Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ALENA
The descent from the mountain was as treacherous as Alena had feared—ice-slick paths, hidden gullies, each step threatening to snap an ankle or worse.
But unlike the gruelling ascent, the way down allowed her thoughts to drift. The Maiden’s revelation about Katell looped through her mind, refusing to loosen its grip.
Kallinos is not her father.
And yet, they shared the same mother—the Rebel Queen, Andrasta. That much had been confirmed by the Westerners, Brennus and Alcaros, when they’d met last summer.
So if Kallinos wasn’t Katell’s father… then who was?
By nightfall, she and Phoebe reached the same cave they’d used before, sheltered from the wind by a heavy stone outcrop. Once the fire was lit and a pot of lentils simmered over it, Alena curled her arms around her knees, staring into the flames.
Across from her, Phoebe sat swathed in furs, her lone eye narrowing. “All right, that’s enough moping,” she said flatly. “Spit it out.”
Alena shifted against the cold rock, tucking her hands deeper into her cloak. “What?”
“The thing that’s been bothering you,” Phoebe pressed. “You’ve been quiet since we left and you haven’t pestered me with a single question about the past.”
“I—” Alena faltered. She had been withdrawn all day, consumed by her thoughts. Then Phoebe’s words sank in, and she blinked, caught off guard by the veiled jab. Did she really ask that many questions? “I didn’t mean to annoy you.”
Phoebe waved her off and rummaged in her satchel, pulling out a piece of flatbread. “You don’t. Now talk. What’s gnawing at you?”
Alena bit her lip, releasing a long, shaky breath. “The Maiden… she said Kallinos wasn’t Katell’s father.”
Phoebe froze mid-motion, her hand still in the satchel. Her silver eye flicked to Alena, unsurprised.
“Did you know?” Alena asked. “Did my mother ever mention it to you?”
“No.” Phoebe withdrew a few provisions—flatbread, plums, dried figs—and passed them over. “So, you’re half-sisters then?”
“Apparently.” Alena wrinkled her nose at the plums and set them aside. Figs, however, were her favourite, especially paired with the crumbly goat’s cheese the priestesses made.
Phoebe studied her for a beat, something shifting in her expression. When she spoke again, her tone was gentler. “Does that change how you feel about her?”
“What? No.” The answer came quickly. Half-sisters or not, Katell was her family. Still, the truth rattled her, unravelling everything she thought she knew.
“Good.” Phoebe tore off a piece of flat bread, glancing at the simmering pot.
“Amazons weren’t always related by blood, yet we all considered ourselves sisters.
” The firelight carved shadows into her face, catching her silver eye which sparkled like a jewel.
“Many of us were orphans or runaways. I grew up in Smyrna and fled to Ephesos when I was ten. The Amazons took me in, and I never looked back. I chose them as my family, and that bond was stronger than anything I’d known before. ”
Alena’s heart eased at the words. Phoebe was right—it wasn’t blood that made a family. It was the choice to stand by each other, to protect and care, no matter the cost. And Alena had chosen Katell as her sister long ago. That bond wouldn’t break easily.
Phoebe’s gaze drifted to the fire, lost in memory. She rarely spoke of the Amazons, a fact that had frustrated Alena to no end. She’d had so many questions, still did, and Phoebe had delighted in answering none of them.
“I think I understand now,” Alena said. “San and Kaixo… they’re like family to me, too.”
Ever since freeing San from Bruna’s slave market, they’d grown close. She pictured San singing as they foraged in the forest, and Kaixo—his wild laughter, crooked grin, and stubborn scowls.
Her chest tightened, the ache of missing them blooming sharp. “I can’t wait to see them again,” she whispered.
Phoebe’s lips curved faintly. “So what exactly is troubling you about learning the truth?”
Alena shrugged, leaning her head back against the rock. Above, the night sky stretched wide, thousands of stars twinkling, the moon shining brightest among them. “I’ve been searching for answers about my family all my life. And now… now that I’m closer to finding them, I’m not sure I want to know.”
Phoebe took the pot from the fire, the rich scent of lentils wafting in the air.
She scooped some with her bread and took a bite.
“That’s probably why that fellow Damocles kept you in the dark.
You and Katell are the Rebel Queen’s daughters, and he was trying to keep you both safe from her enemies.
And remember—your mother was married to a Rasennan before she became the Rebel Queen.
His murder sparked her rebellion. Maybe Katell was his daughter? ”
Alcaros had told her Katell was born after Andrasta had begun the rebellion, so her murdered husband couldn’t have been the father. But Alena, too tired to argue or speculate any further, only murmured, “Perhaps.”
After another day of picking her way down rocky slopes, where stubborn patches of snow clung to the ground, Alena’s heart lifted at the sight of treetops ahead. Towering pines marked the forest’s edge, where the unforgiving terrain softened into a beaten track.
Birdsong threaded through the canopy, mingling with the murmur of streams spilling down from the heights. They paused beside a glacial pool, deep enough to bathe in, its icy water biting at their skin like both a curse and a blessing.
Phoebe lay stretched out on the rocks, soaking in a brief burst of sunlight breaking through the grey-clustered sky. Her olive skin, so much like Katell’s, was a map of pale scars, most tracing her forearms and legs.
Her bandage lay beside her, drying in the warmth.
Alena had almost seen her without it. Now she understood why.
The socket where Phoebe’s silver Gifted eye had once been was raw with old damage, the skin twisted and ridged, as if carved away by a blade.
The caught her staring and touched her face lightly. “A Rasennan Legate,” she said, her voice weighted with old wounds. “It was just after the Battle of Kendrisia. We were hiding on an Achaean island, waiting for the tide to turn, when Parthian mercenaries found us. Captured every one of us.”
