Chapter 49 #2
Alcaros jerked the rope, and the prisoners stumbled forward, collapsing to their knees in the mud. The man’s face was bruised and swollen, his breath laboured, while the woman, dirty and soaked through, held her head high, defiant eyes blazing.
“You lying dog, I hope you rot in this cursed place,” she spat, her voice fierce despite her trembling body.
Except she didn’t speak the Western tongue. Or Koine.
Or even Rhaetic.
She spoke the Freefolk tongue.
Alena’s pulse quickened. Without hesitation, she dismounted, the drenched ground sucking at her boots, but she stood firm. The wolves circled back to her side, Otxoa’s white fur already streaked with mud.
Atop his horse, Alcaros remained indifferent to the woman’s insults. But another rider, a broad-shouldered man with fiery red hair and a thick beard, wasn’t as patient. He swung down from his mount with a scowl. “Shut up, woman, before I make you!”
The woman ignored him, continuing to spew insults—
Alena stilled. She knew that voice.
Every set of eyes turned towards her when she approached, her heart hammering in her chest. “Ley!”
Leywani’s head snapped up at the sound of her voice, her angry expression faltering. “Alena?” Her name came out as a gasp, a breathless whisper lost in the steady drizzle around them.
Alena rushed to her friend, pulling her thin, trembling body to her feet before embracing her. Leywani fell against her, unable to hug back with her hands tied.
“You’re alive!” Alena’s grip tightened, her heart lifting. She pulled back just enough to meet her friend’s gaze, taking in the dirt-smeared face and the exhaustion etched into her features. “By the Moon, what are you doing here?”
Leywani’s mouth set in a grim line. “I came to warn you. They took Kat. Dragged her to some god’s temple in Kisra and drowned her in a black pool.
And when she came out…” Her breath hitched, words catching in her throat.
A shadow crossed her face, pain welling until it broke through.
“She wasn’t there, Alena. Her eyes were black. It was like… like she was gone.”
Alena’s heart dropped. Gone? A thousand questions burned on the tip of her tongue.
The weight of Volcos and his warriors pressed in from every side, waiting, judging.
She couldn’t falter here. She was the Omega now, and the Achaeans needed strength, not grief.
So she swallowed the panic rising inside her and lifted her chin.
Now wasn’t the time to think about her sister.
She unclasped her cloak and draped it over Leywani’s shivering form, protecting her from the drizzle. “It’s all right. You’re safe now.” The words tumbled out in a frantic attempt to soothe her.
Her own woollen tunic clung to her skin, but before the chill could fully reach her, a heavier cloak settled over her shoulders.
Leukos.
His warmth and familiar scent wrapped around her, shielding her from the cold. She gave him a grateful look, and his hand lingered on her shoulder a moment longer before he stepped away.
“So, it’s true then.” Volcos’ deep voice cut through the rain, snapping every gaze back to him. “You know this woman?”
Alena straightened, gripping Leukos’ cloak with one hand and forcing herself to meet Volcos’ sharp gaze. “Leywani is a friend,” she said firmly. “She isn’t Rasennan. She’s from the Freefolk Lands, like me.”
“And yet she travels with a Tarquinian guard.” Volcos’ tone grew more accusing with each word.
Around him, his riders exchanged uneasy glances, hands drifting towards weapons. Suspicion curdled in the air, thick and hostile.
Alena turned back to Leywani, who offered no explanation for the man’s presence. Biting her lip, she searched for some way to defuse the tension before everything spun out of control.
Too late.
Volcos’ patience snapped. “Seize her.”
Alena’s heart kicked against her ribs. The riders dismounted at once, mud splattering their boots as they closed in. Apollo’s snarl split the air, and Otxoa lunged, teeth snapping shut inches from a man’s wrist. The rider recoiled with a curse.
Chaos erupted all at once.
From behind her, Danaos cursed. “Twelve be damned!” His hand went to his sword hilt, Despoina’s was already halfway drawn.
But Theo spurred his horse forward, cutting them off with a sharp command. “No!”
In the next beat, the redhead who’d shouted at Leywani lunged for Alena, his fingers reaching for her wrist—
“Wait!” Alcaros’ shout tore through the downpour, his horse snorting and stamping in agitation. The warning barely registered before the air itself seemed to freeze.
Blinding ice-blue light erupted, and suddenly Leukos was there, moving with lethal precision. A razor-edged blade of ice shimmered into existence, its tip pressed against the redhead’s throat.
“Touch her,” Leukos growled, “and it’ll be the last thing you do.”
