the tribes of Juno and Demeter clear of their borders.
Searching for ways to sneak into Neptunian lands.
But her skill in the ring had won her the honor of protecting their town after her first cycle of three years, and she wasn’t about to give up the privilege. “I want to know everything.”
“You will.” Photina motioned toward the barracks. “Let’s get cleaned up. We’ll walk to the agora together.”
“The agora?” Galenos must have dislodged Chloe—he came up behind Aziza, his hand brushing over her shoulder. Given the repeated swipes, she probably had dirt from the ring on her. She could hear the frown in his voice. “Since when is the agora your first stop upon getting home?”
Photina’s brows rose. She was prettier than Chloe, truth be told, even if she had the dark hair and eyes and bronzed-olive skin most typical of Ellesians—just like Aziza, though she lacked her sister’s lovely curls.
And at twenty and seven, Photina had served out her mandatory years of service and then some—if Helios had a bit of sense, he and Photina would be speaking vows soon, now that they were home for a season.
Maybe, just maybe her sister wouldn’t leave again for a few years. If she and Helios spoke their vows, set up their own house, got a babe on the way, she’d be released from future campaigns for a while. She’d be home.
“Could you not hear the envoy from here?” Photina motioned toward the center of town, where the white-columned government buildings loomed, along with the shops, commonhouse, and temple of Ares.
“The king’s new blood-takers have finally made their way to Brontis.
Every woman between the ages of sixteen and forty has to report to the praetorium for the draw. ”
Galenos’s hand stilled against Aziza’s shoulder, gripped.
He stood close enough that the heat from his skin seeped into hers.
She was in her usual sparring attire—a halter-necked black top that stopped three inches above her navel and matching, fitted shorts that barely grazed the first-blood tattoo encircling her upper thigh.
Both moved with her without giving an opponent anything to grab onto.
Which meant plenty of skin to absorb his heat.
Which felt a bit like the fires of Mt. Therios just now. Or so she imagined. She’d never been close enough to the capital to see the famed volcano whose flows forged the finest steel and whose rocks first delivered the precious iron ore, but she’d heard stories aplenty.
Blades above, she needed to get a grip. What had Photina been saying?
“He can’t seriously mean to take a woman who’s already vowed to a man, can he?” Galenos’s objection pulled Aziza back to the matter at hand—and his concern, no doubt, for his sister. Dorothea had spoken her vows to Nico just before their last deployment.
Photina shrugged and angled her body toward the barracks. “What do I know of the mind of the king? His ways are not our ways, nor his thoughts our thoughts.”
Aziza angled a smile up toward Galenos’s strong jaw, currently clenched. “If you’re accepted into a logade, you’ll soon know more about Elystria and the king than any of us. You won’t be able to tell us, of course, but you’ll know.”
“What’s this?” Photina stopped a step away, spinning back with wide eyes. “Galenos Ariti! You’re being considered for a logade?”
His cheeks went a bit ruddy, and he shrugged, as if it was no great thing to be a contender for one of the coveted positions in the king’s own guard. “The scouts for hoplites were through last month. I doubt anything will come of it.”
Aziza elbowed him in the ribs—lightly this time, playfully.
“Don’t listen to his humble words. The scouts were impressed and said to expect a personal invitation from the king by summer’s start.
He’ll be getting a red crystal soon.” It could come any day.
Her heart hammered at the thought of him leaving.
In pride, yes. Every man dreamed of becoming a hoplite, of winning a place in a logade, but only the best were ever invited, and she took no small joy in the thought of Galenos achieving it.
And in grief too.
If he left her, she’d be without her best friend. Half of her heart. The only man she ever wished, wished, wished would invite her out for a tryst, press his lips to hers, whisper promises of a future together into her ear.
If he issued such an invitation now, gave her those promises, they’d still have time to invite the oracle to meet them one night.
To say their vows there, with only the moon and stars and oracle as witness.
To have a hurried feast with the village, once they announced their union sometime in the week or two following.