Alena stilled. Phoebe did not share stories like this often. Her voice, usually so composed, held a fragile edge that made Alena’s chest tighten.
“I was so angry back then,” Phoebe murmured. “I’d wanted to risk the tide, get out while we still could. But the priestess told us to wait. So we did. And we paid for it. A dozen of us.”
Her brow furrowed, eyes distant.
“My friend, Aella… gods, she was beautiful. Skin dark as night, smooth as silk. Always smiling, always fussing over her teeth—said she wanted them to shine like pearls.”
Phoebe swallowed hard.
“They sold her first. A brothel in Illyria, I heard. But not before they took her eyes.”
Her voice broke. Fingers clenched white against the stone.
“I heard her screams. I threw myself against the bars of my cage, cursed them, but they just laughed. They listened to my friend’s screams and laughed.
And then they sold us off, one by one, until a legate came for me.
Stout man with a temper. He tried to haggle with the mercenaries because he couldn’t afford both eyes, and finally settled for one. ”
Alena’s breath caught. Phoebe turned to her, expression sharpening like a blade.
“I’ll spare you the rest,” she said flatly. “But I remember every moment.”
She snatched up the bandage, wrapping it tight, movements defensive—like armour being strapped back on. The shift was palpable, a retreat behind walls Alena knew she rarely lowered.
“How did you escape?” Alena asked.
Phoebe wrung out her dark hair, pulling on her tunic with practised speed. “I got a guard to take pity on me,” she replied with a wry smile. “It wasn’t hard after my eye had been torn out. I was bleeding through my bandage, and when he came to check, I tore his throat out. With my teeth.”
She snapped her teeth for effect, a twisted grin ghosting her lips.
The image was so vivid Alena couldn’t hide her shock.
Phoebe’s smirk faded. She turned away, fingers working her hair into a thick braid. “Sorry. It’s not a pleasant story to tell.”
“No, don’t apologise.” Alena stepped closer. “If anything, it confirms what I already thought about you—that you’re incredibly brave.”
Phoebe glanced over her shoulder, expression unreadable, before clearing her throat. “Once I got out, I hid on the first boat leaving Argos for Smyrna. Thankfully, a healer was on board, a kind Achaean fellow, who treated me during the voyage.”
“Tiryns will have Gifted healers,” Alena said gently. “If you wish, they could do something for your scars—”
“No.”
Alena hesitated. “But if they cause you pain—”
Phoebe cut her off, stepping down from the rock and draping the leopard’s pelt over her shoulders. “I keep them for a reason,” she said. “A reminder of what I’m fighting for and what the enemy is capable of.”
The ’s gaze flicked to the golden Omega mark on Alena’s hand.
A slow burn ignited in Alena’s chest. “They’ll pay, Phoebe,” she vowed. “For what they did to you. For all of it.”
Phoebe studied her for a beat, then huffed, short and amused. “Hmph. I’ll believe it when you beat me in training.”
She tapped Alena’s shoulder with a faint smirk, retrieving her sword and shield. “Now come, oh brave Omega. Let’s find some fat rabbits for dinner. If we’re quick, we’ll reach the village before sunset.”
They managed to snare two rabbits before moving on. With each step, Alena’s heart beat faster. The thought of seeing San and Kaixo again filled her with warmth and longing.
So much so that she almost tripped over a large grey wolf emerging from the underbrush.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, her heart leaping. “The grey one came back!”
Phoebe adjusted her bandage. “You really should give it a name.”
“He,” Alena corrected, stroking his thick fur as he licked her cheek. “But I don’t think it’s right to name him. He’s not a pet.”
“Alena, he followed you all the way from the Western Lands. He stayed here waiting for you. He might not be a pet, but he’s definitely claimed you.”
“I guess,” Alena said, scratching his ears. Her gaze swept the woods for the black female who had travelled with him, but there was no sign of her. “Doesn’t the Archer have a connection to wolves? Maybe I should name him after that.”
“The Archer?” Phoebe wrinkled her nose. “Sounds a bit dull. How about Apollo?”
“Apollo?” Alena repeated, intrigued. “Why? What does it mean?”
A knowing smile tugged at the corners of Phoebe’s mouth. “Nothing special. Just another epithet for the Archer, like ‘lord of light’ or ‘born of a wolf.’”
Alena couldn’t shake the feeling the name carried more weight than Phoebe let on, but she liked it all the same. “Apollo, it is.”
She rose, meeting the wolf’s bright, expectant eyes. “Can you lead us to the village?”
He bounded ahead, slipping soundlessly through the trees, and they followed. The forest was calm, the air holding a faint warmth despite the spring equinox still days away. Snowmelt whispered down gullies, and the crisp wind was winter’s last breath sighing through the pines.
As Alena crested a familiar ridge overlooking the valley, her pulse quickened. She pushed her pace, thighs burning, boots slipping on slick moss. Phoebe’s muttered complaints trailed behind her, but Alena barely heard, her focus fixed on what lay ahead.
With a final grunt, she surged over the crest—and froze.
Below, the valley was a wasteland of ash and ruin. The village lay blackened, gutted by fire. No smoke rose now, only the ghost of devastation lingered in scorched earth and collapsed roofs.
A cold, paralysing dread clamped around her heart.
“Oh no,” Phoebe murmured beside her.
Alena’s Gifted eyes swept the wreckage, locking on the hut where San and Kaixo had stayed.
Her stomach knotted, fear hollowing her chest.
The hut was no more than a charred skeleton—splintered wood, grey ash, and nothing left alive.