The warrior froze, eyes flicking between the glittering shard and Leukos’ glare holding him in place. His hand fell away, though he didn’t dare move otherwise.
All around, the riders stiffened, palms hovering above hilts, the air tight with the promise of blood.
“Enough,” Alena commanded.
The wolves fell silent at once, slinking back to her side. Leukos let the blade dissolve, ice fracturing into shards that hissed into the mud, but his glare never left the redhead.
Alena strode forward, mud sucking at her boots, unflinching beneath Volcos’ scrutiny. “We are not your enemy. We are your allies. Last summer, Prince Leukos swore to help you stand against the Rasennans—and the Achaeans intend to keep that oath.”
For a moment, Volcos said nothing. Up close, the drizzle clung to his hair and beard, creating a fine, wet sheen that made him look like a bear cloaked in mist. His gaze flicked to the wolves, then to Leukos’ defiant stance before settling on Alena.
His narrowed eyes drifted to her neck. “You aren’t wearing your mother’s torc.”
The remark caught her off guard.“No,” she replied, steady despite the catch in her chest. “It was a Gift from the White Mare. I’ve no right to wear it—not without her permission.”
One thick brow arched. “The White Mare?”
“Yes.”
Amusement flickered across his face, his lip curling with contempt. “Despite your mother’s blood, you’re more Achaean than Westerner. You speak their tongue, wear their clothes, and their gods saw fit to Gift you. Tell me—what makes you believe our goddess will acknowledge you?”
His words cut deeper than Alena expected, their sting sharpened by an uncomfortable truth.
All her life, she’d believed herself Freefolk, but Damocles, a Megarian, had raised her.
He’d taught her Koine, shared legends of Achaean heroes and gods every night before bed.
Those stories had been her anchor, the dreams she’d clung to as a little girl.
Volcos was right. And he didn’t even know about her status as the Omega—yet another Achaean legend.
She glanced at Leukos standing beside Leywani, rainwater beading along strands of his midnight hair. His posture was taut, every muscle coiled with readiness, but his dark gaze remained fixed on her.
He caught her hesitation and offered a single nod. Small, almost imperceptible, but clear. A message meant only for her: Whatever you decide to do, I am with you.
His silent support spread through her like a shield of warmth against the cold, bolstering her resolve.
Alena held Volcos’ scornful stare without flinching.
He might think her Achaean, but she was also her mother’s daughter.
It didn’t matter what language she spoke or which gods had Gifted her; the Rebel Queen’s blood flowed through her veins just as surely as the rain soaked into the earth beneath her feet.
“The White Mare will speak with me because we have a common goal,” she declared, her voice like tempered steel. “To stop Emperor Tarquinius.”
What she didn’t say was that she also needed answers about Katell. And given Nik’s revelations about her sister’s Mark, she had a feeling the White Mare would have them.
Volcos’ light eyes raked over her, carrying the same disdain she’d seen in Gortynius and so many others. “The Emperor?” He gave a short, mocking laugh. “You’re chasing dreams, girl. As long as he sits on his throne in Kisra, he’s untouchable. You think you’re the first fool to try to kill him?”
He spat into the mud. “I don’t give a damn about the Emperor.
What I care about are his legions at our border.
And the armies gathering along the Rodanos, ready to turn our rivers red.
” Volcos jerked his chin towards the distant hills.
“But if you’re so determined to seek our goddess, go ahead.
Waste your time. The closest temple is a three-day ride south.
” He tugged at the cloak draped around his shoulders and tilted his head.
“It’s where she chose me to be the next leader of the tribes, their chief commander. ”
A deep violet Mark belonging to the White Mare crawled up the side of his neck.
“Come back when you have her answer,” Volcos dismissed her. His men’s laughter rose around them, grating and smug.
Alena’s fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms. It was the same story, over and over. Men like Volcos measured her worth by what she wasn’t. Not powerful enough, not Western enough, not a man.
But she was done asking for permission.
Her sharp voice cut through the derision like a knife. “If I speak with the goddess, then you’ll obey our alliance and grant my friend and her companion their lives?”
Volcos stared at her, incredulous, then barked out a laugh. “Of course. I’ll even invite you to our war council.”
He thought she was a joke. A girl on a fool’s errand.
She raised her chin and stepped closer, stopping inches from his face. “Perfect.”
Volcos’ grin faltered. “What are you doing—?”
“I don’t need a temple to speak with her.” Alena’s smile was razor-sharp. “I just need you.”
She pressed her fingers against his neck, directly over his Mark.
And the world shattered into blinding light.