Chapter 14
Burning Gold
“Please let this work,” Danae whispered as she cradled a stone in a strip of material she’d torn from the hem of her tunic.
She bit her lip and took aim.
The first stone fell short, pinging off the steps of Athena’s temple. The second hit one of the guards on his bronze breastplate. He didn’t so much as flinch.
She swore under her breath.
Flattening herself to the pillar she was hiding behind, she glanced back at the palace, then gazed down at her torn clothing. She had discarded her initial idea of how to distract the guards as too risky, but she looked so terrible it might just work.
Muttering a swift prayer to Hermes, the patron god of tricksters, she ran across the courtyard.
“Help! Someone help!”
The guard’s heads swiveled toward her, and she let the horror of what she’d been through in the last few days pour rivers down her cheeks.
“A man in the palace. He killed a guard then attacked me, he was looking for the queen.” She fell to her knees, sobbing.
Between her fingers, she saw both guards bolt toward the palace. A moment later she was on her feet, pacing up the temple steps.
Stage one was complete. The next would require stealth and patience.
She waited, concealing herself behind one of the broad stone pillars, until the last worshipper left the temple and the doors were bolted shut.
Athena’s painted eyes stared down at her as she crept from her hiding place.
The stillness of the vast hall sent a shiver down her spine.
The mirrored pool was so calm it seemed to capture the moon, emitting its own ghostly light.
She desperately needed to wash, but bathing in the holy water would be an unspeakable act of sacrilege.
Each step she took felt clumsy, each breath louder than the last. She didn’t belong in this sacred place, in the presence of a goddess. Even one made of bronze.
Averting her eyes from Athena’s ivory face, she sank down behind the statue’s plinth, and pressed her back into the cold marble. Her body desperately needed sleep, but she was afraid of what dreams would come if she closed her eyes.
Instead, she focused on what would happen next. If the priestesses of Athena were anything like the sisters of Demeter, they would start each day with morning prayers and blessings.
That was when she would strike.
Danae bolted from the temple like a horse stung by a gadfly.
She ran faster than she’d ever done in her life, a pale blue cloak clutched in her fist. People dived out of her way, but she didn’t stop, not even to glance behind her. If Phalerum had taught her anything it was to make damned sure she’d given her pursuers the slip before slowing down.
While the priestesses were occupied with the morning ceremony, she had crept from her hiding place and skulked through the shadows while the novices disrobed.
It was all going so well until one of the novices spotted her, and she’d been forced to create a distraction, only just managing to make away with a cloak in the commotion.
After sprinting down the acropolis steps, Danae quickly washed herself in a horse trough in a nearby stable yard, then donned the novice’s cloak.
She allowed herself a moment to enjoy the luxurious softness of the material against her skin, then let the flow of people guide her through the city. They were all going to the same place.
From what she’d gathered, there were only two ways in and out of Athens.
One was the walled passageway to Port Phalerum, the other was the gate now towering before her.
She ducked behind the canopy of an olive seller’s cart and tugged her pale blue hood down over her face.
If she was right, Queen Phaedra and the Pythia candidates would pass this way to leave the city.
She didn’t have long to wait.
A block of guards marched down the road, parting the traffic, and through the now clear passage processed several more guards on horseback and two ornate carriages followed by three wagons stamped with the Athenian twelve-pointed sun.
The procession came to a halt, and Danae glanced between the carriages. One must contain the novices, the other Queen Phaedra. She had no idea which was which. Her attention was drawn by a bone-rumbling creak as the city gates began to open. Pulse quickening, she turned back to the carriages.
She had almost reached the first when a pair of hands clamped down on her shoulders. She spun around to face a scowling guard.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I... I’m late,” she blurted. Heart palpitating, she drew herself up. “I’m a candidate.” She held the cloak tightly closed around her tunic, hoping the guard wouldn’t notice her tattered sandals.
“Why aren’t you with the others?”
“I wanted to say a last goodbye to my sister.”
The guard’s eyes narrowed. Danae’s mind raced, searching for anything that might help convince him. Then she remembered the man she’d followed the day before and prayed with all her soul that he was indeed a high-ranking officer.
“I’ll be sure to let my father know how helpful you’ve been.”
He frowned. “Who’s your father?”
Danae puffed out her chest. “Aristides.”
The guard’s eyes widened with recognition, and her heart leaped.
