Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Anthology, from the Greek word, ἀνθολογία (anthologia).
Literally "a collection of blossoms", from ἄνθος, ánthos, flower.

If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk through my garden forever.

- Alfred Lord Tennyson

Chapter Text

In that book which is my memory,
on the first page of the chapter
that is the day when I first met you,
appear the words;
“Here begins a new life.”

- Dante Alighieri

Kassandra

Korinth was beautiful, but the city made Kassandra tense and uncomfortable. With so much of the culture and commerce centered around hetaerae, she couldn’t take more than a few steps without encountering someone who thought she herself was in that trade, or at least should be willing to don that cloak temporarily for some drachme. Most were dissuaded by her glower and angry refusal, and those who weren’t were easily dispatched with her blade, but it was all an uncomfortable reminder of her time on Kephallonia.

On that island, there were far too many residents and visitors who thought serving as a messenger and later a mercenary was not the correct use of an orphaned girl’s time, or body. Thankfully, Markos was not one of them, and he had always staunchly protected, defended and sometimes hidden her when the worst of the entitled kunops hounded her. Even comforted her in that awkward way of his when she sat shaking and crying in a dark corner, thin arms wrapped around her bony knees.

“Train harder, little misthios! If you are faster and stronger and better with that spear, you can cut those dogs down when they come after you. And you can sell your sword for drachme! Everybody wins! Except for the dogs, but they will deserve what they get from you then, little misthios.” 

She felt the echo of that little shaking girl as she walked through the streets towards the Port of Lechaion where the Monger’s warehouse was supposed to be. She wanted out of this malakas city and all its leering eyes, grasping hands, lewd comments, and she wanted Phoibe out and safe back in Athens even more.

But, of course, she had to do Anthousa a favour first. A big fucking favour of taking out the entire criminal underworld of Korinthia. All so that malakas hetaerae would tell Kassandra what she knew of Myrrine. The information she had better be fucking worth it, which was a tall order considering how many years out of date it was likely to be.

No one ever just answered her questions or gave her what she needed out of kindness or compassion. There were always conditions, favours, drachme for every scrap of anything. It was exhausting.

Kassandra reached the port and made her way cautiously to the warehouse to scout out its surroundings and defenses.

The building wasn’t very well guarded at all. Just a few men stood around the front, casual and inattentive. Not so strange, of course. Why bother when no one in town would dream of interfering with their operations? Even the Spartan soldiers stationed on the wall just beyond the building, and well within earshot of the caged people screaming for help, stood unmoving, backs resolutely turned to the port and the obvious plight of the people of Korinth.

“Fucking Sparta.” Kassandra cursed under her breath as she slipped out from a stack of crates and scaled the façade to enter the warehouse through a window on the upper floor.

Inside, she found crates of weapons, piles of easily sold wares, but most of the space was taken up by slave cages. Thankfully, only a few of them were occupied, and Kassandra made her way around the cavernous room, breaking open the doors and cautioning the occupants to be quiet and run fast. Once they were all free, she lit a torch and set everything flammable on fire. 

On the ground floor, she searched without finding any more occupied cages. There were plenty of crates and wares to burn though, and she stuck her torch into a pile of rolled up carpets. A shout came from behind and Kassandra whipped around to see an angry rough-looking man stalking towards her. A quick glance around confirmed all her escape routes were now blocked, by wares or by more of the Monger’s thugs climbing in through the windows.

Kassandra sighed and tossed the torch aside, pulling her weapons free. If they wanted to stay and fight inside the burning building, she could be accommodating. If nothing else, it would give her a chance to work out some of the anxious tension Korinth gave her, as well as the frustration at Aspasia for sending Phoibe across Hellas alone, and to this of all places.

Standing still and ready, weapons held by her sides, Kassandra waited for the men to attack while the fire roared through the ceiling above them, flames crackling in the wooden beams.

The air was already becoming hazy with smoke and the temperature was rising fast. This would have to be a quick fight, or she might not make it out before the building came down and the heat started charring her skin.

Before any of the thugs could make a move towards her, a man fell to the dusty floor between them. For a split second, Kassandra thought he had come through the ceiling, fire already weakening it to the point of collapse. Then she registered the spear in his chest and the movement of a man in the corner of her eye. 

She and the goons were equally stunned by this man’s sudden appearance and they all stared, unmoving, as he walked up and ripped the spear from the fallen man’s chest.
The newcomer was Spartan, that much was obvious by his shield. Probably a commander considering his age and the unique tailoring of his armor.

An angry scowl adorned his face as he surveyed the line of armed men before sliding into a defensive stance and raising his shield.

“Come and get it.”

The words would have sounded taunting and boastful from someone else’s lips, but from the newcomer they didn’t. Instead they dripped with anger and contempt, impatience and disappointment at even having to be there curling around the edges.

The thugs didn’t have time to take more than a half-step forward before the Spartan engaged them with brutal efficiency, slamming his shield into one and slicing into the other with the tip of his spear. 

Kassandra stood staring a moment longer until the man raised his shield to protect his head and turned to her with an irritated and impatient look that positively screamed ‘Well? Are you just going to stand there?’

She turned and advanced on the nearest bandit, as few more of the Monger’s men were clambering in through the windows beyond. Above them all, the ceiling creaked ominously and roaring flames licked over the exposed wood. The heat was intense and oppressive, pressing down on them like an unseen slab of marble. Even with help from the Spartan, she might not finish this fight before they were all buried under burning rubble.

They both fought with fierce efficiency, but separately, until a brief lull in the fight allowed a chance to turn to one another. For just a moment, the angry scowl softened and Kassandra saw a glimpse of a pleasant, handsome face behind the furrowed brow and curled lips. His eyes were clear and bright, his skin clean, smooth, and practically glowing in the firelight, and the powerful muscles of his thighs shifted enticingly as he took a step towards her.

He looked about to speak when his face and demeanor shifted, raising his spear to lunge at her. Her momentary distraction with his appearance slowed her reflexes and she barely got her sword up to defend herself before his spear was thrust past her and into a man at her back. Another goon was running up towards the Spartan, sword raised, and Kassandra rolled over her ally’s back to stop the attack with her blade.

The rest of the fight, they fought together, moving with and around each other like they had practised it for years. It reminded Kassandra of the festival dances and displays she had seen in Sparta in her early childhood, and she would have marveled at the ease of their collaboration if she’d had time to think. But the ceiling really was collapsing now and they would have to get out or be buried alive under burning rubble.
Together, they broke down the door to the outside and stepped through, welcomed by another set of the Monger’s goons. The fresh air and cooler temperature gave them new wind, letting them fight with renewed vigor until every last thug lay bleeding on the ground.

The stranger looked around for more bandits waiting to swoop in on them, but finding none. He walked up to Kassandra and thrust his spear into the ground. “You fight like a Spartan! There’s resolve in you!”

The angry scowl was completely gone from the man’s face now, and Kassandra realized he was younger than she’d first thought. Still several years older than her, but by no means old. He wasn’t quite smiling at her, but his eyes were wide and shining with excitement.

“It’s a good thing you showed up, or I might not have finished them all off before the ceiling collapsed.”  She gave him a small smile and watched as he stood a little straighter and bowed his head slightly to her. 

“I am Brasidas of Sparta. It’s good to make your acquaintance.” He held out his hand and she grasped it, feeling a tingle of something tickle her palm and fingers where their skin touched.

“Kassandra. Misthios from nowhere in particular.”

When their hands slid apart she saw a shadow fall over his face. “There were innocent people trapped in there, I heard them screaming for help.”

Kassandra tilted her head skeptically. The Spartans hadn’t cared about the slaves before, but this Brasidas seemed sad about their loss now. “Yes. There were innocent people held captive in there. That’s why I freed them first and then set the place on fire.”

Feelings of relief, surprise, and frustration did battle on the Spartan’s face for a moment. “You set the fire?”

Kassandra nodded and shrugged. “Anthousa hired me to cut off the Monger’s source of income and to free the trapped people.”

“Anthousa hired you?” He pondered that for a moment before continuing. “That’s encouraging, I think. If Anthousa is taking steps against the Monger, then we might finally be able to rally resistance in Korinthia against him.”

It was Kassandra’s turn to be surprised. “Sparta has a Monger problem too?”

They stood by the docks for a long while, discussing the Monger and the problems Brasidas encountered in getting rid of him.

She found herself encouraging him to speak, asking questions and probing for information about things she really didn’t care about. She just wanted to continue to stand there, listening to the pleasant rumble of his voice that vibrated through her spine and settled warm and glowing in her stomach. His wide, honeyed eyes were bright and direct, meeting hers without hesitation. His skin, even when covered in soot and splatters of blood, looked smooth, warm, and silky and she wanted to taste it. Press her lips to his throat and her tongue into the dip between his collarbones. His lower lip had a shine to it, as if he’d just licked it, and it drew her gaze over and over, making her bite her own lip to stop herself doing something stupid.

Kassandra found herself deeply distracted and shook herself, struggling back to focus and listen to what Brasidas was saying.

He was strange, for a Spartan. All of his attempts so far had revolved around empowering the people of Korinthia to stand up to and get rid of the Monger themselves. He wanted the people to want to fight for and demand their own peace and freedom from terror, rather than have Sparta swoop in and solve the problem for them. Even now, when he felt he had exhausted all other avenues but violence, did he want a minimal amount of bloodshed. Remove the problem of the Monger discreetly, and then move on and rebuild what had been destroyed by the thug’s rein.

Kassandra admitted that she liked his approach much better than Anthousa’s. She didn’t really care if the hetaerae’s method caused a riot, like Brasidas worried it would. It was the blatant cowardice of Anthousa’s plan she didn’t care for. The hetaerae wanted to publicly kill the Monger only after Kassandra had rendered him defenseless, harmless. Anthousa wanted a show. A show that starred herself as the one to land the killing blow and thus liberating Korinthia. All without accepting any risk to her own person at all.

Brasidas, on the other hand, was just a frustrated man who was finally allowed to voice all of his opinions on the situation and articulate his reasoning to a willing audience. He was not trying to hire her or influence her actions. He didn’t even know that Anthousa had hired Kassandra to take out the Monger and his entire operation. But he was, unknowingly, offering a compelling alternative to Anthousa’s plan and Kassandra saw no reason not to take it.

When they finally parted ways, she stayed standing by the water and looked after him as he walked away. The final touch of his hand to hers still buzzed over her skin and she watched his body move smoothly with every step he took. His gilded armor glinted in the sunlight and she wondered what he looked like underneath, if he would have let her find out had she made an attempt. 

It wasn’t until he disappeared out of sight that she remembered where she was and what she needed to do. The quicker she killed the Monger, the quicker she could get herself - and more importantly - get Phoibe out of Korinth.

It wasn’t yet dark when Kassandra stalked through the streets of Korinth to report back to Anthousa. No one mistook her for a hetaerae this time, instead the people avoided her and held their noses as she passed.

The smoke from the warehouse still clung to her clothes, skin, and hair, and she was splattered and smeared with blood and dirt, as well as the contents of more than one man’s intestines.

It was disgusting and she wanted nothing more than to wring Anthousa’s neck for making her do this malakas crap just for some information on her mater. 

The hetaerae balked at the sight of her when Kassandra stepped into her richly adorned rooms and announced the Monger’s demise.

Anthousa started to protest when she realized he was dead and thus not available for her show, but Kassandra cut her off with a wave of her hand, sending splatters of red and brown over the delicate silks and tasteful artwork in the room.

“Enough. I don’t care. He and his goons are dead and you owe me some fucking answers. Tell me where my mater is, Anthousa, or I’ll put you down like a fucking dog. I am far too angry and tired for you to trifle with me anymore.”

She shook her fist in the hetaerae’s face and felt a wave of savage pleasure when a bit of scalp landed in the woman’s hair. “His body is in that fucking cave. Do whatever you want with it, but do it after you give me what I’m owed.”

Anthousa wisely decided not to argue and gave up the paltry information she had. Kassandra’s blood boiled when she realized how utterly useless what she had to offer really was.
“Seriously? You think telling me that she got a hold of a ship more than 10 years ago is helpful to me? You think telling me she could be anywhere in or beyond Hellas is worth me taking down the fucking Monger and all of his goons for you? What’s wrong with you?”

She reached out a hand and sent a tall shelf to the floor, scrolls and delicate figurines flying everywhere. With a powerful kick, fueled by her rage, she sent a heavy desk into the wall, cracking the wood and indenting the plaster.

“You better find a way to repay me, Anthousa. I don’t work for free.”

She was towering over the other woman, growling her demand into her face and Anthousa ducked away and scrambled over to the broken desk, searching through the debris on the floor until she found a large coin purse and small gilded box stuffed full of jewelry.

Kassandra snatched the offering out of her shaking hands and ignored the halting words of apology that followed her out the door. 

Everyone always had conditions and demanded favours, but they usually had something of roughly equal value to give her in return, except of course, for the rare few who tried to cheat her out of her payment entirely. This was by far the worst and dumbest attempt at such a cheat she’d ever encountered, and it baffled her that Anthousa had thought she would be getting away with it.

“I mean, honestly! What did she think was going to happen?”

She had gone straight to find Phoibe, and together they had spend the rest of the afternoon heating and carrying water for a bath and the laundry. Now, the young girl was scrubbing at Kassandra’s blood- and shit-stained armor, while Kassandra sat in a tub and tried to get all the gore, soot, and bits of wood and bone out of her hair.

Phoibe was frowning, maybe at the stains, or maybe at Kassandra’s anger. The child wasn’t used to her being this irate, and for so long. It had been hours, and Kassandra just couldn’t seem to let it go and move on.

“I don’t know… maybe she’s so used to people giving her expensive things in exchange for her time that she doesn’t understand the real value of what she has to offer someone who doesn’t care about her favours.”

Kassandra nodded slowly. “Yeah, that might make sense.” Then she paused and raised an eyebrow at Phoibe. “What do you know about Anthousa’s favours?”

The girl gave her a skeptical look and rolled her eyes. “We’re in Korinth. How do you think I know? Besides, I work for Aspasia and everyone in Athens talks about how her favours let her rise from being hetaerae to the partner of Perikles. I’d have to be stupid to not understand that.”

It was late in the evening by the time they were done. The gear and clothes were hung to dry and the bath was emptied and scrubbed clean. Kassandra sat on a bench just outside their room, wrapped in a length of linen, untangling her wet hair and letting it dry in the breeze. Phoibe was laying just inside, fast asleep, sprawled face first on the sleeping mat where she had dropped down, exhausted after all the lugging of water and scrubbing of laundry.

She could hear the sounds of Korinth in the dark beyond the light from her lamp. There were celebrations all around the city tonight. In another place she might have joined them, but tonight she was tired, angry with Anthousa, and still found the city and its inhabitants disquieting. Besides, she had Phoibe to watch over.

She gave the child a fond smile and focused back on the tangles in her hair.

“Kassandra?” Brasidas was standing just inside the ring of light cast by her lamp.

“Brasidas! What are you doing here?” She smiled at him and waved him over, but he stopped short after just one step.

“I wanted to come and share… but you are busy. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.” His eyes swept quickly over her body which the linen cloth was struggling to cover before he bowed lightly and averted his gaze. She could see his cheeks had turned red even in the dim light.

She stopped him before he could turn and walk away. “Brasidas. You are not intruding. Please, sit. What did you want to share?”

He hesitated a moment longer but then moved forward and sat down on the bench. He glanced inside the open door where the legs of the sleeping child were visible.

“That’s Phoibe, I’m escorting her to Athens in the morning. Don’t worry, she’s dead to the world.”

Brasidas looked into her eyes and stared quietly for a moment, seemingly forgetting why he was there. Then he shook his head and looked down at his feet. “You, ah. You killed the Monger. I brought wine. To… celebrate.” He held up the jug he’d brought and gave an awkward smile.

She smiled back at him. He seemed so different from down by the port. Awkward and tongue tied, and his eyes kept straying to where her towel was fastened in a loose, tucked fold. “That is very kind of you, Brasidas. Let me fetch us some cups.”

Standing up, she slipped inside the room and out of sight. Dropping the damp cloth to the floor, she quickly pulled on her spare chiton and plucked two cups from a shelf. Brasidas had placed the jug down on the bench and sat with his elbows on his knees, staring at his hands. He looked up at the sound of her bare feet on the flat stone and she saw a wave of relief wash through him when he took in her new state of dress. Kassandra bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself laughing. She didn’t think she’d ever met such a prim and proper Spartan before. Usually they were just brash and brutish, and loud. Of course, she spent very little time with Spartans generally, so she really wasn’t a good judge.

Setting the cups down next to the jug, she watched him pour the wine. His hands looked strong, capable. They were calloused from his weapons, but the fingers were long and nimble, the skin and cuticles clean, the nails trimmed. Kassandra swallowed and pushed the thoughts away before they could veer into dangerous territory, and instead picked up one of the cups. 

Taking a sip, she found the wine to be very pleasant. Sweet without being cloying, dry without being rough, it tasted clear and clean and it made her hum appreciatively.

Looking up, she saw Brasidas watching her. “Do you like it? It’s Korinthian.”

She smiled, nodding and took another sip. He seemed to relax and smiled back at her, taking a drink of his own. After a pause he spoke, voice pitched low. Perhaps to avoid waking Phoibe. “So… you already killed the Monger. You work fast.”

Kassandra gave him a wry smile and leaned back against the wall. “There didn’t seem to be any reason to wait. He needed to be dealt with, might as well get it done.”

Brasidas grimaced and shook his head. “You didn’t have to do it, though. I hope I didn’t give you the impression that I was… ordering you to kill him. My men and I would have taken care of it.”

She shrugged. “It’s what Anthousa hired me to do.”

He looked up at her, appalled. “Anthousa hired you to take out the Monger? Alone?”

“Well… yes. But I think she wanted me to work up to that. First do a few more things like the warehouse until he was weakened, in appearance if nothing else, and then deliver him to her for her little show. But you gave me a better alternative, so I took it.” She winked at him and raised her cup in salut.

He stared at her and she shrugged again. “I didn’t feel like spending more time than necessary. I just wanted what I came for so I could move on. I don’t like Korinth.”

“What did you come for?”

“Information. I’m trying to find my mater and Anthousa was supposed to have something helpful.”

“And did she?”

Kassandra snorted and tossed back the rest of her wine. She poured herself another cup while she spoke and kept her eyes on the task, hoping the burn of frustrated, disappointed tears would subside before Brasidas saw them. “According to Anthousa, my mater won a ship in a game and sailed away. That was well over 10 years ago.”

She drained her second cup of wine and filled it again.

“That’s it? She wanted you to whittle away at the Monger’s organisation, sources of income and defenses, and then deliver him for a public execution in exchange for her telling you that she doesn’t know anything?” He cursed under his breath and drained his own cup. “I’m sorry. What will you do now?”

“Athens. They have a large, busy port. Maybe someone remembers something about the ship.”

He nodded and put his cup down on the bench to refill it. “I wish there was something I could do to help.”

Kassandra laughed softly. “Unlikely, I’m afraid. Sparta is the last place she’d be.” He looked at her quizzically and she laughed again, hollow and bitter. “My mater is Myrrine of Sparta, daughter of the great King Leonidas. Not that that connection ever did anyone any good.”

Brasidas spilled the wine he was pouring and cursed softly, setting the jug down. His eyes were wide with confusion and disbelief. “That’s… that’s not possible. You’re Myrrine’s daughter? That Kassandra?”

“I am.” She drained her wine again and pointed at him. “And you probably know my pater. The Wolf of Sparta. Seems he got an impressive promotion after he murdered me.”

She reached for the jug but he stopped her, grimacing. “Maybe you’ve had enough for now.”

Kassandra glowered at him. “I’m not drunk, Brasidas, I’m bitter. Give me my wine.”

He nodded and poured for her, a dazed look coming over his face. “But he didn’t murder you.”

She shook her finger at him. “Intent matters, Brasidas. And he intended to murder me.”

He shook his head. “No, I mean… you survived! How? Where did you go?”

She shrugged. “Kephallonia. The island of dust, goats, and monotony.”

Somehow, he got her to talk about her childhood on the island, telling him about how she had trained to be a misthios, about what a strange and bumbling ally Markos was, and how she escaped, gaining her ship and her freedom from that place. By the time she got to the Cyclops and meeting Barnabas, her mood was light again and Brasidas was wiping tears from his cheeks, trying to compose himself. 

“I cannot believe you stuck it into a goat!” She grinned wide at him and he grinned back, eyes shining in the lamplight.

The wind had picked up and blew a few strands of her hair across her face. Kassandra reached up to move them away, but Brasidas beat her to it, stroking the strands from her skin and tucking them behind her ear. Then he froze, hand still by her ear, almost cupping her face.

They stared into each other’s eyes and Kassandra saw Brasidas’ pupils grow large and felt herself become warm. He moved in slowly, dream-like, and she stared down at his mouth. The plump bottom lip glistened faintly and she licked her own lips. Feeling his palm cup her face gently, she leaned into the warm touch.

When his lips finally touched hers, she let out an involuntary moan and her eyes slid closed. The tingle she had felt when their hands touched was stronger now, spreading from her mouth deep into her body and she moved in closer. The press of his lips was soft, sweet, but she wanted more, wanted to taste him. She licked at the seam of his lips and he opened for her with a soft moan of his own.

Brasidas tasted like wine, and maybe faintly of olives, but mostly he just tasted… good. She still held her empty, forgotten cup, but her free hand slid up to clutch at his bicep. The movement spurred Brasidas to bury his free hand in her damp hair, clutching her tight and close, deepening the kiss.

They both moaned, loud in the dark and secluded alleyway, and lust washed over Kassandra at the sound, settling deep down in her stomach. She was just about to toss her cup away and move to straddle Brasidas’ legs when she heard a burst of snorting giggles behind them.

Brasidas ripped his mouth free from hers, startled, and Kassandra let her head thunk down on his shoulder. Pressing her face into his throat, she let out a loud, frustrated groan. “Phoibe…”

The hand in her hair slid free and Brasidas’ warm body moved away from her. “I should go…”

She nodded and they stood up. “I’m sorry, I don’t want you to go, but…”

“...it’s for the best.” He finished for her.

They looked at each other, awkward and disappointed, then Brasidas straightened his spine. “Yes, right. Goodnight, Kassandra. I do hope you find your mater.”

She stopped him from turning away with a hand on his cheek and pressed her lips to his. “I hope we meet again soon, Brasidas.”

He lifted her hand away from his cheek and kissed it, giving her a light bow. “Soon, Kassandra.”

Then he was gone from the circle of light and Kassandra turned and stomped back into the room. “Why do you have to be such a pain, Phoibe?”

The girl was still giggling, her face buried in a pillow. Kassandra dropped down onto her own sleep mat and stared sullenly at the ceiling. She heard Phoibe’s muffled giggles grow clearer as the girl lifted her head from the pillow. “I bet you wouldn’t mind getting favours from him!”

The giggling grew even louder and Kassandra gritted her teeth. “And I bet he wouldn’t mind having your favours too!”

Kassandra sighed and rolled over, pressing a pillow to her head. It was true, though. She liked Brasidas. A lot. She did want his favours and give him hers in return. Except it wasn’t favours, was it? Brasidas hadn’t asked her for anything. No demands, no conditions, no favours.

He had just brought her some wine.

Chapter Text

It’s no use. Mother Dear,
I can’t finish my weaving.
You may blame Aphrodite.
Soft as she is.
She’s almost killed me with love for that boy [sic].

                                                                                            - Sappho

Brasidas

Brasidas walked quickly through the dark streets of Korinth, biting the inside of his cheek and digging the nails of his fingers into his palm, desperate to quell his erection and regain control of himself before he reached the camp.

It hadn’t been his intention to share anything other than wine and conversation with Kassandra when he sought her out. Really. He had just wanted to see her again, to talk with her, get to know her. At the port, he had done almost all of the talking and so hadn’t learned much more than her name.

So, no, it hadn’t been his intention to do more than share his wine with her, but that kiss…

Brasidas did not make a habit of falling into bed with women he barely knew, but he was sure that had been where they had been heading when the sleeping girl woke up. He had never before experienced a kiss that was so overwhelming, so arousing, and that escalated so quickly. He could still feel the light press of her lips against his neck. The touch had been so fleeting, accidental. Not a kiss but simply hiding her face in frustration when the young Phoibe had interrupted them. Still… he felt the ghost of Kassandra’s lips of his neck, and shivered.

It was no good, his head was filled with images of her smile, the sound of her voice, the scent of her hair, the taste of her lips. His erection refused to subside even now as he neared the camp just inside the city’s walls. Not wanting to walk through the lit camp with his problem on display, Brasidas ducked into a dark alley and hid behind a large shrub. Pressing his hand to his mouth and his forehead into rough stone, he slipped his free hand into his perizoma and squeezed himself.

He let the image of Kassandra wrapped in that damp linen cloth fill his mind, and imagined it slipping loose just the way he hard feared it would when he’d first found her on that bench. In his fantasy, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, kissing her deeply. He let the sound of her moans between their pressed lips ring in his ears, and before long, he spilled himself into the shrubbery with a muffled groan.

Quickly composing himself, Brasidas slipped back out to the street and continued to the camp, cheeks burning red with embarrassment at his lack of control.

Kassandra

Early the next morning, Kassandra packed their things into Phobos’ saddlebags, and rode them to the Port of Kechries. Phoibe sat at her back, chatting excitedly about Korinth and Athens, Aspasia and Anthousa, even comparing the Monger to their Kephallonian Cyclops.

Kassandra barely paid attention and answered the girl’s questions half-heartedly. She was distracted through most of the ride, jerking slightly at every glimpse of Spartan red and gold, childishly hoping it was Brasidas she was seeing each time.

Of course, it was never him, and before long they arrived in Kechries where the Adrestia sat patiently in the harbour, bobbing on gentle waves. Barnabas welcomed them with his usual enthusiasm, and Kassandra left him to Phoibe while she went around the docks, asking in vain if anyone had heard of the Siren Song or the woman who commanded it.

It didn’t take them long at all to sail across the bay to the Port of Piraeus and Kassandra stood staring back at Korinthia as it shrank away on the horizon. Barnabas was entertaining Phoibe with wild stories from his days at sea and Herodotus was trying to temper the stories with suggestions of what might have really happened.

Kassandra was distracted again. She had nothing to do until they docked the ship, but instead of thinking of finding her mater, her thoughts strayed back to that Korinthian bench and Brasidas sitting on it.

She could still feel the ghost of his lips on hers, the tingle of his touch on her skin. The night before, when she was lying with her pillow pressed to her ear, trying to drown out Phoibe’s giggles, she had been so tempted to run after him. To pull him into a dark corner and finish what they had begun. But the long day caught up with her and washed her consciousness away on a wave of exhaustion.

Her dreams had been strange, and still clung to her even now. Kissing Brasidas, smiling, familiar, with muffled laughter before they broke apart and slipped away. Watching him speak to a woman her dream told her was Myrrine. Watching him speak to Nikolaos. Her head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and steady breathing. Standing wrapped tight in his arms, his hand cupping her head, holding her close.

She had woken up with that tingling feeling where the dream Brasidas had been pressed to her.

Kassandra wanted to find her mater, that was her single goal which she would not be distracted from. But she couldn’t deny that now, she wanted to find Brasidas as well. They had started something when they met at the warehouse, she could feel it in her bones.

Phoibe yanking on her hand and calling her name pulled Kassandra out of her reverie. They were sliding into port and her crew were readying themselves to dock the ship.

“Well? Can I?” She looked at the girl with confusion, and Phoibe bounced lightly on the balls of her feet. “Join your crew? It would be great, I could help out with lots of things and we could travel together!”

She gripped the young girl’s shoulder and smiled. “You are too young, Phoibe. Crewing on a ship is heavy, hard work and very dangerous too. If you want to serve on this crew, you need to train to be stronger, to be a fighter.”

“I am strong! I am a fighter!” The girl punched the air and Kassandra laughed. In a swift move, she scooped the girl up and threw her over one shoulder, carrying her like a sack of wheat. 

“No, Phoibe. I am a fighter, you are a small child who needs to train and grow up, just like I did.”

She carried the girl off the ship with a wave to her crew and started towards Athens proper. Phoibe struggled weakly and giggled loudly, until they both grew tired of the game and Kassandra set her back down on her feet.

Together they walked towards Perikles’ house. The city seemed more subdued since last she’d been there, the streets less crowded and bustling. More people seemed to be begging as well, sitting or laying next to the buildings staring with hollow eyes. Or maybe it was the same, but usually the crowds hid them from her eyes. Kassandra didn’t dwell on it, she was only here to deliver Phoibe safe, nothing else.

When they got closer to the politician’s house, Phoibe stopped talking about sailing and her adventure traveling to Korinth. “Will you stay? Here in Athens, I mean.”

The child was glancing up at her, face carefully neutral.

“No, I have to find my mater. I’m only dropping you off with Aspasia and then I’m leaving again. You’ll be safe with her as long as you don’t let her send you off on some other dangerous mission.”

Phoibe bit her lips and frowned. “Don’t be mad at Aspasia, Kassandra, please? I wanted to go, and Korinth isn’t so bad. Everyone was really nice.”

Kassandra sighed and stopped walking. Kneeling down, she took gentle hold of the girl’s shoulders. “You were lucky, Phoibe. That’s why nothing bad happened to you. Aspasia is an adult and she should have known better than to send you out of Athens alone. There’s a war, Phoibe. Korinthia is an enemy of Athens. It’s dangerous to travel for everyone, but especially for someone with connections to Perikles.”

Phoibe was still biting her lip and stared at the ground, but nodded her head. Standing back up, Kassandra took the girl’s hand and held it while they walked the rest of the way.

Aspasia wasn’t there when they arrived and Kassandra gritted her teeth in irritation. She really wanted to talk to the woman and impress upon her the importance of not putting Phoibe in unnecessary danger, but she also didn’t want to stick around Athens to wait for her to return.

If she stayed, she would inevitably be roped into running errands or going on missions for her friends in the city, delaying her search even longer. Saying no to their requests made her uncomfortable and threatened to burn the bridges she had built to those friends, so she preferred to leave before any of them knew she was there.

Crouching down, she gave Phoibe a hug and told her, again, not to let Aspasia send her into danger before leaving her behind at the opulent house in the care of its servants, and headed back to the Port of Piraeus.

She walked from ship to ship, asking if anyone had seen or heard of a ship called Siren Song. A few made her pay for what turned out to be vague and outdated information, but most people only shook their heads and shooed her away when she asked.

It was late in the evening when she returned to the ship, tried, hungry, and despondent. Herodotus was sitting on the benches by the helm, carefully writing on his papyrus in the light from the brasier. 

Kassandra grabbed some food from the shipstores and joined him. He glanced up when she sat down, but held up a hand to stall any conversation. Instead, she watched in silence as he painted his words on the papyrus and squinted at the text, trying to read it upside down.

Finally, Herodotus finished and looked up at her with an apologetic smile. “I find it important to always finish writing the thought I had. Otherwise I risk not remembering what I intended to say and have wasted both the ink and papyrus.”

Kassandra nodded and swallowed the food she was chewing. “Sounds reasonable. What are you writing about?”

The old man shrugged and put away his tools. “Nothing terribly important. Only some observations on ships, ports, and seafaring. How did your search go? Did you find anyone who knew of your mater’s ship?”

Kassandra’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “How did you know about that?”

She should have told them, of course, but she had been so preoccupied on the short trip from Korinthia that she’d completely forgot.

“Phoibe told us, of course. She said Anthousa had made you work very hard for the information she had, and that you were very angry when you found out how little she knew.”

Kassandra snorted and shook her head. “She’s right about that. I was very angry. But still, I’m sorry I ignored you. Where is Barnabas?”

Herodotus smiled that soft, understanding smile of his and nodded. “Don’t worry yourself, Phoibe kept us both entertained and informed. Barnabas is at the Tavern, where he’s been since you left. Making contacts he says, but I suspect it’s mostly wine.”

They smirked at each other. Barnabas’ love of wine was no secret, and it was rivaled only by his love of telling wild stories to a captive audience.

“Eagle Bearer!” Their Captain appeared on deck, as if summoned from thin air by their words. “It seems your mater turned to piracy!” He swaggered up the steps to the helm, feet much steadier than they had any right to be after so many hours of drinking. He stopped in front of them, hands on his hips, and grinned wide.

“What are you talking about?” 

“Your little friend told us that your mater disappeared from Korintiha on a ship called Siren Song, so I went to the tavern and spoke to the other old sea dogs.”

“And they told you she was a pirate?” Kassandra looked at him with a skeptical frown.

He stretched and sat down on the bench. “Well… the people who remember anything of the Siren Song say they know it as a pirate ship. If your mater was on it while it pirated… that I don’t know.”

Kassandra stared into the flames of the brasier while the two men continued speaking. Their voices seemed muffled and far away. The information Barnabas brought could mean anything. Was her mater a pirate? Had she been attacked by pirates who stole her ship? Was she even alive?”

“... so we should leave as soon as possible.” 

She interrupted the conversation happening at her side.“What do we do with this information?”

Barnabas rubbed his chin with a thoughtful but mischievous look. “We go talk to the pirates, I suppose.”

Brasidas

Brasidas stared at the parchment in front of him. Sparta was giving him new orders. Cnemus, the Naval Commander, was failing and he was being sent to assist. It was ridiculous of course, he had no experience with naval warfare, and there was no reason to assume he would do any better than Cnemus.

That wasn’t what had given him pause though. It was the simple, almost offhand mention of Athens that had stolen his focus.

The siege was working. A plague had spread through the city. Athens was weakening.

Athens, where Kassandra had been heading. The streets full of dead and dying people, maybe one of them her. He clenched his jaw. No, she was looking for her mater, who had a ship. She would have left Athens quickly in her search, surely?

“General?” 

He looked up. Callias was standing on the other side of the table, flanked by the other commanders, waiting for him to tell them what the missive from Sparta contained.

“Is the news... bad?”

Brasidas shook his head. “No. Not bad. I’ve been posted to aid the Naval Fleet. I leave in the morning. Captain Callias, you have command in Korinthia until another General is dispatched.”

Callias bowed and the men left the tent. When alone, Brasidas sighed and shook his head. Naval warfare. It was Sparta’s weakness, and now it was apparently time to paint him with that heavy, wet, damning brush. This could well be the end of his military career. But, who knew… maybe he would stumble upon some information of the Siren Song. Or maybe, maybe, he would encounter Kassandra and her ship out there on the Aegean.

Kassandra

The Pirate-controlled island Keos was a couple of days away and Kassandra spent most of it worrying. About her mater and what had happened to her. About Phoibe and whether she was safe in Athens with Aspasia. She even worried about Brasidas for no good reason at all. Mostly though, she worried about her crew. They were sailing into pirate-infested waters and there was no reason to assume they would be left in peace.

As a precautionary measure, she ordered the crew who were not busy steering or rowing to stay on deck. She had them all sparring, wrestling, or sharpening their blades in an attempt to make them appear more numerous and intimidating than they actually were.

Despite these precautions, they ended up in more than one fight. They won each time, but she lost some good people and several more were injured. By the time they slid into port at Koressa, Kassandra was as tense as a bow string and an angry headache pulsed behind her brow.

Her mood did not improve at all when she stepped off the ship with Barnabas in tow. The town in front of them was in shambles, many of the buildings nothing but smoking ruins. The scent of burning bodies hung in the air, almost but not quite masking the pungent stench of decomposing flesh.

It truly was a horrific place, and Kassandra couldn’t fathom why her mater would have chosen this over Korinthia. It made her all the more certain that her mater had lost the ship and maybe her life to pirates, and if that were the case, Kassandra would find out who and end them.

They looked around the small harbor. A few ships lay docked, and several people scattered around the area stood looking at them with suspicious interest. Barnabas cleared his throat and clapped her on the shoulder. “I’ll check at the Tavern, and you can go inquire at the ships.”

Kassandra nodded and walked over to the nearest person, a man in a ragged, dirty tunic who stood inspecting a length of rope. He scowled and spat at her feet before she could even open her mouth. 

“Fuck off.” Lifting her hands in placation, she tried to speak but was interrupted. “I said, fuck off!”

She sighed and turned away, moving further down the dock. Every encounter was basically the same, no one would to talk and the few who would didn’t know anything.

From the corner of her eye, Kassandra saw a group of pirates moving in her direction. They were casual, walking slowly and chatting about mundane inconsequential things, but their hands were resting by their weapons and their eyes stared without straying. 

Kassandra suddenly broke into a sprint and darted in between two buildings. Behind her she could hear the group curse, then running footsteps as they tried to catch up. Slipping around another corner, she quickly scaled the wall and crouched down on the roof.

The group of pirates were right on her tail, but stopped in confusion when they rounded the corner. “Malaka! Where did she go!?”

Their voices were partially drowned out by the wind and the seagulls calling above them, but she could make out snippets. They didn’t like outsiders snooping around, they wanted to bring her to their leader, the leader would be angry if they found out the attempt to capture her had failed. She thought she heard the word xenia several times, but couldn’t make sense of it, since they had not exhibited any signs of hospitality at all. Perhaps it was code for something.

The group finally gave up, walking away, and Kassandra jumped down from the roof. If they were this distrusting of outsiders, Barnabas might be in more trouble than he could handle. She set off in the direction her Captain had headed, keeping to alleys and shadows. 

Finding the tavern turned out to be easy. The sound of music and rowdy voices grew louder the closer she got.

Peeking inside the open courtyard, she saw Barnabas seated at a table in the middle, kylix raised high as he sang along with the other patrons. He acted happy and at ease, but his good eye was swelling shut and blood was smeared under his nose.

He exclaimed in the delight when she sank down on the stool next to his and he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders. “Kassandra! Here you are! Have some wine!”

The arm over her shoulders was stiff and his hand squeezed her bicep in warning, but his face betrayed nothing. Playing along, she smiled gratefully and took a drink from his kylix. 

“You look like you’ve had fun, Captain.” She raised an eyebrow and nodded towards his bloodied face.

“This?” He gestured at himself with the kylix before taking another drink. “It’s nothing! Just a misunderstanding between myself and my new friends here.”

She glanced around and saw the amused faces of the other patrons, their smiles sharp and glinting like knives in the low light. Snorting loudly, she grabbed the kylix back from Barnabas and set it down on the table with a heavy thunk. “If they were your friends, they would have punched the other side of your face.”

Her comment sparked uproarious laughter from the crowd and she used their distraction to pull Barnabas to his feet and started leading him out of the tavern. Throwing a small coin purse on the table she called over her shoulder. “Have another round on me while I take my dear Captain back to his ship before he goes blind.”

The two of them made a show of Barnabas being almost too drunk to walk, stumbling and leaning heavily on Kassandra and the raucous laughter pressed against their backs as they made their way back to the ship.

Once well out of sight and earshot, they eased up on their charade, but Kassandra kept a guiding hand on her Captain’s shoulder, mindful of his bruised, swelling eye.

“Did you at least learn anything useful?”

Barnabas burped loudly and nodded. “Excuse me. Yes. Xenia.”

“Now I know you’re drunk. Punching your guests is the opposite of xenia, Barnabas.”

He shook his head and hiccupped. “Ugh, that was bad wine. I feel sick. But no, not xenia. Xenia. She’s their leader. Keeps track of everyone and everything. If your mater or her ship came through here, then Xenia knows about it.”

They reached the Adrestia and Barnabas bent double, emptying his stomach into the water before climbing aboard.

Herodotus greeted them with alarm, taking the Captain’s elbow and leading him up the steps to sit by the helm. “What happened?”

Barnabas burped again, waving a hand in front of his face to dispel the foul smell. “Nothing. Nothing. Bad wine.”

Herodotus looked to Kassandra, who shrugged. “Bad wine and pirate hospitality. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

She waved a hand in front of Barnabas face. “Hey, focus. Did they say where I can find this Xenia?”

He nodded, but let his head drop between his knees. Another foul burp erupted. “She stays in the temple. Athena.” Then he shot from his seat and threw up over the railing.

Herodotus got to his feet and stood by his friend, hand rubbing circles on his back. “Go, Kassandra. The sooner you find this Xenia, the sooner we can leave this place.”

She looked up at the temple standing at the very top of the city. The sun was setting and she should be able to make it up there without being seen by the angry pirates. Question was, how would she get this Xenia to talk once she found her?

She kept out of sight by way of the rooftops, jumping and climbing above everyone’s heads whenever possible. A group of pirates standing in the middle of a street just a little too wide to jump across stopped her. Their torches lit a large circle and she needed to find a detour to avoid them.

Searching for an alleyway where she could climb down unnoticed made her freeze in her tracks. Below, a small lantern lit up a bench where two people sat speaking with low voices. She watched as one, a bearded man, lifted his hand and gently cupped the other’s face, turning it towards him as he leaned in for a kiss. The object of his affections wound their arms around the man’s neck, deepening the kiss.

Kassandra was completely transfixed watching their kiss, both tender and passionate, and wondered if that’s what she had looked like with Brasidas. She stayed, crouched on the rooftop in the dark, watching the couple’s intimate moment until they broke apart and disappeared inside the house.

That could have been us. That could have been me, dragging Brasidas by the hand into my bed.

She was not angry with Phoibe, but she found herself wishing, again, that Aspasia hadn’t sent the girl to Korinth. If she hadn’t been there, they could have… 

Kassandra shook herself. She was being ridiculous. Brasidas was just a man. She had bedded plenty of men before. She had not bedded even more, so why was she so hung up on this Spartan?

Dropping down into the now empty alley, she continued towards the temple and the mysterious Xenia.

No guards were waiting outside the temple, but Kassandra heard a commotion from inside. Raised voices and things breaking. Then the doors burst open and the body of a man flew out and landed in the dirt at her feet. 

Unbidden, the memory of the warehouse came to her. A man landing at her feet, spear quivering in his chest, and Brasidas emerging out of the smoke.

“Who are you?”

Kassandra jerked a little and looked up from the body on the ground. The woman in front of her was tall. Really tall. She stood with her arms crossed, glaring and impatient for an answer to her question. “Are you Xenia?”

The woman frowned deeper. “Who. Are. You.”

“Kassandra.”

“Well, Kassandra, tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right here.”

“I need information, and I was told you might have what I need.”

The woman tilted her head and looked Kassandra up and down. “Sneaking into my city is a strange way to make a first impression.”