If they were vowed, she could travel with him.
The closest thing she would ever get to joining a logade herself—coming along as the woman of a hoplite. Even if it would mean giving up all she’d worked for. She’d do it. For him, she would, much as it would hurt to leave her family forever, to not raise her own littles, to forsake her own rank.
Photina laughed and clapped a hand to his shoulder. “Congratulations, Gal! Couldn’t happen to a better man.”
“Don’t celebrate yet. Nothing’s official.” His hand fell away from Aziza’s shoulder, and he took a step toward the men’s side of the barracks. Though he paused, caught her eye. “See you tonight?”
She’d no doubt see him at supper first, but the commonhouse would be bursting with the newly-returned warriors, so it was unlikely they’d have a chance to talk before their shift at the city gates. She nodded.
As he strode off, Photina pulled Aziza close to her side with a hand on her arm, brows waggling. “See him tonight, will you? Has Gal finally worked up the nerve to invite you out for a tryst?”
By the blade, her sister always had known how to twist the knife, even if she didn’t realize it.
Aziza breathed a laugh and shook her head.
“We have first watch together, Tee. That’s all.
But if we’re on the subject of trysting…
” She dropped her voice low, leaned in. “What updates of you and a certain tall captain?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.
” But Photina’s grin looked a bit like the cat who’d gotten into the cream as she looked over her shoulder, toward the milling crowds.
She linked their arms together and whispered, “I expect we’ll be vowing soon.
We wanted to wait until we got home. Well, and now probably until after the results from the blood-taking. ”
“The king’s tests?” Aziza pulled her sister into the women’s barracks, where the laughter and talk provided a happy din for them to get lost in. “I mean, I suppose I understand waiting until you get your refusal letter, but that could take weeks, right?”
They’d all watched the report, a year and a half ago, that King Stefanos had sent out to every town in Ellas.
Announcing that after careful negotiations with the Land of the Ice Wielders, he had possession of a machine that would finally show them how to bring magic to the land.
The blood-takers had begun moving through the country immediately, traveling to each and every city, searching for… what, exactly?
She still didn’t know. All the king had said was that every woman of child-bearing years would have their blood tested against his, and the most likely candidate would be made queen-consort.
All they needed to know, apparently. If he thought more information would have been useful to them, the king would have given it.
His defense of the crown nearly three years ago had proven him not only the wisest man in Ellas now, but the wisest they’d ever had.
The king of kings. The man who would make Ellas into the predominant kingdom on earth. Who would fulfill the oracles’ visions.
The man who would light magic in the veins of the Ellesians.
All the rest, Aziza couldn’t doubt, not having watched King Stefanos’s Examination.
But that last bit? She led the way into the women’s baths, her eyes tracking to the water sluicing down in a continual, wide stream on the far wall.
Patri’s words, always mumbled, never spoken aloud in the hearing of the oracle, wiggled to life in her mind, then twisted.
Her father had thought magic an evil thing.
Something to be avoided, not sought. Which somehow made her question it entirely.
“Do you think it’s real? The magic they say the other lands have? ”
Photina moved to the cubby she’d been assigned when she began training twelve years ago and unclasped her red cape. “Of course. The kings wouldn’t lie to us. Do you doubt it?” She swung the cape onto its hook and reached to her side for the leather straps of her armor.
“Doubt isn’t the right word. But…” Aziza shrugged and peeled off her sweat-soaked black sparring gear. “It’s strange to think of, isn’t it? That people can control water with a flick of their hands?” She flicked hers, but the only thing to move was the dirt caked on her fingers.
Photina snickered. “Blades, Zee, you are coated in dust. For someone who never lets another put her on the ground, you certainly have an affinity for rolling over it.”
Grinning, Aziza stepped under the fall of water. “Fear of the ground is what brings most warriors down to it.”
“Oh, Ares save us, our archa is philosophizing again.” Artemisia sauntered by, reaching a hand into the wide stream of water to splash some of it onto Aziza.