“Yes,” she pressed. “And if I’m left behind, he will be furious.”
The groove between the guard’s brows deepened. He did not move.
Mouth dry, Danae took a step toward him, lowering her voice. “What’s your name?”
“Cyrus.”
She reached for his hand, the other holding her cloak closed over her tunic. As her fingers touched his skin, she fluttered her eyelids.
“I sense great things for you, Cyrus. The Goddess of Wisdom whispers to me from Mount Olympus.” She closed her eyes as though straining to hear. “General.”
The guard stared at her for three more agonizing heartbeats, then turned to knock on the window of the second carriage and opened the door.
“In you go,” he said gruffly, not meeting her eye. “And thank you.”
As he helped Danae into the compartment, bile surged into her throat at the thought of the blasphemy she’d just uttered.
She was greeted by three startled faces.
Before anyone could speak, she was sent tumbling onto the floor as the carriage jolted forward.
The inside was lined with sumptuous cushions in a myriad of colors, on which the three chosen novices were reclining.
She’d never been anywhere so luxurious. Not even lying on a soft, sandy beach was as comfortable as this.
A chorus of “May the Twelve see you and know you” echoed from the girls.
At eighteen, she was by far the oldest. She put the two on the right at no older than fifteen and the youngest only looked around thirteen.
From the carriage floor, she made the sacred gesture in return, praying that back in the Temple of Athena she had moved too quickly for any of the novices to remember her face.
“Who are you?” asked the girl on the right, the color rising in her pale pink cheeks. Her blue eyes swept disapprovingly over Danae’s flyaway hair as she tucked her own silky blond strands behind her ear.
“Last-minute addition.” Danae pushed herself off the plush upholstery.
The middle girl’s brow creased. Her skin was russet brown, and she had a soft face framed by a cloud of black curls. “The high priestess never mentioned you. Why haven’t you been studying with us?”
“I’m from a town outside the city,” Danae said quickly. “It took me a while to get here.”
“I don’t believe you,” said the blonde girl.
Danae fought to remain calm. “Do you really think the guards would have allowed me in if I wasn’t a candidate?”
The blonde girl gave her a scouring look. “What does your father do?”
“He owns an olive grove.”
The girl made a disparaging sound in the back of her throat. “I thought they only chose the daughters of nobility to be novices.”
Danae shrugged. “I’m special, I guess.”
The blonde girl still looked unconvinced.
“What’s your name?” asked the curly-haired novice.
After a beat Danae said, “Carissa.”
The girl smiled. “I’m Dimitra,” she nodded at her blonde companion. “That’s Olympia.”
“And I’m Lyssa,” said the youngest of the three. Her copper skin was peppered with an explosion of freckles, and she had large green eyes that reminded Danae of a frog.
Her lips twitched. “Nice to meet you all.”
“We were just talking about visions,” said Dimitra. “I haven’t had one yet but I’m sure I’ve heard the voice of Athena—”
“Of course you have,” cut in Olympia. “Or you wouldn’t be here.” She was still eyeing Danae with suspicion. “They used to only let daughters from the best bloodlines be candidates. They must be getting desperate.”
Danae’s cheeks flushed. Olympia would probably faint if she found out she was actually sharing a carriage with a fisherman’s daughter.
“The current Pythia isn’t from nobility,” said Lyssa in her high, reedy voice. “She’s the daughter of a silk merchant.”
“Shut up, Lyssa.” Olympia folded her arms and stared out of the window.
The Pythia was the priestess who translated the prophecies of the oracle. It was the most sacred appointment in all of Greece. There had been only one Pythia in her lifetime, but Danae knew she was chosen from a selection of virginal novice priestesses, sent from all the major cities.
“Have you ever had a vision?” Dimitra leaned forward.
In her mind’s eye, Danae saw the tree sprouting from Alea’s heart, its branches lowering a golden apple toward her.
She was spared answering by a deep grating sound. The girls scrambled to the windows. The city gates were closing behind them.
Danae sat back and for the first time since arriving in Athens, felt like she could breathe freely. She’d done it. She was on her way to Delphi. Her hand went instinctively to Alea’s brooch.
“The Pythia must be sick,” said Dimitra. “Why else would they be gathering novices to replace her? She can’t even be forty yet. Surely it isn’t her natural time to pass into the Underworld?”