“I needed to speak to you, and your pirates didn’t give the impression that they would let me if given the choice.”

Xenia nodded in agreement. “You are right, they would not. So, speak. What do you want from me?”

“I’m looking for a woman who fled Sparta when I was a child. She acquired a ship named Siren Song some years ago, and I’ve heard rumors that she, or at least the ship, has been engaged in piracy.”

The pirate scrutinized her silently a while before speaking. “Who is this woman to you?”

“She is my mater. I haven’t seen her since I was a child.”

Xenia nodded thoughtfully. “I have information for you. For a price.”

Kassandra sighed. “Of course. Everything has a price. So what do you want? Should I sink every ship in the Agean? End the war? Bring you the head of some mythological beast from the end of the world?”

The pirate stared at her deadpan and unamused. Kassandra deflated. “I’m sorry. I just want to find my mater and everyone keeps sending me off on ridiculous errands that just eat up time, but they never have any good, solid, recent information on where she is. I don’t even know if you have any decent information.” She gestured angrily at the woman before her and then fell silent, both angry and bashful. 

“I know of Myrrine and for a price, I will tell you what I know.”

“Myrrine…?” The pirate knew her mater’s name. None of the other people she had met on her search knew that much. “You do know her. What’s the price?”

“15 000 drachme.”

Kassandra waited for the rest and when the woman remained silent she shook her head, bewildered. “That’s it?”

“Is that not enough? Should I raise the price?”

“No! I mean… just drachme? No stupidly dangerous errand? No murders? No thieving? Just… drachme?”

Xenia nodded sagely. “Just drachme.”

“Um… I don’t have that much with me.”

The pirate smirked at her. “A wise decision. It is not a sum one should carry around needlessly.”

Kassandra turned on her heel and walked away. It was a ridiculous sum the woman was asking for, one that would practically empty her coffers, but… Xenia knew her mater’s name.

All the way back to the ship her mind spun in circles. Should she pay? Or not? Did the pirate really have any information? Or not? 

In the end she decided to risk it. If the pirate really didn’t have anything worth the drachme, then she would just take it back. By force.

Most of the crew were sleeping when she returned, save for two who were keeping guard. Herodotus and Barnabas lay near the edge of the deck, her Captain miserably curled on his side, his bruised eye now completely swollen shut. Kassandra wondered how much of the wine he had drunk to make him this sick, and hoped that her own mouthful wouldn’t be enough to set her stomach turning too.

Careful not to disturb the sleeping crew, she slipped down into the ship and set about packing up all the coin she had. 

15 000 drachme was a heavy burden, made even heavier if one insisted on chests or barrels. She had no interest in dragging a chest up the mountain, so instead emptied several burlap sacks of apples, figs, and pomegranates, replacing the fruit with coin.

The resulting pile was still far too cumbersome and heavy for her to haul up to the temple in one go, and she did not trust the pirates to not do something stupid while she was running up and down the mountain to deliver bags of coin, so she woke up two of her strongest crewmen.

Together they hefted the bags over their shoulders and walked off the ship. They didn’t talk much on their trek to the temple, instead focusing on scowling and generally looking intimidating to any people they passed. The crewmen’s curiosity got the better of them though, and when there were no people nearby, they leaned in close and spoke in slow voices.

“What are you doing with all this coin?”

Kassandra gritted her teeth at how the strings of the heavy sack dug into her fingers. “I’m bartering with a pirate.”

“What for?”

“Information.”

“Oh… can information really be worth this much?”

“It better be.” She growled her last response, both to shut them up and as a warning to Xenia, even though the pirate wasn’t there to hear it. 

They were nearing the crest of the last hill and her hands ached more from the weight the closer she got to putting the bags down. Xenia was still standing outside the temple, arms crossed and face inscrutable as they dumped the jangling sacks at her feet.

Kassandra waved her crewmen away and massaged her aching fingers. “Here’s your malakas drachme. Tell me what you know.”

“I don’t see why you’re so angry. You didn’t have to do a ridiculous errand like you feared, and you clearly can afford the price, wealthy as you are.”

“Were. I don’t have any of the wealth anymore, do I?”

Xenia regarded her for a moment, then turned away, waving at Kassandra to follow. She sat down at a table and poured them both cups of wine. “You look like her, you know.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

Kassandra slammed her fist into the table, toppling the jug of wine onto the ground, shattering it. “Malaka! I’ll cut your head off and take it and the drachme back to the ship right now. I don’t need this shit.”

Xenia looked amused at the threat. “Did you get that temper from your pater? Your mater has far too much dignity to yell and curse and break things.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know. She left Keos not too long ago. The pirate life wasn’t for her anymore. She wanted something different.”

“Where?” Kassandra could hear her voice wavering, just on the edge of tears. She was always too late, she’d never find her mater like this.

“She took the Siren Song and sailed south east, in search of greater things. I haven’t heard from her since she left.”

“Great. So I’m back where I started. The name of a ship that could be anywhere by now.”

“Mmmm. Not quite. You know her as Myrrine, but she discarded that name long ago. She is Phoenix. Risen from the ashes of her old life.”

“Phoenix?”

“Mmhmm.”

“She really was a pirate?”

“Yes, she was. And very good at it too.”

“Why did she leave?”

“Much too interested in the politics of war. She wanted to get involved somehow.”

Kassandra stayed a while longer, listening to stories about her mater, trying to reconcile the woman she knew as a child with the fierce and ruthless pirate Xenia described.

When Kassandra returned to the ship, it was with the feeling that paying all that drachme had been worth it. Even if she still didn’t know where her mater was, for the first time she knew more of who her mater was. It wasn’t much, wasn’t enough, but it was something.

Kassandra laid on the deck of the Adrestia, staring up at the stars, her head swimming with the stories Xenia told and all her memories of her mater. But when sleep overcame her, dragging her heavy eyes closed, she felt a tingle on her lips and heard the deep rumble of a moan in her ears. As she sank down into sleep, it was the couple in the alley she remembered, except the couple was her and Brasidas, and she was pulling to him bed by his hand.

Chapter Text

There is a love I reminisce,
like a seed I’ve never sown
Of lips that I am yet to kiss,
and eyes not met my own.
Hands that wrap around my wrists,
and arms that feel like home.
I wonder how it is I miss
these things I’ve never known.

 - Lang Leav                                                                              

Kassandra

The next morning found Barnabas sitting with his head in his hands, quietly moaning at the throbbing pain. “Bad wine. Terrible wine. Malakas pirates.” His voice was thin and hoarse from his night of vomiting. Herodotus had lit the braiser and was minding a briki sitting in the flames with one hand while the other rubbed soothing circles over Barnabas’ back.

Kassandra sat opposite the two men and winced in sympathy with her poor Captain. She glanced at the at the briki, her nostrils flaring slightly. “Coffee?”
Her tone was skeptical since the air lacked the distinctive aroma of the beverage.

The old man shook his head and moved to swirl the liquid in the small pot. “Mint tea. For his stomach.” Barnabas burped loudly and clutched his head tighter with a moan. “And it might improve the smell as well.”

He poured a steaming cup and held it out. Barnabas shied away and shook his head. “I don’t want it. Leave me be to die in peace.”

Kassandra bit her lip to stop the laughter threatening to bubble up while Herodotus sighed. “You really should have something to soothe your stomach. At least eat some cabbage if you won’t have the tea.” The historian held a cabbage leaf in front of his friend’s nose, but the Captain just jerked his head away and moaned.

“I could get you some wine? Good wine to cancel out the bad wine?”
Her suggestion was met with a growl, but then after a moment Barnabas reached out a hand and sighed in defeat. “Give me the tea.”

He clutched the cup in both hands, taking very small, careful sips between continued burping.

Kassandra grabbed the cabbage leaf from Herodotus and stuffed it in her mouth, grinning with a ‘What? He didn’t want it anyway.’ sort of expression when the man frowned lightly at her.

“You seem to be in a better mood.” She nodded, swallowing thickly around her mouthful. “The pirate had information for you?”

“Yes! She knew my mater. Knew her well. Told me some stories, how they met, their time pirating together. Herodotus, I’ve never felt this close before. My mater is alive, and she left here not too long ago.”

“That is wonderful, Kassandra. Where did she go?”

Smile stiffening, she bit her lip and looked away. “I don’t know.”

The historian spoke carefully, kindly. “So… we are back to where we were in Korinthia?”

“Yeah… almost. Xenia gave me the name my mater uses now; Phoenix. She also said that when she left my mater was interested in the politics of war. So we have the name of the ship, the name of the woman, and that she’s interested in politics. I think we should head back to Athens. Periklies and Aspasia might know something, or know someone who does.”

She thought Herodotus would be pleased that she had a plan and pleased to have another chance to meet with Perikles and Aspasia, but instead he frowned, worried. “Are you sure you want to go back to Athens?”

She returned his frown with one of her own. “Yes, it’s the best place I can think of for finding out where my mater might be now. Unless you have some other idea of where to go?”

The man shook his head and Kassandra stood up. “To Athens, then. Though we should try to take some ships along the way. The coffers are completely empty.”

Brasidas

Helios was barely lighting the horizon when he walked out of his tent, pack in one hand and provisions in the other.

“General Brasidas.” The young man had dark circles under his eyes from a night without sleep. 

“Good morning, Callias.” His voice was still a bit thick and hoarse from sleep and he cleared his throat. “You are up early.”

“Yes, General. It’s… Good morning.”

Brasidas started tying his pack to the horse and tried to stifle a smile. “Callias. You will do very well. You are nervous now because this is very sudden and because you’ve not slept. Our mission here remains the same. Peacekeeping and maintaining friendly relations with the leaders and citizens. The Mongers is dead which will make it easier.”

He finished and mounted the horse, glancing at his Captain. The young man was clenching his jaw rhythmically. 

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” He shuffled his feet. “Do you have any advice for me before you go?”

Brasidas pondered that for a moment, there were many things he could say, platitudes, generic advice, but it didn’t seem appropriate. Callias was already very competent and didn’t need cliches to improve.

“Be careful with how you handle the hetaera. If you bed them, there’s risk included. Partly that they may assume to have your ear and ability to point your spear, on behalf of their other patrons or themselves. You also risk offending or angering the citizens who often confuse their minds and their members, and so believe the hetaera loves them and will think you are a threat to that love. Best stay away if possible.”

It was not the kind of advice Callias had expected, he could tell. It was useful, though. Sparta usually didn’t care about diplomacy and it always caused unnecessary strife and friction with their allies. If he could get one other Spartan to consider the consequences of their actions outside the battlefield, he’d consider Sparta’s chances improved.

He rode eastward, facing Helios as it rose over Korinthia, bathing the open fields and flowers with light and color. The treacherous part of his mind that sometimes still pulled out images of Kassandra and let her laughter and moans ring in his ears told him that a blanket spread in the grass underneath a shielding tree would be a wonderful spot to while away a day with the beautiful mercenary. He rode a little harder then, pushed himself and the horse until the open meadows gave way to dense forest. 

He stopped once he was deep enough to not see a single glimpse of flower strewn grass and broke for his midday meal. While the horse grazed on the shrubbery, Brasidas stretched his stiff, sore muscles before sitting down on a rock to eat some of the provisions he’d brought. His lower back ached already, though not at much as his backside, and even when resting he could feel his legs tremble slightly from exhaustion. Cursing himself for not training more on horseback and becoming so soft and complacent during his stay in Korinthia, he ate quickly and spent the remaining time stretching and massaging his muscles while the beast rested.

The remainder of that day’s ride went through the forest. Thick leafy greenery on both sides of the trodden path never gave way to anything else. No settlements or real campsites, and no natural shelters or caves that he could see. It was getting late and both he and the horse were tired. Brasidas debated if he should stop to make camp just off the road or press on a bit further. In the end he decided to ride up on the next ridge and look for a good spot from there.

As he crested the hill the trees opened up and showed the valley below. Fields upon fields of wheat waving in the fading light of the setting sun, and small farmhouses were dotted throughout the valley.

He had reached Arkadia.

He woke the next morning with the crowing of the rooster and suppressed a groan. His whole body was stiff and aching terribly from the full days ride. He had slept in the stable of the closest farm, wrapped in his red cloak, and now he pushed to his feet and brushed the fabric clean, teeth gritted against protesting muscles.

The farmer had welcomed him with open arms and offered him their bed inside the house, as well as all the food and drink he wanted. Brasidas had declined of course, not just because of the aching proof of his lethargic, pampered time in Korinth, but because of the stiffness behind those welcoming smiles. This farmer and his family were used to soldiers, mercenaries, and bandits exploiting their vulnerability so close to the forest and the road, and Brasidas did not want to be counted among those who would threaten, hurt, or exploit their hosts, so he waved away the offer of a warm bed, hot food, and pleasant but apprehensive conversation and made his bed in the stable with his horse. Still, the farmer had brought him a bowl of lentil stew and some wine, and thanked him for the protection his presence offered them.

Before Brasidas could set off again, the farmer stopped him with bread straight from the oven and another cup of wine. The bread was warm and still soft enough to almost not need dipping. He ate while watching the farmer’s son, a boy of maybe ten, feed the chickens and goats. He reminded Brasidas of his youngest nephew, a scrawny boy with knobbly knees and more bravery than sense, who had just entered the agoge.

There would be no agoge for this boy though, only the hard, thankless labor of the wheat fields. Though… the work might be hard and thankless, but the farmer and his family seemed happier together than any Brasidas had seen in Sparta. He looked around at the golden fields of wheat swaying in the early morning breeze, at the chickens pecking happily at the ground, at the boy murmuring to the goats as he stroked their sides. It didn’t look like a bad life at all, really.

It was almost midmorning when he set off again. The farmer’s wife had packed him bread, cheese, and eggs to bring with him, which he had tried to refuse without success.

The first hour or so was agony for his sore muscles, but they eventually loosened and he could relax his clenched jaw. It was a beautiful day, clear blue skies giving the wheat a brilliant golden color. The people he passed looked mostly healthy and content, their strong arms cutting down long yellow stalks, tying them into sheaves, and piling them into stooks. Then later came the threshing and winnowing, and finally the grinding into flour.

Brasidas knew all of these steps and the words for them because of his friend, Lagos, the Archon of Arkadia. Lagos kept all of the Peleponnese fed through his fields, so they all owed him their lives, but Brasidas's debt was higher, more direct.

In his youth, when Brasidas and his men were pinned down and the enemy just waiting for hunger to weaken them, Lagos - not yet Archon then - had managed to smuggle food to the starving soldiers, letting them hold out until reinforcements arrived. If not for Lagos’ actions, Brasidas would be dead, and his men with him. That act of bravery and compassion had sparked a friendship between the two men that lasted still. He sorely wished he could allow himself a detour to visit his friend, but he knew he had indulged himself more than enough for a long while.

Instead, he rode on deeper into Arkadia and as the landscape rose higher, he left the waving fields and blue skies behind in exchange for rocky ground, thin pine trees, and gathering rain clouds. He was entering the foothills of Mount Psophis and the air got colder the further he rode. By the time he stopped for the night he was miserable and chilled, and soaked from the light drizzle that had been falling for hours. With cold-stiffened hands, he cut branches from nearby trees and made a lean-to shelter against a boulder. He managed to start a small fire with trembling hands, and sat close to dry his clothes and warm his numb feet.

Mumbling a prayer of thanks to the gods who set the generous farmer in his path, Brasidas ate from the packed food he’d been given. Their generosity spared him from having to hunt or forage for his dinner, or to sleep hungry. Now he’d had enough for lunch, dinner, and would have breakfast as well.

Brasidas lay curled near the banked fire in his small shelter, his sleep fitful and broken, every sound in the surrounding woods warning of a potential threat. 

He woke early, still damp and cold, head throbbing and eyes heavy, when pale gray light only just began to dispel the deep darkness of night. Packing up, he set off long before Helios had actually crept above the horizon. 
Riding higher into the cold mountains, he ate the eggs he had cooked in the hot embers overnight, trembling fingers picking off the white shell and flicking it to flutter away like snow. The ground around them was covered with frost and he stroked the neck of his horse in gratitude for the body heat the beast was sharing with him.

He sped up, riding faster to get through the freezing foothills quicker, and out from under the cold shadow of Mount Psophis. By midmorning the craggy, barren ground and dark pine had given way to leafy green trees and bushes, and he knew he’d left Arkadia behind and entered Elis. Helios was peering around the mountain with warm light when he made his first stop of the day.

A small stream flowed down from the mountain and he filled his sheepskins with fresh, cool water, before stripping down to give himself a quick rinse, futilely scrubbing away at days old sweat and dust with numbing palms.
Afterwards he walked back and forth between the trees, stretching his legs while the horse drank and rested. His keen eyes spied a patch of blackberries tucked behind a boulder, and Brasidas pulled a cloth from his pack, filling it with plump, juicy berries.

He found a patch of warm sunlight and sat down to eat his bounty. As the sweet juices brust on his tongue, a thought came unbidden into his mind. 

Kassandra would like these.

He felt an irrational urge to tuck some of the berries away to save them for her, and chided himself. Yes, Kassandra was compelling. A fierce and capable fighter, a keen intellect, and a radiant beauty, but they had only met twice and were unlikely to see each other again anytime soon, if ever.

Still, he would have liked to see her sitting in the sunlight, smiling at him, with lips and fingertips stained with juice from the blackberries.

He rode on through endless stretches of uncultivated land where the vast grassy meadows were full of rocks and boulders. Knowing Olympia lay ahead, he pushed on until the city appeared on the horizon.

Stabeling his horse, he walked onto the central street just as the sun set, the light giving a golden hue to the marble stretched out before him. He stopped only a moment to take in the impressive sight before entering the large temple of Zeus.

Brasidas made his sacrifices and prayed for continued safe passage to Cyllene, for good fortune in the coming naval battles, for Sparta's success in their campaign against Athens, for the health and wellbeing of his syssitia, his parents, his sisters and their families. After only a short moment of hesitation, he prayed for Kassandra, for Myrinne, and even for the young Phoibe. He was being unusually comprehensive, maybe even greedy, but how often did one pray in the grandest temple in all of the Peloponnese? If ever any of the gods would hear him, it would be here.

Once finished, he found an inn and let a room where he could finally wash the dust, sweat, and grime from the past few days off his skin. He tasked a servant with washing his clothes, while he, dressed in his spares, went to take his evening meal at a nearby tavern. It was good to sit and speak with other people for a while, and he tried to not miss his men back in Korinth or his syssitia in Sparta.

He slept well into the morning this time. Where his sleep had been fitful and interrupted the night before, now it had been deep and peaceful and Brasidas rose to wakefulness slowly, hovering between dream and reality.

Kassandra was sleeping on his chest, her cheek pressed to his skin, her hand resting on his stomach, her leg slung over his. He was stroking her hair with one hand, while the other rested atop hers on his belly. He could hear her soft breathing, feel the heat of her skin, smell her hair.

Then the dream dissipated like smoke and he was alone in the bed again. For a moment, he could feel the imprint of her against his abandoned skin, cold in the morning air, as if she had just slipped out of bed.

He took a little extra time in Olympia before moving on, visiting the arenas and beautiful temples, even standing a while before the olympic fire, lost in thought. Before leaving, he visited the temple of Hera and burned a sacrifice on her altar. His youngest sister, Hyptia, was pregnant with her first and he asked the Goddess for her protection of both mother and child.

Then his ride continued through the mostly unchanging landscape until evening when he reached Camp Alpheios just on the border of a dense forest. The evening spent with the soldiers felt more comfortable than with the strangers in Olympia, but it made him miss Callias and his men even more.

To compensate for dawdling with sightseeing and prayer the day before, Brasidas set out early the next morning with a cheery wave and a warning of Huntresses in the forest beyond from the camp’s Captain. The woods were dark, almost none of the early morning light filtering through the canopy, and he gave over most of the navigation to the horse, trusting it would not run them into danger or off a cliff.
Eventually, the forest opened up into a swamp, and beyond that lay the town of Cyllene, nestled by the coast.

He reached the fort by midday and dismounted, untying his pack to sling it over his shoulder. After the silence of the forest and swamp, the noise of shrieking gulls and crashing waves were almost deafening, masking the subdued air of the camp. The guard who led him to Cnemus’ tent looked defeated, his shoulders slumped and eyes downcast. All through the fort grounds stood hoplites practising their javelin throws with almost manic intensity, while others sat around listless and morose.

Cnemus greeted him with a humorless smile and a firm grip. “Welcome, General Brasidas. I trust the journey from Korinth was uneventful?”

“Yes, Commander, very uneventful indeed.” He’d met Cnemus a couple of times before, but only in passing and couldn’t yet gauge the man and how he would now handle the intrusion of three additional Commanders in his camp, all of whom had all been sent there to question and judge his decisions. The man’s face remained neutral and unreadable as he gestured for Brasidas to follow him out into the camp for a tour.

“We are still waiting for Timocrates who is sailing here with two mercenary ships and should arrive in two or three days, and Lycophron who is coming down from Boeotia in a week or so. You arrived earlier than I thought, but it will give us more time to discuss strategy, I suppose.”

Brasidas nodded politely and inwardly cursed the missed opportunity to visit Lagos in Arkadia. Hopefully he would get the chance on his way back instead.

Cnemus stopped their tour at the edge of the cliffs, waves crashing just below their feet. Brasidas looked out over the sea and tried to orient himself. He could see land in the distance, rocky hills enveloped in thin, hazy fog. “Is that Phokis?”

Cnemus snorted, voice full of contempt. “No, Phokis is far beyond the horizon. That is Kephallonia. An absolute shithole full of nothing but goats and rocks. Can’t grow anything, can’t build anything and people are so useless even the Athenians can’t be bothered with them.”

The Commander walked away, but Brasidas lingered. Kephallonia. Kassandra’s island. She’d washed ashore there after Sparta had thrown her away. Close to twenty years on that island had shaped the woman she was now, more than any influence Myrrine, Nikolaos, or Sparta ever had.

Surely, the island couldn’t be all bad if it had given them Kassandra.

Kassandra

They were docking at the Port of Piraeus and Barnabas was standing on deck shouting a conversation with a man several paces away on shore when Kassandra emerged from the interior of the ship. She’d had to elbow past almost the entire crew to get out, and they had all looked worried and uncomfortable. Herodotus stood close by, arms crossed and face pinched in a frown.

“What’s going on?”

The historian didn’t have time to answer before Barnabas appeared at her side. “They don’t want us to dock because of the plague. Since we’re not carrying medicines or aid, we’ve been advised to just leave.

“Plague?! What plague?!” Kassandra was appalled, had she brought her crew from the dangerous waters around Keos right into an equally dangerous port?

Both men looked at her, confused and hesitant. “Yes. There’s a plague in Athens. We thought you knew. You spent hours here last time.”

Last time. She had dropped Phoibe off without really speaking to anyone, focused only on getting information about her mater. She hadn’t noticed… “Phoibe! Oh no! I have to get her out of here!” Jumping ashore, she called over her shoulder. “Lay anchor out in the bay until I return!”

Kassandra ran through the streets, feet slapping on the stones, lungs and eyes burning. She could see it now, all of it. The streets were empty, yes, of their usual crowds of people going to and fro, the background hum of their inane conversation silent now, but instead the streets were full of bodies, dead and rotting in piles, sick and laying in their own filth. The air was thick and hazy with smoke from funeral pyres, the smell of burning flesh, and the smoke felt oily as it clung to her hair and skin. Cries for help echoed through the narrow streets, the sound rising over the coughing of hundreds of people.

How had she missed this? How had she walked through this mirror of Tartarus without noticing? They had only been gone a few days, surely this couldn’t all have sprung up since then?

The narrow alley opened up into an open market square, now abandoned by its merchants and instead occupied by the dead and dying. In the middle of it all stood Hippokrates, and she rushed to his side. “Hippokrates! What happened here?” 

The man looked up, face tired, drawn, and full of grief. “I don’t know. This sickness ravages everyone without discrimination. Leaking pustules, raging fever, hacking cough, vomiting, diarrhea… It’s everything at once and I am powerless to stop it.”

She’d never heard him so defeated, so despairing. “Is there really nothing to be done?”

He shook his head and gestured to the burning pyres. “Burn the bodies, try to stop the spread, comfort the dying. Nothing else.”

“I’m so sorry, my friend.” She reached out to squeeze his shoulder in comfort.

“We don’t know how the disease spreads. You should avoid the sick.”

“But what about you? Are you not afraid of getting sick?”

He nodded and shrugged his shoulders. “I am, but what can I do but help what little I can?”

“I’m here for Phoibe, I can’t leave her here.”

“Then you should take her and any other friends with you. Leave Athens, Kassandra. Be safe away from here.”

She left the physician and continued towards Perikles’ house, and for the second time spied a familiar face in the crowd. “Hey! Phoibe!”

The girl stopped in her tracks and looked around, lighting up in a smile when their eyes met. “Kassandra! You’re back! I can’t talk now, I have to run an errand. I’ll meet you back at Aspasia’s house later!” She sounded far too giddy and excited about the situation, the pride of having an important task overshaddowing any danger around her.

Kassandra grabbed her wrist and held her back. “Phoibe! Why is Aspasia sending you out on errands in this chaos? I told you not to let her put you in danger again.”

Phoibe gently tried to pull her wrist free, but Kassandra was not about to let her go. “It’s nothing dangerous. I’m just delivering a letter to her friend.”

Exasperated, Kassandra shook her head. “Not dangerous? There’s a plague, Phoibe. Look around you.”

The girl was pulling harder now, trying to continue in the direction she’d been heading. “I know that, Kassandra. But this is a really important letter and I have to deliver it to Anastasios before it’s too late.”

Sighing, she allowed herself to be pulled along, but she did not let go of the small, bony wrist. “Fine. But I’m coming with you.”

She let Phoibe drag her through the streets until they reached the house of Anastasios. The wails and moans of the sick filled the air, almost masking the wholly different kinds of cries coming from inside the house.

Phoibe, oblivious of the danger ahead, ran forward, only to be janked back and into a side street. Kassandra clapped a hand over her mouth before she could protest. Crouching down, she spoke in a low whisper. “Shhh. There’s someone being tortured in that house. Stay here. Stay quiet. Stay invisible.”

The girl nodded, her large round eyes filling with fear.

Kassandra moved cautiously towards the house, and the closer she got, the clearer the sounds from inside became. Screams and groans of pain, whimpers and prayers of fear, and a voice rising from calm to angry and back to calm again. Laughter. 

She peered through a window at the side of the house. Two cultist guards stood by the door, and slave lay dead in a pool of blood on the floor, and her brother - Deimos - was… there was no way to describe what he was doing but playing with a second man. 

Between laughing taunts and bellowed insults, Deimos was kicking the man around the room, dragging him over the floor, slamming him face first into the wall. It was strange and cruel and pointless. Deimos didn’t seem to want any information, and wasn't asking any questions for the tortured man to answer even if he could. The man, who had now fallen silent, was no longer conscious, maybe not even still alive.

As she stared in dumbstruck horror, Deimos dumped the limp body onto a klinē and pulled out a knife.

Kassandra never saw what he did with it, because one of the guards called out. She had been spotted.

Climbing the low wall that surrounded the front garden, she moved to meet her opponents and caught one of them by surprise, slashing his neck open with her blade. He didn’t even flinch, didn’t falter, just raised his own sword and attacked.

Battling the two cultists, both much stronger than they had any right to be, she could only watch through the corner of her eye as Deimos sauntered out of the house and stood watching the fight for a moment before walking away with a taunting smile.

The bleeding guard was losing strength and coordination, so she focused her efforts on the other one until he lay dead at her feet. The first guard mustered a last effort and slashed at her with a knife, but she caught it easily, dancing away from his hands while plunging the blade into the other side of his neck.

Phoibe’s scream pierced the air and Kassandra whipped around. Deimos was standing in the middle of the street, Phoibe held high by one hand while the girl struggled and cried.

“Deimos! Let her go!” The knife she had plunged into the guard flew towards her brother’s outstretched arm. He moved before it could sink into his flesh and only the thinnest of red lines marred his pale skin. He dropped the girl with a careless shrug, who screamed and then fell silent as her head hit the cobblestone.

Deimos delivered another taunting smile and walked away.

“Deimos!” Kassandra called at his retreating back while she ran to the crumpled girl on the ground. “Is this what you think politics is?! Hurting small children and torturing defenseless citizens?!”

He didn’t answer her, but his booming, carefree laughter rang out between the houses, and for just a moment, Kassandra was transported back to Sparta, to her childhood, and the sound of Nikolaos’ delighted laughter ringing through the rooms of the house. They both sounded just the same.

Gathering the unconscious girl into her arms, Kassandra ran towards Perikles’ house as fast as she could without jostling her burden. Reaching the house proved challenging though. A large crowd was gathered outside and at the head of it stood Kleon, yammering about politics, the plague, the war, and other nonsense she couldn’t pretend to care about.

She muscled her way past and found a side entrance. As soon as she stepped inside, she raised her voice. “Aspasia!” Moving further into the house in search of a klinē to lay Phoibe down on, she continued to call out until the woman appeared.

“Kassandra! You’re back… Oh no, what happened?”

Laying the child down gently, she checked her injuries. The wrist Deimos had been holding was deformed and crooked, skin already a deep purple. A gash at the side of Phoibe’s head was bleeding copiously, the site already swelling up. A few thin, shallow scratches on her cheek. That was all Kassandra found, and she took a slow, calming breath and turned to their host.

She was startled before she could speak. Unbeknownst to her, Sokrates had followed her into the house and now loudly announced he would fetch Hippokrates before disappeared out the door in a flutter of his himation, moving faster than Kassandra thought he was capable of. She turned back to Aspasia, still forcing herself to stay calm. “The Cult was waiting at the house you sent her to. Deimos killed the people inside and then tried to kill Phoibe.”

A servant appeared with a cloth in a bowl of water and Kassandra took it, wringing it out and began cleaning the wound. “Why did you send her there?” Her voice was tight with anger and fear. “Why did you send her anywhere at all? There’s a plague. The streets are full of sick, desperate, violent people. Why do you keep sending her into danger?”

Aspasia was calm and her voice so understanding when she answered. “Perikles is sick. I can’t leave him here alone. I sent Phoibe to arrange a ship to take us out of Athens. It’s too dangerous for us to stay with Kleon whipping up the citizens to riot outside.”

The cloth was red now, soaked full of Phoibe’s blood and Kassandra pressed it to the cleaned wound to staunch the flow. The girl’s eyes fluttered briefly and a faint moan escaped her slack lips, but she didn’t wake up.

Hippokrates arrived, running into the room and pushing both women aside with firm hands, asking for space to work. They stood a few steps away, watching as the healer worked. He examined Phoibe thoroughly, lifting her eyelids, smelled her breath, palpated her stomach, pressed his ear to her chest, checked her arms and legs.

Once finished with the examination, he rinsed the head wound with diluted wine and quickly sutured it closed. Moving on to the broken wrist, he waved Kassandra over to hold the arm steady as he realigned the bones and wrapped them with a sturdy splint into a neat package, which he placed into a sling tied around the girl’s neck. The pain of realigning the bones had caused Phoibe to moan again, but she was still not waking up, and Kassandra’s stomach churned with worry. Hippokrates finished up by wrapped a swollen ankle Kassandra had missed during her own examination. None of them spoke until he was finished and repacking his things. 

“Will she be ok?” It was Aspasia who asked, while Kassandra stood with her arms crossed and jaw clenched.

The physician nodded. “I believe so, but she needs rest. She should stay off her feet for several days, and her arm will need at least two moons to heal.”

Aspasia took the healer’s hands in her own and thanked him, leading him further into the house. Kassandra stayed, staring at the pale unconscious Phoibe, while guilt and worry gnawed at her stomach. Sokrates placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “We should move her to a bed. Make her more comfortable.”

With a jerky nod, Kassandra moved forward and together they lifted the small body, carrying her through the house. They set her down on a soft sleep mat and Kassandra carefully tucked her in under a sheet. Then she stood, staring awkwardly at the pale child until Sokrates led her away to the central room of the house.

She sat in a chair, not really paying attention to what was going on around her until Aspasia and Hippokrates returned.

“...and I cannot thank you enough. He has been standing out there, refusing medicine and rest, and getting steadily worse, just so he can listen to Kleon’s speeches.”

“It’s no bother, really. Patients often think ignoring their illness will make them better. But he’s resting now.”

“Is it Perikles?” Sokrates, who had been sitting uncharacteristically quiet by her side, stood and walked over to their host and the healer. “Is he getting worse?”

They both shook their heads. “No, not worse, but not better. I have seen many affected much worse than he’s been, but it’s far too soon to tell if he will pull through. His symptoms could worsen suddenly.”

A servant brought a tray of food and wine. Hippokrates walked over and sat down, pushing a plate into her hands. “You must eat, Kassandra. This is not a good day to lose your wits to hunger.”

She took the plate and started eating mechanically. “Thank you for helping Phoibe. I know you are very busy.”

The healer bowed his head in acknowledgement. “I didn’t mind. To tell you the truth, it was nice to actually treat someone that will get better and heal, for a change.”

The food helped pull her out of her mind filled with guilt and dread, and she started to actually listen to the conversation around her.

“... I’m not sure what to do now. We must leave Athens, but I don’t see a way out that is not by ship.” Aspasia’s voice was worried and clipped, the stress clearly getting to her.

“I have a ship.” Three faces turned to look at her in surprise, as if they didn’t already know she sailed the Aegean. “I came to take Phoibe from here, but you can come too.” 

Aspasia’s expression melted into a relieved smile and she stood from her seat. “Thank you, Kassandra. We should leave quickly, I’ll fetch Perikles.”

Kassandra stood up too and turned to Hippokrates. “Can we move Phoibe to the ship without hurting her?”

He nodded. “Gently, yes. It will be safer for her away from Athens as well.”

The physician told the servants to create a stretcher and was instructing them on how to safely transport the child when Aspasia came running into the room.

“He’s gone! Perikles is gone!” She was wringing her hands and looking around the room as if the man might be hiding in one of the corners. “He must have gone to the Parthenon to pray.”

With a heavy breath, Sokrates shook his head. “It is not safe for him outside. Kleon is riling up the crowd to call for his blood. We must go after him.”

Aspasia ran out the door and the two men started after her but stopped at Kassandra’s words. “I’ll meet you there after I move Phoibe to the ship.”

“Kassandra.” Hippokrates spoke in a careful voice. “Perikles is in danger and none of us are fighters. You need to help us defend him.”

“No, I need to get Phoibe to safety. She shouldn’t even be in Athens. I’m the one who brought her here. She wanted to stay on the ship and I insisted she come here instead.” Her voice was thickening with the tears beginning to burn in her eyes. If she left Phoibe to deal with Perikles, would she still be alive when she came back? Would Kleon’s mob storm the house and kill her? Would Deimos come back for her?

“I’ll take her.” Sokrates stepped forward and straightened his back a little. “Perikles needs your sword, and Hippocrates’ healing. I will stay with the girl and make sure she gets safely to the ship.” He gestured to the servants who had stopped working on the stretcher when Aspasia entered, and they continued the work. “The people outside are not after me, or the girl. We will be alright. Now go. Save Perikles, and Athens.”

She hesitated. “If she dies…”

“Then you will take your anger and grief out on me, which gives me incentive to keep her safe.” Sokrates nodded at her, and Hippockates pulled on her arm. With one last look at the unconscious girl, she ran out of the house towards Acropolis.

Hippokrates tried to keep up but she outpaced him easily. Not long after, she ran past Aspasia too.

When she reached the Acropolis she found the area around the temple deserted and the doors closed. Usually there were guards and worshippers, but where were they now? Had the plague really driven everyone away? Shouldn’t it be the opposite? Crowds of people praying to their goddess for mercy, for help?

No, something was wrong and Kassandra was certain who in this city had the power to drive desperate worshippers from their temple. Stalking over, she shoved the heavy doors to the Parthenon open, bellowing into the cavernous room. “Deimos!”

Her brother didn’t flinch at the sound, but stayed crouched on the ground, murmuring into Perikles’ ear.

“Let him go!”

But Deimos didn’t heed her, instead he turned his head to her slowly and smiled, his sword slicing open Perikles’ throat. His cultist guards advanced on her as Kassandra tried to rush to stop the murder. Just like at Anastasios house, her brother stood for a moment, watching as she fought his guards. Then he walked away with a smirk on his face.

“Coward! Why don’t you face me yourself?”

Over the commotion of their fight, she could hear his sing-song voice taunting her. “It’s best you stay out of my way, Eagle-Bearer.”

These guards were stronger than the last two and it took her longer to dispatch them. Through the open door she spotted Hippokrates holding Aspasia back. As soon as the last guard fell to the floor, the woman ran up to Perikles, staring at the man lying by her feet. 

For just a moment, everything was quiet in the temple, before she spoke in a defeated monotone. “All is lost now.” Then her voice became more animated, urgent. “We have to go. We’re not safe here.”

Aspasia strode away from the temple with Hippokrates at her elbow. Kassandra took a moment to look at the man laying on the floor. His blood was a dark, reflective pool in the light from the brazier and she felt like something significant had just happened. Though she was not sure that it was Perikle’s death that was sending an icy shiver down her spine.

“Aniazo.” She bowed to Athen’s fallen leader before turning away and starting towards the Port of Piraeus, setting a punishing pace the other two barely kept up with. She needed to get back to the Adrestia and make sure Phoibe and the crew were safe. She wouldn’t put it past Deimos to go there next, just to hurt her.

She was focused inward on her own thoughts, ignoring her companions completely, when she stopped in her tracks. She had just heard Brasidas’ voice, she could have sworn it. 

Turning in a circle, she carefully scanned the faces of the people around them but saw no one who might be her… friend. Why would he be in Athens? Were the Spartans infiltrating the city?

“What’s wrong?” Hippokrates’ voice was worried as it cut through to her. He too was looking around, scanning the crowds of people.

Kassandra shook herself and started walking again. “Nothing. I thought I heard… something. It was nothing.”

They were almost at the docks when it happened again. Not his voice, but his face this time. A man stood off to the side of the narrow street, and she had to do a double take. She could have sworn it was Brasidas standing there. In disguise, his clothes different, his beard shaved, but still him, looking at her with those bright, keen, honey eyes. But no, at second glance she saw that he looked nothing like the Spartan General. Hair and skin a bit darker, arms and legs thinner and less defined. Even the eyes were wrong. 

What had she been thinking? She shook her head and allowed Hippokrates to pull her away without a word.

They rounded the last corner and saw the Adrestia ahead. Sokrates was coming to meet them and his face shifted from pleasure at their arrival but to solemn grief when he realized Perikles was not with them.

Kassandra reached him first, and didn’t have to ask before he answered. “She’s fine. Resting below deck with Herodotus. He turned to Aspasia. “My condolences. Perikles was a great man. Perhaps greater than we even knew.” Aspasia gave him a tightlipped smile and bowed her head in acknowledgement, but continued towards the ship.

“Stop!” They all turned and saw a group of Athenian soldiers, weapons in hand. “Kleon has ordered that no one leaves Athens, and he wants Aspasia brought to him.”

“I’m not going!” The woman took a step back and glanced at Kassandra for help.

“We’re not asking. Come willingly or we kill your companions and drag you there by your feet.”

“Go, get on the ship. I’ll fight them off.” Her voice was low, only meant for her friends, but the Athenian Strategos heard her and laughed. “Oh, will you? How about we bring you along as well? My troops haven’t had much in the way of fun lately. I’m sure you’ll be a welcome distraction.”

Then the smirk froze on his face and he looked down in confusion at the javelin sticking out of his chest. Behind her, Kassandra’s crew came running up, jeering and taunting the remaining soldiers as they descended with overwhelming numbers. Soon, the Athenians lay dead and naked on the ground, stripped of all their possessions by the crew before they returned to the ship.

Kassandra saw that Aspasia was already on board, sitting by the helm with Barnabas, but both Sokrates and Hippokrates still stood on the dock, waiting for her. “Come one. Lets go before more of Kleon’s men arrive.”

Both men shook their heads. “We are staying in Athens.” Hippokrates’ voice had that gentle quality again. “My work is here. I can’t leave the city in this state.”

“Neither can I. With Perikles gone it’s even more important to stay and stand up against Kleon.” Sokrates voice was proud and steady, with no trace of that feigned uncertain, questioning quality it usually had. He had shown a completely new side of himself in the last few hours, and Kassandra was glad to know there was a man with direction and action hidden beneath the surface.

She shook their hands goodbye and stepped onto the ship. As they cast off and pushed away from the dock, she called after them. “I expect to see you both again. Alive! ”

They smiled at her, raising their hands to wave before disappearing down a side street and out of sight.

Kassandra glanced at Aspasia but decided to leave her with Barnabas, and instead went below deck. She found Phoibe tucked into her own bedrolls, Herodotus sitting on a stool by her side. “How is she?”

“Kassandra.” He rose and stood next to her and spoke in a low voice. “She’s as well as can be expected. The wound is no longer bleeding, she doesn’t have a fever, and though she’s not yet awake, she seems closer to waking. Moving, mumbling, changes in breathing.”

“That’s good to hear.” She crouched down and stroked Phoibe’s hair. “Will you stay with her a bit longer? I need to speak to our other guest.”

“Of course.” He sat down again and Kassandra climbed up on to deck to talk to Aspasia.

The woman was standing alone at the helm, staring back at the lights of Athens. “It seems so calm and quiet from afar. No one could tell the turmoil inside.”

“I’m sorry, Aspasia. For Perikles, for Athens. I should have…”

She was interrupted, Aspasia’s voice strong and confident. “You have nothing to apologize for, Kassandra. Nothing. The Cult of Kosmos had a plan for Athens that we didn’t see until it was too late. It is not your fault.”

Kassandra gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. “I will demolish them. Each Cultist will beg for mercy when I kill them for what they’ve done.”

Aspasia looked at her in silence for a moment, her expression unreadable. “That time will come, I’m sure. Now though, we need to plan the next step. Do you have a heading in mind?”

Kassandra released her jaw and fists. With the chaos within Athens, she had completely forgotten why she had to come to the city in the first place. “I had actually hoped you would be able to help me with that. That’s why I came. The woman I’m looking for, she goes by the name Phoenix. I’m told she sailed away from Keos not too long ago on a ship called Siren Song.”

Aspasia nodded slowly. “Yes, Phoenix. I have heard that name. My information may be out of date, but last I heard, she was on Naxos.”

“Naxos…” Kassandra hadn’t been there, but she thought it was near Mykonos, placing it several days away.

She left Aspasia at the helm and went to inform Barnabas of their heading, before disappearing below deck again.

The young girl was awake and vomiting when Kassandra returned to her side. Herodotus was helping her empty her stomach into a bowl and murmuring in a soft, soothing tone.

Phoibe looked up when she knelt on the bedroll. Her face pale and clammy, eyes red and glazed. “Kassandra? What’s going on? I was in Korinth… waiting for you… I think.” She threw up again and moaned pitifully. “Everything hurts…”

Kassandra wiped the girl’s forehead with a damp cloth and stroked her hair. “It’s ok, Phoibe, you’re ok. You fell and hit your head. Just rest now, you’ll feel better.”

She stripped off her armor and laid down, pulling the girl to rest the uninjured side of her head on her chest. “Just go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Herodotus left them and Kassandra laid awake in the dark, stroking Phoibe’s shoulder and listening to her steady breaths.

It had been an unreasonably long day and her head swam with everything she’d experienced. Athens was being ravaged by a horrific plague, Kleon had taken over soldiers and citizens, trying to stir up a riot within the already beleaguered walls, Perikles was dead, and Deimos… There was something wrong with her brother. Very wrong. But each time he had a chance to fight her, to take her out, he’d chosen to walk away instead. Why?

She was so tired, but still sleep eluded her. There was one thought in her mind that she was avoiding, one that wouldn’t let her sleep.

Brasidas.

She could admit to herself, at least, that she was very taken with the Spartan General, maybe even in love. It was not an emotion she was a stranger to, she knew that the object of her affection had a habit of intruding on her thoughts in ridiculous and frivolous ways. She’d ponder what food he liked or what he looked like when he was asleep. She’d wish he was standing next to her as she watched Helios rise, or wish he was laying in her bed. All silly and pointless pining for a man she might never see again.

But today. Today had been different. She hadn’t thought about how easy it would have been to deal with the cultist soldiers if he’d been fighting by her side, or wished he’d been there to escort Phoibe to safety. She hadn’t even spared a thought to wonder if he was outside in the siege camps.

No, she had heard his voice. She knew she’d heard it. And she’d seen his face, his eyes looking at her from a stranger’s face.

This didn’t feel like infatuation, it felt like… Maybe it was the sinister, dystopian feel still lingering from Athens, but… She’d heard of people visiting their loved ones on the way to Hades. Of people having visions, hearing voices, being visited in dreams by people whom they would only later learn were already dead.

Was Brasidas dead? Had he come amidst the chaos of Athens only for Kassandra to not have time to spare him a thought? She shivered with fear and an unnatural chill, and pulled Phoibe tighter against her side. She didn’t want to fall asleep and risk finding Brasidas in her dream, solemn and stoic and saying goodbye.

Brasidas

Brasidas scrubbed his hands over his face and suppressed a scowl. Cnemus was all but holding court, voice booming in the tent as he explained to the troops how they had actually won the battle against the Athenians, twisting the events of the battle to sound like a victory when it was - at best - a draw.

He deliberately refrained from drinking any more wine and tried to push both the booming voice and the memories of the battle out of his head, failing miserably.

In the beginning, it had been going so well. They’d come up with a good strategy that would give them a victory. Pretending to retreat into the Gulf of Korinthia, they had gotten the Athenians to not just follow, but to try to get ahead of them. Twenty blue-sailed ships hand lined up, single file, rowers working hard to get them past the seventy-seven Spartan ships to cut off their escape.

Then, just as planned, they had turned straight towards the Athenians and attacked. They actually managed to capture almost half of the enemy ships while not losing a single of their own, which sounded good in Cnemus speech, but they had seventy-seven ships, and only managed to capture nine Athenian vessels.

Brasidas sighed and bounced his leg, wishing he could leave.

If only that had been it. Nine captured ships was a victory, even if it was only a small one. But no, of course that hadn’t been the end. There were still eleven enemy ships left and they were fleeing from them. Surely capturing them as well wouldn’t be too difficult? So they pursued, their troops jeering, taunting, hollering at the Athenians.

Timocrates had been on their fastest ship, hunting the Athenians all the way back to their port in Phokis. Except… one ship had lagged behind while the other ten found safety. With the customary, pointless, stupid, fucking Spartan hubris, they had assumed the lone ship was already won.

Brasidas hadn’t had any way to communicate with Timocrates, to tell him to slow down and think, to remember what they were all supposed to already know. 

Cornered animals attack.

And even more importantly; Sacrificing one to save many. It was one of the most rudimentary of tactics.

So. The lone Athenian ship which had been retreating - or so they thought - suddenly turned around and attacked Timocrates’ ship, damaging so gravely it began to sink. Brasidas had been close enough by then to see Timocrates standing on the flooded deck, face a mask of stone as he drew his knife across his own throat and falling into the waves, too burdened by shame and humiliation.

Brasidas had ordered his own ship to get closer, to attack, but it had been hopeless. Seventy-six ships full of reckless, hubris-driven, useless boys, and those malakas had panicked at the sight of one single sunken ship, scattering like startled birds. 

No one seemed to think attacking might be prudent, or at least to move into a defensive formation. No. Instead, running aground seemed to be a popular strategy. 

Of course, the remaining ten Athenian ships hadn’t stayed in port. Of course not. They’d attacked while their enemy panicked, and captured six Spartan ships. Not a big loss, according to Cnemus. Six out of seventy-six wasn’t anything for the Athenians to brag about. Brasidas might have been inclined to agree, if Athens hadn’t also managed to recover the nine ships they’d lost earlier.

He wished he had a wall to bang his head against. They had lost seven ships, one of their Generals, several more ships were stuck aground waiting to be salvaged, and every single ship they’d taken from the Athenians had been recovered. Brasidas didn’t know how Cnemus could stand there and pretend they had won. If they returned to Sparta now, all three of them would be executed.

He suspected Lycophron agreed with him, because the younger General slammed his fist against the table, making Cnemus pause and look over.  “That’s enough. It’s late and we need to be ready for tomorrow. Everyone go get some sleep.”

Cnemus frowned at the slight, looking at Brasidas for support, but received only a stern shake of the head.

He laid down to sleep, cheeks still burning with shame, and - like he had every other night - thought about Kassandra. Part of him was glad she hadn’t been there to witness his humiliation, and he hoped she would never find out. The rest of him vehemently wished she was there with him. Not just for the weak, private reasons he kept tucked in the back of his mind, but because he was sure they wouldn’t have lost if she’d been there.

Kassandra wouldn’t have panicked. She wouldn’t have fallen for the exact same rouse they themselves had just tried to use on the Athenians. And she definitely wouldn’t have let the enemy get away without sinking at least a few of their ships first.

Lycophron had passed through Megaris on his way to Cyllene and brought with him stories of the Misthios who had single handedly broken the Athenian blockade, who had joined the Wolf of Sparta and his garrison in battle against Athens, who had fought like a vengeful goddess, impressing absolutely everyone. A Misthios who had impressed so thoroughly she had been given a private audience with the Wolf himself.

After which the Wolf had vanished without a trace.

There was no consensus regarding what had happened to him. Some thought the Misthios had killed him, others thought he had killed himself in shame at being outshone by a lowly mercenary. Some thought he had deserted, left Sparta to begin a sordid love affair with the beautiful Misthios.

Lycophron didn’t believe any of those theories. He thought the Wolf had returned to Sparta to get ahead of any rumours and set the record straight about just who had won a decisive victory in Megaris, and it wasn’t some lowly mercenary.

Brasidas knew the Wolf hadn’t defected to run off with his daughter, and he was almost entirely sure he hadn’t been killed. Kassandra had spoken of him in terms of being alive, nothing else. If she had been lying then, carefully choosing her words to make sure he wouldn’t suspect her hand in the Wolf’s death, then… then she was nothing like he thought she was, and he didn’t believe that. Didn’t want to believe it.

He fell asleep thinking about Kassandra, wondering where she was and if she was ok, and wishing she was right there with him, pressed against his side, head resting on his chest.

Chapter Text

I still search for you in crowds,
in empty fields and soaring clouds.
In city lights and passing cars,
on winding roads and wishing stars.
I wonder where you could be now,
for years I’ve not said your name out loud.
And longer since I called you mine.
Time has passed for you and I.
But I have learnt to live without, 
I do not mind.
I still love you anyhow.

                                                                    - Lang Leav

Kassandra

The next morning, Kassandra woke to soft, whispered voices nearby and saw Herodotus sitting next to the bedrolls. Barnabas was leaned in close, whispering something in his ear, and smiled awkwardly when he saw she was awake. With a slight bow, he left and ascended back up to deck.

“He wants to speak to you, but it can wait.” Herodotus spoke in a gentle voice but at normal volume, while wringing out a damp cloth which he handed to Kassandra. “Use that to clean the poor little girl. She was covered in clammy sweat last night, and there’s still a bit of dried vomit around her mouth. I’m sure being clean will make her feel much better.”

She sat up, folding the covering away from Phoibe and stroked the cloth over the child’s skin, taking extra care to clean off her face. 

Phoibe woke up while Kassandra tried to get some dried blood out of the shell of her ear. “Ow… my head.” She started to lift her hands, but winced and moaned in pain. “Ow, my arm.”

They helped her sit up and lean against the wall, piling pillows behind her to cushion the hard surface. “Do you remember what happened?”

The girl looked confused and began to shake her head but quickly stopped, moaning with the pain.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Um…” Phoibe worked her tongue around her dry mouth and grimaced. “Ewww… it tastes like…”

“Vomit. Yes, you vomited last night.” Herodotus smiled kindly and held out a bowl. “If you rinse with this mint tea, your mouth will taste better. If you can swallow it, it will help settle your stomach.”

She took the bowl with her uninjured hand but almost dropped it, saved only by Kassandra’s quick reflexes. Holding the bowl to the girls lips, Kassandra waited for her to sip and see if the liquid triggered another bout of vomiting. When the tea didn’t seem to make the girl any worse, she spoke again. “Phoibe? What’s the last thing you remember?”

The young face scrunched up in concentration. “I was with Aspasia. Perikles didn’t want to take his medicines… I think.” She sipped some more tea and then looked surprised. “Are we on your ship?”

Kassandra nodded at her. “We are. Athens wasn’t safe, so we had to leave.”

“Aspasia and Perikles too?”

Kassandra didn’t know what to say, but was saved by Herodotus. “Barnabas is keeping Aspasia company up on deck.” He gave a conspiratory smile. “He’s afraid of her.”

Phoibe giggled and then moaned in pain, grabbing for her head but then moaning again. “Ow.. everything hurts.”

Kassandra pulled the sling back in place. “Yes. Be careful, Phoibe, you’re hurt. You... fell and hit your head, broke your arm, and sprained your ankle.”

The girl looked at them both, confusion widening her eyes. “I did?”

“Yes, you did. So you need to stay here and rest for a while until you get better, ok?”

The girl nodded slowly, looking around. “Are we on your ship?”

Kassandra exchanged a glance with Herodotus, who nodded. “We are on the Adrestia, yes.”

Phoibe frowned in confusion. “Why?”

“It was best to leave Athens.” His voice was gentle and showed no hint that the girl was repeating herself.

“Leave Athens?” The confused frown deepened. “Did Aspasia and Perikles leave too?”

Kassandra took a breath before speaking. “Aspasia is up on deck, waiting. I need to talk to her. Can I leave you here with Herodotus for a while?”

The frown stayed deep and confused until Herodotus spoke. “Yes, Phoibe and I will be fine here. Go ahead.” Then her face melted into smiling recognition and she began to nod her head but stopped and whined. “Ow, it hurts.”

As Kassandra stood up and pulled on her armor, she listened to Herodotus explain that Phoibe had suffered a fall and was injured.

She climbed the steps up to deck and blinked in the bright sunlight. Barnabas was standing by the helm with Aspasia, who was nodding politely while the Captain tried to tell one of his fantastic tales. He was nervous, speaking haltingly, getting the story wrong and backtracking, apologizing.

As soon as he saw her, his shoulders sagged in relief. “Ah, Kassandra, there you are. I will just… leave… now.” Then he disappeared below deck as fast as he could without running.

“Good morning, Kassandra.” Aspasia looked almost regal in the early morning sun. Composed, put together, back straight, head tall, eyes clear and keen. There was no hint that she had just escaped her home with nothing but the clothes on her back, that the man who had essentially been her husband had just been murdered, that she had spent the night on an unfamiliar and austere ship.

Kassandra scratched the back of her neck awkwardly. “Aspasia. I’m sorry I just left you alone last night. Did Barnabas and the crew see to your needs?”

The woman gave a small smile and inclined her head. “I have no complaints. You and your crew got me safely out of Athens despite Kleon’s insistence otherwise. How is Phoibe?”

Kassandra was grateful for the change of topic. She didn’t really know what she would have done if Aspasia had asked for better or more comfortable accommodations. The Adrestia wasn’t equipped for passengers. Especially not wealthy ones, used to luxury.

“She’s ok. Woke up last night and vomited a lot, couldn’t remember anything after arriving in Korinth. She’s a bit better now, but still confused and forgetful. Doesn’t remember what happened to her, but remembers she was in Athens with you. She…” 

Kassandra paused, unsure how Aspasia would react. “She’s asking about you… and Perikles. Aspasia, she doesn’t know he’s dead, and… If we tell her now, when she’s still so confused, she won’t remember and will just keep asking.

The woman pursed her lips for just a moment before nodding. “You think we should pretend?”

“Yeah, I do. Otherwise she’ll keep forgetting, and she’ll get upset every time she’s told again.”

Aspasia nodded again and glanced out at the waves surrounding them. “Is it normal for her to be this confused and forgetful? After an injury like this, I mean.”

“Yes, it’s normal if you hit your head hard. It should fade over the next several days.”

“Then she’ll be herself again?”

Kassandra shrugged. “I hope so. But the gash on the side of her head and the broken arm will take longer to heal.”

“Can I see her?”

“Of course. I think that might be very helpful, actually. She doesn’t remember me returning to Athens, so you being there might make her less confused.”

She walked Aspasia down to Phoibe, who was now laying down on the bedroll again, awake but blinking slowly between big yawns. Barnabas was there too, sitting on the floor next to Herodotus, but he shot to his feet as soon as they arrived and mumbled an excuse before disappearing back up on deck.

Kassandra gave Phoibe a smile and a silent wave before following the Captain.

“Barnabas… what’s wrong?” Her voice was teasing, amused by his awkwardness about their guest.

“Nothing!” He looked up to see her smirk and rubbed the back of his neck. “Eh… I’m just… It’s nothing.”

“Come on, Barnabas. You can tell me.” She smacked him on the shoulder, voice still more taunting than reassuring.

“She just gives me the willies, alright?” He was positively squirming where he stood.

Kassandra bit down on a laugh. “The willies?”

“Yeah. Lovely manners, kind, understanding, but… when she looks at you, it’s like she sees right through your skin. Sees all your secrets and shame and private thoughts. Like she knows everything, and is just waiting to bring it up later just to watch you squirm. It’s creepy.”

Kassandra’s teasing grin vanished while he talked and now she frowned at him. “That’s… Aspasia is just a hetaera, Barnabas. No one dangerous. She’s kind and helpful, she took in Phoibe when she didn’t have to, she’s helping me find my mater. And she was just run out of her home after watching her lover be murdered. She’s just preoccupied with her thoughts.” She squeezed his shoulder in comfort. “But if you’re uncomfortable, I will make sure you don’t have to be alone with her anymore. I’ll take care of Aspasia, you take care of the crew, and Herodotus can take care of Phoibe.”

He grinned, relieved but still awkward, and nodded.

“So, how long to Naxos?”

Grateful for the change of subject, he relaxed his shoulders and squinted at the horizon. “The winds are not favouring us, so it will be a couple of days.“

Brasidas

They had retreated back to Korinthia, splitting the troops up to quarter in Brasidas old camp by the city walls, and in the Fort up in Akrokorinth.

Brasidas had wanted to strike at the Athenians right away, before their reinforcements arrived.  Their first strategy had been sound. If they had ended the battle there and let the Athenians retreat in peace, it would have been a resounding victory for Sparta.

But he couldn’t deny that the two other Commanders were right. The morale of their troops would drag them all down, regardless of any strategy.

So, they settled in Korinthia, ordering the troops to pull all the ships into dry dock, and then practise with the javelin. Cnemus tasked the remaining mercenaries Timocrates had brought to train all the hoplites in navigation, steering, spotting shallows and currents, and - in a couple of deeply embarrassing cases - how to swim.

Brasidas consoled himself that those men hadn’t grown up anywhere near Sparta, where every child knew how to swim.

All they needed now was a strategy to defeat the Athenians in another battle, and that’s what had all three of the Commanders stumped.

They were gathered around a large table, a map of the Korinthian Gulf spread out over its surface, and small red and blue wooden pieces representing the ships scattered about.

Cnemus had the fingers of one hand deep in his beard, massaging his chin, while humming occasionally and moving a red piece with his other hand, seemingly at random.

Lycophron had his arms crossed, a deep frown on his face, and was staring at the wall across the room, ignoring everyone around the table.

The commander who had replaced Brasidas in Korinth had insisted he and the Strategos of Akrokorinth should join them, claiming more heads would be better. He wasn’t contributing much with his helpful head though, instead stood silent and staring at Brasidas with a slight smirk on his face. He always did that, smirk knowingly whenever the other Commanders were occupied. The man also seemed to delight in retelling the whole embarrassing story of their defeat to Brasidas’ former troops every chance he got.

He had no idea why the new Commander held a grudge against him, but it was clear that the man did dislike him.

The Strategos of Akrokorinth was pacing the room and talking in a booming voice. “We need to lure the Athenians into a trap and defeat them with our superior numbers!”

Brasidas gritted his teeth at the man’s use of ‘we’ and ‘our’. He wasn’t on the hook for this. He wouldn’t have to return to Sparta in disgrace and face the consequences for this failure.

He was spared responding by Cnemus’ tired voice. “We already tried that last time.”

“Exactly!” The Strategos spun to face the Naval Commander and pointed a triumphant finger at him. “And it worked!”

Cnemus sighed and shook his head. “Well, it’s not likely to work a second time, is it?”

Brasidas broke in before the Strategos could respond. “I don’t think it worked the first time either.”

It was something he’d thought about a lot in the weeks since the battle, and he’d finally decided to voice his thoughts to his fellows. All the faces were turned to him now, even Lycophron cocked his head in interest.

“We had seventy ships against their twenty.”

“Seventy-seven.” The new Commander at Korinth broke in, smirk firmly in place, and Brasidas spared him a glance before continuing. 

“The Athenians know of Spartas… challenges… in Naval combat, but even considering that, they would question a retreat with those overwhelming numbers. Question and expect a trap, and plan accordingly.”

All the men were silent a moment and Cnemus sighed again. “Either way. They won’t fall for the same rouse if we use it again.”

The signal for the evening meal rang out and the Strategos clapped his hands together. “Dinner!” He dragged the Korinth commander out with him, and Cnemus waved a hand at them with a promise to follow shortly.

He sighed once they were gone and placed his hands on the tabletop, hanging his head. His voice was frustrated and strained when he spoke. “I don’t like that man. The Strategos is alright, at least he’s trying to be helpful, but that other little tosspot? Smarmy, smirking, condescending little shit. Always going on about the last battle. I think he wants my job!”

Lycophron waved a hand at Brasidas. “I think he wants his job.”

“He already has my job.” Brasidas crossed his arms and tried to not let his pleasure show that the other two men had noticed the man’s odd behaviour.

“Well, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s ruining the morale of the troops! The strategy we come up with won’t matter if the men don’t have faith in us as their leaders.”

They nodded. He was right, despite the constant training, the men’s faith in the success of this mission was dwindling.

“So, what do we do?”

Brasidas scratched his chin. “We leave Korinth. The city is full of Athenian spies anyway. And the hetaera hear everything and will share it with their patrons if they think it will benefit them. And the patrons can’t be assumed to be on our side in this war. I say we go to Megaris, confer with their leaders, acquire more ships, more troops with naval experience.”

Agreeing on that plan, the three men headed out to join the others for dinner, their collective spirits slightly raised.

Kassandra

They finally reached Naxos after a few days at sea. 

Phoibe was slowly recovering, but she still slept most of the time. When she was awake, she complained of throbbing pain in her head, any light being too bright to bear, and the rolling of the sea made her stomach sick.

Her temper wasn’t the happy, sunny disposition Kassandra was used to either. Instead the girl was irritable and angered easily, especially when she became confused and forgot something.

Kassandra knew this was not unusual for someone who’d hurt their head like Phoibe had, but it still made her worried. At night, at their little makeshift altar on the ship, she prayed to Apollo and Asklepios to help Phoibe, and promised to make large sacrifices at a proper temple as soon as she found one.

Now, as the Adrestia slid into port, they agreed it was best to keep Phoibe on the ship until Kassandra not only had verified that Phoenix was on the island and that she really was Myrrine, but also that they would be welcomed.

Kassandra didn’t like to dwell on the thought, but there was a chance that her mater would reject her. With everything she had learned about Myrrine, it sounded like she wanted nothing to do with her past life at all, and maybe that included her long lost daughter.

So Barnabas and Herodotus both stayed on the Adrestia to be with Phoibe, while Kassandra stepped off the ship with Aspasia at her side, taking in the town before them.

Near the docks stood several marble statues, as well as plain marble blocks, ready to be shipped out.

Aspasia followed her gaze and nodded ruefully. “Naxos has beautiful marble. It’s the island's biggest source of trade, I believe.” When Kassandra shrugged and started walking down the dock, the woman followed. “Phoenix should be in that villa up there. I hope you find her.”

Kassandra’s steps slowed as she followed the line of Aspasia’s pointed finger. Her mater might be in that house right now. Just being there. The thought was almost overwhelming, but she chided herself. She had been pointed in her mater’s direction many times before without finding her. There was no reason to assume this would be different.

“Where will you go now?”

The woman waved her hand towards the houses. “I will go into the town and see if I can find any old friends.”

Kassandra nodded, eager to get going, but tried to be mindful of her manners. “If you can’t find them or run into trouble, you are of course welcome to return to the Adrestia.”

Aspasia gave an enigmatic smile, but didn’t reply. Instead she inclined her head and turned away, disappearing in between the buildings.

Kassandra started up the winding path through the town that would lead her to Phoenix’s villa. 

The sight of Spartan banners decorating the town and their soldiers patrolling the streets surprised and worried her. Even with a new identity, would her mater really align herself so closely with Sparta after everything they had done to her? Or was Myrrine not here, and Naxos was just another dead end?

Those thoughts distracted her long enough for her feet to carry her up the hill to the villa Aspasia has pointed to. Once there, Kassandra hesitated. She’d never really entered a house like this on legitimate, civil business before. Snuck in to rob or kill, yes, many times. But that didn’t really help her to figure out how to get in to talk to her mater. If she was in there.

Two guards stood by the entrance, their eyes following her as she walked closer. Figuring she had nothing to lose by asking, she walked up to them, ready to bolt and vanish into the winding back-alleys if they were hostile. Then come back and break in after dark and… surprise her mater as she slept? Not the best plan.

“What do you want?” The soldier wasn’t exactly aggressive in his question, more irritated.

“I… um… I’m looking for Phoenix?” Her voice sounded alien to her ears. Uncertain, brittle, child-like.

“Yeah, inside, straight ahead.” Both soldiers took a half-step to the side, giving her space to pass.

Kassandra’s feet moved of their own accord, bringing her into the dark villa while her mind reeled. They’d just let her in. Into Phoenix’s villa. Phoenix, who was there, in the house, just a few steps away. Phoenix, who might be Myrrine.

Stopping just inside to let her eyes adjust, she peered through the doorway on her right. A servant was busy folding up a large piece of cloth, but looked over when Kassandra entered.

“Phoenix?” The woman didn’t reply but jutted her chin in the direction of the other doorway, straight ahead.

Kassandra took a few tentative steps. She couldn’t see into the room, but heard voices. Men’s, a woman’s. Was that Phoenix? She didn’t recognize…

Then Myrrine’s voice lifted over the rest. Strong and clear and exactly as Kassandra remembered it.

The sound pierced her chest like a dagger, and her heart squeezed in pain, stopping her breath and pooling tears into her eyes. ‘Mamá‘.
Suddenly she was a child again. That voice flowing through all of her young memories, praising, scolding, consoling, admonishing, guiding her.

The breath trapped in her throat and the tears threatening to spill from her eyes burned as she heard her mater dismiss the people in the room beyond. She didn’t have time to compose herself before the people started to file out, but she lifted her chin and looked at them all nonetheless.

They didn’t spare her more than a glance on their way out of the villa. No interest in who she was or why she was lurking in a corner of their leader’s house.

It wasn’t until they had all left and her mater still hadn’t appeared that she could breathe. One deep, shuddering breath to steady herself, then she stepped around the corner and into the room beyond.

The empty room beyond.

There was a table with a map of the island, and smaller tables with scrolls and tablets scattered about the room, but nothing else. No Myrrine.

Kassandra took a few steps deeper inside and looked through the nearest doorway. Nothing.

Her mater had been there, she knew that voice. She couldn’t have change so much that Kassandra couldn’t even recognize her when she walked passed, surely?

A movement in the corner of her eye drew her to the door to her right, leading out to the patio. A woman stood there, back turned, gazing out at the town below.

Myrrine.

Even from behind, Kassandra knew her mater. The bend of her elbow, the slope of her shoulder, the proud, straight line of her back.

Her feet brought her outside to stand behind her mater, while her breath stopped, her eyes burned, her heart clenched.

“The meeting is over.” Myrrine sounded tired, not for sleep but of arguing.

A voice of doubt, of fear spoke in her head. ‘What if she doesn’t recognize me? What if she doesn’t believe me? Proof… I need proof, so she’ll know it’s not a trick.’

Kassandra pulled Leonidas’ spear free and held it up so her mater would see.

Myrrine turned around and the voice of the young child Kassandra once had been rose in her mind, small, trembling, and full of fear. ‘What if she doesn’t want me? What if she recognizes, believes but sends me away?’

She watched as her mater realized it was a stranger standing behind her, an armed stranger with weapons drawn. But as soon as Myrrine’s eyes fell on the spear her expression changed from calculated apprehension to astonishment. 

Her mater’s warm brown eyes met hers for the first time in twenty years and widened instantly in recognition. “...Kassandra? How?”

She still couldn’t speak, her breath still trapped, her heart still clenched, the child’s voice still ringing in her head. ‘What if?’

But then Myrrine rushed forward, pushed the spear from the space between them, and pulled her daughter into her strong arms.

Kassandra let the spear fall to the ground as her mater squeezed the trapped breath out of her chest. 

It came out with a sob, and hot, burning tears quickly followed. Kassandra wrapped her own arms around her mater and buried her face in her neck in a way she hadn’t been able to since she’d been small enough for her mater to pick up and carry.

Myrrine smelled a little different now, but Kassandra still pulled in lungfuls of her mater’s scent with shuddering breaths and felt her heart unclench.

Brasidas

It was mad, absolutely insane, but if they succeeded, they wouldn’t just be forgiven their humiliating defeat in the Gulf of Korinth, they would be heroes, given laurels. They might even win the war.

They had been at it for months now, trying to find a winning strategy that would work against the Athenians, and grant them a victory big enough to erase their past failure.

It wasn’t until one of the leaders in Megaris, an old man without much military experience and a sour expression, had huffed and spat in contempt at their feeble plans. “Why are you even trying to fight the Athenians at sea? You’re Spartans, you’re terrible at it! Stick to fighting on land where you belong! Go attack Athens instead, they’re vulnerable!”

The man’s insults hadn’t gone over well with the Spartans in the room and he had left quickly after, but his words had stuck with Brasidas.

He was right. They were terrible at sea, and the Gulf of Korinth didn’t really hold much gain for them, even if they did win. What they needed was something that played to their strengths, and their strengths were battle formations on land, close combat on land.

They needed to use the ships to bring them to their battlefield of choice, but where was that? Well, he old man had answered that question too, hadn’t he?

Athens.

The city was vulnerable. Sparta laying siege outside their walls, and the plague ravaging the population within. The only thing that had allowed the city to survive this long was the Port of Piraeus. If they took that, what choice did Athens have but to fall?

Cnemus voice was low, incredulous. “You’re mad. This is madness.”

They were alone, standing on opposite sides of the table where a map lay spread.

Brasidas grinned at him. Finally, after all these months of stagnation at Korinth and then Megaris, his chest finally burned with battlelust again. “That may be, but it’s also a good plan. It plays to our strengths and exploits their weakness. Athens is vulnerable, Cnemus. Why wouldn’t we strike?”

He could see the thoughts churning in the Naval Commander’s head. It was big, the biggest opportunity either of them could ever hope for in their lifetimes, and they were alone in the room. The glory would be theirs alone.

But the older man still hesitated, frowning as he studied the map. “Go over it again.”

“We move all our ships into the Saronic Gulf via the Diolkos. At the same time, we send runners to Argos to request ships. Peleponesian, mercenary, merchant. Any ships that can be spared to fly Spartan colors and sail together into the Saronic Gulf from the south. 

Athens will assume Sparta is attacking them, as they are vulnerable, and will sail out to meet the fleet in the open waters where their tactics are stronger. We slip behind their backs and take the Port. With seventy ship, we can lay siege to the port and prevent their ships and soldiers from taking it back. A runner to the siege camps to the north can instruct them to attack, forcing the soldiers inside the city to defend against them instead of aiding the Port.

It’s a good plan, Cnemus. This will work.”

The other man was still frowning down at the map and Brasidas slammed his fist into the table, rattling the wooden pieces. “Come on, man! We could take Athens! We could end the war!”

Finally, Cnemus looked up, eyes shining with fire. “It’s madness. Brilliant madness.” He reached out his hand to Brasidas who clasped it with a grin.

“Let’s start.”

They kept their plans secret, only telling those they had to, and then only giving the bare minimum of information. Even the runners to Argos only knew Sparta needed ships to aid against the Athenians in the south of the gulf. The city of Athens was never mentioned.

It took time to move all of their ships over the Diolkos, but finally they had their whole fleet docked at Kechries and ready to sail.

The closer they got to the day of the attack, the more their mood heightened. The hoplites, who had been so despondent and apprehensive after the last battle, were eager and excited after so much time training, and it strengthened Brasidas’ faith that the attack would be successful.

Brasidas excused himself early from the evening meal the night before the battle, and went to the temple to pray for success and good fortunes for them all.

When he returned to go over the plans one last time with Cnemus, he saw a man slip out of the room they had appropriated for discussing their secret strategies. The room was kept locked to prevent the full scale of their plans from getting out. The man vanished into the shadows before Brasidas had a chance to get a look at him, so instead of pursuit, he lengthened his steps and hurried to the door.

Throwing it open revealed Cnemus, standing alone, letter in hand. He was frowning deeply down at the parchment, but looked up startled, wide-eyed when Brasidas swung open the door.

For just a moment, Brasidas thought he saw fear, guilt, even sadness flit over the older man’s face, but then it was gone and the frown was back.

“Brasidas. Good. We need to discuss the plans.” The parchment crumpled into a ball in his fist while he spoke, and was tossed into the brazier. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought and Athens is just too ambitious, too risky. We need to shift our focus to a more attainable target.”

Brasidas was dumbfounded and stared at the other man in disbelief. Then his eyes narrowed and watched as the ball of parchment turned black in the flames.

“Who was that man?”

Cnemus stared intently at the map, his voice feigning distraction when he spoke. “What man?”

“The man who left this room moments before I arrived.”

“Who?” Cnemus looked up, eyes barely meeting Brasidas’ before they slid away. His hand waved dismissively in the air. “That was nothing. Just a messenger delivering a letter.”

“Must have been an important letter if you let him in here. If it changed your mind about Athens.”

Cnemus was staring at the map again, still feigning distraction, but now his voice was also taking on a hint of irritation. “What? No! The letter was not important. I told you, I’ve been thinking about this a long time. Athens is no good. Too risky.”

Brasidas’ eyes were still narrowed in suspicion. “And what do you propose we do instead? We’ve already set the wheels of this plan in motion. The fleet sails from Argos to lure out the Athenians. All our ships are docked here in Kechries. Do you think abandoning the plan and wasting all of these resources and all this time will make it less likely for Sparta to take our heads when we return?”

Cnemus bristled at his words. “We are not abandoning anything! We are adjusting the plan. Athens is far too risky. The plague, Brasidas. How do you expect to keep your head if you bring the plague back to Sparta?”

“The plague is what’s making Athens vulnerable. The plague is why we can attack them now. The gods have chosen to punish Athens, to abandon them to die of sickness. Why would they also punish Sparta? No, the plague proves that the gods are on our side!”

“No. We are not attacking Athens tomorrow. That’s my final word on the subject.”

It was Brasidas’ turn to bristle. “You can't just change the plan like this! We both have a say in this!”

Cnemus slammed his fist into the table hard enough to send little wooden pieces falling to the floor. “No. No! This is my Command. You are just an advisor. I have heard your advice and I’ve made my decision. I won’t have a little pup like you try to usurp my authority.”

“... a little pup?” Brasidas was shocked, offended, slack-jawed at the words. He was younger than Cnemus, sure, but he was nearing forty and had a distinguished career behind him. There was a reason he’d been chosen to help the old man with his strategy.

But he thought he finally understood what was happening. If they took Athens, Cnemus wouldn’t get the glory, he wouldn’t even get half. It would be too obvious that Brasidas had been the driving force behind it, and Cnemus would - despite his participation - still be a failed Naval Commander.

Brasidas pressed his nails deep into his palms and vehemently wished Lycophron hadn’t been called back to Boeotia. With a third in the room, this conversation might have gone different.

He took a deep breath and spoke in an even voice. “What is your plan, Commander?”

Cnemus stabbed his finger at the map on the table. “We take the Fort on Salamis.” Brasidas remained silent, his face an impassive mask. “We still fight mostly on land, playing to our strength. We will still benefit from the Athenian ships being occupied in the south of the gulf, unable to give aid to the fort. We will use our ships to get to the island. All the elements of the original suggestion, but with less risk.”

Brasidas noted the word ‘suggestion’ with vitriol but kept his face impassive. “And do you have a plan for breaching the walls of the fort with these ships?”

He thought he could see the cheeks of the other man darken in a blush, but regretted the jab anyway.

“You are being insolent, Brasidas! We will take the fort tomorrow, that’s final.”

The older man turned his back and Brasidas left the room.

That night he laid awake staring at the dark ceiling, worrying. Taking a fort was very different from taking a Port, and their troops hadn’t trained for it at all. A defeat here would be even more humiliating than their loss in the Gulf of Korinth. They were Spartan, supposed to be nigh unstoppable on land. If they failed to take the fort, they would be executed. That was certain. And even if they won, would that be enough to outweigh their previous loss?

His worried mind circled his thoughts round and round for hours until Helios began to lighten the sky, and Brasidas fell into exhausted sleep.

Chapter Text

The day you left, I went through all my old journals, frantically looking for the first mention of you.
Searching for any details I can no longer recall - any morsel of information that may have been lost to my subconscious.
The memory of you is fading, a little at a time and I can feel myself forgetting.
I don’t want to forget.

                                                                                  - Lang Leav                                                                

Kassandra

She didn’t know how long they had stood there, clinging to each other with tears and disbelief, when a servant walked out onto the patio only to vanish again with a gasp and an apology.

Her mater pulled back and looked at her, holding her by the shoulders, while Kassandra awkwardly wiped at her cheeks and tried to sniff the tears in her nose away.

Myrrine’s smile was warm as she slid an arm around Kassandra’s back and led her to sit on a nearby bench, free hand wiping the tears running down her own cheeks.

They sat, side by side, hands clasped, smiling silently until her mater’s laughed. “I don’t even know where to start. So many questions… Where did you go? Where have you been all these years? How did you find me?”

They sat on the bench for hours talking about their lives and the winding roads that led them back together.

The servant returned at some point and brought them food and wine. Helios had started to sink low in the sky when their conversation slowed down. Both women stared silent into their cups of wine.

“Mater.” The word sounded strange on her tongue, a good kind of strange. The words that followed did not feel good. “He’s alive. Alexios. I’ve seen him.”

Myrrine’s eyes widened and shifting emotions played over her face. Astonishment, fear, guilt, grief, anger. Finally, a stoic mask descended and shuttered her eyes. “They have him, don’t they?”

Kassandra was only surprised for a moment. Of course her mater knew who had ruined her life. They had both excluded the Cult from their conversation, but she had felt their shadow hanging over them just the same.

“They have him, yes. He’s… he’s one of their leaders.”

Myrrine hissed and stood up, pacing the patio. “We have to get him out of there, away from those people.”

Kassandra grimaced. “I… I’m not sure that’s possible. He might be too far gone, mater. Alexios is not a small child being held captive by the Cult. He’s a soldier, a Commander. I’ve seen him murder, mater. Torture. He enjoys it.” Myrrine listened with fists clenched, her back turned, head bowed. “He calls himself ‘Deimos’. He thinks he’s a god.”

Her mater turned back and sank down on the bench. “We have to try, Kassandra. They want our family torn apart, so we must do everything we can to pull back together again.”

They lapsed into silence again, watching Helios sink ever lower, painting the horizon with color.

“Will you stay here tonight?” Her mater almost sounded uncertain and Kassandra smiled, just about to say ‘yes, of course, if you’ll have me’ before remembering. With a creased brow, she worried she was imposing, asking for something unreasonable. “There’s… on my ship. Phoibe, she’s my… She was orphaned, Markos took her in too and…”

Myrrine took her hand gently. “You are welcome to bring your Phoibe here to stay, Kassandra.”

She smiled in relief and squeezed her mater’s hand. “Thank you. I’ll just go fetch her now, then. Thank you.”

She stood from the bench and Myrrine stood with her, pulling her into another hug before letting her leave.

Kassandra hurried out of the villa and ran through the streets to the docks where the Adrestia waited.

The deck was mostly empty, most of her crew having vanished into the town to find entertainment, quarters, and company for the night.

She slipped below deck and found Herodotus and Barnabas sitting by the sleeping Phoibe. They looked up when she came close, their faces shining bright with curiosity but voices low to not disturb the child. “Well? How did it go? Did you find her?”

At Kassandra’s smiling nod they both grinned wide and reached out to squeeze her shoulders, clasp her hands. “That is wonderful, Kassandra. Is she well?”

“Yes, very well. It’s so good to finally have found her. Overwhelming, but good. She invited me to stay in her villa. And Phoibe. I just came to bring her…” Kassandra paused, guilt heating her cheeks, but Barnabas stopped her thoughts before they could spill out.

“We will stay here. It would be too much to impose two old men on your mater, and you need your space to get reacquainted.”

Herodotus nodded in agreement then gestured at the sleeping girl. “But it’s good that you can bring Phoibe off the ship. These waves… It will do her good to stay on firm ground.”

The two men packed up some things for her to bring with them. Mint tea, spare bandages, medicines and herbs.

Kassandra knelt on the bedrolls and gently woke Phoibe. The girl frowned before even opening her eyes, and her voice was a petulant whine. “What?”

“Phoibe, wake up. We’re leaving the ship, I’m taking you to a house in town.”

The girl’s eyes flew open, a glimmer of fear dawning in their depths. “What…?”

Kassandra smiled at her, urging the child to sit up. “I found my mater, Phoibe. We will stay with her.”

The fear was replaced with amazement. “Really? You did?”

“Yes, really. Come on. Can you stand up?”

They helped her to her feet and the two men led her up on deck while Kassandra tucked their packed supplies into her pouch. 

They waved goodbye and started walking up the dock. It didn’t take long before Phoibe became exhausted and complained that the throbbing in her head was getting worse, so Kassandra lifted the girl into her arms and carried her up the hill to her mater’s villa.

She wasn’t sure if it was the same soldiers who guarded the house, but they stepped to the side without question when she approached nonetheless. 

Myrrine stood in the room just to the right of the entrance, speaking to a servant, and looked up when Kassandra stepped inside. A look of surprise spread over her face when she saw the child asleep in her daughter’s arms. “This is Phoibe?”

Her surprise shifted into concern when she came closer and saw the bruised face, bandaged wound, wrapped wrist and ankle. “Oh dear. Come, follow me.” 

She instructed the servant to fetch a healer and led Kassandra to a room with a large bedroll, generously strewn with pillows.

She helped to lower the child onto the bed and then lit a lamp in a niche in the wall. Kassandra unpacked the supplies she brought from the ship and placed them on a nearby table while her mater leaned down over the girl, taking in her injuries in the lamp light, tutting softly. “Poor child. What happened?”

Phoibe stirred before she could get an answer and the girl blinked up at Myrrine. “Kassandra? You look really old…”

Kassandra let out an undignified snort and her mater bit her lip, suppressing a smile. She knelt down on the bed so Phoibe could see her better. “This is my mater, Phoibe. Her name is Myrrine and we’re in her house.”

Phoibe’s mouth formed a surprised ‘O’ which transitioned into a shy smile. “Hello.”

Her voice was small and endearing and Myrrine smiled back at her. “Hello. Welcome to my home, Phoibe.”

“Thank you…” Her gaze flitted between the two women, unsure of what to do or say.

“I’m sorry you are hurt, Phoibe. I’ve sent for a healer to look at you, and then you can go back to sleep. Does that sound good?”

The girl nodded just as the servant arrived with the healer in tow. Myrrine stepped out of the room while Kassandra gave the man a description of the injuries, how Hippokrates had treated them, and Phoibe’s symptoms during their journey to Naxos.

The healer nodded approvingly at the neat sutures on the side of the girl’s head when he washed the area and replaced the bandage. He unwrapped her ankle and manipulated the joint, making her wince slightly, and declared she should sleep without it, only wrapping the ankle if she would be walking. He inspected the splinted package around her wrist carefully, checked that she could wiggle her fingers and warned her to be very careful with the arm, lest it heal crooked. He finished off by making Phoibe drink a bitter smelling tea to help her sleep and then stepped out of the room.

“The girl is doing well. The wound and ankle healing nicely. The wrist is encouraging but much too early to tell. She is dehydrated and needs to drink more; water, juice, broth. The nausea is likely from the ship, but if it persist now that she’s back on land, let me know.

He addressed himself to Myrrine, ignoring Kassandra’s presence completely, not even sparing her a glance when he bowed sharply before being led from the house by the servant.

Myrrine gave Kassandra a small smile. “He’s a good healer, even if he thinks himself a bit too important.”

They returned to the room and Kassandra tucked Phoibe in, stroking the girl’s hair until she fell asleep, while her mater watched in silence.

Once Phoibe was asleep they moved to sit on a balcony overlooking the town. Helios had set and the streets below glowed with the light from lamps, torches, and braziers. 

“You are very good with her. How long has she been your…” 

Myrrine let the sentence trail off, the unspoken question hanging in the air.

“Her parents died, I’m not sure when. I found her begging in the streets of Samis when she was maybe three years old. That was six years ago. I left her behind when I left Kephallonia…” She rubbed her face with her palms and sighed deeply. “I knew I was going to do dangerous things, things you can’t drag a child along for. I thought she’d be safe, I thought Markos would take care of her. But it seems he left too. Just dropped her in Athens, I guess. Lucky Aspasia found her and took her in.”

“Aspasia… she adopted her?”

Kassandra clenched her teeth and shook her head. “No. Servant.”

She knew that she was being ridiculous. Someone like Aspasia hiring an orphan child like Phoibe was a good thing. Was better than a gutter-rat from Kephallonia could dream of, but she still hated it. Phoibe wasn’t a servant. She was… Phoibe. She should be kept safe and sound, not…

Kassandra let her frustration out freely as she told her mater of her being sent to Korinth alone, and used to send messages in the plague-ridden Athens with violence in the streets and a riot literally brewing just outside the door.

“I’m sorry, my lamb. I know it’s hard. We want so much for our children, so keep them safe and sound, but the world rarely allows that luxury. How did she get hurt?”

Kassandra bit her lip and looked away, out at the dark sea beyond the island. “Kassandra?”

“Deimos.” Her mater gasped in surprise but she continued on. “Aspasia had sent her to deliver a message to a house in the city. Luckily, I found Phoibe on the way and went with her. Deimos was at the house, torturing a man. I told her to hide, but he found her while I fought his guards. Picked her up by the arm, broke it like a twig, and let her dangle there, screaming in pain, until I threw a blade at him.”

She heard her mater suck in a breath and gritted her teeth. Phoibe was important, not her malakas, murdering brother. “I didn’t hit him, but he let her go anyway and she fell. Hit her head, hurt her ankle. He just walked away down the street. Laughing. And she was just laying there, bleeding, arm bent and purple. There was so much blood…”

Kassandra hadn’t let herself feel it in the moment, or since. There had been too much to do, too much anger and worry swirling around. But there, scooping Phoibe’s lifeless body into her arms, she had been so sure the girl was dead.

“My lamb... “ Myrrine wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “...she’s alright. Phoibe is ok. She will heal and be fine.”

“She doesn’t know. That it was Deimos. She doesn’t even know he exists. I told her she climbed a wall and fell before I could catch her. I don’t want her to know.”

Her mater still held her tight. “She won’t know. Don’t worry. No one will tell her.”

They sat in silence for a long time before Kassandra spoke again. “When he laughed, he sounded just like Nikolaos. It filled the street the way Nikolaos would fill the house. I used to love hearing it, loved trying to make him laugh. And then Deimos… he sounded just like him.”

Brasidas

It had worked out, in the end. They took the fort, and with it, the island of Salamis. They lost more soldiers than they should have, but nothing too suspicious. The decoy fleet to the south even managed to sink a couple of Athenian ships, making the strategy seem even more ingenious. The Athenians at the fort alerted Athens of course, who shored up their defenses of the Port of Piraeus, making an attack impossible.

It was a victory though, undeniably so. Salamis strengthened Sparta's foothold in the Saronic Gulf, and would be of strategic importance if they ever decided to attack the port in the future.

It wasn’t Athens though. It wasn’t an end to the war. Since they hadn’t shared the full extent of the plan with anyone, no one else knew what could have been, how feeble the victory seemed, and Brasidas couldn’t help but be bitter about the lost opportunity. Couldn’t help being cold and distant with Cnemus.

They had retreated back to Korinth and the Stratego arranged a celebration for them in Akrokorinth. Long tables filled with exhilarated soldiers, who were eating, drinking, laughing, singing, and telling stories.

Just like after the battle in the Gulf of Korinth, Cnemus held court at his table, retelling the story of their victory for anyone who would listen.

He heaped praise on Brasidas, attributing most of the brilliant strategy and subsequent success to him. If felt good to be recognized, of course, but it was odd as well.

Considering that Cnemus had in fact rejected Brasidas’ brilliant strategy to save face after the battle, why was he now so adamant in giving away credit?

It was late in the evening when he stood from his seat, the festivities around him still going strong and likely would until early morning. But he was tired and his backside ached from sitting on it so long.

Now that he was standing, Braisdas could see the Strategos in jovial conversation with the men at his table. The Korinthian Commander was sitting nearby, scowling into his cup. He looked up and met Brasidas’ gaze, lifting his drink in a mocking salute before draining it and pushing away from the table.

Brasidas’ journey out of the tent was slow, soldiers stopping him to congratulate or ask questions. Across the tent, he could see the Commander disappear out into the night, scowl still firmly in place.

Finally untangled himself and stepped outside, taking a deep breath of cool night air. Though tired, he didn’t feel quite ready to sleep yet and instead walked towards the wall surrounding Akrokorinth. He looked down towards Korinth glittering in the dark valley below and let out a sigh.

His life the past few years had been strange, very different from what the agoge had prepared him for. Part of him wanted things to return to something more familiar, more predictable. But another part wanted his life to change even more. He thought of the farm in Arkadia, of the young boy murmuring praise to a goat while chickens pecked happily at the ground nearby. He could almost see himself standing by that house, with his own child. With…

His thoughts were interrupted by movement in the corner of his eye. Turning, he saw a figure slip out of the shadows. 

“General Brasidas, standing here alone in the dark, when you could be at a feast held in your honor.”

It was the Korinthian Commander. His face was pulled into a strange grimace, as if he was scowling and smirking at the same time.

Brasidas didn’t raise to the bait the man dangled, but instead crossed his arms and sighed. “What do you want?”

The man stopped just at the edge of light from a nearby torch. The grimace shifted more towards a smirk and he spoke in an almost taunting voice. “Nothing. I want nothing. I’m just wandering the dark streets. Alone.” The smirk shifted into a predatory grin. “Just like you.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and Brasidas could see the other man’s body tense up, his hands lifting in the space between them. Palms forward, empty of weapons.

“What do you want?” He spoke the words slowly, clearly, as if he were dealing with a small child or a dimwitted fool. 

Something was off, wrong, but he didn’t want the other man to know he had realized. The Commander started moving forward, slowly, empty hands still raised.

“Brasidas! General!” The voice of Callias rose from further up the dark street, breaking the tension. He sounded happy, a little out of breath as he strode quickly towards them. His steps slowed and his smile became hesitant when the Commander turned around to face him. 

“Ah… I didn’t mean to… I only wanted…”

Brasidas took a step towards his old friend and held out his hand. “Don’t worry, Callias. You are not interrupting anything. The Commander was just leaving.”

The other man scowled and looked about to say something to his subordinate, but only nodded at them both before vanishing back into the shadows.

Callias seemed uncomfortable and peered down the dark alley his Commander had disappeared down, but Brasidas clasped his shoulder and led him to a bench. He sat down and gestured to the jug in Callias’ hands. “Is that wine?”

The man nodded and sank down to sit with a small smile. “I thought we could talk for a bit, it’s been a while since we had the opportunity.”

Brasidas nodded in agreement. “It was. Been a strange few months.” He glanced at Callias and saw the man staring into the jug of wine at his feet, a wide smile splitting his face. “What it is? Tell me!”

Callias looked up, eyes bright and shining even in the low light. “My wife. She had the baby. A boy. A son.”

Brasidas’ grin matched Callias and he pulled the man in for a tight hug. “Congratulations! I am so happy for you. Sparta is very lucky.”

The young man produced cups from somewhere and they poured the wine, drinking to his son and to his wife and their health. Callias was positively giddy, smile so wide it must hurt. “I’m a pater. Me!”

Brasidas laughed and nodded. “Yes, you are. And you will do a wonderful job with that boy.”

They sat in silence for a bit, drinking and thinking. Brasidas couldn’t help but be reminded of another Korinthian bench on which he’d shared another jug of wine, but he was pulled back to the present before he could disappear to deep into the memory.

“Hyptia should be due soon, right? Or has she already delivered?”

Brasidas felt a little stab of guilt at the mention of his sister. The past few months had been so hectic that he’d driven her from his mind. “Yes, she’s due around now. I haven’t had any news from home, so I can only assume that everything is as it should be.”

They sat on the bench for a long while. Talking about Brasidas’ work with Cnemus, what Commanding a ship was like, of taking the Salamis Fort. Callias spoke of the new Commander, and painted a picture of a competent, proud Spartan who was just a bit more strict and less familiar and social with his men. Nothing that would explain the strange behaviour towards Braisdas over the past several months.

Mostly though, they talked about Callias’ hopes and fears for fatherhood, and Brasidas’ experiences with all his nieces and nephews, about Callias’ wife, how they met, how he missed her, how he looked forward to see her again.

Eventually they ran out of wine and their conversation petered out, replaced by wide, jawbreaking yawns. Callias walked Brasidas towards his tent before veering off to return to his own camp. 

The younger man paused and turned back. “Did you ever find that misthios again? The one who took care of the Monger?”

His face was open and curious without teasing and Brasidas gave him a wistful smile. “No. No, I never did see her again.”

Callias nodded sympathetically. “Maybe one day.”

“Yeah, maybe one day.”

Braisdas slipped inside his tent and onto his bedroll. He tried to recall the memory of Kassandra, but failed. He wanted to fall asleep imagining her pressed to his side, but couldn’t conjure anything but the vague idea of someone next to him.

The dream he’d had in Olympia hadn’t been real, he knew that. That memory was of a dream, nothing else. And just like the scent of her hair, the taste of her lips, the feel of her face pressed to his neck, that memory had faded. He was sure he would recognize her face if he saw her again, remember her voice if he heard her speak, but all he had now were vague impressions.

Now he just remembered that he used to remember. Knew there was something to miss.

Kassandra

Being on Naxos was strange, but a good kind of strange. Staying in one place after so much running around after contracts and clues was a welcome change of pace.

There was so much to catch up on, and every moment of calm together was filled with another question, another story.

It was also strange to see her mater in the role of politician. Tough it suited Myrrine, Kassandra found it tedious and frustrating, much preferring to do something, over talking about it.

So, usually, she left her mater to her work and spent her time with Phoibe.

The girl recovered rapidly once settled on Naxos, though if that was from the gods’ interference, the work of the healer, or just from being on solid ground, Kassandra didn’t know. But she had remembered the promise she had made at the rickety altar on the Adrestia and made sure to visit the half-built temple on the island, making offerings to Apollo and Asklepios, pleading for Phoibe’s recovery.

After that, the confusion and headaches had begun to fade, and the sprained ankle had healed again.

On her mater’s insistence, Kassandra had tutored Phoibe, teaching her reading, writing, and numbers, something Markos hadn’t thought important.

It was boring for them both so they would reward themselves with sparring practise or long treks through the island’s wilderness.

It was fun, it was idyllic, and of course, it couldn’t last.

Paros broke the peace by sending a small invasion force. It was easily repelled, but drove home that Naxos was under threat and something had to be done to ensure the island’s continued security.

Then, in the middle of the strategy meetings, the negotiations with the local Spartan representatives, and the covert reconnaissance missions to Paros, Myrrine announced a Symposium.

It had some political importance that Kassandra didn’t understand, but she promised to attend and behave appropriately. 

That meant dressing appropriately as well. Kassandra could borrow a peplos from her mater, but for Phoibe, they decided to purchase something new at the agora.

Assuring the merchant that she had drachme to pay with, Kassandra let Phoibe peruse the colorful lengths of cloth at her leisure, while she leaned against a low wall and let her mind wander.

Her attention was captured by two Spartan soldiers walking past. They had said his name. Brasidas. She realized then that she had avoided thinking about the Spartan General ever since leaving Athens. Those eerie premonitions in the middle of the chaos of their flight from the city, and the subsequent chilling fear that he was dead had made her push his memory deep into the corners of her mind, where it couldn’t hurt her.

But here were two soldiers who could tell her, could confirm or alleviate her fears.

Kassandra told Phoibe she’d be right back and hurried after the two men. “Excuse me!”

They stopped, turned, and took in her armor and weapons. Their eyes narrowed in suspicion and their hands gripped their spears. “What do you want?”

She held her empty hands up and tried to look harmless. “I heard you mention Brasidas.”

“What of it?” The taller of the two frowned at her.

“I… I worked with a Spartan General named Brasidas in Korinth. I wondered what became of him, if he’s…” She trailed off and felt foolish.

The man who had so far done the talking looked her up and down, and scoffed. “You worked with him? Doing what?”

She felt a glimmer of anger but pushed it away. They wouldn’t tell her anything if she became angry. “We took out a warehouse run by the Monger together. Rescued prisoners, killed his goons.”

The man smirked at her in obvious disbelief. She would have responded, but saw the other soldier’s face light up in recognition. “You’re the one who took out the Monger! The Eagle-Bearer!”

She nodded and tried not to smirk at the first soldier.

“You took him out alone! I was in Korinth then, saw the Monger and the cave after. That was amazing! You really impressed General Brasidas.”

“Thank you. So… the General. Is he well?”

The soldier lit up again, clearly happy to have information for her. “Oh, yes, very well! He took charge of a whole naval fleet and secured Salamis for Sparta. He was called back home to receive laurels for it, and he was elected ephor!”

Kassandra was taken aback. Not only was he not dead, he was doing really well. She felt a little foolish for assuming him gone and pushing him out of her mind. Still, it took a moment to shift her mind around the new information and away from the fear of thinking about him.

“That… that’s quite the accomplishment. Thank you for telling me.”

The soldier still looked excited while his companion rolled his eyes and walked off, forcing the other man with him. “It was no problem!”

She waved awkwardly and returned to Phoibe. She had found a beautiful red cloth with a geometric pattern woven through in yellow thread, and stood beaming while Kassandra paid.

She smiled at the girl by her side as they walked back to the villa. Phoibe was clutching the cloth to her chest and grinning wide. 

“Are you looking forward to the Symposium?” The girl nodded energetically and Kassandra laughed. “So excited. But you’ve been to Symposiums before, it’s nothing new to you.”

Phoibe glanced up at her. “Not as a guest.”

“True. I’m sure that is a very different experience.”

They spent the rest of their time before the Symposium bathing and making themselves presentable. Myrrine gave them an approving smile and made Phoibe show off her new peplos with a twirl.

Unfortunately, Kassandra found this Symposium just as awkward and boring as the one she’d attended in Athens, and soon escaped behind a vine-covered trellis to hide from the guests to drink wine in peace. She sat and looked out over the island and beyond to the sea, ignoring the hum of the party at her back.

Brasidas was alive and well and probably in Sparta at this very moment. She tried to imagine him walking the streets she remembered from childhood, but failed. The streets were blurry and faded with time, and so was Brasidas. She knew she used to remember his face clearly. Used to remember what he smelled like, what his voice sounded like. How his lips felt pressed to hers. She knew she used to remember everything perfectly, but now… she just couldn’t anymore. Couldn’t pull the memories out and replay them at will.

Now she just remembered that she used to remember. Knew there was something to miss.

“There you are. I wondered where you had gotten to.” She looked up and saw her mater standing by her bench, and next to her stood Aspasia. 

She rose hurriedly to her feet with an apologetic look at her mater.

“I’m not surprised.” Aspasia gave a knowing smile. “You should have seen her at our Symposium in Athens. I have never seen anyone so uncomfortable and out of place in my life. So grateful when I gave her something to do.”

Kassandra almost bristled at that. The Symposium hadn’t gone that badly, she had handled herself fine.

“Well, if you want something to do, you could go check out these ridiculous rumors Aspasia has heard. Help settle our guest’s frayed nerves.”

Her mater’s tone was careless, but she could see a hard glint of warning in her eyes. Myrinne was tense and on her guard, but still playing her part as politician. “Apparently, the Cult of Kosmos has sent assassins to kill me, and Aspasia here has heard rumors that they are hiding in a cave nearby.”

Kassandra looked between the two women. Aspasia’s teasing smile was gone, replaced with a worried frown. “Phoenix, you shouldn’t be so flippant. The Cult is dangerous. They killed Perikles in the middle of his own city. You are not safe here in the open like this.”

Kassandra lifted her hands to appease them. “I’ll go check the cave and the guards at the party will keep Phoenix safe while I’m gone. Alright?”

She went to her room to change into her armor, waving at Phoibe along the way.

She found the cave easily, and within it, surprised the Cultist soldiers with a silent blade in their backs.

Returning to the Symposium, Kassandra felt angry that the Cult was encroaching on Naxos and threatening her family again, but also relieved to be doing something again.

Her time on Naxos had been a wonderful reprieve, but one she had known couldn’t last. The Cult was still out there, as was her brother. There would be no true rest until they were dealt with.

The Symposium was over by the time she got back to the villa, but Aspasia was still there, arguing with Myrrine that it wasn’t safe for her to stay on the island. Her mater’s guards stood nearby, at ease but alert and watchful.

“She was right.” Kassandra gestured at Aspasia and dropped the loot she’d taken off the cultist onto a table. “I found two of them in the cave.”

Myrrine picked up the leather pouch of drachme and examined the coin inside. “These are from Paros. Proof of their ties to the Cult.” Her mater frowned deeply and glanced at her guards who moved closer and stood at attention.

“They also had that parchment. I can’t read it. Might be some sort of code.”

Aspasia picked up the scroll and examined the writing. “Hmmm. I recognize this. It’s an old dialect.”

“You can read it?” Kassandra stepped closer and peered over the woman’s shoulder.

“Mmm, yes. It’s difficult to decipher but…” Aspasia poured over the document in silence for a while, before taking a deep breath. “The drachme is from Paros, but the orders are from Sparta. One of the Kings, I believe, but it doesn’t say which one.”

“No. Sparta is allied with Naxos.” Myrrine looked both disbelieving and offended.

“That may be, but the Cult is not. They have their own allegiances.” Aspasia’s voice was low and serious.

“Impossible! Sparta has always stood against corruption. The nobility always resisted the Cult.”

Aspasia raised an eyebrow at Myrrine and stared at her in silence until the leader shook her head and looked away.

“There is always someone who can be corrupted, influenced, leveraged. Sparta is no different from anywhere else.” She stood a moment longer and then bowed her head. “It’s late, I should take my leave. Be safe Phoenix, Kassandra.”

They waited until Aspasia had gone before Myrrine let out a slow breath. “If the Cult is in Sparta, then we have to root it out and sever their hold. I cannot allow them to destroy my home. But I can’t abandon Naxos. We need to secure this island from the threat of Paros. Then we can return to Sparta.”

Kassandra nodded, face grave. “So what’s next? What do you need me to do?”

Her mater cupped her cheek with a fond smile. “Nothing for now, it’s late and we need to get some sleep. Tomorrow we will plan.”

She returned to her room and found Phoibe sprawled face first on her bedroll, sound asleep.

Tugging off her armour, she nudged the girl awake with her foot. “Hey, sleepy-head. Wake up.”

Phoibe groaned and rolled into a ball before peering up between her fingers. “What?”

“You shouldn’t sleep with your new peplos on. You want it to last, right?”

“Oh, yeah…” She sat up, yawning and pulled at the pins and bands holding the garment in place.

Kassandra extinguished the lamp and laid down on her bedroll, hearing Phoibe do the same. “Did you enjoy the Symposium?”

“Yeah.” The girl spoke through a yawn. “It’s much more fun when you’re allowed to talk to the guests.”

Kassandra laid staring into the dark for a while before falling asleep. They were heading to Sparta. The thought made her uncomfortable. Sparta had sentenced her to death. Would the fact that she survived the attempt change anything? And the Cult had their claws deep into the society if they had managed to recruit one of the Kings. That meant Sparta was not safe and they wouldn’t know who to trust.

But Brasidas might be there.

It was strange that even though she’d forgotten almost everything about him, she still eagerly wanted to see him again.

Brasidas

He had missed Hyptia’s delivery by only a couple of days and had rushed to her house as soon as he could get away that very first day.

Her husband had met him at the door with the same excited pride Callias had shown, and told him the birth of his son had been long, rough, but that both mother and child were fine.

She was still in bed, pale and tired, but happy. He sank to his knees next to the bedroll and stroked a hand over her hair. “Chaire, Hyptia.”

“Chaire, Brasidas. Hero of Sparta, they tell me.”

He snorted and shook his head. “It was just a small battle over a fort. You made a person.” His eyes were wide as he looked at the bundle in her arms. “Can I see him?”

She nodded and placed the baby on her lap, unwinding the cloth swaddling the small body. The boy stretched up his arms as they were freed and kicked his little legs. Brasidas reached out a finger and let a little hand grip it tight. “He’s strong.”

Hyptia laughed. “Yes, already taking on a mighty warrior of Sparta. Go on. Pick him up or he’ll get cold.”

He scooped the boy into his arms and cooed at him, marveling at the beautiful little face. He glanced at his sister who was watching him fondly. “I can’t believe my littlest sister is a mater. You’re all grown up now. I don’t even know when that happened, you were just a little kid last time I looked.”

She laughed at him and shrugged. “I don’t know, it snuck up on me too.” She glanced behind him. “Speaking of…”

“Brasidas! My son!” Their mater was advancing on him from the doorway, hands outstretched.

He stood helpless, carefully cradling the baby as his mater gripped his face and kissed his cheeks and forehead with loud smacks.

“Hello, mater. I’ve missed you too.” She stroked his cheek lovingly at his words.

“My son, the Hero. They’re giving you laurels, you know. Your pater said they’re planning the ceremony. You make us so proud.”

He could see Hyptia grinning and making faces at him from the bed and squirmed. “Look, mater. Hyptia made a person.”

He lifted the baby a little higher and their mater leaned in, cooing at the little boy and taking him into her own arms.

“Yes, she did, and such a strong, beautiful boy he is too. One day you’ll grow up to be a hero of Sparta, just like your uncle.”

She put the baby on the bed and wrapped him back into the swaddle. Hyptia waggled her eyebrows over their mater’s shoulder. They both knew what was coming next.

“When are you going to have children of your own, Brasidas? You are so good with them, it’s such a shame.”

He stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “Mater…”

She handed the baby back to Hyptia and shrugged innocently. “I’m just saying. You would make beautiful, strong babies. And you’re so handsome. You could have anyone you wanted!”

Tutting, she pretended to stroke dust from his shoulders. “Such a shame.” He waited, knowing that it was futile to argue with her.

Their mater moved on like she always did and clapped her hands together. “Anyway! We’re having a big dinner in a few days to celebrate your success and the new baby. Your pater is arranging for the boys to get leave from the agoge, and you have to get your permission from the syssitia.”

If he had thought the years leading up to winning Salamis had been strange, it was nothing compared to what happened after.

They had dispatched a messenger to Sparta as soon as the victory was clear, who had returned with summons for them to return home. In Sparta there had been a celebration where Brasidas and Cnemus both were honored and given laurels for their achievement. 

It was only a few days after that when the election for new ephors was held, and not only was he one of the elected, he was elected eponymous ephor.

It was overwhelming and gratifying and almost made his head spin. It was hard to believe that just a few weeks ago, he’d been lying awake at night, worrying about being executed for his failures in battle.

Brasidas admitted to himself that he enjoyed his time as ephor. The meetings, the strategy sessions, the audiences with the kings were all fascinating and enlightening. The position gave him a much better understanding of the intricacies of the state, and how the infrastructure and economy influenced everything.

Previously, he had only focused on how his soldiers would get the supplies they required, but now the vastness of the undertaking was becoming clear. It wasn’t a question of shipping food and arms to the front line. It was growing the food long before it was known where it was going, mining and smelting metal for weapons and armor months before knowing what there would be a need for.

He also liked the other benefit of being ephor. Staying in Sparta. Eating with his syssitia each night, visiting with friends, walking the familiar streets, and of course, time with his family.

Most of the year he spent as ephor was a whirlwind of meetings and family. He felt like it all happened so fast and hardly had time to think about anything else.

He did think about Kassandra sometimes, though. It was hard not to be reminded of her when he saw Mount Taygetos whenever he stepped outside, and walked past the statue of her grandfather every other day.

But he only thought of her fleetingly, like a fond childhood memory or like an old secret only he knew. Which he supposed were true. He hadn’t told anyone that Kassandra, the daughter of the Wolf of Sparta and granddaughter of King Leonidas, was alive and well.

He wasn’t sure if that information would be received well, or if it would paint a target on her back. So he kept it to himself and moved on with his life.

That is, until a messenger arrived to interrupt the meeting he was attending. 

Myrrine, the daughter of King Leonidas, had returned to Sparta after almost twenty years of self-imposed exile.

The room erupted with buzzing voices speculating on this development. Nikolaos had disappeared without a trace several months ago, and now his estranged wife was back. What did it mean? Was it even really Myrrine? It had been years.  

The messenger was too young to ever have seen her, and couldn’t verify. He only knew what he had been told. Myrrine had been spotted in Sparta, accompanied by a child and a well-armed mercenary.

Brasidas felt his stomach flip and reeled for a moment. It must be her. Kassandra must have found Myrrine and together they had returned to Sparta. And the child… could that be the young girl from Korinth?

He raised his voice over the din and called for silence. “This speculation and gossip is not productive. I will go and speak with her.”

One of the older men in the room called out, making Brasidas’ jaw clench in irritation. “Are you even old enough to know what she looks like, boy?”

The other men in the room hissed and muttered at the old man’s impertinence and lack of respect and Brasidas raised his voice over them again. “Of course, I remember her. My pater’s house is a stone’s throw away from hers, we were neighbours.”

He left the chamber and blinked in the bright sunlight. The question now was, where would he find them?

It was unlikely Myrrine would march straight up and demand an audience with the kings. Would she visit her pater’s tomb. Visit a friend? The agora? 

He decided to check the area near Nikolaos’ house first. That’s where she was most likely to have old friends to visit. 

He walked through the streets as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself, while his stomach fluttered uncomfortably. It must be Kassandra accompanying Myrrine. Surely? It made sense that it was Kassandra. Who else?

As he got closer, he tried in vain to conjure up an image of her in his mind, to make sure he could remember her.

Then he rounded a corner and stopped in his tracks.

There she was. Nothing changed but the motley collection of armor she wore. Just as the memory of her had faded into doubt over the years, now that doubt faded like a dream. Of course he knew her face, her hair, her eyes, her lips, her …
Of course he hadn’t forgotten her. He remembered the feel, the scent, the taste, the overwhelming sense of need. The tingling over his skin. 

With slow, measured steps he walked over to the women, feeling a sense of calm settle over him.

Kassandra

It had taken them months to deal with Paros and secure Naxos from further threats, but finally Myrrine had felt comfortable enough to leave the island behind for Sparta.

Her mater was enjoying her return to the Agean. She stood at the helm, wind whipping through her hair and skirts, taking lungfuls of sea air and spoke with Barnabas of ship maintenance and sailing techniques. 

Sparta was a much longer journey than that from Athens to Naxos though, and Phoibe quickly became nauseous, spending most of the time curled on her side moaning pitifully and asking how much further they had to travel, how long until they were there.

When they finally made port in Gytheion, the girl was the first one off the ship, scrambling to get to firm ground as fast as possible. She sank down to sit on a low wall with her head in her hands. “I take it back. I don’t want to be part of your crew. I don’t want to go on a ship ever again. I’ll find some other job.”

Kassandra laughed and hefted their packs over her shoulder while Myrrine knealth infront of the girl and stroked her hair.

“Don’t worry, poulaki mou. We’re in Lakonia now and soon we will be in Sparta. No need for ships and sailing.”

Phoibe looked up, her face still pale and damp with cold sweat. “Promise?”

Myrrine chuckled and pulled her to stand. “I promise. Now come on, we need to find some horses to take us the rest of the way.”

They made it to Amyklai before nightfall and found a farmer who gave them a bed for the night. All three of them squeezed together on one bedroll and tried to sleep, but both Kassandra and her mater had trouble finding rest, too lost in their worries about returning to Sparta.

The next morning found them still silent and introspective as they ate the bread the farmer provided. Kassandra wasn’t really paying attention to anything until Phoibe spoke in a small voice. “Do you think there’s a family in Sparta that will let me work for them?”

Kassandra’s jaw dropped open in surprise. “Phoibe, you’re a child. You don’t need to work.”

The girl bit her lip and looked down at the table. Kassandra didn’t know what to say, it seemed like she hadn’t reassured Phoibe at all.

Her mater stepped in before she could have made things worse and took hold of Phoibe’s hand. “What my daughter is trying to say, poulaki mou, is that you don’t need to worry about where you’ll live. You are part of this family, so we will make sure you are taken care of.”

Phoibe looked up then, eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. “Really?”

Kassandra was still worried she might say something wrong but nodded. “Of course.”

“You have to be useful, though.” Myrrine sounded serious, face stern.” Everyone in Sparta has a role to fill and must be useful to the state, regardless of their family.”

Phoibe continued to stare a while, the unshed tears threatening to fall over her round cheeks, then she nodded jerkily and practically ran from the table.

Myrrine tutted at Kassandra. “You really should be clearer with her. She’s a child, you can’t just expect her to guess what you are thinking.”

Kassandra sputtered a protest but her mater just shook her head and walked away to prepare their horses. 

She spoke to the farmer, thanking him for his hospitality and offering payment, which was summarily refused. When she joined her mater by the horses, Phoibe had reappeared, now wearing the red peplos.

They set off again and the closer they came to Sparta the straighter and more tense her mater’s back became. Kassandra was being bombarded with memories, making her sad and nostalgic and distracted. 

Once they reached the city proper, they abandoned the horses and continued on foot. She felt sure that if it had been only the two of them, the walk through the vaguely familiar streets would have been more awkward and overwhelming, but Phoibe was full of questions and helped break any tension building up.

They didn’t really speak to anyone else, but she could see the occasional passerby jerk and do a double take at her mater. Even after all this time, Myrrine was well known in Sparta.

Her mater led them through increasingly familiar streets until they stopped in front of their old house. It looked just as Kassandra remembered. “This was the first and last place I ever felt safe.”

“You lived here?” Phoibe was peering around, eyes wide and curious.

“Yes, we did. And as soon as she was old enough, Kassandra would train in this very courtyard, every day, morning till night, so she could be a strong warrior."

Kassandra chuckled and felt the ghost of her childhood training fatigue in her bones. “Nikolaos was a tough teacher to please.”

“He was, but he was so proud of you. So sure you would grow up to bring glory and honor to Sparta.”

They stood silent a while, reflecting on their lost lives.

“Do you remember the first time you held your brother? So scared of hurting him you wouldn’t get near without a mound of pillows all around.”

Their smiles were full of pain as the memory, and Phoibe looked between them, confused. “You have a brother?”

“I do…” Kassandra hesitated, not sure how to explain.

A voice at her back startled her, but she then knew who is was before she’d even turned around. 

Brasidas.  

He spoke, and his voice washed over her, sending a warm shiver down her spine. With it came all the memories.
He tasted like wine and olives and… him.
His lips, with that inviting shine, how they felt pressed to hers, his moan, his laugh, the scratch of his beard. 

She stood frozen for a long moment, staring at him, just remembering every little thing she’d forgotten over the past two years. 

Then Phoibe nudged her and she smiled, offering her arm in greeting. “Brasidas, I haven’t seen you since I rescued you from that warehouse in Korinth.”

Chapter Text

Give me a thousand kisses, then another hundred,
then another thousand, then a second hundred,
then yet another thousand more, then another hundred.
Then, when we have made many thousands,
we will mix them all up so that we do not know,
and so that no one can be jealous of us when they find
how many kisses we have shared.

                                                                                   - Catullus 5

Brasidas

He was staring at her, he knew and he couldn’t help it. She was just so beautiful. Exactly as he remembered, but somehow… more.

“...Brasidas.” Myrrine had spoken to him, but he had no idea what she’d just said.

Instead of replying, he smiled and cleared his throat. “Myrrine. I am pleased to see that Kassandra found you, after all. Alive and well. When I heard you had returned home to Sparta…”

She looked as composed and in control as she ever had when he’d seen her as a child, and reminded himself that he was an ephor now, more than enough to be her equal, and he had no reason to be intimidated by her.

Myrrine waved a hand at the house in front of them. “We are in Sparta, but we are not home, yet.” 

“Ah, yes. Sparta took control of your estate after Nikolaos disappeared. They are expecting his adopted son to claim it, once he returns from the front.”

“What!?” The child standing by the two women had been silent but now seemingly couldn’t contain herself. “Does that mean we can’t go inside? Aww, I wanted to see your house.”

Kassandra planced a fond hand on the girl’s shoulder and shook her head, but it was Myrrine who responded. “No, we can’t go inside yet. We must ask Sparta to return the ownership to me, and it might take some time to convince them.”

He watched as the girl sighed in disappointment and then seemed to remember he was there, and that she had interrupted him. She looked up at him with wide, worried eyes.

“Chaire. You must be Phoibe. Welcome to Sparta.” He gave her a smile and waited to see if she would respond.

“Chaire. Thank you.” She bit her lip and ducked her head, no doubt to hide the giggle threatening to erupt, and he suspected he knew precisely what she found so funny.

He turned back to Myrrine and hoped the heat in his cheeks wasn’t showing on his skin. “I will ask for you to be granted an audience with the kings to petition them for your house, though it may be some time before they allow it.”

He paused, pondering how to phrase the part. “They are unlikely to be happy to hear of your return. Your exit from Sparta wasn’t exactly… graceful.”

Myrrine scoffed and rolled her eyes. “He can’t still be mad I broke his nose.”

“You what!?” Kassandra and Phoibe exclaimed in unison, both turning to stare in surprise.

Brasidas bit the inside of his cheek to hide his smile. Personally, he thought that a woman who had just lost both of her children should be forgiven even such a serious breach of decorum, but King Archidamos and his crooked nose would likely not agree.

“In any case, he hasn’t forgotten, so it’s likely the request for an audience will fall quite low on their agenda.”

Myrrine rolled her eyes again and looked away at her former house. Kassandra looked between them expectantly. “So, what do we do in the meantime?”

Brasidas shrugged and smiled. “Enjoy Sparta’s hospitality, I suppose? Do you have somewhere to stay?”

Kassandra began to shake her head but Myrrine nodded with a wry smile. “I once had many friends in Sparta. I’m sure one of them would be willing to take us in.”

The thought of Myrrine walking door to door asking for room to stay made Brasidas’ skin itch. The gossip it would generate would be most unworthy. Both for Sparta and its lost daughters. “No. Stay with me, in my house. It’s mostly empty anyway.”

Myrrine and Kassandra looked at him, Myrrine with surprise that settled into a crease between her eyebrows, Kassandra with surprise that settled into reddening cheeks and downcast eyes. It wasn’t until Phoibe muffled a giggle behind her hands that he realized what he had proposed.

That he - an unmarried citizen - should live in a house with unchaperoned women. He’d essentially asked them to exchange the gossip of asking around for an old friend to live with, and replace it with the humiliation of having their standing and propriety questioned by all of Sparta. His cheeks burned red as he hastened to correct the misunderstanding. “I will of course not be in the house. It will be entirely yours, undisturbed. I will stay in the barracks or with my parents.”

“Brasidas, that is very generous of you, but we can’t just throw you out of your house.” Kassandra was meeting his eyes again, the red faded on her cheeks, but Myrrine still frowned.

“It’s no trouble, really. It’s just a waste of space that I’m rattling around alone in that house while you need rooms while you wait for the kings. “He cleared his throat, still embarrassed and a little unnerved by Myrrine’s penetrating stare. “It might help. A clear endorsement from an ephor.”

Myrrine tilted her head and contemplated him. “You’re unwed, Brasidas? No children?”

Now he felt even more awkward. He was used to his mater nagging him on the subject, even her friends on occasion, but Myrrine made it feel more embarrassing than all the others put together. “Ah, no. That is, not… yet.” He tried to smile politely and avoided looking anywhere near Kassandra.

“Really? No wife or children at your age, and still they elected you ephor? You must be very accomplished, Brasidas.” She nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, we will accept your generous offer.”

He blinked. That hadn’t gone the direction he thought it would, and he was left with the impression that he’d missed something. “Well… good, then. Shall we go there now?”

“No.” Myrrine shook her head and threw Brasidas’ expectations off balance again. “I want to visit my pater’s tomb first. Kassandra will go with you to drop off our packs and then join us to pay her respects to Leonidas.”

With that, she nodded at him and quite abruptly walked away, steering Phoibe by one shoulder.

Kassandra

She stared after her mater, cheeks still warm. Kassandra hadn’t mentioned Brasidas to her mater at all, and was fairly sure Phoibe hadn’t either, but Myrrine was shrewd and attentive and had clearly understood the situation just fine.

And now she was leaving her daughter alone with Brasidas, so he could escort her to his empty house.

She was just about to turn to him and apologize for how blunt her mater had been when she heard Phoibe’s loud whisper. “They were kissing. In Korinth. I saw them.”

Myrrine hushed the girl, but the damage was done. More than one passerby had heard and were smirking and throwing not-so-subtle glances at Brasidas.

Now her cheeks blazed red and her skin felt hot all over, not only in embarrassment but in remembrance. She bent down to pick up their packs, hiding her face and avoiding looking at Brasidas just a little longer. 

“Let me.” His voice was low and very close, his hands grasping at the packs.

“No, it’s fine, I can handle it.” She glanced at him, feigning casual and shrugging her shoulders.

But he didn’t let go. Instead he looked at her pleading, and repeated the words. “Let me.”

She let go and straightened, realizing that her carrying the packs through Sparta while he walked empty handed might draw more looks their way. “Thank you. So… is your house nearby?” She looked around as if she could spot it from where they stood.

He hefted the packs over his shoulder and shook his head. “No. It’s a bit of a walk from here.” 

She followed him as he started walking, ignoring the stares and whispers from the people they passed. “My pater’s house is near here though. Just passed the square, up by the well. I don’t know if you remember…”

She nodded and tried to recall the layout of the neighbourhood she learned running around the streets as a child.

They walked together, not speaking to each other. Brasidas was nodding and greeting people they passed and Kassandra was distracted by all the memories walking the streets was bringing back for her.

A slightly crooked fence, a large rock with a crack through it, a door painted green. She remembered them all, vividly, as soon as she saw them. Her whole being was full of recognition and awe. ‘Yes. I was here. I know this place. I played here, fell down there, climbed up on that. This is home.’

“Here we are.” Brasidas’ voice pulled her out of her mind as he stopped in front of an unfamiliar house and opened the door, leading her inside.

It wasn’t as large as her mater’s house, but Brasidas was right that it was too large for one person. 

The room they had stepped into held a table full of scrolls and ink pots, a couple of chests and smaller tables, and two kline pushed up against opposite walls. Three doors stood open, one relieving a dark passageway and the foot of a staircase, another opened into a kitchen where a woman stood, working on something at a bench.

For a fleeting moment, Kassandra thought she was his wife until she realized this must be a servant. No Citizen of Sparta would be expected to keep after his own house, after all.

Brasidas walked over to explain the arrangement to the woman, and Kassandra looked around the room. It was sparse, of course, but even by Spartan standards it was empty and unadorned. Obviously, this was not really a home.  

She spotted the andrōn through the third door, mostly as bare and empty, but her eyes caught on something and she walked over. 

On a table sat a wreath of gilded olive leaves. Brasidas’ laurels.

She reached out, letting a gentle fingertip trace the edge of a leaf.

“Kassandra?” Brasidas stood just outside the door and she smiled at him.

“I heard about this. I was on Naxos and two soldiers walked by, they said your name so I asked about you.” He had stepped into the room, not standing so close it was improper, but close. “They told me you had left Korinthia to lead and win a naval battle, been presented these laurels, been elected ephor.”

He stared at her, cheeks a little pink, a strange stiff smile on his face, making her own smile falter. “You don’t want me to be in here?”

His head jerked a little. “No. I mean, that’s not…” He stopped, sighed, and started over. “You can go wherever you like in this house, Kassandra. Really.”  

He fell silent again, staring at her, and then seemed to shake himself. “Let me show you around.” 

Stepping back out of the andrōn he gestured vaguely with his hand, grimacing at the mess of scrolls on the table. “This is, um… a room. I asked Ilina to clean up the scrolls and prepare beds for the three of you. She’s just gone to the agora to make sure there’s enough food in the house.” 

He pointed across to the kitchen. “Um… obviously, there’s the kitchen. Beyond that are storage.”

Kassandra bit her lip and felt a flutter of endearment in her chest at his obvious nerves, and followed him as he walked through the third door. “To the rights here is the washroom, and ahead is the gynaeceum. I...eh… well, it’s not used much, obviously.”

He started up the stairs and she followed, trying not to be distracted by the sight of his bare thighs just in front of her face.

“There are three bedrooms.” He made a quick circuit, letting her peak into the open doorways, revealing spaces empty of anything but a bare sleep mat. “Obviously, Ilina will prepare them for you, unless you prefer to sleep in the gynaeceum...?”

Kassandra shrugged. “I don’t mind, so I’ll let mater decide.”

They were standing just outside what was obviously Brasidas’ bedroom. The sheet was a little crumpled and creased, a blanket was pushed off to the side, and a pillow still held the indent of his head. Kassandra imagined him laying there, asleep and felt her skin heat up again.

They had been quiet for a while now. Brasidas staring at her, as she stared past his shoulder at his bed. When she realized, she looked up, meeting his eyes. He looked flushed, warm. The lower of his lips glistened slightly.

“About what happened in Korinth…”

“I didn’t want you to go…”

They had spoken over each other, and both stopped. Brasidas gestured for her to continue, an embarrassed smile flitting over his face. She could see his gaze moving between her eyes and lips as she spoke. “I didn’t want you to go. In Korinth. I wanted you to stay and… I wanted to run after you.”

She stopped when she saw his pupils dilate, his tongue sneak out to wet his lips, momentarily distracted. “I was so angry at Phoibe for waking up. For making you leave. I’ve thought about you so often since then. Dreamt...”

“Kassandra…” His voice was a hoarse whisper and his hands lifted to just barely graze her fingers.

She didn’t let him take hold of her hands though, instead placing a palm on his chest, pushing him back into the wall. Her other hand came up to his face, cupping his jaw as she leaned in to capture his lips, fingers sliding deep into his hair when that first contact exploded into moaning need.

It was like the past two years hadn’t happened, like Phoibe had never woken up to interrupt them in Korinth. No slow, hesitant exploration, no build up. Just the tingling need spreading over her skin, and their lips and tongues trying to get them closer.

Her hand slid from his chest and rested it on his shoulder, and his arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight to him.

They kissed deeply and he tasted just the same, smelled just the same, his moans sounded just the same. Her head spun with the overwhelming sensations and the heat pooling deep in her belly, until the need for air forced them apart.

She pressed her nose to his neck and pulled in lungfuls of air, chasing each breath with a press of lips against the soft skin.

His hands cupped her elbows and slid up to her shoulders as if readying to push her away or turn them around. She protested and took hold of his hands, holding them to the wall on either side of his head.

“Wait. Wait. Please. I’ve been thinking about this ever since the warehouse.” She ducked her head and pressed soft kisses over his collarbone until she reached the divot at the base of his throat. Pressing her tongue inside, she heard his head thunk back against the wall and felt a moan vibrate in his throat.

He broke free of her grasp and spun her around, capturing her lips for another deep kiss while crowding close, one hand sliding down to her thigh, pulling it, lifting it to let them get closer, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

The muffled sound of a door came from below and Kassandra heard Brasidas groan into the kiss before he broke free and vanished from her arms. She blinked in confusion, her mind foggy and slow as she looked around, finding him leaning against the opposite wall, chest heaving, fists clenched, eyes squeezed shut.

Kassandra watched him while her own breathing slowed down and the fog receded. 

Eventually he opened his eyes and grinned at her. “You are going to be the death of me, Kassandra.”

His voice was low, barely loud enough to carry across the space between them, and definitely not enough to reach Ilina on the floor below.

She shook her head and hissed slightly louder than he had, gesturing vaguely downwards. “Not me. It’s all these malakas interruptions!”

He chuckled silently and stared up at the ceiling before licking his lips and glancing at his bedroom. “You...ah. You should probably go meet your mater before she… worries.”

She heard Ilina moving around below, getting closer to them. “Yes, right, I’ll go… Where will you be staying? With your parents?”

He shook his head. “The barracks.”

She shook her own head in response. “You should stay with your parents.”

He tilted his head in a silent ‘Why?’

“We’ll get into a lot less trouble if I’m caught sneaking into their house.

She left him standing there with a surprised ‘O’ on his face and hurried down the stairs.

She found her mater at the foot of Leonidas tomb, telling Phoibe about the statue and how it was made. The girl spotted her first and lit up. “Kassandra! Did you find the house? Is it nice?”

She smiled and nodded, rubbing away a streak of dirt from the girl’s cheek with her thumb. “Yes, I did find it, and it is nice. Very… clean.”

Her mater gave her a penetrating stare and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear with a knowing smile. “Lead the way then, my lamb.”

Brasidas

He walked quickly to his parents’ house, hoping he would find his mater there. Brasidas knew that if she found out from someone else that he’d given up his house to Myrrine, he would never live it down.

Stepping into the courtyard, he asked a servant to fetch his mater and waited until she emerged, smile wide and welcoming. 

“Brasidas! How are you? Do you want some food? Drink?” Without waiting for his reply, she kissed his cheeks forcefully and ushered him inside, pushing him into a chair, waving at the servant to bring wine.

“Mater…”

“Oh, you’ll never guess what I heard!”

“Mater…”

“Myrrine, daughter of King Leonidas himself, has returned to Sparta! Our Myrrine!”

“Mater…”

“And with a child in tow, can you believe it!?”

He clasped both of her hands and raised his voice only slightly. “Mater!”

She abruptly stopped talking and looked at him in surprise. “Brasidas, what on earth...?”

“Mater... I did know Myrrine is back in Sparta. I’ve met with her.” Her eyes became wide with shock and he continued before she could interrupt with questions. “She’s going to petition the Kings to regain her estate, and I’ve offered her to stay in my house while she waits for their decision.”

She gasped and clapped her palms together. “Of course you did! You’re so polite, Brasidas. Such an honor to this family.”

He grimaced and captured her hands again, squeezing them lightly. “Thank you, mater. I’m planning to stay here with you and pater for the duration, since I can’t stay there with them.”

“Of course! You are always welcome here. You know that.” She patted his cheek and then gave him a sly glance. “Them? She does have a child?”

“Mater… Myrrine has brought Kassandra back to Sparta.” He waited for her to digest what he said.

Once she did, her eyes almost popped out of her head. “Impossible! She was thrown!”

“It’s Kassandra. The girl survived the fall and now they’re both back.”

“No… Impossible…” She was more talking to herself than to him, and he waited. “It can’t be… you must be mistaken. You don’t even remember what that little girl looked like.”

He sighed and felt an irrational stab of guilt that he hadn’t known Kassandra before she fell. “No, mater, I don’t. But Myrrine does.”

His mater’s jaw worked soundlessly for a few moments. “But they said she had a child with her?”

“She does. Phoibe. Kassandra’s daughter. Adopted.”

“Really?” Her hand flew up to cover her mouth. He could see she was itching to tell people what she knew, so he bid her goodbye and stood up.

He needed to return to the assembly and tell them why Myrrine had returned, sure that the men would be just as eager for gossip as his mater.

He had almost reached the door when her voice stopped him. “Kassandra… she’s about Hyptia’s age, isn’t she?”

He groaned internally and turned around, hands clasped behind his back, nails digging into his palm.

“Is she married?” She was giving him an innocent smile that didn’t fool anyone.

“No, mater. She’s not married.”

The innocent smile turned into a sly smirk. “Is she pretty?”

He didn’t want to give her matchmaking dreams any more fuel, but he also didn’t want to outright lie. She could always tell when he did. “She looks like her mater. I really must go now. I’ll see you tonight, after the syssitia.”

He had been right about the assembly, of course. They’d reveled in the information and immediately started to speculate and gossip. It continued into the syssitia, but the men there had also been reached by the gossip that he had been kissing Myrrine’s daughter while he was in Korinth, and he was bombarded with questions until he lost his appetite and excused himself.

Some of them had been moderately polite, simply asking how he’d come to meet Kassandra and why he hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. Some seemed to assume the reason for the women’s return was his relationship with Kassandra, not an actual petition to regain their house. Some were just ridiculous, claiming - against his fervent denial - that he’d fathered Phoibe and now Myrrine had dragged her daughter back to Sparta to demand he do his duty and marry her.  

But most just focused on teasing him. He was the staunch bachelor after all, who was always keeping any dalliances or relationships out of conversation or notice, who was ever proper and polite and never the center of any gossip. But now. Now there was gossip, juicy, delicious gossip that they could all see made him squirm and blush. Did this mean he was finally going to leave his bachelor days behind and marry?

It had been like the syssitia was filled with copies of his mater and her most annoying friends.

His shoulders were tense and his cheeks burned uncomfortably hot as he stalked back to his parents’ house. As soon as he stepped through the door, he was greeted by his mater calling out his name and rushing forward, positively bursting with questions of Myrrine and Kassandra.

“Brasidas! You’re early!” He grimaced and shook his head, moving past her and headed towards the stairs in a very uncharacteristic lack of respect for his mater.

“What’s this? What’s wrong?” She followed him to the stairs and he stopped, turning to her with a deep sigh.

“Mater. I don’t want to talk about Myrrine and Kassandra. All day people have been badgering me about them, gossiping about them, speculating about them, inventing wild stories about them. I need a break.”

His mater’s face had held surprise, but as he spoke it shifted into embarrassment and then settled into a frown. He left her at the foot of the stairs and tried not to stomp his way to the bedroom.

Brasidas laid staring blankly at the ceiling while the sky outside shifted through the pinks and oranges of sunset, and then past that into dusk.

The gossip of the day had bothered him, much more than any teasing or questions of marriage or women ever had before, and he supposed that it was because there was just so much of it, all at once. And also because it was concerning someone else who wasn’t there to hear and defend herself.

Not that he would have wanted Kassandra to be there. The thought of her hearing even part of all that speculation made his skin hot and itchy.

So many people throughout his life had asked him why he wasn’t married, and he’d always given a shrug and changed the subject, because the truth was he didn’t know why. There had been women in his past, but never anyone he wanted to… keep. To have a house and children with. He’d liked them fine, well even, but never enough.  

That didn’t seem to be a concern for most of the men in Sparta and beyond, he knew. A wife wasn’t really someone you needed to like. She was just someone you kept in your house to make babies and maybe do some weaving and mending and cooking, whatever the servants didn’t do. And if you couldn’t stand to be around her? Well, that was fine, wasn’t it? Just stay in the barracks.

It seemed to Brasidas that aside from the part with the babies, he could achieve exactly the same thing by just not marrying anyone at all. And he could adopt like Myrrine’s Nikolaos had, if it came to that.

Kassandra was different. They way he’d been thinking about her, never able or willing to fully let go of the memory, that was different. New. He’d never felt anything like that for anyone before.

But marriage? For all their hints and nudges and teasing, he doubted any of them would actually want him to marry her, once they found out what she was really like. Well, maybe his mater would, but she was desperate.

Kassandra would never sit in a house and cook, sew, and weave. Make babies while he was out fighting wars. 

The thought of making babies with Kassandra made his skin warm and he shifted on the bed. Would she really come by tonight? They had traveled far and she was probably tired. Maybe she didn’t want to leave her mater and Phoibe alone in an unfamiliar house the very first night?

Did she know? Did she realize that he was just as smitten with her? Earlier, at the house, she’d told him she’d thought about him, asked about him, dreamt about him, while he’d said nothing. Too preoccupied by her presence in his house to really say anything worthwhile.

A soft knock on the door startled him and his response was more harsh than he intended. “What?”

The door creaked open to reveal one of his mater’s servants. “I’m sorry to intrude, but your mater sent me.” She indicated her hands where she somehow carried two jugs, a package or cloth, and a small, lit oil lamp.

He sat up, nodding, and reached out to help her, but the young woman moved into the room and set her burden down in the dresser. “Wine, some bread and fruit, and water for washing. Is there anything else you’d like?”

He shook his head and thanked her, standing up as she disappeared out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her with a soft scrape.

If Kassandra really was going to show up in the night, he didn’t want her to find him still in his uniform, sulking and unkempt.

Unfastening his belt and armor, placing them on a table, dropping his bracers on top of them, followed by his red tunic. A wide washbasin sat on the dresser and he poured the water, soaking the sponge.

He washed quickly, efficiently, and placed the sponge to dry when he finished. It was only then he realized he hadn’t remembered to bring any spare clothes. A fresh chiton and perizoma would have been nice, if she did show up.

Ordinarily, he would just have slept without of course, but now that felt too arrogant and presumptuous, especially with all the taunting and teasing he had endured and the thoughts they had put in his head, so he pulled the chiton back on and laid down on the bed.

Part of him wanted to stay awake until she came. ‘If she’s coming.’ But the soldier in him knew that you take your sleep whenever you can get it, because you never know what the gods have in store for you that might keep you on your feet for days. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to fall asleep, trusting that if Kassandra showed up, he would wake.

And suddenly, he was awake. Years of training could push him into sleep at will, and could just as easily pull him back out - wide awake and alert - at any unfamiliar sound.

The lamp had burned out and the room was pitch black. Sitting up, he could see nothing but still sensed a presence in the room. “Kassandra?” He heard a soft hum just as a flint was struck, lighting up the room with a spark. 

The sudden bright light was gone instantly, but left an image burned in his mind of Kassandra clad only in a chiton, standing over his lamp, smiling softly.

He reached out to where the spark had shown her standing and found her calf, smooth skin, strong muscle, soft hair tickling against his fingertips. The flint sparked again and this time the spark caught and Kassandra lit the wick.

He pulled gently on her leg and she moved, stepping onto the bedroll and sinking down to her knees, straddling his legs. Her arms wrapped around his back, holding him up and close. “Brasidas.” The smile she gave him was soft, indulgent.

His arms wrapped around her waist and he met her eyes, sure his smile was nothing but a wide, goofy grin. “Chaire.” He felt her fingertips playing with the end of his braid where it hung down his back.

If he had been forced to predict how this meeting in private would go, he would have guessed the same frantic rush as before, but he would have been wrong.

Instead, they sat a moment in the glow of the lamp, looking at each other. After a few long moments, Kassandra gave a breathy laugh and rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m waiting for whomever is coming to interrupt us this time. I don’t want to start something we can’t finish. Again. My nerves can’t take it.”

He chuckled, rubbing his palms over her back and pressing his cheek to her hair and waited with her a bit longer.

“It’s not just you.” She responded only with a hum and stroked her hands over his shoulders. “I’ve been thinking about you too. Earlier, at the house, I made it seem like only you were remembering. I’ve been thinking about you too, dreaming, asking.”

She lifted her head and looked at him, one hand shifting to his shoulders. “Really?” Not teasing, just curious.

“Yeah.” He hesitated, not sure how to tell her she’d been with him for a long time. “When I was called from Korinth, I rode alone to Cyllene and thought about sharing the trip with you during the day, and dreamt about you at night.” 

He thought she might tease him then. ‘Dreamed of me? What did we do?’ But she just listened, fingers playing with his braid.

“The naval battle. We didn't do well in the beginning.” His cheeks still burned at the memory. “I wished you could join us with your ship. And there was a Commander, Lycophron, who’d been to Megaris and told us of the misthios who had helped turn the battle for Sparta. I asked about you then.”

He felt the muscles in her back tense and pulled her tighter to his chest. “Nikolaos disappearance had caused rumors. That you killed him, that he ran away in shame, that he ran back to Sparta before you could take credit for his victory…” 

She frowned and he kissed her cheek. “They don’t know that you are his daughter. Some thought he deserted to run off and have a torrid love affair with the beautiful misthios.”

She snorted loudly and bit her lip at the sound, glancing at the door. He chuckled and nodded, rubbing her lower back. The frown had been replaced by humorous disbelief, which shifted into a serious expression as she stared at him. He felt her shift slightly in his arms, press a kiss to his cheek. 

The atmosphere in the room changed, the air became heavier, muffled. He took a breath and felt his heart beat harder. “I just… didn’t want you to think this was one sided. Just you. I… was so frustrated when she woke up and interrupted. So frustrated I didn’t even make it back to the camp before…” He trailed off, his skin growing hot.

Her pupils were growing larger and her mouth was slightly open, breathing heavier. “Before…?” Her voice was slightly deeper too, husky.

“There was an alley. A bush… I hid there. To relieve myself.” 

A sound between a soft gasp and a moan spilled from her lips and her hands gripped his face, pulling him in.

The kiss was just as electrifying and overwhelming as the last one they’d shared, and it escalated just as quickly. Her hands left his face and stroked down his torso to find the edge of his chiton. She tried to pull it up, but he was sitting on the fabric, so she gave up with a frustrated groan and went for the pins that held the fabric up at his shoulders.

He slid his palms down to her thighs, the soft skin tingling against his fingers as she smoothed his hands up her body, dragging the cloth along and pulling it over her head.

She had managed to undo the pins, so his chiton had fallen to pool around his hips, and now she was leaning back slightly, looking at his chest and letting light fingertips tickle over the skin. “You are beautiful.”

He couldn’t help but scoff at that. His body looked like every other middle aged Spartan, well past the prime of his youth. But Kassandra… His palms smoothed over her sides and stomach, his knuckles grazing the sides of her breasts. “You are beautiful.” 

He didn’t want to compare her to a goddess, knowing it would only invite their anger when she outshone them all. Instead he let his fingertips train down to the edge of her perizoma. “May I?”

The look she gave him was incredulous as she rose up on her knees, jerking the fabric off and tossing it aside. His hands, still on her hips, instinctively slid back to caress and cup her buttocks.

Kassandra didn’t sink back down to sit on his legs, but instead moved his chiton away from his body, exposing his hard member. Then she sank back down and crowded close, lips capturing his and arms wrapping around his neck.

The kiss was less frantic, but deeper, more purposeful, more dizzying, and his member was trapped between them, making him pant and groan each time she pressed her hips closer.

When it became too much, he leaned back to lay on the bedroll, bending his knees to tip her forward on top of him. The new position still trapped him, but made it easier for her to press herself against him as they kissed.

It was divine, and to his embarrassment it didn’t take long for the exquisite torture to get the best of him, sending him over the edge with a loud groan muffled into the kiss.

He refused to take more than a few heartbeats to recover himself before he gripped her thighs and firmly urged her up to straddle his head. Soon, she too was groaning, muffling the sound in her palm.

She collapsed back down to the bedroll after that and arranged herself stretched out and pressed along his side.

He didn’t sleep, and didn’t think she had either, but they lay silent for a long time before Kassandra started tracing patterns on his skin with her fingertips.

“Is the house ok? Anything I need to arrange for?” He felt her shake her head. 

“It’s good. Lovely. I can tell mater likes being back in a house that is Spartan.” Her fingertips dipped into his belly button and then traced back up to his chest again. “Phoibe is ecstatic. She was running around, getting into everything. We’ve closed off your bedroom and the andrōn so she won’t break anything.”

Her finger made a circle around his nipple and then tickled itself up to his collarbone. “People, neighbours, have been showing up all evening to visit and catch up and pretend they’re not there to gawk and gossip. Poor Ilina, she’s been run ragged serving everyone.”

Her fingers combed lightly through the end of his beard before settling back down on his chest. “Luckily, most of the visitors brought food and wine, so she didn’t have to run back to the agora or try to cook and serve at the same time. If it keeps up like this, she’s going to need someone to help her. I offered but…”

“...but Myrrine said it wasn’t appropriate.”

“Yeah.” Her palm was stroking down low on his stomach now, brushing over the thick hair, and he felt himself begin to respond but clamped down on the feeling. There were things he should tell her first.

“The news of your return has caused quite a stir. I had to leave my syssitia early because I couldn’t stand the speculation, the gossip, and the...“ He cleared his throat. “...teasing.”

She lifted her head to look at him, small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Teasing?”

“Yes. Relentless. What Phoibe said about Korinth… it was overheard and, well. It’s led to speculation and teasing.”

“Really?” She grinned and moved to slide on top of him, head pillowed on her hands as she looked at him with amused curiosity. “Do tell.”

“Well… there are the more unsavoury ones, who think that because we met in Korinth you must be a hetaera.”

She rolled her eyes and huffed. Her warm breath cascaded over his skin pleasantly. “Of course they did. What else?”

“There are many who think I fathered Phoibe. And that when Myrrine found out, she dragged you here and demanded I do right by you both. Some think we’ve been secretly married for years and I have only now brought you and our child to live in my house. Those people seem to conveniently forget about Myrrine…”

She gave him a crooked smile and puffed out another breath. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the same as the gossiping crones visiting the house thinks. I don’t think they believed us when we said it wasn’t true. Mater was not amused.”

He couldn’t resist anymore and gave in to the urge to slide his palms down over her skin to cup her backside. “There’s also… my mater. She… I’m her only son, and I’m not married, and she nags me about it. Often.”

Kassandras eyes had been fluttering closed at the feel of his hands on her skin, but now they met his, shining with mirth.

“So… she will be hinting about it at every chance she gets, I’m sure. Since you’re new, and she hasn’t tried with you before. Just to warn you.”

She ducked her head and kissed his chest, speaking against his skin. “I think my mater figured it out even before Phoibe said anything. I never said anything but she seems to just have sensed there was something between us. She hasn’t said anything, but I know her looks. She knows.” Her kisses became wetter, more sucking against his skin and he felt his body respond, unable and unwilling to push it away this time. Her warm breath tickled against his skin and he shivered, gripping her tighter.

“I think that’s why she accepted your offer. Why she sent us alone to the house. Why she insisted I take a bedroom alone upstairs while she sleeps in the gynaeceum with Phoibe and Ilina.”

“Really?” His hands stopped their exploration of her back for just a moment. “What was her justification for that arrangement?”

“That I snore. And that they didn’t need to be disturbed by my strange ‘misthios sleep schedule’.”

“Do you? Snore, I mean.” He smirked at her and pinched her buttcheek lightly.

“Oh yeah. A lot. It’s gotten me into trouble more than once, sleeping out in the woods. It’s my nose… I’ve broken it. Many times.”

“Well, then we should find something to do that isn’t sleep. To avoid waking the household.”

She smirked at him and he lifted her a little higher up his body to kiss the bridge of her nose. “Poor little thing.”

She gave an undignified snort through her beautiful, mangled nose and he kissed her lips instead.

As the kiss deepend, he rolled over on top of her and made sure neither of them would fall asleep for a good long while.

Kassandra

She had climbed back down the balcony outside Brasidas’ room in the very early morning and snuck back through the streets to his house. She was exhausted, sore, and very happy as she slid into bed and promptly fell asleep.

It felt like only moments before Phoibe was there, shaking her awake and telling her to come down for breakfast.

Her mater greeted her and politely ignored her wide, loud yawns, instead explaining to Phoibe that once they got their house back, she would be expected to study and train like a proper Spartan woman. The girl seemed excited at the prospect and asked lots of questions, filling what might otherwise have been an awkward meal with chatter. 

Kassandra could tell that her mater knew, and she didn’t want to talk about it. Especially in front of Phoibe, who would probably announce it from the rooftops first chance she got.

“It’ll be nice to have friends.” Kassandra was startled out of her musings and looked at the girl sitting next to her. Phoibe had a dreamy look on her face, but then glanced around at them with a look of guilt. “Not that you’re not great. I love being with you both!”

That made them laugh and Myrrine stroked a hand over Phoibe’s cheek. “You are right, poulaki mou. You do need friends your own age. The neighbours here have children for you to get to know.”

Kassandra yawned wide and remembered what Brasidas had told her in Korinth. “Brasidas has sisters, and they have kids. I can’t remember how old but I’m sure we could check with them.”

Her mater did that thing where she didn’t smile knowingly, but you could just tell that she was thinking the smile all the same, and she almost regretted saying anything.

“That’s an excellent idea. We should go visit his parents today. We used to know them quite well once, after all.”

They all lapsed into silence a while until Phoibe spoke again. “Is your house like this one? So big and empty?”

They smiled at her. “Actually, our house is bigger than this.”

Kassandra nodded at Phoibe’s wide eyed disbelief. “And our house had more stuff. Not a lot, not like Markos’ and all his weird things, but you could tell people lived there.”

Phoibe snorted out a giggle. “Like your house on Kephallonia? You could definitely tell someone lived there. Or maybe died there!” She laughed at her own joke and Kassandra looked at her mater with an awkward smile.

Being neat and tidy was something her parents had always insisted on, but on Kephallonia that habit had quickly been forgotten. “It wasn't a house. It was a shack. And it’s not like I ever had any visitors.”

“You had me. I visited all the time.” Kassandra groaned and shook her head with exasperation.

“You didn’t visit, you’re not a visitor. You’re family, it’s not the same!”

Phoibe stuck out her tongue and turned to Myrrine instead. “It was really, really messy. And smelly.”

Her mater gave her a disapproving look and she smiled back, innocent and disarming. “I’ll be on my best behaviour here, mater. I promise.”

Myrrine pursed her lips and jerked her head towards the ceiling. “Why don’t you go sleep a bit? I’ll wake you when it’s time to go.”

Getting a little more sleep helped, and when her mater woke her up again she wasn’t quite as wrecked. 

Instead of leaving to wait downstairs, her mater closed the door and knelt to pick up the armor discarded on the floor. Kassandra hurried to take it from her. “Sorry, sorry… I was just so tired. I won’t do it again.”

“You should wear it today.”

She stopped at her mater’s words. “Why? Are you expecting an attack?”

“No. But with the armor you cover a bit more skin.” Her expression was deadpan, but humor glittered in her eyes. “And maybe you can find something to wrap your neck with too.” 

Kassandra stared in confusion for a moment until she understood. Brasidas had left marks. Malaka!

She stood, a little dazed, while her mater helped her into the armor. Her cheeks burned and she scolded herself. She was an adult and was allowed to do whatever she wanted, with whomever she wanted.

Her mater took her hands and gave her an amused smile. “Kassandra. I approve. Brasidas is a good man. Worthy. He’s from a good family, he has a distinguished career, he’s accomplished in battle. He clearly likes you and doesn’t seem to hold any of your past against you. What more could I possibly want for my daughter?”

Her cheeks only burned hotter as she listened to Myrrine’s words. She was blowing the whole thing out of proportion, making it so big. 

“Mater… we’re not… getting married or anything. We’re just…” It felt strange to say those words out loud. Like she was invoking something. “... besides. I can’t. You know that. The Cult must be dealth with. Alexios. That’s not something I can do if I’m stuck in Sparta playing wife.”

Her mater pursed her lips. “I do know that, my lamb. But you must consider a time after the Cult have been dealth with. If my line ends with you and Alexios, the Cult wins anyway. So you need to find a way to fight the cult and have a family. And who better than with Brasidas?”

Myrrine left her standing in the room alone and returned downstairs.

‘Continue her line. Have a family.’

That meant not just marriage, but children. Brasidas’ children. The thought gave her a strange feeling deep in her stomach, like she’d dove off a cliff.

The three of them walked together to Brasidas’ parents house, but Kassandra wasn’t paying attention. Words spun round and round in her head. Married, wife, children, family. Brasidas. It made her nervous, fluttery and warm inside.

Then, in no time, they arrived in the courtyard of the house and a servant left to announce their visit to the family. 

An old woman appeared a few moments later, startling them with her booming voice. “Myrrine!” They embraced and kissed each other's cheeks while Kassandra and Phoibe stood back and watched.

Brasida’s mater was older than Myrrine by at least ten years, maybe even twenty. Her hair fully grey and her face worn with wrinkles, the kind that affirmed a life full of smiles and laughter. Her nose was Brasidas’ and maybe the mouth too, though that was hard to tell because of his beard.

“Argileonis, it’s so good to see you again.” Myrrine was trying to remain poised but the forcefulness of the greeting had her a little off kilter.

“And it’s so good to see you again, Myrrine, dear. We’ve been so worried. So worried about you all these years. And now here you are, alive and well.” The old woman was smiling fondly, and then suddenly shifted and pulled Kassandra in for a hug and kisses. 

“And Kassandra. Kassandra! Oh, how I wept for you, child! But look at you now! You’ve grown so much!”

Kassandra’s senses were overwhelmed. The old woman’s voice, her scent, her eyes. Memories came flooding in, of running in the streets and that voice calling at her to slow down, sitting in her lap and hugged tightly to her chest, wrapped in her scent. Those eyes smiling at her and sneaking her fruit and sweet cakes.

She felt her throat constrict with a building sob. “I know you. You’re Aggi. I remember.” She could feel tears pooling in her eyes and saw the same reflected in Aggi’s eyes.

The old woman smiled and patted her cheek. “Yes, child, you do know me. Welcome home, Kassandra.”

This time she couldn’t stop the sob escaping her throat and covered her face with her hands. She felt Aggi pat her cheek one more time and her mater wrap a comforting arm around her shoulders.

From outside the dark cocoon of her hands she heard Aggi’s voice again. “And you must be Phoibe. Come along with me, I’ll show you to the gynaeceum. Your mater and yáya will be along.”

Their steps receded into the house and Kassandra felt her mater lean in close and press her lips to her forehead. “My lamb…”

Her voice was still shaky but the sobs had subsided, letting her draw in a breath and lower her hands. “I drove everyone out of my mind. Everyone but you, pater and Alexios. Yesterday, I remembered the streets, running around, playing, but… Máma, I remember her. Her voice and smell and eyes. I remember this courtyard, the gynaeceum, the kitchen, the… everything!”

Her mater was gently pulling her into the house as she spoke, leading her away from any prying eyes on the street and into the gynaeceum at the back of the house.

Inside they found Aggi introducing Phoibe to a group of children, all younger than her by several years. Kassandra was distracted, wiping at her eyes, and didn’t notice the other woman in the room until she gasped. “Kassandra? Kass? Is it really you?”

She turned around and saw a young woman standing behind her, a small child on her hip. It took a moment of shocked staring before the memories slotted into place. “Hyptia?”

“Yes! It’s me! You remembered!” Kassandra was enveloped in a one-armed hug and had her cheeks kissed again. 

“Yes, I…” She took hold of the young woman’s shoulders and held her at arm's length, really taking her in. She looked remarkably like her mater, even beginning to show fine lines of laughter around her eyes and mouth. “... we used to play together. Sparr. Ran all over Sparta. I remember.”

She felt the tears start to pool in her eyes again and tried to blink them away. Hyptia’s eyes also turned wet and she fanned her face with her free hand. “Oh, bother! Ever since I had this little guy, I keep bursting into tears at everything. Stupid!” She shook herself and pulled at Kassandra’s arm. “Come on, let’s eat. I’m famished!”

She led them over to a table where the servants had placed trays of food and jugs of wine. Myrrine was already seated with Aggi, and the children sat on the floor nearby eating from bowls of fruit. The oldest of the children, a girl who looked to be about eight was peppering Phoibe with questions who looked pleased with the attention.

Kassandra ate and listened to Hyptia telling her about her life, how she met her husband, told her about her son, about what became of all the other kids they used to play with before.

Aggi shifted the conversation almost naturally to Brasidas. She told them, while mostly looking directly at Kassandra, about his many accomplishments, his battles, his laurels, being elected ephor.

Finally, she sighed dramatically. “It’s such a shame he never married. So accomplished, so handsome. He could have anyone! Yet he sits alone in that house and pines.”

A guffawing came from the doorway and Kassandra whipped around with a start. Two women, older than her by several years, had entered the room.

“Mater, honestly. Brasidas has never pined for anything, and he doesn’t sit alone in that house. He’s at the assembly, the barracks, the training ground, the syssitia, or the battlefield, but he is never in that house.”

If she hadn’t already met Aggi and Hyptia, she wouldn’t have recognized them, but now it was easy to find their faces in her memories. The older of the two was Aristomache, a few years older than Brasidas. She remembered that she’d often been put in charge of all the young children of the neighbourhood during celebrations and festivals, and vividly remembered how much that young woman had resented it.

The other was Theoklia, younger than Brasidas, she remembered her only vaguely as the quiet, shy older sister of Hyptia. Now she was heavily pregnant and sighed as she lowered herself into a chair.

Aristomache sat down next to her mater and poured herself a cup of wine. “And stop talking about how unmarried he is to everyone. You’ll put them off.”

Aggi shrugged. “I’m just saying it’s a shame.” She waited for only a moment before turning to Kassandra with an innocent smile. “What about you, child? Are you married?”

All three of her daughters groaned loudly and hushed her in unison. “What? I’m interested in the girl’s life. It’s been so long.”

Kassandra saw Myrrine hide a smile into her cup as Aggi’s transparent matchmaking aspirations.

“No, theia. I’m not married.”

Aggi clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Shame. Shame… What about Phoibe’s pater?”

“She’s adopted. From Kephallonia.” Myrrine supplied the answer quickly before hiding in her cup again.

“Really?” Aggi eyed Kassandra with even more interest than before. Do tell us how that came about.”

So she told the story to the table. Phoibe broke away from the group of children and came to stand next to her, and Kassandra wrapped an arm around her. Soon the rest of the children were all there too, listening to the story of Phoibe’s parent’s death and eventual adoption by Kassandra and Markos, while stealing food off their mater’s plates.

The conversation then shifted to her life on Kephallonia and then as a misthios around Hellas.

After more than an hour of talking, she was exhausted. Her sleepless night was catching up to her, and when she was yawning more than not, her mater sent her home to get some sleep.

Brasidas

Kassandra had spent the day with his mater and three sisters. He knew this because several people had told him so, with knowing smirks and teasing smiles. Considering how little sleep he’d gotten the night before there was precious little patience left in him and he left the syssitia as early as he could.

He walked to his parents’ house with slow heavy feet, knowing his mater would be just as eager to gossip as the night before. Only this time he wouldn’t be able to brush her off to hide in his room. She’d never forgive him if he did it twice.

He found her just inside as he entered, instructing the servants, and he waited with feigned patience until she was done.

“Chaire, mater.” He kissed her cheeks and tried to not let his exhaustion color his voice. “I heard Myrrine visited today.”

“She did! That poor woman, such a hard life. So good she’s finally home. I’ve known her since she was a child, you know. So worried for her…” He nodded, trying to appear attentive and interested and not glance at the stairs he desperately wanted to escape up.

“She brought her granddaughter, Phoibe. Poor girl needs friends, of course, and proper schooling. Did you know that poor child had a terrible fall and hurt her head? It’s been over a year since and she still gets headaches sometimes. Terrible!”

He hadn’t known that. He barely knew anything about what happened since Korinth. They hadn’t really... talked.

“And Kassandra… So beautiful, looks just like mater, just as you said.” He expected his mater to start in on her ‘hints’ about marriage, but instead she dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her apron. “Such a hard life she’s had. Gone so long…”

She dabbed at her eyes again and Brasidas felt uncomfortable and unsure of what to do. His mater wasn’t really…. weepy. “Mater? Are you alright?”

She waved her hand, dismissing his concern. “Fine, I’m fine. She remembered me, you know. Called me Aggi like she did when she was little.” She dabbed at her eyes again and took a deep breath. “That poor girl, such a lonely life she’s had. It’s good that she’s home again.”

She looked up at his startled expression and patted his cheek. “You look tired, dear. You should go get some rest.” With another pat on his cheek, she disappeared into the gynaeceum, leaving him to stare after her in bewilderment.

Trudging up the stairs to his room, Brasidas sank onto a stool just inside the door and bent down to remove his greaves.

“Long day?”

He startled and looked up. Kassandra was standing just inside the door to the balcony, wide grin on her face. He glanced at the still open door and silently pushed it closed. “Yeah… I didn’t sleep much last night, you see.”

She smirked at him and waved a hand at the dresser. “I brought you some clothes, thought you might need them. But if you’ve had a long day… maybe I can help you unwind?”

Kassandra moved from her spot and bent down to kiss him before sliding to her knees to untie his greaves. Her hands slid from his bared shins up to his knees, and then further, pushing the hanging straps of his belt and cloth of his chiton higher.

They didn’t manage to get the rest of his armor off until much later, when they could both sink down on his bedroll, satisfied and panting.

She laid pressed to his side once again, head pillowed on his chest and one leg thrown over both of his. “I met your mater today, and your sisters.”

“I heard. Did it go well?”

She nodded her head, soft cheek rubbing against his skin. “But I cried. It was embarrassing. After that it was a good visit.”

“What? Why did you cry?” And then he remembered his mater’s odd behaviour before. “Is it the same reason my mater was crying when she told me you’d been here?”

Kassandra pushed herself up on her elbow and looked at him. “She was? Oh… yes, maybe?”

He watched her bite her lip and then sit up cross legged on the bed next to him.

“I don’t know why I didn’t remember before. Not even when you told me your sisters’ names. I should have made the connection back in Korinth, but I didn’t.”

He reached, confused, and stroked her arm gently. “What are you talking about?”

“Hyptia. We used to play together as kids, before… Aristomache and Theoklia would have to watch all us kids sometimes. They hated it.”

She smiled but he could see tears glistening in her eyes. “As soon as I saw your mater, I remembered. Remembered her. Her voice, her smell, her hugs. I remember running around and playing in this house. It just… it was overwhelming. I cried, Brasidas. Sobbed like a child in the middle of the courtyard. People are going to think I’m crazy. You mater…”

He pulled her down to his chest again and stroked her hair. “Mater doesn’t think you’re crazy, she’s just happy you are home safe again.”

They lay in silence for a while, Kassandra trailing gentle fingertips over his stomach while he twined the end of her braid around his finger.

“So… did you remember me?” He could feel her smile against his skin.

“No. I remembered that Hyptia had a much older brother and whenever he was around she didn’t want to play with the rest of us. She would brag that you were teaching her how to sparr and fight like a soldier.”

Brasidas smiled at the memory. Hyptia had been such a surprise to everyone. Thirteen years younger than him, eleven years younger than Theokila, no one had thought his mater would have more children.

And having a new sister after so long was very different. Aristomache had been a stern older sister who never wanted her annoying little brother around. With Theoklia he had vowed to be a better older sibling than Aristomache had been to him, and had dragged his little sister around everywhere as soon as she was old enough to walk.

But Hyptia, he was well into the agoge when she arrived so he hardly had any time to spend with her, but he still wanted to be a good big brother to his littlest sister and tried to dote on her as much as he could.

He sighed and kissed Kassandra’s hair. “I don’t remember you either. Not really. I remember Nikolaos and Myrrine of course, but their children? No… I didn’t care.”

They lapsed back into silence again and Brasidas could feel his eyelids getting heavy, but fought it.

“I like your sisters. They’re fun. The kids too. And your mater wasn’t as bad as you made her out to be. Just asked if I was married and Phoibe’s pater was. Normal questions, I think.”

He scoffed and pulled her tighter. “Except she already knew that you’re not married and that Phoibe is adopted, because she asked me about it yesterday. Now… do you think we can risk a little sleep? I’m exhausted.”

She responded with a yawn and snuggled in closer to his side.

He rose to wakefulness slowly, hovering between dream and reality. Kassandra was sleeping on his chest, her cheek pressed to his skin, her hand resting on his stomach, her leg slung over his. He was stroking her hair with one hand, while the other rested atop hers on his belly. He could hear her soft breathing, feel the heat of her skin, smell her hair.

Then she made a loud snorting sound through her poor, mangled nose and shifted against him, dissipating the fuzzy, dream-like feeling. 

They had slept too long. Helios was already beginning to lighten the horizon and Brasidas could hear the sounds of early risers in the street outside.

He ran a mournful hand from her shoulder down to her thigh and then shook her awake. “Kassandra… it’s morning.”

For a moment longer, she was soft and pliant and stretched like a cat against him. Then reality sank in and she was out of the bed and pulling on her clothes with unnatural speed.

He got up from the bed and caught her shoulders, catching her eyes, wide with worry. “Kassandra… don’t worry. It’s still early.”

She let herself be caught by him but the look of worry remained. “It’ll be bad for you, though, right? If I’m caught sneaking out of here. I’ll probably get into some trouble too… or mater will.”

He smiled and leaned in to kiss her gently. “It will be fine. It’s still early, only a few servants outside, there won’t be trouble.”

She bit her lip and dropped her eyes to the floor. He watched with slight bewilderment as her expression shifted from worried to leering. “Is it early enough that we have time to deal with your little problem?” 

Her gaze was smoldering when she lifted it to meet his eyes, and he felt a surge of heat in his loins.

Glancing past her, he looked at the door to the balcony which she would soon be sneaking out of and thought it perfect to push her up against for a thorough ‘good morning’.

Kassandra was smiling and toying with the trail of hair leading down his stomach when he heard heavy footsteps on the stairs and his mater’s loud voice as she approached the door.

“Brasidas! Wake up! You have a message from the Kings!”

She was gone from his arms and the room before he could take another breath. The door creaked open just as the balcony door slid shut and his mater poked her head in.

“Oh good, you’re up. Urgent summons from the Kings.” She handed him a folded piece of parchment, her eyes sweeping over the room before she turned and left.

His gaze followed the path his mater’s had taken and felt his cheeks burn.

His armor and clothes were dumped unceremoniously on the floor, and hanging from the corner of the dresser was a second perizoma.

Brasidas dressed in record time and tucked the conspicuous extra piece of clothing into a drawer before hurrying downstairs.

His mater stood by the foot of the stairs with a small cup of wine and a honey cake for him. “You shouldn’t see the Kings on an empty stomach.”

He gulped down the wine and kissed her cheek before escaping out the door, hoping that the early morning excused his silence.

There was trouble in Boeotia. A messenger had arrived in the middle of the night with an urgent call for reinforcements and the Kings and ephors all gathered to discuss the situation and decide on a plan.

They spent all morning pondering the placement of garrisons and revising supply lines until they found a way to rearrange their forces and send aid to Boeotia.

It was well past noon when they finally finished and Brasidas stepped out into the sun again. His stomach rumbled and he set his steps towards his parents house.

King Archidamos had a ‘thing’ about eating during meetings. As in, you shouldn’t. Preferably not drink anything either.

So for however long the meeting was, no one ate or drank while their heads grew heavy and their tempers grew short, until it all either spiraled out into unproductive shouting, or everyone gave in to the strongest voice in the room. Which was usually King Archidamos, of course.

Brasidas was grateful to his mater for the wine and honeycake that morning. And grateful he and Kassandra had spent most of the night catching up on sleep, instead of… other things. 

And, he was grateful his year as ephor was coming to an end. All in all, it had been an enjoyable and educational experience, but he was ready for it to end. It was time he got back to actually doing things, not just talking about them.

Brasidas stomach growled louder and he decided to take a shortcut, turning into a narrow alley. He didn’t usually take this path anymore, though as a child he’d almost exclusively used shortcuts to get anywhere, regardless of them actually being shorter.

The fond memories distracted him and he was halfway through before he realized how empty it was. Usually there were children running through or servants seeking shade from the sun. Now, there was no one but him. 

Him… and the silhouette of a man stepping into the alley ahead. Arms crossed, silently waiting, blocking the exit.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw another man entering the alley behind him. He walked slowly, casually, and Brasidas’ own steps became hesitant. It didn’t feel right. The air had shifted and the hairs at the back of his neck stood up, his muscles tensed. 

The space they were in was small, narrow, difficult to fight in, especially against two attackers.

Up ahead on his right was an alcove with a door and he wondered if he should try to open it. Escape into the building or call out witnesses. 

As he got closer, he heard a soft thump ahead. It was just a small recess to allow the door to open without blocking the alley, but he couldn’t see in from his angle. Was someone in there, hidden just from view, cutting off his only escape?

Anger bubbled up inside of him. What ever this situation was, he would not cower and run. He was Spartan and he had a knife. It was the other men who should be afraid of him.

Drawing closer to the alcove, he tried to peer inside while keeping an eye on the man stationed ahead, and listening for the sounds of the man behind him.

There was someone in the alcove, he could see one foot, part of a shoulder. The steps behind him sped up slightly and the man ahead took a single step forward. Brasidas’ heart beat faster and time seemed to slow down.

An arm shot out and grabbed the hand he’d been hovering over his knife, jerking him into the alcove. Another hand landed lightly over his mouth as he was pulled against a body, and Kassandra’s breath puffed softly against his ear as she shushed him. “It’s just me.”

For a moment, his head reeled with conflicting impulses. The men in the alley and the threat they posed warred with Kassandra’s warm lips against his ear, her scent in his nose.

The footsteps came closer and he twisted his head to look at the man. Kassandra didn’t seem to realize and bent her head to press kisses to his throat. The man came level with the alcove and glanced inside, eyes flitting over the pair. He never slowed his steps but sent Brasidas an amused, approving nod before passing out of sight.

His heart thumped in his chest and his hands flexed where they had gripped Kassandra’s waist on instinct. Leaning out of the alcove showed the man reaching the end of the alley and murmuring something to the one waiting there, jerking his thumb back towards Brasidas. They laughed and walked away, disappearing from sight.

A hand on his cheek pressed and turned him back to face Kassandra who had stopped kissing his neck and was now staring at him curiously, head cocked to the side.

“What would happen if we were discovered? Would it really be that bad?”

He blinked at her, mind still trying to sort out what had happened. Why he had perceived a threat when there wasn’t one. Or had there been a threat but they decided against it when they saw Kassandra?

Kassandra… who thought his distraction was because he didn’t want to be seen with her.

He slid his hands from her waist to around her back, pulling her close and kissing her deeply. “No. It wouldn’t be so bad. People would talk, gossip. But they’re already doing that now. My mater would become absolutely insufferable, I’m sure. But it would be fine, really.”

He kissed her again. “It might influence your mater’s petition. The Kings might insist they don’t need to grant her estate back to her.”

“Why?” Kassandra’s arms were resting on his shoulders, fingers playing in his hair.

“It would be out of spite. They could say that if you and I are… involved, why give the estate back when I can just marry you and then my house would be yours, and Myrrine could just live there with us instead of… in her own house.”

He could feel the blush creep up on his cheeks. It felt very awkward talking to Kassandra about marriage. Their marriage. He saw her cheeks redden too and felt warmth spread through his stomach. To distract them, he kissed her again.

This time is was longer, not interrupted by conversation, and he felt her press closer, moan and trail one hand down to his thigh, playing with the edge of his chiton.

He broke the kiss with an internal groan and buried his face in her neck. Her fingers trailed higher, teasing the edge of his perizoma and he groaned out loud, lifting his head. “We can’t. This alley usually isn’t so empty and someone lives in this house. They could open the door at any moment.”

She nodded and moved her hand back to his shoulder. He tried to lean in for another kiss but she pulled away a little, looking at him. He stared back and saw her cheeks glowing red. Before he could ask, she spoke, voice low and… nervous maybe?

“My mater approves. She told me, yesterday.” He blinked at her. “Of this, of us, of...marriage.”

“She told you?” His voice was only a whisper, barely there, but she heard and nodded. 

“But I can’t… I have things I have to take care of. Um… complicated things I need to… deal with. So I can’t marry.” He held his breath and waited, saw her swallow, her the click in her throat. “Yet. I can’t marry, yet. But… For after. My mater approves. Of you.”

He exhaled slowly, his whole body hot and the tingling over his skin was back. “... and do you also approve? Of me?” He didn’t think her cheeks could get any redder, but they did.

Instead of answering, she crushed her lips to his, frantic and slightly painful. She pulled back almost right away and looked at him with wide shining eyes.

“I…” The words stuck in his suddenly dry throat. “... I’d like to be married to you, Kassandra.”

He kissed her, soft and thorough and not at all painful. From the alley came sounds of people walking, talking. Their moment of privacy was over.

He broke the kiss and stepped out of the alcove, taking hold of her wrist to tug her along. They couldn’t hold hands, of course, the reasons for keeping their relationship secret still stood, but they walked out of the alley together and into the bright sunlight. No one spared them a glance when they emerged and stood, awkward and hesitant by the side of a house.

“And your parents? They will approve?”

Brasidas snorted and shook his head. “Kassandra… don’t take this the wrong way, but… I’m forty this year. Their only son, still unwed. I could probably take a goat as my wife and they’d be thrilled.”

She laughed, the sound lovely and freeing and drawing the eyes of passersby. 

“They’ll approve of you a lot more than a goat, though. Don’t worry.”

He smiled at her and then watched as the laughter faded and her expression became serious. She stepped closer and spoke low to not be overheard. “I won’t be a traditional wife, you do realize that? I wouldn’t even know how.”

His hands ached to reach out to pull her close, reassure her, but he refrained. “I wouldn’t expect you to be anything but Kassandra, the Great Eagle Bearer and troublesome snorer. Besides, I’ve managed just fine without a traditional wife so far.”

They parted ways after that, desperately wanting to touch or kiss, but instead just lifting their hands in a casual wave.

Brasidas walked back to his parents house with his stomach full of butterflies. It wasn’t until he was almost there that he realized that he had no idea what kind of ‘complicated things’ Kassandra had to take care of, or how long it was likely to take.

Kassandra

Her chest felt full of light as she walked toward their borrowed house. (Soon your house too.) The corners of her mouth kept pulling into a wide, almost painful smile and she kept trying to squash it down, so she wouldn’t look like a crazy fool.

As she walked up the short hill leading to Brasidas’ house (Your house soon!), a group of children almost ran into her, Phoibe and Aristomache’s eldest daughter among them. She caught the girl and swung her in a circle before setting her on the ground again.

“Hello there! Where are you off to?” She let her smile free and beamed brightly at the children, who all beamed back as they ran past. Phoibe hugged her quickly around the legs before running to catch up with the others. “We’re going swimming! I’ll see you at dinner!”

All the children waved and she waved back, still smiling bright.

Her mater was standing at the crest of the hill talking to two of Brasidas’ neighbours. (Your neighbours soon!) They all returned her smile as she got closer. “Chaire. Are they your children?”

The older of the two laughed and nodded. “Most of them, yes. The rest are from around the neighborhood. Little hellraisers, the lot of them.”

The younger of them looked a little worried and glanced at Myrrine before speaking. “Your Phoibe can swim, right? They’re going to the Eurotas. Phoibe said she could but…”

Kassandra nodded, still smiling wide. “Yes, don’t worry, she’s very good. Strong swimmer.” The young woman looked relieved and Kassandra continued. “It’s good to see she’s found children her own age. It’s been too long, with all our traveling.”

“Oh, the kids are so excited to have someone new to play with, so she won’t have any trouble making friends.” The women smiled and she could tell they were about to ask about these ‘travels’ so she gave them an embarrassed grimace.

“Excuse me, I need to head home. Eh… nature calling.” She continued towards the borrowed house (Soon not borrowed anymore.), grimace replaced with the wide, beaming smile as soon as her back was to the neighbours.

She actually did need to relieve herself and sat looking around the washroom, pondering if there was anything she would change once it was hers too. The light in her chest tingled and buzzed and her cheeks ached from smiling as she stepped out of the room and straight into her mater’s knowing stare. 

“You seem happy.” Myrrine was keeping a straight face but Kassandra could see the fond smile hiding beneath. “How is Brasidas?”

She felt her cheeks heat up and her smile widened impossibly, despite her attempts to squash it down.

Her mater’s stern mask cracked at the sight and she laughed. “Oh lamb… you’re completely head over heels, aren’t you?”

She let her mater pull her into the gynaeceum and accepted the kylix of wine pushed into her hands. They talked for a long time, starting with Brasidas but soon moving on to the other people who had made their hearts flutter throughout their lives.

Eventually, her mater told her about meeting and courting with Nikolaos. Sneaking around Sparta, stealing moments together. Myrrine spoke of those memories with fondness but a somber feeling settled over them both just the same.

“You seemed so happy, so good together.”

Her mater smiled sadly into her kylix. “We were.”

“Do you think you could ever take him back?”

She watched as her mater raised her head to the ceiling, no doubt to blink away any tears before they were fully formed. “I just couldn’t stand by him after what he did.”

“Mater… you know they would have done it with or without him. If he’d refused they would have thrown him off the mountain too.”

Myrrine glanced at her, eyes shining with unshed tears but didn’t get a chance to answer.

Ilina called for them from the front room and they walked out to find Brasidas talking to Ilina who had an arm wrapped around Phoibe’s shoulder. The girl was squinting and rubbing at her temples in a telltale sign that one of her headaches had arrived.

“Phoibe? Is it your head?” She turned around and nodded miserably. “Go in and lay down and I’ll bring the tea.”

Myrrine led Phoibe into the gynaeceum while instructing Ilina to block out the windows so the light wouldn’t make the headache worse.

Kassandra headed for the kitchen to make willow tea, and Brasidas followed her. “What happened?”

“I found her and my niece on my way to the syssitia, Phoibe was complaining about her head and the bright light, saying it hurt too much to walk home. So I carried her.”

“Oh, Brasidas, you didn’t need to do that. Your niece could have come fetch me and I’d have taken her home.”

She set the water to heat and felt his arms wrap around her waist and his chin resting on her shoulder. “Kassandra… I have a vested interest in Phoibe’s wellbeing too.”

She was about to protest but then her mouth fell open into a soft ‘O’. If they married (When!) he would be Phoibe’s pater. The thought made her warm inside and she leaned back into his arms.

“Will she be alright?” His voice was soft, rumbling pleasantly down her spine and she nodded.

“Yeah, some food, water, the tea and a good night’s sleep and she’ll be fine.”

“Good.” He kissed her cheek and let her go. “I really do need to leave for the syssitia now, or they’ll send out a search party.”

Kassandra finished preparing the tea and brought the bowl into the gynaeceum, all the while feeling the ghost of Brasidas’ chaste kiss on her cheek.

She helped Phoibe sit up to drink, stroking her hair gently. “Brasidas is really nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, he let me ride on his back all the way here.”

“That was really nice of him.” She took the empty bowl and put it on the floor, uring the girl to lay back down. “Why don’t you sleep for a bit until dinner?”

The next several weeks dragged slowly. Myrrine was busy rekindling old friendships and Phoibe was busy building new ones, but Kassandra felt restless and took to exploring the town and surrounding woods, and taking small mercenary jobs to pass the time until they were summoned by the Kings.

Her favourite pastime, though, was finding ways to steal secret kisses from Brasidas. She tailed him around the streets and pulled him into alleys and behind bushes, snuck into buildings and waited around corners and behind tapestries, scaled the walls and bent through windows to press her lips to his and then whirl away before anyone else saw. At night, they met in his room to kiss and sleep and make love.

Then suddenly, it was over and Brasidas appeared at the house, telling them they were summoned by the Kings.

The playful respite of the past several weeks was over and now they were headed to be judged. Kassandra felt her shoulders tense and saw her mater’s spine take on the stiffer, regal posture it had had in Naxos.

They left Phoibe with the neighbour and followed Brasidas to the throne room, every step feeling heavier and more filled with dread while the people they passed in the street stared and whispered curiously.

Finally, they arrived and Brasidas pushed open the door, ushering them inside.

The room held several men, murmuring and conversing with each other while watching the Kings sparr at the center. Not a single eye glanced in their direction. Not even the servants acknowledged their arrival.

Brasidas stood at ease by her side, a blandly polite smile on his face. Her mater stood on her other side, mirroring his polite, patient demeanor. It seemed they weren’t quite done waiting for the Kings.

Chapter Text

In case you ever foolishly forget:
I am never not thinking of you.

                                                                            - Virginia Woolf

Kassandra

The audience with the Kings had gone well, or at least she thought it had. Considering.
No one directly brought up the crime she had been thrown off Mount Taygetos for, and no one seemed to know or care about all the Spartan soldiers she had killed as a mercenary over the years, which is how she hoped it would stay.

King Archidamos was obviously still bristling over Myrrine breaking his nose and seemed offended they were both back in Sparta. King Pausanias had seemed more amused and intrigued than anything, and was the one who urged to let them speak, which Kassandra thought might be encouraging.

They walked back through the streets to Brasidas’ house in silence, her mater’s posture stiff and tense, and Kassandra wondered if she’d missed something in the throne room. 

Kassandra glanced between them and broke the silence as they neared the house. “Well… I think that went well.”

Her mater didn’t respond, but a small smile crept onto Brasidas’ face. “Considering you both still have your heads, I’d say it went very well.”

He opened the door for them both to walk through and then closed it softly behind him, standing with his back straight, arms behind his back, a polite and neutral. Her mater marched straight in and stood facing the wall, arms crossed.

“Now all I need to do is win a war and we’ll have the house back.” A huff of breath came from Myrrine. “Mater?”

She turned around, arms still crossed and looked up at the ceiling before lowering her head to meet Kassandra’s gaze. “My lamb. You realize this task is likely just a trap? Not a way to prove loyalty but only a way for them to finish what they started at Mount Taygetos.”

She frowned at her mater, brow furrowing with doubt. “Would they really jeopardize their win in Boeotia just for that? Or do you think the Cult doesn’t want a win for Sparta?”

Myrrine pursed her lips. “You heard King Archidamos. The troops can defeat any army, so your presence surely isn’t needed to win. Yet they send you with the task of winning. Why go through all that trouble just for show?”

“Do you think Archidamos is the traitor then?”

Her mater shrugged. “Perhaps, but there is no evidence so it’s pointless to assume and speculate.”

“Traitor? Cult? What are you talking about?” Brasidas interrupted their discussion, frown creasing deep between his eyes.

Kassandra glanced at her mater who glanced back; they had forgotten he was there. “Brasidas… it’s a long story. Complicated.”

He looked offended at that, his nose wrinkling in disgust in a way she hadn’t seen since the warehouse in Korinth. “With respect, Kassandra, you are accusing my Kings of treason, of being part of some secret cult. I don’t care how long and complicated the story is, you will tell me. Right now.”

Here he was. The ephor, the General, the proud Spartan she always knew he was beyond the soft, caring, loving man she had fallen for. They were saying unforgivable, treacherous things and he was well within his right to have them arrested. His witness testimony alone would be enough to convict them.
But he wasn’t calling for guards or drawing a weapon, he was giving them the benefit of the doubt by demanding an explanation.

“Brasidas.” Myrrine held up her hands, placating him. “Please. We will tell you everything, of course. But it is a very long and complicated story. One you might not want people like Illina or Phoibe to overhear.”

As if on cue, Phoibe’s running footsteps sounded on the street outside and her voice calling out even as she pushed open the door. “Kassandra! Yáya! How did it go? Do you have the house back? Are we moving? Oh! Chaire, Brasidas!”

She stopped in the middle of their trio, smile bright and expectant and Kassandra couldn’t help but smile back.

“Chaire, Phoibe, calm down. Let’s go to the gynaeceum and I’ll tell you all about it.” She sent a pointed look to her mater and Brasidas over the girl’s head as she led her away.

Brasidas

His head was reeling. After Kassandra had left with Phoibe, Myrrine had sat down in a chair which gave her a view of both the kitchen and front door, making sure no one could step in and overhear them. With a low and urgent voice she had told him of all the things she had learned about the Cult of Kosmos and the traitors hiding in Sparta.

She had named names of what she claimed were cultists, retold witness testimonies of their crimes and conspiring, shown him letters she had collected. Some of the letters were in plaintext and some in code, but all vague and secretive and - if real - pointing to something large and sinister trying to influence and control not just Sparta, but all of Hellas.

His mind went unbidden to Cnemus, the night before their attack on Athens; the mysterious messenger, the letter burned in a brazier, the sudden and inexplicable change of plans.

Myrrine had been busy during her time back in Sparta. What had looked like socializing, rekidningling friendships, revisiting old beloved places around the city, was all in fact a mission to gather clues to uncover the corruption of the Cult.

There was a General who’s allegiance had been shifted, a priest who could no longer be trusted, and there were whispers from Arkadia of influences over the grain production. And, of course, the coded letters from the assassins of Paros pointing towards one of the Kings.

Brasidas was shocked over the amount of evidence Myrrine had gathered of the Cults' existence, though none of it could be fully trusted or used as proof. If it was all a lie, it was an elaborate one which she must have spent considerable time constructing. 

He argued with her over Arkadia though. The shifts and changes were because of the reorganisation they had to do in order to redirect troops to Boeotia, nothing more.
But she was adamant, something was wrong, had been wrong since before he even became ephor, and she would prove it by traveling to Arkadia herself.

Eventually he had to leave. He needed to return to his duties.

Brasidas forced a neutral expression on his face as he stepped outside, his eyes blinking in the bright light. Walking back to the throne room, he tried to push the whirlwind of thoughts away and focus on his actual duties. His time as ephor was ending in just a couple of days and he needed to make sure everything was ready for the shift of appointee.

The throne room was less crowded now that the most scandalous item on the agenda had been dealth with, and he walked over to stand next to the other ephors, waiting silently while the Kings heard a request from a Citizen.

As soon as the man was dismissed, King Archidamos turned his shrewd eyes to Brasidas. “How did your houseguests take the conditions for their reinstatement?”

For just a moment, his mind stuttered to a halt. ‘You should tell them. It’s your duty! Tell them of the treachery! Tell them so they can arrest Myrrine and Kassandra!’

It was the voice of his inner Spartan, his consciousness, his loyalty to his State, to everything he had been raised to believe in. And it almost broke his heart how easy it was to push that voice away, to silence it, in preference of the voice telling him to protect Kassandra, to trust Kassandra, to prioritize Kassandra, and he consoled himself that it wasn’t just her that kept him silent. It was also the sheer amount of information compiled by Myrrine, and it was Cnemus; the burning letter, the change of plans. That had helped sway him to consider Myrrine’s story, and without it, he might not have believed her at all.

His loyalty was still with Sparta, but until he could discover the treacherous cancer controlling Her, he would bite his tongue and observe. 

Brasidas had been silent too long, and now King Pausanias was smirking at him, amusement glittering in his eyes. “You stayed with them a long time after you escorted them out of here. Did you have something interesting to discuss?”

Clearly, the rumors of his relationship with Kassandra had reached the Kings. Brasidas decided to lean into it a little. Better they thought he had stolen some time with a lover than had been witness to treason and done nothing. “I… eh… that is… Kassandra wanted some… information about the situation in Boeotia so I… gave it to her.”

King Archidamos turned away to hide a smile and the other ephors did the same. King Pausanias’ smirk broadened into a wide grin. 

It was so easy for them all to believe that this woman had turned him into a babbling idiot, and he would be offended if it didn’t help his cause so neatly now.

“And was she… satisfied… with the information you gave her?”

He heard a snicker from the ephor at his side and floundered a bit, unsure what on earth he was supposed to respond with.

King Archidamos saved him from further embarrassment when he cleared his throat and shot the younger King a glare. “Enough of this. We’ve been waiting for you to return. We need to talk about Arkadia. The shift in troops and supply lines for the sake of Boeotia has left the area more weakened than acceptable. What should be done?”

They slid into the familiar discussions of strategy, infrastructure, and troop economy until it was late and they were all dangerously close to missing their respective syssitia. 

In the end, it was decided that Brasidas would take a contingent of soldiers to Arkadia and assess where the region needed reinforcement. He carefully kept his face neutral, not wanting to let on how much he wanted to go, wanted an opportunity to investigate the claims Myrrine had made.

The was much less teasing in the syssitia that night. Possibly because all the speculation about Kassandra’s reasons for coming to Sparta had been laid to rest when she and Myrrine spoke before the Kings. 

Whatever the reason, he relished it. He was finally able to enjoy the syssitia fully again, and spent the evening talking about the end of his term as ephor, his pending trip to Arkadia, and got to hear about what his friends were doing and planning without the conversation always being directed back to innuendos and taunts about Kassandra.

He stayed much later than he had in weeks, Helios far below the horizon once he made his way back to his parent’s house. 

It was dark and quiet inside, everyone already sleeping. Lighting an oil lamp, he carried it up the stairs to his room and he’d barely set one foot through the door before a relieved sigh came from the corner and Kassandra materialized out of the dark.

Brasidas set the lamp down and closed the door before pulling her into his arms and giving her a kiss. She sighed happily against his lips but pulled away when the sigh became a yawn. “You’re late.”

Smiling softly at her, he began to remove his bracers. “I’m sorry. Did you wait long?”

She nodded and stifled another yawn, kneeling down to unlace his greaves. Glancing around the room, he saw that the bed was disturbed, an impression of a body left behind, and Kassandra’s braid was a little messier than usual. “You fell asleep?”

She nodded again and reached out to remove his belt while he opened the fastenings on his armor. They had practised this dance so many times now, they could practically do it sleeping.

But sleep was the last thing he wanted to do now. “Kassandra…” Finished with their dance, she tugged him down to the bed and pushed her nose to his neck, breathing deep. “Kassandra. We have to talk about this.”

Her voice came muffled and perhaps a little petulant against his skin. “I don’t want to talk. I want to memorize you. I have to leave tomorrow.” He felt her lips press wet kisses to his neck, followed by a sweep of her tongue. “I won’t get to smell you, taste you, kiss you, for weeks, maybe months!”

“Kassandra…” But he could feel his resolve crumbling. She was right, she was leaving and who knew when the Moirai would decide to let their paths cross again? 

She was straddling him now, pressing herself to his swelling member. “Brasidas… we can talk tomorrow. In daylight. At the house even. Mater will distract Phoibe and Ilina. But we can’t do this at the house. Not as thoroughly as I need us to.”

Brasidas caved to his desires and shut his mind out for a while, letting Kassandra investigate and map his entire body until he had to bite his lip to stay silent, had to press a palm to his mouth to muffle his moans, had to push a pillow to his face to capture his shout.

He didn’t take any time to rest but flipped Kassandra over to lay down on the bed while he mapped her just as thoroughly, until she needed the pillow as well.

They didn’t talk that night, and didn’t sleep, just filled their senses with each other until they hopefully had enough saved up to handle the coming separation with grace.

When the first rays of Helios crept over the horizon, they were both an exhausted, sticky mess.

Kassandra gave him one last, lingering kiss before vanishing out through the balcony door and Brasidas let it stay ajar, opening all the shutters on the windows as well, to try and air out the room before the rest of the household woke up and took notice.

Then he poured water from the jug a servant had filled sometime the day before and set about washing away the evidence of their night from his skin.

Kassandra

She snuck through the streets and into the house, heading straight for the washroom. It was with a pang of sadness that she washed the remnants of their last night together off her skin, and with it, washed away his scent. But she had to. She was such a sticky, smelly mess that even Phoibe wouldn’t be able to miss what was going on.

When clean, she snuck upstairs to put on a fresh chiton and her armor. The bedroll called to her with the power of a siren, but she resisted, instead packing up her things and carrying them downstairs.

When her mater woke up she found Kassandra pouring over maps she had found on Brasidas’ shelves. “Good morning, my lamb. Are you planning your journey to Boeotia?”

Kassandra nodded and swallowed the bread she had been chewing on. Myrrine took careful hold of the map and pulled it from the table, letting breadcrumbs fall to the floor before rolling it up and putting it away. “No matter how much that man likes you, Kassandra, he will not appreciate you staining his maps. They are not easy to come by.”

She felt suitably chided and stood from her seat at the desk, taking the bread and cup of wine, surreptitiously swiping some more crumbs to the floor with her arm before moving to set her meal down by a kline. Myrrine returned from the kitchen with a fig and a cup of wine of her own, sitting down on the opposite kline. “Did you two talk?”

Kassandra blushed. “Eh… not talked, no.”

Her mater pursed her lips in that ‘I’m disappointed with your choices.’- way. “Kassandra. You need to talk to him. Make sure he understands.”

“I will, mater, I will. He’s coming here later, to talk. We just didn’t…” She looked away and shrugged, still blushing.

“You two had more important things to do last night, did you?” Kassandra stuffed some bread into her mouth to avoid answering and her mater sighed. “Are you at least being careful?”

Kassandra rolled her eyes and nodded, and Myrrine continued. “Because though I meant what I said about a life after all of this, you won’t be much good in Boeotia if you’re just vomiting all over the place.”

Kassandra sputtered and choked on the bread, coughing and gulping wine while her mater just shook her head and nibbled on her fig.

Phoibe and Ilina entered while she was still gasping for breath and the girl ran up and dunked her hard on her back. “You always eat too fast, Kassandra! Remember what Markos used to say. Take your time, enjoy the food, and chew.”

Her mater stifled a smile and followed Ilina to the kitchen to prepare breakfast, leaving Kassandra to Phoibe’s rough care.

“You look tired. Didn’t you sleep at all?” Phoibe was eyeing her critically, head tilted to the side. “I heard you in the washroom early this morning.”

Kassandra cleared the last bit of crumbs out of her throat and pulled the girl into her lap, squeezing her tight. Phoibe was getting much too old for it, already eleven, slowly sneaking up on twelve. How old would she be once Kassandra returned? She squeezed her tighter. “I didn’t sleep, no. Figured I might as well get clean and prepare my journey to Boeotia.”

Phoibe nodded but didn’t ask about the trip like Kassandra expected. “Are you worried?” The words were mumbled into the folds of her chiton as thin arms wound around her waist, squeezing tight.

“No, I’m not worried. I’ve fought a lot of people before without much problem, and this time I’m not even fighting alone. I’ll have a whole army fighting by my side.” She pressed a kiss to Phoibe’s forehead. “Are you worried? You’ll be staying here in Sparta without us.”

She shook her head, still pressed against Kassandra’s chest, but let go and slid to the floor when Ilina and Myrrine stepped out of the kitchen with laden trays.

The four of them moved to the gynaeceum and Kassandra watched as Phoibe put on an air of carefree bravado, shrugging her thin shoulders. “I’m not worried. Aristomache is nice, and the kids are too. Besides, you know me. I'll be useful, so they won’t get rid of me.”

Kassandra opened her mouth to protest but Myrrine spoke first. “Oh no you don’t. You are not there to play or to be useful. You are there to study. You are woefully behind for a girl your age, and both Aristomache and Argileonis have promised to catch you up while we’re gone. So you will listen to them and study like they tell you.”

Phoibe looked a little intimidated and Kassandra rubbed her shoulder. “Hey, it won’t be so bad. And you always wanted to learn to fight like me, right? Fighting is part of what they need to teach you. When I come back, we can spar and you can show me what you’ve learned.”

She perked up at that and stuffed a grape into her mouth, chewing slowly with that far away look she got when she imagined good things.

A voice called from the front room, causing Ilina to jump to her feet and rush out. Kassandra recognized Brasidas’ rumbling baritone and got up as well, following the servant.

He was greeting Ilina and declining her offers of food and wine when she entered. “Brasidas. Good morning.”

“Ah, Kassandra, good morning. My apologies for calling so early. I didn’t want to miss you before you left. There is some information about Boeotia you need before you depart.” 

He was acting so formal, so proper. Nothing like the panting, moaning, trembling mess he’d been the night before. Well, she could play along. “Of course. Very thoughtful of you. If it’s sensitive information, perhaps we could step into the andrōn?”

He nodded and led the way while Kassandra dismissed Ilina back to her breakfast.

She stepped into the small room and closed the door, reaching out a hand to Brasidas. He shook his head and sat down on the furthest kline. “We really do have to talk this time, Kassandra.” A small smile showed that he wasn’t angry and she nodded, sitting down closest to the door, out of reach.

The pull to move over to sit by his side, to press her fingers to his skin, was strong, so she looked down at her hands instead. “I’m not sure where to start.”

“How did you find out about the Cult?” His voice was warm, vibrating over her spine and she knew she would miss it when she left.

“A man came to Kephallonia and hired me to kill Nikolaos.”

She told him about Elpenor, about him leading her to the Pythia and the revelation of her corrupted prophecies, which led her to the secret cave under Delphi and the meeting within, to her brother. At some point she raised her head to look at him, only to find Brasidas staring at the floor, frown etched deep on his face.

Kassandra knew what her mater had told him; rumors, hunches, conjecture, letters in unknown handwriting that could easily have been forged.

She was bearing witness to an actual meeting of these cultists, witnessing their plans, their treachery and deception. She hadn’t heard rumors of conspiracy, she had been there to see it first hand.

The question was, did Brasidas consider her testimony to be enough? The Kings and other ephors wouldn’t, but would he?

“They all had these… shards. They’re what built that strange pyramid in the chamber. “She pulled one out and showed him, letting him pluck it from her fingertips. “That’s how I know I’ve killed a true, high-ranking Cultist. I find another one of these shards.”

She watched him study the shard with fascination, turning it over in the light from the window. It glowed eerily. “The Monger had one.”
Brasidas’ eyes snapped up to meet hers. “That brute? I thought this was supposed to be some sophisticated thing where they acted invisibly. He was just a cruel animal who liked to give pain and make drachme.”

She gave him a crooked smile and took the shard back, slipping it into her pouch again. “They may wish they were some sophisticated and superior group of people, risen high above the rest of us plebeians, but most of the ones I’ve seen have been nothing but cruel, greedy malakas. Nothing sophisticated about them at all.”

“How many have you killed?” 

“A few. No nearly as many as were in that chamber.”

“Your brother…”

Kassandra looked away. Her thoughts about Alexios were complicated. She wanted him free of the Cult and back home with his family, but a big part of her was angry and afraid and wanted nothing more to do with him. The way he had tortured that man in Athens, killed Periklies with such relish, the way he’d hurt Phoibe…”

“Mater says she wants to free him and bring him home to Sparta.” She paused but didn’t look at him. 

He waited in silence before asking. “But you don’t want that?”

She sighed and scrubbed her palms over her face. “I don’t know. He’s not a small child being held prisoner by the Cult. I can’t just rescue him. He would need to want to leave them, to reject the Cult and everything they raised him to be, and I don’t know how to make him do that.”

She thought about telling Brasidas about the things she had seen Deimos do, but decided not to. It wouldn’t help him believe in the Cult, and it would just make her sad. Instead she stood up.

“That’s all the information I have. Just what I’ve seen and heard with my own eyes and ears. I have no more proof than that. So… if you still don’t believe us then…” She trailed off and took a step towards the door, half turned away from him. “I need to get going. If I dawdle any longer, the Kings will think I’m insincere about helping in Boeotia.”

She didn’t leave though, couldn’t go without knowing where his judgement of her fell, but she didn’t dare turn back to look at him.

She heard him stand up and step close and felt the heat radiate from his body before he wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. Instinctively her hand reached back to cup his head, the other pressed over his on her stomach.

“Kassandra. I’m sorry about all that’s been done to you and your family. It’s more than any one family, any one person should have to bear, but here you are. Still strong and alive, still fighting. Both of you.”

She felt a weight drop from her shoulders and leaned back into his chest. He held her tighter in response and they stood in silence for a while.

“So… these are the ‘complicated things’ you need to take care of before you can take a husband? Eliminate an entire secretive cult that’s permeating our whole civilisation? Just that?”

She smiled and turned in his arms. “Well… I probably don’t have to take care of all of them before. Just the immediate threat.”

He returned her smile but then became serious. “Be careful, Kassandra. This is a big thing to handle alone.”

They could hear Phoibe and Myrrine in the front room now, and she nodded. “I will.”

She loosened her hold and turned to her door, but turned back again, cupping his face with both hands and pressing a long kiss to his lips. “I am going to miss you, Brasidas of Sparta.”

Then she opened the door and escaped out of the room, scooping Phoibe up into her arms and spinning her around. “Hey kid. I have to go now, but I’ll miss you so much. Be good to Aristomache and Aggi, and study hard.”

Phoibe pushed her face into her neck and whispered her promise and goodbye, and when Kassandra set her down on her feet again, she ran off to the gynaeceum. She felt her eyes burning and avoided looking after the girl or at Brasidas. Instead she turned to her mater. “When are you leaving for Arkadia?”

Before Myrrine could answer, Brasidas cut in. “Actually, I have been ordered to Arkadia and I set out with my troops tomorrow. I thought we could travel together.”

Myrrine looked relieved and gave him a grateful smile.. “That would be helpful.”

Kassandra pulled her mater into a hug, and then grabbed her gear from by the door and stepped outside.

They followed her and stood silent while she secured her pack and sat up on the horse. “I’ll meet you both in Arkadia after I’m done in Boeotia then?” They nodded and she glanced at the house. “Make sure Phoibe is ok, mater? That she understands this isn’t like before?”

“I will, my lamb. Safe travels.”

Brasidas

They watched in silence as Kassandra rode away. When she was gone from sight Myrrine spoke in a low voice. “She told you what she has witnessed? What she needs to do?”

He gave a curt nod. “Yes.”

“And you believe? You accept what she intends to do? What I intend to do?” Myrrine was scrutinizing him, suspicious and critical.

“Gather evidence and proof to act on publicly. Yes, I believe and approve.”

Myrrine nodded and turned back to the house, Brasidas followed. “About Phoibe. What does she mean it’s not like before?”

She glanced to the back of the house where the child was still hiding, a sad look of sympathy on her face. “When Kassandra left Phoibe in Kephallonia, in what she thought was the safe care of Markos, he ended up also leaving the island not long after. Dropping Phoibe off on the mainland and disappearing to the gods only knows where. Then Kassandra found her, it was by accident, never even knowing the girl was no longer safe on Kephallonia. Phoibe was then in what Kassandra thought was the safe care of Perikels and Aspasia in Athens, and left her behind again to continue her search for me and for answers. She thought the girl would be kept safe, only to find they were sending her on dangerous missions to deliver messages for them. Alone to Korinth. Out on the rioting, plague-ridden streets of Athens. The gods know where else. Every time Kassandra has left Phoibe behind in the care of others, they have not cared for her the way she expected them to, the way they should have.”

A feeling of protectiveness rose in him. Sparta demanded much of their children, it was true, but they trained them for that responsibility, educated them in what was expected of them and how they would be tested. No one smiled, nodded, and lied to the parents about what would happen and then sent the children off completely unprepared and alone into the unknown to be preyed on by strangers. Phoibe could easily have died on the streets of Athens or Korinth without Kassandra ever knowing what happened to her.

“Thank you, Myrrine. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. We set out at dawn.” He nodded to her and left the house. Duties and preparations demanded his time and attention, but first he would stop by and visit his sister.

Brasidas relished the change of finally getting to ride out with his men after a full year as ephor in Sparta. His men were a bit tense though, most probably because of Myrrine riding up front next to their General. Several of the men were on their very first assignment, fresh from the agoge, and so not at all used to having a woman in their midst.

When they made camp at the end of the day, most had relaxed and had stopped sending her uncomfortable, sidelong glances, and some had even dared to make polite conversation during the evening meal.

Having her sleep among the men was unthinkable, and her sleeping alone was too much of a risk, so Brasidas shared his tent with Myrrine, placing their bedrolls as far apart as the small tent allowed.

She had laid down and seemed to fall asleep instantly, the long day’s ride catching up to her. Brasidas was exhausted too, and desperately wanted to sleep, but Hypnos’ blessing eluded him. The night before had been easy, fatigue from staying up the whole night with Kassandra demanded it’s due, but now? He’d gotten used to her in his bed, pressed to his side every night, and now that she was gone he felt cold and restless.

So he laid on his back, careful not to move or sigh or disturb Myrrine, and tried to force himself to sleep. It didn’t work. Instead of sleep, his mind filled with thoughts of what they had told him, he wondered what he would find in Arkadia, he worried which of the people he had called friends were under the influence of the Cult.

After a year of sleeping safe and comfortable in Sparta, the night time sounds of their camp and the wilderness beyond conspired with his worry, and with his longing for Kassandra and made him jerk to attention each time an unfamiliar noise was heard.

Each time, as he laid in the dark, eyes wide but blind, he was compelled to identify the sound. Coughs, sniffles, and farts from the soldiers, someone getting up to pee, an insect buzzing past overhead, the call of a wolf in the far distance.

The longer he listened, the better, faster he got at recalling and identifying the sounds of a temporary camp, and the better he got at identifying the sounds that shouldn’t be there.

Slowly, slowly, a small collection of identified but out of place sounds piled up. A single footstep on the dirt, the shifting of cloth against skin, the soft scrape of fabric against a tent wall. There was an intruder sneaking through the camp, slowly and patiently.

Brasidas pondered what to do. He could call out, rouse the camp and set them to find and apprehend the intruder. It may result in an escape, in their death before questioning, or the deaths of his men. Of course, not calling out might lead to the same thing. The intruder might be killing the soldiers as they slept.
Still, he hesitated. He could be wrong. Could be imagining things after so long out of action. And… it could be Kassandra. Doubling back to visit him in the night one last time before vanishing to Boeotia.

The scrape of a pebble came from just outside the tent and Brasidas silently unsheathed his knife. The gibbous moon was hidden behind clouds and no light silhouetted the figure as it entered the tent on a whisper of canvas.

Brasidas could only sense the figure as it stopped and seemed to assess what to do next. He gripped his knife tighter. Whomever this was, it was not Kassandra. Even unseeing in the dark he could find her, identify her easily, by her scent if nothing else.

The intruder moved then, the whisper of cloth signaling a sudden motion towards Brasidas and the tent erupted in silent activity.

He rolled away and up to his feet, feeling the wind of an arm thrusting past him into empty air as he punched his fist into the exposed belly of his assailant. While he rolled away from the thrusting arm, he’d heard Myrrine exploding up from her bedroll in a muffled rustle of fabric. Now he felt the rush of air violently expelled from the intruder’s lungs wash over his face, and another softer puff of air over his hair from Myrrine, positioned behind the assailant. 

A low gurgling sound rose between them and the metallic smell of blood spread through the air. The intruder’s knees buckled and Brasidas caught the heavy body, lowering it to the ground between their bedrolls.

For a moment, none of them moved and only their fast, shallow breathing could be heard. Then Myrrine slipped out of the tent with a barely audible whisper. “We need light.”

She returned a few moments later with an oil lamp, lit from a torch on the camp’s perimeter, and once he could see what he was doing, Brasidas gripped the shoulder of the fallen body and turned it over.

He didn’t let the gasp escape him, but the surprise must have shown on his face. “You know this man?” Brasidas nodded, numb with shock. At his feet, drowned in his own blood from Myrrine’s knife in his throat lay the Commander from Korinth. 

“Spartan?” He nodded again, remembering a late night standing by the parapet surrounding Akrokorinth, looking down on the glimmering city of Korinth below, when this man had crept out of the shadows. Brasidas remembered open, empty palms, held at chest height, as the man had slowly advanced on him. Not to show he was unarmed but in preparation to push.

Myrrine was kneeling, searching the body with deft hands, and pulled out a folded parchment. She read it, hissing with anger and handing it over before continuing her search.

The King has ordered Brasidas to Arkadia.
He has been a thorn in our side long enough,
it’s time to complete the task you failed in Korinthia.
The true blood runs red.

P.

Myrrine pulled a second parchment from the body, along with a shard, strangely glowing in the light from the lamp. When she read this second note, she huffed in disgust and handed it over before turning to pull a blanket from her bed. “We need to get rid of the body.”

While Brasidas read, she covered the corpse, hiding the wet and sticky blood.

The Bloodline travels with Brasidas to Arkadia.
She is wanted by our Sages.
Capture her alive and bring her to Argos.
Do not underestimate her,
she has evaded our grasp for too long.
Do not fail like you failed in Korinthia.
There will be no forgiveness.
The true blood runs red.

P.

By the time he finished his second read-through of the note, Myrrine had fully wrapped the body, securing the blanket with thin ropes from her pack.

He bent down, hoisting the bundle over his shoulder, and let Myrrine lead him out of the camp.

The moon was peeking out from behind the clouds now, giving them some light to see by as they snuck away. They had made camp far up in the hills and now Myrrine led them to a precipice well out of sight of patrolling guards where Brasidas dropped the body over the edge.

They watched it fall into the darkness below, heard it thud against the ground, and then turned away, slowly walking back towards the camp. “The Bloodline? That’s what they call you?”

Myrrine gave a derisive snort and nodded. “They think I birth demigods. One of them told Kassandra they want to capture me so I can make more.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in, and then he grimaced in revulsion. “That’s disgusting. And insane.”

She nodded, arms crossed and lips pursed. “So. You knew him?” She jerked her chin back towards the dark cliff.

“We met in Korinth. He took over my command when I was sent to advice Cnemus. He was… strange. I think he intended to push me over the wall of Akrokorinth on my one my last nights there, but he was interrupted.”

She nodded, looking up at the stars peeking between the clouds.

“We planned…” He stopped, licked his dry lips and started over. He’d never spoken of this to anyone. He’d held it secret to protect himself, and Cnemus, but it had weighed on him all this time. The plan had been sound. Good. They would have been successful. “Salamis. That wasn’t the indented target.”

Myrrine turned to him, head tilted in curiosity. “Cnemus and I made all our plans in secret. No one else was supposed to know. We were going to attack Athens. They were vulnerable, between the siege and the plague, ripe for conquering. The plan was to lure their fleet out of Piraeus and take the port. Cut off their supply line. We could have ended the war right there.”

Brasidas felt the familiar hot, angry indignation rise in his chest at the thought of this lost victory. “The night before the attack, Cnemus received a message, burned it before I could see. Then he informed me we would be taking the fort on Salamis instead. Claiming it was his own idea. No discussion.” 

He paused, cleared his throat and looked away, swallowing the whiny ‘We could have taken Athens if it wasn’t for his cowardice.’ that threatened to escape his lips.

“That was them, wasn’t it? Their influence? The Cult?”

Myrrine sighed and nodded. “Yes, most likely. It was probably too big of a shift to the powers in Hellas for them to allow it.” She reached out and touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry they took that victory from you, Brasidas.”

It was the first time he’d spoken of the decision Cnemus had made, and a weight fell from his shoulders. He wasn’t crazy, rash, or unable to assess the true risk because of a thirst for glory. The Cult had interfered because they believed he might succeed. That strangely made him feel better.

“The letters were signed ‘P’, that implicates King Pausanias.”

Myrrine shrugged. “Perhaps. Or King Archidamos is trying to disguise his involvement. It’s not enough to prove anything yet.”

Kassandra

She rode hard to get to Boeotia as quickly as possible, but it still took her more than a week.

The first night she stopped early though, using the writ from the Kings to secure space in a Spartan camp up in the hills between Lakonia and Arkadia. She fell into deep, exhausted sleep as soon as she laid down.

Kassandra was woken early the next morning, snapping to attention and listening intently for whatever had roused her, while the gossamer tendrils of her dream faded away.

It had been Brasidas in her dream, she knew that. They had been talking, or sleeping, or… something else. She couldn’t remember now after waking up, but she missed him all the same. There hadn’t been more than a night or two in the past several weeks that she hadn’t woken up pressed to his side, and now she felt cold and at a loss. She also couldn’t identify what had jolted her awake, but decided it was time to move on anyway.

The pace she set was punishing, hampered only by the stamina of her horse, which she traded for a fresh beast at every town or village she passed.

She wanted to get to Boeotia quickly, finish this assignment quickly, go and deal with whatever issue lurked in Arkadia quickly, and then she wanted to go back to Sparta quickly. To see that Phoibe was safe and taken care of, and to prove to her she would return as promised. To prove to the Kings she was loyal so they could have the house back. To get on with her hunt for Cultists so she could have her afterwards with Brasidas.

When she finally reached the Spartan Military Camp, she was aching from the punishing ride and her muscles were stiff and sore as she slid from her horse, looking around for someone to report to.

She spotted the polemarch tent up ahead and walked over, raising her voice to announce her arrival. “I’m looking for…” Her voice trailed off as the man turned. “Stentor?”

His face opened in surprise and recognition. “You!”

Her sore muscles and surprise conspired to slow her reflexes, allowing him an opening to punch her square in the nose. Kassandra heard the snap of cartilage and felt warm blood gush down her chin.

She staggered away from him, raising one hand placatingly, as Stentor grabbed a spear. “Malaka! I’m here to help you, idiot! I was sent by the Kings!”

Stentor advanced on her, face dark with rage. “No! Not after what you did in Megaris!”

“Yes!” She pulled out the writ from the Kings and held it high, slipping her spear into her other hand in precaution. “And I didn’t do anything in Megaris except help you win!”

Stentor lowered his spear and spat on the ground in disgust. “This is how much the Kings trust me? By putting their faith in a fucking mercenary?”

He stalked away from her and his men, anger radiating from his skin.

Kassandra pulled out a rag and wiped at the blood on her face and neck. Her nose throbbed painfully and she touched it gingerly. Swollen, broken, but not noticeably crooked.

Glancing after Stentor, she walked into his tent and found a jug and kylix on a side-table. She poured some wine and soaked her bloodstained rag, using a somewhat shiny tray to check her reflection as she cleaned off the blood. She finished off by drinking directly from the jug, gargling with the sour wine to wash the taste of blood from the back of her throat. Spitting the liquid at the floor, right near the feet of a guard, she gave the appalled man a shit-eating grin and went to find her brother.

He was standing by a cliff overlooking Boeotia and didn’t turn when she approached. “The gods are punishing me with your presence.” His voice was tired and full of contempt. 

Kassandra sighed and rolled her eyes. “I didn’t kill Nikolaos, Stentor. He walked away from me, alive. I have no idea where he went.”

Stentor scowled at her and looked about to yell, but she saw him clench his jaw and look away. “Why have the Kings sent you?”

“I’m here as an ally. They sent me to help secure Boeotia for Sparta.” His jaw worked and a vein appeared at his temple. “Stentor, relax. We worked well together in Megaris, we can do it again.”

Now he turned to face her, fists clenched at his side. He spoke through gritted teeth, barely keeping his anger in check. “Sparta may have gained from your help in Megaris, but I lost much more than I gained.”

She could see pain beneath the anger and understood that to Stentor, the disappearance of Nikolaos wasn’t just a strategic loss, it was a personal one as well. “Stentor, I didn’t…”

“I have had enough of your lies! If the Kings force me to use you, then fine. There are two Champions of Boeotia that are terrorising the population and aiding Athens. Kill them or die trying.”

“That’s it? You just want me to kill two people?”

He glared at her in disgust. “I want you to die.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Where can I find these Champions?”

“Aristaios is training Athenian troops at the fort on Lake Kopias. Deianeira has been spotted north of here. Near Orchomenos and Lebadeia.”

She waited, expecting more, but he turned his back and ignored her.

Two names, one location, and one general direction. No descriptions or other helpful information. It wasn’t much to go on at all.

Walking back to her horse, she took a detour by the supply tent, stocking up on arrows, food, and water. The guards looked uncertain whether they should stop her, glancing at their commander still standing with his back to the camp.

Kassandra bit into an apple and gave the nearest two guards a grin. With her mouth full, she jerked a thumb in Stentors direction and spoke through the mushed up pieces of apple.

“You know, he’s my brother. Can you tell?”

The guards looked even more confused, eyes flitting between her and their polemarch, stumbling out of the way as she mounted her horse and rode off.

The obvious place to start was Lake Kopias. There she had both a name and a location for one of these Champions, and if she was lucky, she could get him to tell her where the other one was before she killed him, so that’s the direction she set her horse to.

Kassandra hadn’t spent much time in Boeotia before, only skirting the edge to get to Megaris or Attika, but her impression then had been of a rocky landscape, covered in green and yellow grass, low shrubs, and the occasional grove or wooded area. Here and there had been farms where people toiled and fought to raise wheat and barley between the rocks and boulders. What she found now as she rode down from the mountain was a burned wasteland. As far as the eye could see were smoldering trees and smoking ruins. The ground was black in places, completely covered in soot and ash.

As she rode on she saw neither Athenian nor Spartan camps, here and there lay abandoned shields, helmets, and banners in both colors, nothing giving clear indication which side was winning or where the battle lines were drawn.

It seemed the war wasn’t going as well as King Archidamos had boasted.

She let her mind wander. The past week on the road had been awful, where before she had relished her independence and freedom, now she missed having Phoibe and her mater around, missed talking to the neighbours or the merchants at the agora, missed visiting with Hyptia and Aggi.

Of course, she felt the void left behind by Brasidas the most. 

Somehow, in just a few weeks, he had managed to nestle his way into her life and make himself her new normal. She never used to have trouble falling asleep before, but now… Without his steady heartbeat under her ear and his hand resting on her head, she spent more time tossing and turning than actually sleeping. She wanted nothing more than to finish this stupid mission, go to Arkadia, and drag Brasidas back to Sparta by his braid, just so she could get some sleep.

She reached the walls of Thebes as dusk settled, but skirted west around the outside until she could see Lake Kopias. 

The fort was situated on an island and it almost seemed to glow with the light from the many lamps and torches in the windows, lining the parapets, and reflecting off the water.

It would have been a good idea to strike right away, in the dark of night, but she was too exhausted from her week of travel to risk taking on an entire fort of soldiers. Instead, she stabled her horse and ventured into Thebes in search of accommodations.

Chapter Text

I pray you, Love, reverence the Muse who intercedes for me
and lull to rest this my sleepless passion for Heliodora.
I swear it by your bow that has learnt to shoot none else,
but ever pours the winged shafts upon me,
that even if you slay me I will leave letters speaking thus :
"Look, O stranger, upon the murderous work of Love."

- Meleager of Gadara

Brasidas

The next morning was tense, Brasidas’ mind trapped in the question of why the Cult wanted him dead, while Myrrine was silent and stoic, pursed lips and a crease between her brows.

They reached Tegea by midday and Myrrine immediately departed, taking her leave with an uncharacteristic long hug which made a few of his men raise an eyebrow.

The hug had a hidden purpose though, which Brasidas suspected all of Myrrine’s actions had. She had used the opportunity to whisper her warnings in his ear. ‘Tell no one. Trust no one, not even friends. The Cult has eyes and ears everywhere.’
Then she was gone with a promise to visit if she was nearby and a polite nod to the soldiers.

Brasidas and his troops continued deeper into Tegea until they arrived at the town's barracks. The Commander welcomed them with a questioning smile. Evidently, no messenger had been sent ahead by Sparta to advise him of their arrival, so Brasidas followed the man into his quarters and explained their purpose in Arkadia.

They spent the next few hours placing wooden figurines and small flags on a map. Forts, camps, natural barriers, roads, bridges, farms, known bandit hide-outs, and more.

The Commander had a lot of useful information, but there were still many gaps and questions Brasidas needed answers for. He had written them down on a parchment while they spoke and now tucked it away, trying to smother a yawn.

The two sleepless nights in a row were catching up to him, and he begged off the evening meal to turn in early, graciously letting the Commander tease him about becoming soft after his year as ephor.

Despite his exhaustion, sleep didn’t come right away. Instead he lay on his bedroll and wondered where Kassandra had reached in her journey to Boeotia, where Myrrine was sleeping tonight, and if there were any more assassins on the way.
His anxiety over that whined like a trembling child in his mind.
‘You can’t sleep. You’ll be killed in your bed like a feeble old man.’
But his voice of reason was stronger, silencing the anxiety with flawless logic.
‘Lack of sleep will kill just as effectively as an assassin, so you might as well sleep.’

So he used his training to force himself to sink under the surface of consciousness, and finally it worked. Though the training of his youth hadn’t included the conjured specter of Kassandra pressed to his side.

The next morning saw Brasidas up early, pouring over the map and adding to his notes. By the time the rest of the soldiers were up. He had decided on a plan.

Pairing up the soldiers he’d brought, he instructed them to head out into Arkadia to visit the forts and camps and audit their supplies, equipment, and troop complement. In addition, they would be checking the conditions of the roads, bridges, and farms, as well as question the soldiers on the activities and locations of bandits or other disruptive elements in the region.

The men didn’t look particularly happy with their fact-finding missions, likely more interested in the glory of combat, but Brasidas cautioned them to not engage any enemy unless absolutely necessary. Sparta needed information, not dead bodies.

Brasidas himself would interview the local farmers, but first he would pay a visit to an old friend.

Lagos’ compound was larger than he remembered, housing a couple of additional buildings and many more guards. 

The soldiers at the entrance treated Brasidas with suspicion and tried to prevent his entry until he reminded them of his rank and threatened to have them sent back to the agoge. One of them finally went to inform Lagos, and his old friend hurried out to meet him, full of apologies.

“Brasidas! What a surprise! It’s so good to see you, my friend. Come in, come in.”

They kissed in greeting, with Lagos gripping his upper arms in a tight, almost painful grip. “You’ll have to excuse the guards. I’ve had some trouble with bandits lately. So cheeky they sometimes dress up like Spartans to gain entry.”

Lagos was uncharacteristically exuberant, perhaps overcompensating for the embarrassment of Brasidas’ treatment, but it had been a long time since they had seen each other and maybe time had caused the change in his personality, now more reminiscent of a chatty politician than his old friend.

He was led to a patio behind the main house while Lagos talked about the weather, the crops, the bandits near his compound, and servants placed food and wine on tables by their klines. Lagos waved the staff away and they all left, save for one man who stayed by the foot of his kline with a jug of wine clasped in his hands.

“So, tell me, Brasidas. What has brought you to Arkadia?” His voice was calmer now and his smile was warm, more reminiscent of the man he remembered.

“Sparta has sent me to assess the security of the region after the shift in troops to Boeotia.” He sipped his wine and found it had a light fruity flavor, probably Korinthian.

“Ah, and they couldn’t have sent a better man to do it. You always had a keen strategic mind, Brasidas. If anyone can find the flaws in this place, it’s you.” Lagos lifted his kylix in salut and drank before continuing. “You’ve had quite the adventurous few years, I’ve heard. Naval battles, taking Salamis, receiving laurels, becoming ephor. I should have visited you in Sparta, my friend. I should have written to congratulate you. I apologise. I thought about it but… you know how it goes.”

Brasidas waved a dismissive hand, they were equally bad at keeping in touch. Both keeping an ear out for news of the other, but rarely reaching out to get the news first hand. “Don’t trouble yourself over it, you know I am just the same. But yes, it’s true, though the Naval battle didn’t go particularly well. I don’t think that’s something I’m suited for.” He smiled ruefully and pushed away the memories of Cnemus and the Korinthian Commander.

Lagos smiled back. “Ephor though, I’m sure you were suited for that. You are an excellent soldier, Brasidas, brilliant even, but your mind was always your greatest asset.”

He felt his cheeks heat a little at the praise. “Being ephor was an interesting experience, I admit. And very educational. I understand the complex workings of the State much better now.”

Lagos hummed and nodded and sipped his wine. “So, this is your first assignment since? Must feel good to get out into Hellas again, even if it’s just to assess security. How was your journey to Arkadia? Uneventful, I hope?”

Brasidas returned his nod. “Yes, first assignment, and yes, it is good to get a change of scenery.” He hesitated, Lagos was someone he would have normally confided in, especially about an assassination attempt, by a Spartan Commander no less. But Myrrine’s warning rang in his head.
Brasidas did not believe Lagos was mixed up in something like the Cult of Kosmos, but he was Arkon of Arkadia and it would only make sense that the Cult had spies infiltrate any leader’s household. And the servant standing at Lagos’ kline didn’t have the familiar look of bored stoicism, that faraway gaze. No, this man’s eyes were sharp as they stared straight ahead, and his posture was as straight as any soldier’s.

“Very uneventful journey, yes. But pleasant just the same. My backside ached terribly though! I didn’t keep up my riding as much as I should have in Sparta.”

They both laughed heartily, and drank more wine.

“How is your Philonoe? And…” He had to think a moment to remember the boy’s name. “Niloxenos?”

For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw a frown form on Lagos’ face, but the servant stepped between them to refill their wine, blocking his friend as he spoke.

“They’re fine, just fine. Same old, same old. Though my wife has taken Nilo to visit her sister in Elis, otherwise she would of course have been here to greet you.” Lagos’ voice sounded a little tight but his face was smiling when the servant moved away. Perhaps they were having some marital problems, and his wife wasn’t visiting her sister so much as staying there. It was not that uncommon for old marriages to sour, and the spouses to need time apart.

“But never mind me and my boring old homelife. What about you? I have heard persistent rumors that Brasidas the Bachelor might have been struck by Éros’ arrow at last.” He smirked teasingly at Brasidas’ surprised expression. “Something about a beautiful mercenary that has managed to catch your eye, and perhaps even a great deal more than that?”

Brasidas was shocked, had the ridiculous rumors from his syssitia made their way out not only into Sparta but out to the rest of Hellas? “How did you hear about that?” 

Lagos gave a triumphant laugh and grinned wide, and even the servant’s lips twitched slightly. “Aha! So it’s true then? Oh, don’t look so surprised. Both news and gossip reach us out here in the country, it’s not just you town people who hear things. And when the gossip has my good friend's name attached… well, of course I listen. So… tell me about the girl.”

Brasidas felt uncomfortable. Even more than he had at his syssitia when everyone had been teasing. They had agreed not to tell anyone yet. He hadn’t told his own mater. There was no way he could tell Lagos and risk it getting back to his family before he told them, not to mention risking the Kings rescinding their deal to return Myrrine’s house.

“Eh… no. I’m sorry to disappoint, but I am still a bachelor.”

Not exactly a lie, not exactly an answer to Lagos’ question.

“Really?” His friend looked genuinely surprised. “I was told… I mean, the rumors were so insistent that you had moved the daughter of The Wolf into your house.”

Brasidas cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, now, yes. That part is true.” He wetted his dry mouth with more wine. “She stayed there while I stayed in my Pater’s house.” A beckoning gesture from Lagos urged him to continue. “She’s with her mater, Myrrine. They’re petitioning for their old house back. So I let them have mine for the duration. It’s not like I’m really using it, after all.”

Lagos gave him a deadpan stare. “You gave up your house to strangers. Just like that?”

“They’re hardly strangers. Myrrine was a neighbour and close with my mater when I was growing up. And Kassandra briefly worked with me in Korinth. And she was good friends with my sister Hyptia before… well, before. So they’re friends of the family, even if not to me directly.”

Lagos nodded, a trace of scepticism still on his face. “How is your littlest sister doing these days?”

Brasidas smiled at the moniker and sipped his wine again. “Very well. Had her first child, a son, just last year. And Theoklia is pregnant again.”

“Well, that is cause for celebration.” Lagos smiled wide and gestured for the servant to refill their wine. Then he raised his kylix high in a toast. “To your sisters, for continuing the family line even when you refuse to.” He winked to take the sting out of the words and Brasidas laughed.

With that they moved away from uncomfortable topics and spent the rest of the visit reminiscing about old times and trading news about mutual friends.

He politely refused the offers to stay the night and headed back to Tegea, reaching the barracks just as the evening meal was being served. This time he did eat with the men and spent a pleasant evening getting to know the Commander and his men better.

After the meal he sat down and updated his notes with information Lagos had provided. Eventually he couldn’t postpone any longer and laid down on his bedroll. 

It was cold and hard and lonely, and it took a long time before he could force himself into sleep.

Kassandra

She woke up the next morning just as the first rays of Helios began to creep over the horizon. Her head was heavy and pounding from yet another restless, sleepless night, and she pushed herself up, groggy and uncoordinated. Dragging her tired feet over to the bowl of water sitting on a rickety table on the corner, she splashed her face to wake herself up. 

Flecks of dried blood came loose and fell to float on the surface. Her nose was throbbing still, but the swelling was beginning to go down a little. She hadn’t been able to breathe through it at all the day before, instead forced to pant for air like a malakas dog.
Now she used her fingers and the provided washcloth to rub the dried blood from in and around her nose. 

When she was finished the water was a pale red and a few crusty, bloody boogers floated on the surface. She finished off by blowing her nose into the washcloth and felt a satisfying emptying of her sinuses.

A deep, relieved breath in through her nose woke her up better than the water splashed on her face had. As she let the breath out, she heard a soft whistle. Her eyes went wide and she cursed loudly. Her nose fucking whistled! She was going to kill Stentor. Wring his whiny stupid little neck and use his corpse as a toilet.

A whistling nose was worse than a blocked one. Now she’d never be able to sneak up on anyone again. They would always know she was coming and stand around waiting to taunt her nose or call her a mouth-breather. 

Grabbing her things, she stomped out of the room and walked out into Thebes.

It was early, but a city like Thebes never really sleeps so she shared the streets with servants doing their chores and merchants on the way to set up their market stalls.

She made her way down to the small lakeside docks where fisherman were readying their nets, and a discreet pouch of drachme got her a ride to the island where the fort stood.

The man she had bribed was old, skin leathery and sunbeaten, wrinkles so deep they almost looked painful. He didn’t say a word but accepted her drachme with a nod and a gesture to his boat.

The fort was well situated. Almost impossible to reach without being spotted. A thin mist still clung to the surface of the lake, giving them the barest of cover, but she would still need a lot of luck to reach the island undetected.

The fisherman took his time to get there, putting out his nets along the way. At first Kassandra wanted to protest, but then figured that a fishing boat behaving like a fishing boat would attract a lot less attention than one making a quick beeline for the island.

The old man handed her a piece of hard, stale bread which she accepted politely. It was the kind of bread that needed to soak before it could be eaten, but they had no cups of wine or water on the boat. The fisherman leaned over the side and held his own piece in the lake water for a while, the same lake water Thebes dumped their waste and sewage into. Kassandra followed his lead, not wanting to offend. Though in all honesty, it was nothing worse than what she’d had on Kephallonia.

With their bread softened enough, they ate and stared out over the water. They were nearing the island now and they both finished their small meal. Kassandra tried to continue breathing through her mouth as she chewed, not wanting her whistling nose to give them away. 

The fisherman leaned down, cupping his hand in the water and rinsed his mouth, using a finger to clear out bits of bread from his cheeks and gum. She watched his behaviour curiously and caught a glimpse of the inside of his mouth. His tongue was missing.

It was not an uncommon punishment and she supposed it meant he couldn’t tell anyone about her, but Kassandra still shivered at the thought of this man having his tongue cut out. She wondered how long ago it had happened. How long since he had heard his own voice, spoke his mind, tasted food.

The boat was gliding cose to the cliff, the fort looming above them, and the man gestured at some reeds ahead. When they passed, Kassandra slipped into the thigh-deep water and ducked her head, concealing herself from prying eyes.

Standing still and waiting, she listened intently while the water chilled her feet and legs. When no shouts or sounds of movement came from above, Kassandra pulled herself out of the water and began to scale the cliff. 

She was just about to pull herself over the edge to stand at the bottom of the fort wall when she realized that there was no wall. What she had seen from the boat had been an inner wall. The actual defensive structure had crumbled away long ago. Now she could see straight into a building missing its outer wall, and part of its roof.

Men lay sleeping on their mats or were slowly waking up, sitting, stretching, yawning. Kassandra looked around for a place to hide and saw nowhere decent. The fort was in abysmal shape, but just walls but entire sections had collapsed and seemed to have been left that way for a very long time. The only thing protecting the soldiers was the lake, but once the enemy landed on the island, the soldiers might as well be in an open field.

The state of the fort was good for spotting a single intruder trying to sneak around though.  As she made her way around the ledge she couldn’t see a single spot to hide in that didn’t have a direct sightline for a soldier.

Malaka! How was she supposed to find this Champion if she couldn’t sneak up on a soldier or two for a secret and secluded chat?

She kept moving sideways, poking her head up to check for soldiers occasionally. Eventually the sheer cliff gave way to an outcropping covered in grass, and Kassandra stood, debating what to do. The wall above was not just crumbled here, it was completely gone, exposing a wide open courtyard of green grass.

In the distance, standing beside what could laughably be called a doorway, was a single soldier. He was protected from view, and if she could get to him she could persuade him to tell her about the Champion they harbored here. But there was nothing for her to hide behind. He would spot her long before she could get close enough to incapacitate him. Her only option was to climb around the entire island to position herself behind him first.

Kassandra cursed silently. Options. She needed options that were better than circling the island, clinging by her fingertips, or sitting on this ledge until nightfall.

The sounds of fighting floated over on the breeze. It was coming from her left.
There were no structures on the eastern edge of the island, but maybe there was a training ground for the soldiers? Worth checking out at least.

She moved towards the sound, careful to stay out of sight of the soldiers at the crumbling fort. What she found were a few trees, some bushes, and flat bare rock which housed a bench, a couple of weapon racks, and two sparring men.

Kassandra moved closer, hiding behind the bushes and weighed her options. This place was still exposed, but away from the fort. If she was seen she would have time to disappear into the water before they reached her. She could take out one of the men and then convince the other to speak, but which one was more likely to talk.

She watched them, careful to stay hidden by the bush she was crouched behind, its leaves obscuring her sightline. The men were fighting hard, much more brutal than a regular training session. The smaller of the two had strange armor for an Athenian. Expensive, shiny, with more vivid blues and brighter whites. Could this be the Champion Aristaios? Was she that lucky?

The two men danced and dodged around and the second man came into view and Kassandra almost gasped. He was not Athenian at all. This man was wearing Spartan reds and gold. A prisoner?

She stood up and moved towards the fighters. Her loyalty was with Sparta now, and that meant helping Spartans win fights. But she approached, the Spartan man won the fight, thrusting his spear deep into the chest of his opponent and slamming his body into the dust. The technique and power reminded her a little of Brasidas in the warehouse, but there was something else familiar about the man, beyond his fighting style, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on until he turned around.

“Pater?”

His attention snapped to her, spear ready in his hand. Then came surprise and a slight relaxing of his posture as he recognized her. “Kassandra? What are you doing here?”

"I was sent to kill Aristaios, who I guess was him?” She gestured to the corpse on the ground behind her pater. “Looks like I missed the fight though.”

Nikolaos gave a shrug and wiped his spear clean before sticking it into the ground at his side. “He wouldn’t have been a challenge for you, but I’m glad he caused our paths to cross again.”

He reached out and patted her lightly on the shoulder, and when she didn’t flinch or move away he took a firm hold with both hands and looked at her.
“I didn't get a chance last time… Look at you. So strong, so capable, so tall!”

She could hear the slight quiver of emotion in his voice and almost felt her own throat start to constrict, but at his last word she couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, pater, I have grown a little bit since I was a child.”

He didn’t smile back, instead tried to quell a pained expression and shifted his focus to her nose. Kassandra knew she must have dark purple bruises under her eyes to complement the break, and saw her pater’s eyes assess the damage.

“Who did this?”

“Stentor. Malakas little brat.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Stentor? Why?”

“He thinks you are dead and that I killed you. If it weren’t for the writ I have from the Kings, he would have tried to do much worse than this.”

Nikolaos shook his head. “He always was a headstrong and impulsive boy. I’d hoped age and training would take that out of him.”

Kassandra sighed, frustrated at her pater’s avoidance of the important part of her statement. Her nose made a high-pitched sound and she almost pouted with petulance. “It whistles, pater. I’m never going to be able to sneak up on anyone again.”

He released her shoulders and cupped her face, thumbs pressing against the bruised flesh. His decades of experience assessing injuries in his troops made his fingers sure and competent. He glanced over her shoulder before releasing her. “It’s a clean break, straight and uncomplicated. It will stop whistling when the swelling goes down. Come on, it’s time to leave. I have a boat down below in the reeds.”

She followed him and helped push the boat away from the cliff. “It better stop whistling or I will kill that little brat.”

The corners of her pater’s mouth twitched. “How about you break his nose if the whistling persists.”

She pursed her lips but didn’t respond, instead shifting the subject back where it belonged. “Pater… why are you letting Stentor think you are dead? Letting Sparta believe it?”

He was silent, staring out over the water as he steered them towards the western shore of the lake.

“You made me realize in Megaris that I lost my honor long ago. I can’t go back and make it up to you, but I can make sure to honor the promise I made to Stentor. I left him in charge of an army, the greatest responsibility a man could carry. I couldn’t leave him to face it alone.”

She looked at him sceptically. “So you’re out here killing Champions to help Stentor?”

He nodded. “Yes, Champions, Generals, Commanders. Killing them will weaken Athens hold over Boeotia, damage moral, and increase Sparta’s odds on the battlefield.”

She shook her head, he really did seem to have missed the point entirely. “Pater… Stentor doesn’t know you’re helping him. He thinks you’re dead. He’s grieving for you. And he blames me. Thinks I killed you in Megaris and magically vanished your body, apparently. If he can convince Sparta that I killed you, we’re never getting the house back.”

Once again, her pater focused on the wrong part of her statement. “Back? You found your mater?”

“I did, yes. Ruling Naxos. And before that, she was apparently a very talented pirate.”

She thought he might be surprised at that, but he only gave a rueful smile and nodded. “Sounds like her.”

He glanced up and then looked away again. “I heard a rumor. I thought perhaps…”

They had reached the shore and he steered the boat up onto a shoal. Kassandra jumped out and pulled it higher.

What rumors had he heard? And about what? About her or Myrrine? Had the rumors from Brasidas’ syssitia reached this far? “What rumor?”

Her pater was pulling his spear from the boat and securing it on his back with the shield, avoiding her eyes. “I heard Leonidas’ granddaughter had returned to Sparta with… a child.”

Well, that wasn’t what she thought he would say. Why would he care…? “Oh… oh! Yes. Phoibe.”

He met her gaze then, surprise and something she didn’t recognize in his face. “It's true? You have a daughter?”

“Sort of, yes. I mean, yes, I do. Phoibe. I adopted her. Well, we did, but then Markos left and…”

“Markos?”

Kassandra stopped her rambling and looked up. Nikolaos looked uncertain and a little uncomfortable. Their reunion in Megaris had been full of anger and guilt and blame, and no exchange of information at all. With her mater she had spent hours, days, telling her all about the life she had lived after Sparta.

They were standing on the shore just outside the walls of Orchomenos and Kassandra clasped her pater’s shoulder and pulled him along. “Come on, lets head inside the city to find a good breakfast and a place to catch up. I’ll tell you everything.”

They made their way to the agora where they bought stew and wine and then found a shaded bench to sit under.

Since they were in public she had to leave out everything to do with the Cult, but she told him everything else. Kephallonia, Markos, Phoibe, Aspasia and Pereklies, Anthousa and the Monger, finding her mater and petitioning the Kings. She left out everything about Brasidas beyond meeting him in Korinth and borrowing his house, but her pater commented on it anyway.

“Brasidas is a good soldier and General. I’ve never fought with him, but his reputation is impressive. Even as a child in Sparta I could see he had great potential. From a good family too. I used to think that maybe y…” His voice had become a little wistful and she felt a blush creep up her cheeks at his implication, but he quickly snapped back to the present with a cough. “That was before the Pythia and Mount Taygetos, it doesn’t matter now.”

He clapped his hands on his knees looking like he was about to stand up. “We can’t stay here forever. There’s work to do.”

Kassandra put her hand on his elbow. “Pater… you have to talk to Stentor. He believes you are dead, and he’s blaming me for it. His intention is that I die fighting the Champions, in the battle with the athenians, or by his spear. Either way, you’re losing at least one child if you don’t tell him the truth.”

His shoulders sank. “I couldn’t stay, not after what happened. I wasn’t fit for command.”

She squeezed his elbow. “He needs you. Go to him, show him you are alive, guide him to be a better Commander.”

Nikolaos nodded, looking thoughtful and gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder before standing up. “Goodbye, Kassandra of Sparta.”

She smiled and squinted up at him, silhouetted by the bright, blinding sunlight. “Goodbye, pater. I’ll see you back at the camp.”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment before walking away through the crowd, and she sat and watched him until he disappeared out of sight.

Brasidas

While he waited for his scouts to return, Brasidas visited the farms around Tegea and talked to the people to get their perspective on the shift in security in the region.

In the evenings, he trained and sparred with the soldiers at the Barracks until he was drenched in sweat and tasted blood in his mouth. Soon any residual evidence of his comparatively sedentary life as ephor was gone, and the Commander stopped teasing him about it.

The nightly training was supposed to exhaust him to the point of sleep, but it rarely worked.
He missed Kassandra.

He should probably be concerned about his inability to sleep without her. Even if they married and moved into his house together right away, he would still have to spend most of his time away from Sparta, not to mention all the time away Kassandra would need to spend to complete her quest to end the Cult of Kosmos. Even if they were married, he would still not be able to sleep.

So he should worry about that, but he didn’t. Instead he missed her. Missed her warm skin pressed to his side, missed her soft snuffling snores, missed the smell of her hair, and the slow rise and fall of her chest under his hand.

The Commander had noticed his trouble sleeping and tried to offer to solutions. Most of these were offers to take Brasidas to the local brothels and introduce him to the best hetaerae there, or invite some of them to the Barracks, or simply help him find a local boy to take as eromenos.

But the thought of laying with someone who wasn’t Kassandra, even just for a little while, made him feel sad and even more lonely, so Brasidas rejected all his suggestions with progressively more strained smiles until the Commander finally shrugged and gave up.

Instead, he threw himself at his work. Slowly the scouts returned, bringing with them reports from around Arkadia and with that, confirmation of Brasidas initial observations. The western, northern, and eastern borders to Arkadia were all largely unprotected. The only secure border was the southern one, toward Lakonia, which should be the one border Arkadia had no need to protect.

Furthermore, once inside the region any hostile element had free reign. Several large encampments housing bandits had been spotted by his scouts, as well as plenty of smaller Athenian camps.

Brasidas sat down and wrote a report for Sparta, detailing the weaknesses, requesting more troops and a shift of military camps away from the southern border, and recommended that a Fort be built to the north where the Golden Fields lay unprotected.

He wrote a letter summarizing his findings for Lagos, and then found himself with nothing to do. It would be at least a few days before Sparta returned with orders and until then, Brasidas could do whatever he wanted to do.

And what he wanted was to do was investigate the grain distribution which Myrrine suspected had fallen under Cultist influence.

Kassandra

Since Aristaios had died without Kassandra getting a chance to question him, she was now at a loss on how to find the other one; Deianeria.

‘She’s been spotted near Orchomenos and Lebadeia’ was not helpful. She didn’t even know what the woman looked like, and she couldn’t just wander the area killing any woman who looked like a fighter.

In the end, her only option was to start asking around.

She visited all the stalls at the agora, stopped passersby, bribed street urchins, and even asked a few of the Athenian soldiers milling about. Most people gave her a blank look and a shrug, the rest stared in suspicion or fear and shook their heads, shooing her away.

Kassandra sighed. This assignment was turning out to be impossible. How could she find, let alone kill a woman if she didn’t even know what she looked like. Deianeira could be standing right next to her and she would have no idea. To make matters worse, the formerly clear blue sky was now filled with thick inky clouds, a cold wind had come in from the lake, and a few droplets of rain had begun to fall.

“Misthios…” A soft, teasing, sing-song voice came from somewhere behind her. “Down here pretty misthios.”

She turned and looked along the street. Several paces behind her sat a naked beggar pressed against the wall.The man was giving her a wide, toothless smile and waved her over with a hand missing three fingers.

She took a few steps closer and sized the man up with suspicion. He was filthy, smeared with dirt and what smelled like excrement and vomit, and his skin was covered in sores, scabs, and insect bites. He had fingers missing on his other hand too, and both feet were amputated. One at the knee and the other at the ankle. The skin not obscured with filth or sores was pockmarked and chunks seemed to be missing in several places, as if small animals had feasted on his living flesh. His eyes were clear though. Clear and keen and knowing.

“Pretty misthios needs and Pelonos has.”

Kassandra wanted to be able to muster up some sympathy and compassion for the beggar and his absolutely miserable state, but something in his eyes made her spine tingle uncomfortably. She crossed her arms against the cold and the man’s stare. “What do you know of what I need?”

He laughed and she fought down a shudder. On another man his soft timbre and rumbling laugh might have been attractive, enticing even, but coming out of the mouth of this beggar… every sound felt like it was covering her in thick, oily, sludge.
The wide toothless grin he gave her told her he knew and enjoyed the repulsive effect he had on people. “I’ve been watching you, pretty misthios. Hours running around asking for help. Begging. And no one is willing to give you what you need. But Pelonos can. Pelonos will give you what you desire. For a price.”

He leered at her, mouth open and breath a little heavy. She sighed and reached for her pouch. “How much?”

The beggar laughed again and shook his head. “No. Not drachme.” He made a show of looking her up and down whilst licking his lips. The tongue that appeared between chapped lips was covered in a thick yellowish-white something, and Kassandra couldn't hold back the shudder it caused.

She took a step away from him and shook her head in disgust. “You don’t even know anything.” 

The rain was picking up. Large cold droplets were painting the dusty street a darker shade of brown.

The beggar gave her another toothless grin and closed his eyes, lifting his face to the sky. “Pelonos knows everything, pretty misthios. Deianeira. Champion of Boeotia. Thorn in Sparta’s side. Pelonos knows.”

She stared at him, assessing his honesty. But no, those were things he would have been able to overhear and deduce if he’d been watching her ask for information. “You’re lying, you know nothing. Stop wasting my time.”

She turned and walked away, and the beggar raised his voice a little. “She’s a pretty misthios too. Blond. Angry. Very strong.”

Kassandra kept walking, the rain was heavy now, roaring down from the sky and the streets were almost empty, the nearby merchants had closed their stalls and covered their wares. Thunder rolled in the distance.

“The Cult of Kosmos!”

The words rang out, loud and clear over the roar of the rain, and Kassandra stopped in her tracks.

When she turned around he was grinning at her, pointing a triumphant finger and wiggling his whole body with joy. “Yes, yes, pretty misthios, yes. Pelonos knows. Pelonos has what you need. What you desire.”

He beckoned her back with a bony finger and licked his lips again.

She walked back slowly, uneasily. “What do you know of the Cult of Kosmos?”

He laughed, almost giggling. “Pelonos knows everything!”

Kassandra rolled her eyes. “Fine, you know everything. Tell me where Deineira is.”

“Pelonos has a price, pretty misthios.”

She gritted her teeth in irritation. “What is it?”

The beggar licked his lips with his yellow tongue and let his eyes roam over her body again. Kassandra crossed her arms.

“Poor Pelonos, no one likes him. No one is his friend, no one to talk to, no one to sit with, no one to touch.”

He lifted his eyes on the last word, locking his keen, knowing gaze with Kassandra’s.

“No! No way, I’m not touching you. No.”

He ignored her and continued talking. “No one will take Pelonos’ drachme for food, for shelter. Even hetaera will not take Pelonos’ drachme. No matter how much drachme Pelonos offers. Poor Pelonos. But pretty misthios doesn’t need drachme… pretty misthios needs information. Pelonos has information. If pretty misthios wants the information she desires, then pretty misthios will give Pelonos what Pelonos desires.”

He looked at her crotch and wiggled his tongue in the air.

Kassandra felt the bile rising in her throat and turned on her heel. “No. Whatever information you have, it’s not worth it.”

She heard him whine in frustration as she walked away. “Nooo… pretty misthios! Come back! Come back! Pelonos knows what no one else knows! Pretty misthios will never find her prey without Pelonos! Deianeira is secret, cunning, sneaky! Pretty misthios will never find her! Never ever! Only Pelonos knows and pretty misthios must pay for the information!”

Despite herself she stopped. Just being in the same alley made her feel unclean and nauseous, but she needed the information he had if she wanted to make fast work of Deianeria. 

She wasn’t going to let him touch her of course, but she was sure there was some other way to persuade him.

She walked back to the beggar and he wiggled with delight again. “Yes, pretty misthios, yessss. Give Pelonos his desire.”

“No.” Kassandra pulled out her spear, and held it in front of his nose. It seemed to gleam even though the clouds were heavy above and any torch nearby had long since been doused by the rain. “I’m not going to give you your desire. Instead, I’m going to cut your cock off. Unless you give me the information I want.”

The beggar startled then, eyes wide in surprise. But instead of a terrorised agreement, he started to laugh. The smooth rumble of his laughter rose into a hysterical cackle as he reached for his crotch. Filthy, bony fingers spread the copious dark curls revealing an angry red, scabby mess of scarred skin. “Too late, pretty misthios! Too late! But Pelonos has fingers, fingers and a nice long tongue for the pretty misthios to enjoy!” 

Kassandra shuddered and pressed her spear into his skin. “Fine. Then I’ll cut your eyes out, and your tongue, and then I’ll press the blade deep into your ears. See how much fun life is without any sense but your precious touch.”

That seemed to do the trick. The beggar’s eyes filled with fear and the grin slid off his face. “No, pretty misthios, no. Pelonos will tell you what he knows, no payment.”

“Then talk. And talk fast, you’ve wasted enough of my time.”

He took a breath and licked his lips again. “Deianeira is a pretty mercenary. Wanders between Orchomenos and Lebadeia, looking for work. Blond, her hair always loose and down. Plain, simple armor. No adornments.”

He wiggled his body as he talked and she felt something brushing her sandal. Looking down she saw the beggar’s fingers scratching at the ground next to her feet. She pressed the blade deeper and saw blood well up. “You haven’t told me where she is, or anything that will help me find her. Tell me what I need to know, or I’ll start carving into your nose. And don’t touch me.”

He lifted his eyes to meet hers, the slight movement pressing the blade even deeper. More blood flowed but was immediately washed away by the rain. With his clear, cunning eyes fixed on hers he suddenly gripped her foot with his mangled hands and moaned. She tried to kick herself free but his grip was much stronger than it had any right to be.
He spoke, words coming hurried and fast. “When the thunder rolls in she stands on the hills to the south and curses Zeus.”

Another thunderclap sounded as if to emphasise his words and he released her foot. Kassandra turned on her heel and strode away from him as fast as she could, ignoring the wet slobbering sounds behind her.

As soon as she got out of the city, Kassandra urged her horse into a gallop. The cold rain had already soaked her, but now it started to make her chilled, stiffening her muscles, and she leaned down close to the animal, trying to absorb some of its heat.

The dirt road she rode down was surrounded by large plains of empty scorched earth. Ash and soot washing away in pitch black rivulets, while thunder rolled and lightning split the sky.

In the distance she saw the hills loom. If the beggar was right, Deianeira was standing up there right now, cursing the gods. If he was wrong, she would go back and carve the lies out of his head.

Her foot itched.

Another flash of lightning struck, this time just nearby, throwing both her and the horse to the ground. The fall knocked the wind out of her, bruised her ribs, and the unearthly crash made her ears ring. The horse got back on its feet and fled over the plains, leaving her behind.

It didn’t matter, in the flash from the lightning she had seen a figure standing at the top of the hill.

Kassandra started jogging, ignoring the ache in her back and tried to spot the figure again. It was only afternoon, hours yet before the sun would set, but the clouds were too heavy and dark to let through much light at all. The burned plains gave way to trees which in turn gave way to large rocks. She started her climb to get to the top.

At first the voice of Deianeira seemed to be a figment of her imagination, too faint behind the roar of rain and almost constant roll of thunder, but the higher she climbed the clearer the voice became.

Finally she was close enough to make out the words, but it was no cursing of Zeus she heard. “Eagle Bearer! Welcome! The mighty Zeus is angry today! Do you think it’s because I’m going to kill you?”

Strange, manic laughter came from above as Kassandra continued to pull herself up the steep, slippery rock.

“But why have you made me wait so long for you, Kassandra? I’ve been standing here all day waiting for you to come and sacrifice yourself on my blade!” More of the manic laughter rang out, mostly drowned by thunder. “Was Pelonos too ugly for you to talk to? To vile to bless him with your attention? Or the opposite perhaps? Have you spent all these hours in his bed? I’m sure you made good use of his tongue and clever fingers!”

Kassandra lost her grip on the slippery rock and slid down a bit. Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself back up. Pelonos had lied, had he? Waited and cheated so he could use her desperation against her. Well, she could go back and deal with him later. It’s not like he’d be able to get very far. 

Another bolt of lightning struck as she heaved herself up on the last ledge. Deianeira stood several paces away, her arms and grin wide.

“Kassandra! Welcome to your death! Do you have any requests?” She laughed and twirled, aiming a halfhearted kick in Kassandra’s direction. “I’m tempted to toss you off this hill, but you would just climb right back up again, wouldn’t you? If Mount Taygetos couldn’t kill you, I doubt this pile of dirt can.”

Kassandra pulled her spear and sword out and got into a defensive stance. “Cut the shit and let’s get this over with. I’ve got more important things to do than stand here listening to you.”

Deianeira pulled out her own blades and aimed a playful and easily deflected slice at Kassandra’s face. “Oh, how boring that would be. Especially when I have such interesting things I have to say.”

“No. You don’t.” She lunged but Deianeira danced out of the way with ease.

“Yes. I do. Like how our spies in your adopted brother’s ranks are reporting everything to Athens. He’s a wreck. Poor little baby, so sad for his pater. So weak. You should give him a hug.”

“This is not interesting. There are always spies on both sides. Who cares?” She made light, simple lunges at the Cultist, not to engage her but to keep the woman moving, to tire her out.

“Well, obviously. But he’s a weak, cowardly, and heartbroken little failure, who will be easily defeated in battle. And then you won’t get your precious house back. Poor Kassandra. Not that it matters, of course.”

“Right. Because you will kill me and the dead don’t need houses.”

The woman laughed again, more delighted than manic. “Of course! But also…” She danced past and Kassandra felt the edge of her blade touch her bracer. “...I doubt you’d want that old, smelly house without your dear mater. And honestly, could you even stand to set foot in Sparta without your darling, beloved Brasidas by your side?”

The words surprised her, enough that her attention shifted too slowly. Deianeira threw her swords high into the air, and took advantage of Kassandra’s distraction by kicking her hard in the chest, sending her flying backwards.

She landed hard on her already bruised back and Deianeira leapt on her, one knee in her abdomen, the other on her hand. A small blade was pressed hard into her neck.

“The King sent an assassin to kill your precious Brasidas. Slit his throat in the night and take your mater to serve the Cult. They never even made it to Arkadia.”

Kassandra’s insides turned to ice and her breath caught in her throat as the woman smiled manically at her. Mater abducted? Brasidas dead? No. No, it couldn’t be.

“So, you see, little Eagle Bearer, I’m doing you a kindness by ending your pathetic little life here.”

Kassandra twisted away from the knife and bucked, tossing Deianeira to the side as she jumped smoothly to her feet. She punched the cultist before she could get her bearings, making her stagger. 

It was Kassandra’s turn to press a blade to the other woman’s throat. “Which King?”

Deianeira laughed and thrashed, lifting her legs and hips off the ground to flip to her feet, and in the process tossed Kassandra off the edge.

It was only a short fall but she landed on her back again, making her ribs scream in protest. Before she could get to her feet, Deianeira was on her again, knife digging into her clavicle. “You’re so soft and pathetic. There are some in the Cult who want you to join the cause. Fight with us, or if not fight, then breed warriors like your mater will.”

A hand gripped her throat and squeezed while the knife tip moved to press into the corner of her eye. “But not me, I can see you for what you really are. Soft, weak, pathetic. Crying for your mommy or a big strong man to take care of you. You’re just a stupid little girl, and we don’t need you. Deimos agrees with me. So your chance to join us is gone.”

There was a triumphant gleam in her eye as she squeezed tighter around Kassandra’s throat. Then the gleam turned into surprise and then to a dull nothing as Leonidas’ blade tore open her heart.

Kassandra pushed the woman off and got to her feet, her back protesting loudly. “You talk too much. I don’t think my brother likes you at all.”

Deianeira didn’t have much in the way of valuables, just a small pouch of drachme, a couple of letters, and - of course - an eerily glowing shard.
Kassandra tucked the things into her pouch and started her climb down the hill. The thunderstorm was drifting away now and a thin band of sky was visible on the eastern horizon.

Lebadeia lay just south-west of the hill and Kassandra made her way there, finding a farmer to give her room and board. They gave her warm lentil stew and space to set her gear and clothes to dry, and politely avoided asking about her black eyes and purple marks on her neck, and Kassandra pressed Deianeira’s coins purse into their hands as thanks despite their protests.

When night fell she curled up on her mat in the corner with her back to the room. It had been a long day, and she was exhausted. The breakfast with Nikolaos seemed days ago.

It wasn’t the talk with him that kept her awake, and it wasn’t her encounter with Pelonos either, though her foot still itched.

As usual, it was Brasidas and his absence from her bed. She wanted the steady rise and fall of his chest, the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat, his soft skin under her palm, the warm blanket of his scent all around her. She missed it all, just like she had every night this whole damn trip.

But now she was terrified that she would never have it again. If Deianeira was right and an assassin had been sent, there was a chance that they had succeeded, and that Brasidas was dead. Had been dead all along.

She shivered and laid with her back to the room, letting silent tears drip down to the mat, each heartbeat feeling like a painful stab in the chest.

Chapter Text

They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead, 
They brought me bitter news to hear and bitter tears to shed. 
I wept as I remember'd how often you and I
Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky.  

- Callimachus

Kassandra

She did manage to fall asleep eventually, but woke again when the farmer’s wife got up to milk the goats.
The woman tried to insist she stay, wait a few hours for breakfast, but Kassandra was anxious to get moving. She needed to know if Brasidas was dead, if her mater was abducted. And the best way to find out - barring riding all the way back to Sparta herself - was to send a letter with a runner from Stentor’s camp.

Sneaking through the dark and rainy streets, Kassandra left enough drachme to cover the loss and stole a horse from a farm at the edge of Lebadeia, setting a fast pace back to the camp. Even with a fast horse, the journey would take a few days, and she wanted to get there as fast as possible.

Would there be a message waiting for her? Surely, if her mater had been abducted, Sparta would write to inform her of it? She knew she couldn’t expect any news about Brasidas, but if her mater had been taken she knew he would be the one to write her. If he was alive to do so.

She rode hard, brooding in the saddle, thoughts making unproductive circles in her head. Of course they fought off the assassin, the two of them together, an enemy wouldn’t stand a chance, but what if they had been caught unawares, what if the Cult managed to corrupt someone they trusted, what if what if that if.

Each time the horse needed to stop and rest, which was far too often for Kassandra’s nerves, she would sit and try to compose the letter she wanted to send, but always getting back into the saddle without writing a single word.

She couldn’t be direct and straightforward, saying that a Cultist claimed one of the Kings had ordered a murder and an abduction, and asking if they succeeded. It was a good way to lose any chance at getting the house back, but it wouldn’t be helpful in getting her any information.

Another problem was who to send the message to. Would the Kings even read a letter from her? And if they did, would they deign to answer it? Maybe she could send it to Aggi, or Aristomache?

That’s when she realized she had yet another problem. If she couldn’t write about the Cultist and her fears for Brasidas and her mater, how would she justify writing to anyone? Especially, when she would be demanding an urgent reply.

She couldn’t vaguely ask Aggi about Brasidas, he was supposed to be in Arkadia, not Sparta. It would look very strange if she sent her that letter. 

No, she would either have to be clear about the information she’d received, or the recipient would just question why she hadn’t written directly to her mater or Brasidas. But she couldn’t write to her mater even if she hadn’t been abducted because she didn’t know where her mater planned to go in Arkadia.

She didn’t know where Brasidas was either. ‘Somewhere in Arkadia.’ probably wasn’t specific enough. Or did Spartan runners only need a name, and they would know where to go without her help? They probably did have ways to get the messages to where they needed to go. It wouldn’t be good if a General sent a crucial, urgent message to where he thought another General was, only to have it come back unread because the recipient had moved to a different location.

Kassandra sighed and wrapped her thin blanket tighter around her body. She hadn’t found any villages or farms so far on the road to Stentor’s camp so she had sought shelter in the ruins of a burned out building.
It was cold and wet from the rain dripping down from the crumbled roof, and the air smelled of fire, damp rotting wood, and horse. She really couldn’t afford to lose this one, so she had brought the animal into the building and tied it up. Outside was just too risky. It could be stolen by roaming bandits, attacked by the wolves howling in the distance, or it could just tear itself free and run off.

Sleep had been a problem throughout the whole journey, and now with the possibility of Brasidas’ death looming over her, it was impossible. Instead she lay there in the dark, trying to at least rest her muscles, and listened to the frustrated shuffling and snorting from the horse.

Brasidas

The start of his inspection of the distribution network had been frustrating.

The local farms transported their grain to whatever collection site was closest to them, and from there it was transported to large warehouses where it was kept until it was time to transport it somewhere else. The distribution chain included milleries to make flour, bakeries to make bread, as well as stables, carts, and ships to transport the grain, flour, and bread to their destinations.

Every single part of the chain was tightly guarded by Spartan soldiers and citizens. Arkadia was where most of Sparta’s food came from and the risk of putting it fully into the hands of even the most loyal allies was unacceptable.

At the first warehouse he visited, he was met with suspicion until a man in civilian clothes finally appeared to scrutinize the orders he had from the Kings. He knew they didn’t include the network specifically, but the language was vague enough to interpret their inclusion you chose to.

After that he was given a tour of the facilities, though it was rushed and the man was irritated, snippy, and seemed put-upon.

When he left, he was in a bad mood and felt like he had wasted his time. He didn’t really know anything about grain distribution and couldn’t tell if something was wrong. Unless he found large stores of grain marked ‘To be diverted by the Cult of Kosmos’ he really wasn’t in any position to see their influence. 

He couldn’t even tell if the hostility was suspicious. The distribution network needed to be protected at any cost, so letting random Generals in unannounced was probably not a good idea. Not to mention that what Lagos had said about bandits dressing up like soldiers made their suspicion even more warranted.

Brasidas returned to the barracks in Tegea to sleep, pondering how he could conduct his investigation despite knowing so little of the usual operations. Perhaps Lagos could explain it? But talking to Lagos would require getting him completely alone, unless he wanted to risk being overheard by a Cult spy, and that would be difficult. He was the Arkon of the region and couldn’t really go anywhere without an armed escort. Maybe Myrrine could help? She seemed to know what she was looking for, even if she hadn’t shared it with him. But how would he contact her?

His thoughts circled until he laid down on his mat to sleep. It had been a little over a week since he’d left Sparta and he still hadn’t gotten used to sleeping without Kassandra, but he was getting better at conjuring her image.

Tonight was no different, he imagined the feel of her body pressed along his side, one leg slung over his, one hand tucked between them, the other resting on his chest.

It was late and most of the men in the barracks had gone to sleep already, the sound of their calm, even breathing filling the room. Brasidas imagined Kassandra against him, chest moving slightly, her soft breasts pressing into him with each rhythmic breath. 

He let himself take a detour on his way to sleep and slid a hand down his body, pretending it was Kassandra.

He had done this often since leaving Sparta, to help release tension and make falling asleep easier. Just because he had refused the Commander’s solutions for his insomnia didn’t mean he was immune to the needy calls of his body.

This act - like sleep - was something young soldiers were trained in doing swiftly and efficiently. Or rather, trained themselves to do it efficiently. Usually it was just one of the needs the body had, like food, sleep, urination and defecation. Very little room or time was available to indulge or dawdle with anything so you learned speed.

Reaching down, he took himself in hand and thought about Kassandra’s strong hand and warm skin. He liked to think about her doing the same to send her herself to sleep on the lonely road to Boeotia, though she should have arrived by now. Was she tucked into a dark corner of a Spartan camp with one hand between her legs and the other clamped over her mouth to muffle her moans?

Brasidas’ hand moved rapidly, lower lip trapped between his teeth, and spilled himself into the straw of his bedding in a smooth, practised movement before laying back down to sink into sleep.

Kassandra

The next morning was just as miserable as the night had been. The sky was still overcast, and a thin, cold rain poured down, making black puddles on the scorched ground.
The horse was restless and kept trying to drink from the black water and chew on charred twigs sticking up out of the ground.

Kassandra recalled a small stream to the south from a past ride through Boeotia and steered the horse in that direction. If they could find the stream they would have water, and the bank would hopefully be full of green plants.

It took several hours to reach the stream during which time the horse became increasingly unruly, and Kassandra had to expend considerable effort just to maintain control and direction.

When they finally arrived at the narrow, muddy bank, her head was throbbing from keeping her shoulders and jaw so tense. She needed the horse to get back to the camp fast, but they had just wasted half a day going straight south instead of east. Which meant half a day longer to know the fates of Brasidas and her mater.

She tried to console herself with the fact that they could follow the stream almost all the way back to Stentor’s camp and with a steady supply of fresh water and vegetation they would be making good time.

The camp was still days away, though. Her knowledge of Boeotia wasn’t good, but she estimated another three days to get there.

Another three days before she could send a message, a week before it arrived, and another week for the reply to return. Seventeen days.

And that was only if the letter was received and responded to right away.

Kassandra sighed and bent down to refill her waterskin upstream from where the horse was greedily drinking. At least she had figured out what to write and where to send it.

She wouldn’t be sending a message to Sparta asking about her mater and Brasidas. She would send a message to Brasidas asking about her mater.

She wasn’t supposed to know anything was wrong after all, and should act accordingly. If there really was a plot and it hadn’t yet been executed, she didn’t want to push the Cult to act by writing about it. If the letter reached him, he would respond to her immediately. And if he was dead… then another General or Commander would receive the letter and hopefully respond to her.

While the horse munched on grass by the bank, she sat down on a rock and pulled out some smudged, crumpled parchment and a stick of coal.

She felt a little embarrassed because she hadn’t spent much time writing in her life, and she knew someone as well trained and accomplished as Brasidas would be much better than this at composing letters.

General Brasidas

I’m meant to meet my mater in Arkadia after I
have finished in Boeotia but we didn’t agree
on a place and I don’t know where in
Arkadia she is so can you set a place and
inform my mater?
Please reply quickly .
I am at Polemarch Stentor’s camp in Boeotia.

I hope you are well

Kassandra

It wasn’t very good, but it did fill its purpose. It felt strange, though. This was the first thing she’d ever written to Brasidas and it didn’t contain any of the things she really wanted to say. The urge to add something more, something personal, was strong, but she reminded herself that other people might read it, and he might not even be alive to know what she wrote.

She didn’t let the horse graze as long as it wanted to, instead quickly set out again, following the stream due east.

The land was less scorched here, the stream helping the landscape and its people recover faster. She passed several people on the road as well as a few farms fighting to reclaim the charred, blackened earth.

Kassandra gave the horse several short breaks to rest, drink and graze while she sat on the ground staring into space.

She should eat something, but her stomach was a heavy, solid lump of worry so she only sipped her water and waited for the horse to rest up.

As darkness fell, she stopped at a farm. They gave the horse a place in their stable and gave Kassandra space in the corner of their house to sleep. 

The farmer wasn’t as kind and welcoming as the one in Lebadeia had been, but with the war raging and burning all the land around them, she couldn’t really blame them.

She wanted to decline the bowl of thin broth they offered for supper, but that would have been rude so she sipped the warm liquid and pretended she could taste anything but ashen grief on her tongue.

They all turned in after the meager meal and Kassandra turned her back to the room, trying to sleep. Her mind had been in a constant never ending argument with itself all day long and it continued long into the night.

‘They are fine. An assassin couldn’t outwit them. You’ve fought with Brasidas, you know how good he is. Mater has been hunted and hounded by the Cult for years without ever getting caught. No one sneaks up on her. She was a pirate! No one just kidnaps her and lives. But… what if? What if he’s dead? What if she’s been thrown into a Cult dungeon somewhere? What if what if what if?’

Brasidas

He set out again the next morning and rode to another nearby warehouse in the distribution network. This time he had his orders from the Kings ready and a better explanation for his presence prepared.

He didn’t need it though. Barely having time to dismount before a towering bear of a man came out to greet him with a wide smile and a firm handshake.

“General Brasidas! Welcome to our little warehouse! Let me show you around!”

The man’s demeanour was easy, friendly, and almost overly familiar and it made Brasidas wonder if they’d met before, though he was sure he would have remembered him.

“My apologies, have we met before? I can’t quite place…”

The Commander let out a booming laugh and shook his head. “No, we have not, General. But I saw you presented with laurels last year after Salamis. Great victory! You do Sparta proud!”

A hand the size of Brasidas’ head came down and slapped him on the back, making him stagger. He regained his balance and wondered how he could possibly have missed this man if they had been in Sparta at the same time, as he followed him inside the warehouse.

The difference in treatment from the day before was a little jarring, but he tried to pay attention. The Commander didn’t rush, but took his time showing off and explaining everything, while happily answering any questions.

After the tour he joined them for lunch and told a heavily edited story of how he and Cnemus had taken Salamis, at the excited urging of the Commander. All in all, it was a good day, very pleasant and informative, and he could think of nothing to explain the persistent feeling of wrong at the back of his mind.

It wasn’t until he was back in his bed at the barracks, just about to drift off to sleep when the realization struck and he sat bolt upright.

It was the soldiers!

He hadn’t paid attention to them. Too distracted by the grumpy, irritated man at the first site, and the loud, talkative Commander at the second. But there had been soldiers at both sites. A lot of soldiers. It made sense, of course. The grain was the most important resource Sparta had, and of course it would be strictly protected. Except…

Brasidas got up from his bed and walked over to the table where he kept his scrolls and map, lighting a lamp to see by. Trying to stay quiet and not wake all the sleeping soldiers, he rifled through the scrolls until he found the notes he had taken that first day.

He had written down the information the Commander of the barracks had given him, as well as all the things he wanted to investigate and find answers to. But he had also written down some things he remembered from his time as ephor. Particularly about the redistribution of troops to aid Boeotia.
He found the parchment and spread it open, searching the text. And there it was, clear as day. The number of soldiers stationed in Arkadia after the redistribution. He rifled through the parchments again and found his summary of the reports his soldiers had delivered and tallied the numbers.

It wasn’t a perfect match, but he hadn’t expected it to be. He had assumed the missing soldiers from his original number were stationed throughout the distribution network, and since he wasn’t officially in Arkadia to investigate that, he hadn’t sent soldiers to audit those places. Yet.

But the amount of soldiers he’d seen at the two sites was far more than should be available. Even if all the other sites were completely unguarded, there were still too many soldiers.

Malaka! He wasn’t usually this slow.

At both sites, men wearing Spartan armor had not just been guarding and patrolling, they had been doing everything. Checking inventory, carrying sacks of grain and flour, loading carts, even sweeping the floor.

There should be slaves and servants doing the labour while the soldiers guarded them, but that was obviously not the case. So where were all the soldiers coming from?

He knew there was no chance he could sleep now, so instead he packed up supplies for a longer journey and then spent the remaining time writing notes on what he had observed at the two warehouses.

Brasidas set off once the sky had lightened to merely a dark blue, leaving a message for the Commander, informing him he’d be away for several days and asking him to send the soldiers he’d brought from Sparta to deal with some of the nearby bandit infestations. 

He headed north toward the Golden Fields, but with a wide eastern detour to be able to visit as many sites as possible. At most of his stops he found what he would have expected to find before this whole Cult problem. Warehouses, mills, and bakeries staffed by slaves and overseen by civilians, all guarded by Spartan soldiers. At these places he was usually met with surprise and needed to explain his purpose and show the Kings’ orders before he was allowed inside.

But there were several sites just like the first two, and at those he was always greeted by a friendly and welcoming Captain or Commander, and no one really seemed surprised to see him or feel the need to ask why he was there.

The tours of these places showed men in Spartan armor everywhere.

He didn’t comment on the numbers, instead patiently walking through the tour, asking polite questions, and pretending he hadn’t heard most of it before.

He was subtly watching the soldiers, of course, only directing his gaze to where his guide pointed him and never lingering too long. From that limited observation he was learning a lot.

Most of the men were not soldiers. They wore the armor - ill fitting and unkempt - but they didn’t have the posture and build of Spartan soldiers.
Those who were soldiers were not Spartan. Brasidas wasn’t sure how exactly he knew, but there was something different in the way they held themselves.

Then there was the fact that he didn’t recognize anyone at any of these overcrowded sites. All these supposedly Spartan men and he’d never served with any of them, never commanded them, never even seen any of them training, sparring, or just walking the streets back home.

It was possible of course, he didn’t know and remember every Spartan man, but it wasn’t likely.
It made him wonder if any of them were Spartan, and if not, what had happened to those who used to guard these sites?

Whenever he showed up in the afternoon, he was always invited to stay the night, both at the obvious Cult sites and the regular ones, but he always declined, instead opting to ride onward to find a farmhouse to spend the night in. 

It was silly, of course. If they wanted to kill him, they could just follow him to the farm. Or just overpower him right in the middle of the warehouse. Vanish him without anyone ever knowing what had happened to him.

Kassandra

She woke the next morning when the farmer’s wife got up, but this time she was not urged to stay for breakfast and nothing was pressed into her hands for the road. The woman only nodded curtly at her before she went to deal with her animals.

Kassandra took the horse out of the stable and set off down the road.
It had cleared up during the night. The thin, mist-like rain that had followed her from Lebadeia was gone, and with it the dull gray cloud cover. 

Helios hadn’t risen over the horizon yet and she could still see stars blinking in the lightning sky. She stared up at them as she rode on and wished, prayed that Brasidas was looking up at the same stars at that same moment.

Two more days. Two more days before she could send her letter, and then another two weeks before she could expect a reply.

The urge to set out for Arkadia herself, right away, was so strong. The only thing stopping her was the chance that Deianeira was wrong. If Kassandra showed up in Arkadia and found them alive and well, she knew her mater would never forgive her.

So she stayed, continuing onward to Stentor’s camp in the hills above Plataia.

Her worry and grief had kept her numb all through the past two days, but now her injuries from the fight with the Cultist made themselves known again. Her throat felt tender and raw, and her ribs ached as she bounced uncomfortably in the saddle.

She wondered how soon the battle for Boeotia was planned. If she didn’t get a chance to rest and heal, Stentor might get his wish and she’d die on the battlefield. Slow and clumsy from her injuries. 

She kept riding. The heat from the sun was drying her damp clothes and gear that had become thoroughly waterlogged during her trek through Boeotia. They were even beginning to smell. It was hard to tell between the stink of the horse and the stench of fire that clung to everything around them even after days of rain, but she could still detect the distinctive odor of putrid, molding leather.

She needed to give all her things a thorough cleaning and probably repair or replace some things before the battle. Hopefully, Stentor wouldn’t prevent her from using Sparta’s supplies.

Brasidas

He was on his way back towards Tegea, sitting by his small camp fire deep in the dark woods. It was late in the evening and a hare was roasting on a spit. Brasidas was a little proud of the catch, taking down the small, quick animal with a hastily thrown knife as it rushed across the road in front of his horse.

Now he sat staring into the fire while the scent of roasting meat filled his nose, making his mouth water and stomach growl.

His rations had been meager the last few days. The farmers he’d stayed with were clearly struggling to feed themselves, making him refuse their offers of food for the road.

Brasidas turned the spit over and heard hooves in the distance, quickly closing in. He pulled his knife from his sheath and laid it within easy reach at his side, hiding it from whomever was coming down the road.

It was almost completely dark now, and it was unlikely the rider would keep going past his warm and welcoming fire, so he would need to share his camp, and his food, with the stranger.

His stomach growled again, greedy and stingy, begging him to take the hare and devour it before the rider arrived.

Brasidas sighed and turned the spit again, listening to the beat of hooves getting closer.
You could tell a lot about a rider by their sound.
Soldiers and mercenaries would jangle and clank, their armor and weapons banging together with the rhythm of the horse. Merchants would be slow, careful, their horse laden with heavy wares. They might clank and jangle too, depending on the type of products they sold, but not the tell-tale way the soldiers would. The wealthy would never, ever ride alone. They always had at least one well-armed companion riding at their side.

The rider coming up the road was alone, didn’t make any noise beyond the hoofbeat of the horse, and was moving too fast for a merchant. That meant a regular traveler on their way through Arkadia for some reason or another.

‘Or an assassin.’

Brasidas had positioned himself to see the road from where he sat, but in the darkness he couldn’t see the rider until they reached the circle of light from his fire. They were wrapped in a dark cloak, face obscured as they stopped and slid off their horse.

“Chaire, stranger.” Brasidas thought it best to act as if nothing might be wrong. Hostility from him would just lead to hostility from the newcomer, regardless of their original intentions.

“Chaire, Brasidas. May I share your fire?”

He was equal parts shocked and relieved as he recognized Myrrine’s voice and gave her a bright smile when she pulled off her cloak. “Myrrine! This is certainly a surprise! It’s good to see you, are you well? What have you been doing?”

She gave him a slight bow and a warm smile, sinking down to sit by the fire. “I am well, thank you.” She folded her cloak neatly and eyed the spit. “That is a nice hare. You caught it?”

Brasidas nodded and resisted the urge to boast about his catch. “It’s just done roasting. We will share it if you’re hungry.”

Myrrine bowed her head gracefully. “I could eat.”

He grimaced as his treacherous stomach loudly protested his offer to share, and she gave him an amused smile, reaching into her pack and brought out some bread, cheese, and eggs.

She handed him the bread and cheese to divide, and tucked the eggs close to the fire, burying them with dirt and ash to even their cooking.

Brasidas used his knife to cut up the food for them, and then laid steaming pieces of hare on a flat, clean rock between them.
He wanted to stuff his mouth full right away like a desperate, ravenous child but he kept his manners. The only concession to his hunger was their complete silence. Neither of them spoke until all the food was gone, and it made him realize yet another reason why the not-Spartan soldiers had seemed so off. There was too much talk, too much idle chatter to fill the silence, during his tours. He was used to Spartans being much more sparse with their words. 

“Do you want an egg?” Myrrine gestured to the mound of dirt by the fire, and Brasidas shook his head.

“No, thank you. Better to save them.”

She nodded and wiped her hands on her apron. “Breakfast then.”

He wiped his own hands on a rag and then made a swipe over his mouth and beard to clean away any crumbs or stray bits of meat.

“Are you planning to use this?” Myrrine was holding up the hide he’d pulled from the hare and carelessly discarded next to the fire.

“No, go ahead.”

She rummaged in her pack for tools and then set about scraping the hide clean. 

“So. Brasidas. Tell me what your investigation of Arkadia has revealed.” Her eyes were on her work, but her posture told him she was alert and attentive, both to him and the dark woods around them.

“Weak borders, bandits roaming around unchecked, too few military camps, too few soldiers. Arkadia is vulnerable and Sparta must act or risk losing the whole region. I’ve written to the Kings.”

Myrrine nodded, eyes still on the hide she was cleaning. “And what of the supply lines?”

He took a deep breath. He was still uncertain about what he had found, still confused. Brasidas usually liked to make sense of things inside his mind before he spoke of them with others, but that wasn’t really an option now.

“There is definitely something off, something wrong. Or seems to be anyway. There are too many troops at some of the sites. More than Sparta has stationed. Or at least more than I am aware they have stationed. And…”

He trailed off and she looked up. “And?”

“The men are dressed as Spartans, but are not from Sparta. They’re not even soldiers, most of them. And the ones who are soldiers… there’s something odd about them. They’re not Spartans, but I don’t think they’re Athenian either.”

Myrrine hummed in agreement. “They’re not. The Cult train their own soldiers. They are deployed to wherever the Cult wants to have influence and disguised as whatever they need to be. Spartans, Athenians, Thebians, Persians, bandits… They fill out the ranks in battle when the Cult wants to ensure a win. I have learned that my son was trained as a Cult soldier, that he’s leading them now.”

The fire flickered and danced, making it hard to read her expression but Brasidas could swear he saw a trace of pride on her face.

“How can they fill out an army without anyone noticing?”

She glanced up at him, eyes shrewd and mouth grim. “Why do you assume they are unnoticed? Uninvited?”

She was right. Sparta would accept the assistance of troops if they felt it would improve their chances. And if the borrowed troops wore Spartan colors, then they would look all the more formidable to the opposing army.

Myrrine bent over the hide again. “And of course, Sparta seems to not have noticed their supply line swelling with fresh troops. It only takes a few people in strategic places to distort information and orders.”

They lapsed into silence while Brasidas pondered what she'd said.

Eventually, Myrrine finished scraping the hide and rolled it up. “Any more attempts on your life?”

“No.” Brasidas scratched his chin, absently combing his fingers through his beard. “I’m surprised actually. I’ve apparently been surrounded by nothing but Cultists for days on end. They could have easily done away with me. Maybe there’s been a change of plans.”

“Mmmm.” Myrrine was digging through her pack again. “Still, probably best to take turns keeping watch tonight, in any case.”

It was a good idea. If they split the night, they’d have less time to sleep, but the sleep would be deeper and less disturbed. “Yes. I’ll take the first watch.”

But Myrrine shook her head, pulling out a length of cloth. “No, please, go ahead. I have some mending I want to finish.”

“Are you sure? I could…” But she was already applying her needle to the bundle of cloth in her lap.

“Yes, I’m sure. Go ahead and get some sleep. And give me your chiton. You have a tear.”

He looked down in surprise and found a small cut in the edge of the tunic. Left unattended it would eventually split the garment in two. Of course, he would fix it himself once he was back at the barracks, but he was sure Myrrine would do a much better job, and since she was offering...

He unhooked his belt and armor, pulling the chiton off and handing it over. Then he laid down, stretched out next to the fire, and forced himself to fall asleep.

Kassandra

After a long day of riding, Kassandra was exhausted. It wasn’t even that late yet, Helios far from setting, but she was already so tired, yawning and nodding off in the saddle.

Considering how terrible she had slept even before Deianeira had taunted her with Brasidas’ and her mater’s potential fates, she really should take the opportunity to sleep when she was this tired.

Looking around showed no farms nearby though, and no burned structures or even copse of trees she could use for shelter. She rode on, scanning the horizon with tired, gravely eyes. Then, finally, she spied a watchtower in the distance. There was a camp ahead.

Digging her heels into the horse’s flanks, she urged it to go faster. As they got nearer she spied the red banner and gilded Λ of Sparta. The fatigue washed away and was replaced with excitement. A Spartan camp would have a runner for messages, and she could use the King’s writ to force them to take her letter to Brasidas.

She rode right up to the camp and dismounted. “Where’s your Commander?”

She directed her question at a young hoplite standing guard at the entrance. He lifted his spear, eyebrows knitting together as he prepared to challenge her presence, but he was interrupted.

“You must be Kassandra.”

She turned towards the voice and was met by a pair of vivid blue eyes attached to a man she was sure she'd never met. “How do you know my name? Are you the Commander of this camp?”

He shrugged, eyes scrutinizing her. “I am a Commander.”

Kassandra gritted her teeth at the evasive answer. “Look, I don’t have time for this. I need to send an urgent letter to Arkadia.”

“Do you?” His face was passive, almost blank.

“Yes! I’m here on orders from the Kings.” She pulled out the writ, now damp and dirty, but the seals still clear and unmistakable. “And I need to get this message to Arkadia as fast as possible.”

“Alright…” The man gestured at the hoplite who vanished into the camp. “Give me the message.”

Kassandra pulled out the smudged and crumpled note and held it out. The blue eyed man raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you sure you don’t want to borrow some ink and parchment?”

“It’s urgent.” She pushed the note into his hands and he took it with reluctance.

She felt a blush threaten when he started to unfold the parchment to read the message.
Malaka! She should have sealed it somehow. Now he would read it and know it wasn’t an urgent message for the Kings at all.

“Look, not everything is as it seems. I can’t… I can’t risk the message being intercepted so it’s… in code…”

She trailed off, the explanation sounded silly to her own ears and she was sure the man was about to toss the letter back to her and order her out of the camp.

“You’re writing to General Brasidas?”

“I… yes.” Kassandra was taken aback. That was not what she expected him to say at all.

The man refolded the letter carefully. “General Brasidas spoke well of you from your time working together in Korinth.”

“What? You know Brasidas? H…”

He held up a hand to silence her, turning to the man that had appeared at his side. “This message is for General Brasidas in Arkadia. It is urgent.”

The messenger looked between the dirty parchment and the Commander without moving to take it.

“Are you refusing orders?”

“No, sir!” He took the letter then and tucked it into a pocket in his belt.

“Good. Get going then.”

“Yes, sir!” The youth ran off to saddle a horse and the Commander turned his attention back to Kassandra.

“Look, I’m grateful for the assistance, but who are you? How do you know who I am? How do you know Brasidas?”

The man held out his hand to her. “I am General Lycophron. I served with Brasidas in Elis and Korinthia for a time. As I said, he spoke highly of you. Now, your brother on the other hand… he doesn’t have anything nice to say about you at all.”

“My brother?” Lycophron let go of her hand and gestured into the camp where Stentor stood, giving them both a murderous look. “Oh… Excuse me.”

She nodded her thanks at him and started walking towards her adoptive brother, who turned around and stalked away. Kassandra lengthened her stride to catch up.

“You were supposed to be up in the hills above Plataia.” 

Stentor scowled, of course he did, and ignored her comment. 

He didn't try to hit her this time, though. Instead he moved to the edge of the camp, and stood with hands clasped behind his back, looking out over the burned plains as if admiring the view. “I had hoped you would be killed so I would be rid of you.” 

His tone was light, conversational, as if he’d commented on the weather, and she couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“No matter. I’m sure the upcoming battle will take care of that.”

Kassandra bit her tongue and refused to take the bait.

They stood silently for a while until he gave her a sidelong glance. “Why are you here?”

She frowned at him. “The Champions are dead like you asked.” 

It was Stentor’s turn to roll his eyes, and he sighed with impatience. “Why are you really here? The Kings wouldn’t send a single mercenary to aid us.”

“I’m here to prove my loyalty to Sparta, to the Kings, so they will return the estate to my mater.” The words felt thick and strange on her tongue. Tasted like lies. But it was true, that was why she was there, it wasn’t a lie. 

Stentor turned towards her, surprise evident on his face. “The estate? That belongs to my Pater, that’s…”

“Yours, yes, the Kings are waiting for you to come and claim it since Nikolaos h...”

His face darkened and filled with vitriol, almost making her take a step back. “Is that why you killed him? To get your fucking house back!?”

“I didn’t kill Nikolaos! He walked off that hillside alive, and he’s alive now. I met him! Out in Boeotia, killing Athenians to help you! And he was supposed to come here and...”

“Shut up about my Pater!” Stentor’s finger was right in her face, almost touching her nose, trembling slightly. “I have had enough of your lies. Enough of your stupid fucking face! We will fight this battle, we will win, and you will die. If you don’t die on the battlefield, I will kill you myself. And then I’ll go back to Sparta, claim that fucking house, and throw your mater into the gutter where she belongs!”

She could see the pain and grief hiding behind all that rage, heard his voice waver over the word ‘pater’, and bit her tongue. This wasn’t something she could hold against him. He believed he was talking to his pater’s murder and that his Kings were preventing him from taking his just revenge immediately. Kassandra was sure she would be doing just the same if she were in his position.

Kassandra felt her energy begin to drain again as Stentor walked away. She was so tired, but it was still early. The camp was bustling with soldiers training, sparring, sharpening their weapons, and whatever else usually occupied a soldier’s time.

She was looking around for a place to lay down and sleep when a call rang out over the camp.
It was time for dinner.

Her stomach rumbled in response and her feet followed the soldiers as they converged in a large tent at the center of the camp.

Stentor materialized in her path as she approached the entrance. “No.”

Kassandra sighed and rolled her eyes. “Yes. I’m hungry, get out of my way.”

He didn’t move, but sneered at her. “No. Women are not allowed in the syssitia. Even someone like you knows that.”

“It’s not a syssitia, Stentor. It’s just a tent in a camp. You don’t usually eat with women because there aren’t usually women here. That doesn’t mean it’s a syssitia.”

She tried to walk around him and he stopped her with a quick, sharp elbow to her ribs, making her groan.

He eased back from her, eyes glittering with mirth. “Seems the Champions put up a bit of a fight at least. Shame they couldn’t finish it.”

She sighed again. “Stentor. Stop this. You’re just embarrassing yourself and making a scene.”

His eyes flared with anger and indignation. “You! You are embarrassing me. Your presence here is embarrassing. You are filthy and foul smelling, with ridiculously unkempt and mismatched armor what wouldn’t withstand a kitten’s claw, let alone a sword. And this is what the Kings send to help.”

She stepped closer, right into his personal space and grinned at him. “You think this is embarrassing, little brother? You don’t know the meaning of the word. If you don’t step aside and let me in, I will spend all my time here telling stories of what a lovely, devoted little brother you’ve been to me all our lives. How you used to be so cute and cuddly. How embarrassed you always were when you wet the bed each night, but so sweet because you always helped me clean your bedding in the mornings. How it made my poor heart ache for you every time you snuck out from the agoge to weep in my arms over how hard the training was and how much the other kids hated you. Poor little Stentor. Lucky to have such a loving, doting sister.”

His eyebrows rose as she spoke, incredulous. “Ridiculous. Everyone knows you were thrown away. They know you didn’t grow up in Sparta. They won’t believe you.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “Believe me? Of course they will. Because It’s funny. It’s hilarious, even. And the truth… is not.”

She could see his eyes widen in realization as she spoke, and she reached out, patting him lightly on the cheek. “But. If you let me pass, I’ll be on my best behaviour. I won’t speak a single lie about you. I’ll praise your accomplishments. I’ll even chew with my mouth closed. What do you say, little brother?”

She could see him beginning to relent but he was saved from speaking by Lycophron. “Kassandra! Come and join me. I want to hear about Korinth.”

The beginning of the meal was a bit awkward. Stentor was staring daggers at her and the rest of the soldiers were avoiding looking at her while also giving her sidelong glances that flickered away if she turned in their direction.

Only Lycophron sat relaxed and at ease, engaging her in conversation and meeting her eyes with a steady gaze.

He asked her about Korinth and how she’d met Brasidas, and told her about his own stint working with him and Cnemus. “He did mention you, a couple of times. It seems you made an impression on him.”

“Did he?” She tried to keep her voice and face neutral while her insides wrestled with the conflicting emotions of joy that he had spoken of her after Korinth, and pain that he might be dead.

“He did. I passed through Megaris on my way to Cyllene and heard tell of the mighty misthios who secured Sparta’s victory there. He was very interested in those stories.”

She glanced at Stentor who was clenching his cup so hard she was sure it would shatter. “That win was Sparta’s, not mine. I’m just one mercenary in a sea of hoplites. It was Stentor’s tactics and leadership that secured the win.”

Lycophron was quiet for a heartbeat, staring at her with sharp, penetrating eyes. “And the Wolf.”

She inclined her head in agreement. “Yes, of course. And Nikolaos.”

“But you killed him!” The words were sudden and the voice delivering them was almost high pitched enough to squeak at the end.

Kassandra startled and turned around in her seat. Behind her sat a young hoplite, his eyes and mouth open wide in surprise that he had dared speak at all. She glanced around the room which had fallen silent. All eyes were on her now, except Stentor’s which were cast down to the table.

“You think I killed my own pater?” A soft murmur erupted in the tent. Apparently her familial connection to Nikolaos was news to some of them.

“Are you saying you didn’t?” It was Lycophron who’d spoken this time and she turned back to face him. He looked calm, almost casual, aside from the hard, penetrating stare.

Kassandra sighed and rolled her eyes before taking a drink of her wine. “You think I killed my own pater and then… what? Vanished the corpse? Made his body invisible? Ate it? Honestly, you people... I hear you speak of my pater with such respect and reverence. The great Wolf of Sparta, one of the most accomplished Generals since Leonidas, and then you turn right around and accuse him of being so weak he couldn’t even win a fight with a mercenary. As his daughter, I must say I am offended.”

The murmur became louder and Lycophron looked thoughtful. Even Stentor’s scowl held a tinge of doubt.

“You’re saying General Nikolaos walked away from Megaris of his own free will? Alive and unscathed? And why would he do that? Leave his army behind to flounder without him. Deserting in the middle of a war.”

Kassandra gave another exaggerated sigh and sent a silent prayer to Dolus for help. “General Nikolaos doesn’t have to explain himself or report his whereabouts to any of you. He serves Sparta, not you.”

She pointed an accusing finger at Lycophron and tried to mimic Stentor’s best scowl. “And how dare you claim he left the army to flounder? Stentor is here. Stentor is leading this army.” She huffed and crossed her arms. “That’s two members of my family you’ve accused of weakness today. If you keep this up, we’re going to be crossing swords.”

Lycophron lifted his hands in placation and gave her an amused smile. The soldiers in the tent were silent, glancing awkwardly at Stentor who somehow managed to look murderous, surprised, and flattered at the same time.

Kassandra tossed a grape into her mouth and chewed it casually - mouth closed as promised - and then gave another theatrical sigh. “Anyway… I’m sure you’ll all be happy to know he’s on his way back. I thought he would get here before me, but of course… I directed him to the camp at Plataia, since that’s where you were supposed to be. Now he has to go searching for this camp instead.”

A loud clatter sounded as Stentor erupted from his stool, sending it flying over the ground. She watched as he stalked out of the tent and then turned back to Lycophron.

“So, you’ve been in Boeotia ever since leaving Korinth?”

The food gave her energy and helped keep her awake, and she spent the rest of the meal in conversation with Lycophron.
He was interesting, his vivid blue eyes were captivating, and he was fit and attractive the way only a Spartan man could be. She could tell he was interested, and in another time she would have taken him up on his silent offer, but even without her crippling worry, exhaustion and aching ribs, she just couldn’t. She wanted Brasidas’ skin under her hands, Brasidas’ scent in her nose, Brasidas’ moans in her ear. No one else would do.

So when she yawned and declared her need for sleep, she answered his raised eyebrow and subtle head tilt with a shake of her head and a polite goodnight.

Brasidas

“Brasidas.” The sound of his name sent him back into wakefulness, and he sat straight up, alert and ready. Myrrine was adding wood to the fire.

“My turn?” She nodded and stretched out to sleep.

His chiton was folded on top of his armor and he put it all back on. The woods around them were dark and silent and Brasidas set about cleaning his weapons while Myrrine slept.

While he worked, he pondered what he had seen at the warehouses and what it might mean. It was obvious there was some sort of influence present, but for what reason? As far as he knew, there were no disruptions of the supply lines. The people in Sparta were getting their grain, the troops, both in the camps and out at the front, were getting their bread. So what was the Cult doing?

Biding their time? It was a lot of people to employ just to wait around.

He realized they hadn’t talked about what Myrrine had been doing in Arkadia. She had neatly side-stepped his question and he let his growling stomach and exhaustion distract him. Now he felt he needed her input to understand the bigger picture.

Brasidas let it go for the time being and instead sent his thoughts to Kassandra in Boeotia. The Kings had tasked her with securing the region for Sparta, but that could mean anything. Joining a decisive battle, spying for crucial information, sabotage, even diplomacy.

He pressed his lips together to stop the chuckle about to escape. Kassandra was an amazing and formidable woman in every way, but he very much doubted she had the oratory skill - let alone patience and inclination - to sway a politician to Sparta’s cause.

How long would it take before she had done enough to please the Kings? 

He wanted her back, wanted her home, wanted her… He glanced at Myrrine’s sleeping form. He was going to be a husband. Kassandra was going to be his wife. The thought made his head reel a little.

There had been so much pressure, so much teasing and poking over the years, but he’d just…hadn’t felt the need to act.

Now, after meeting Kassandra, after their time in Sparta, after how easy everything felt with her, how natural, he couldn’t help wondering if it was her he’d been waiting for all along.

He glanced at Myrrine again. She would be his mother-in-law, and Kassandra had said her mater approved, but he didn’t know if Myrrine knew she’d told him. If it was ok to bring it up.

He wanted to. He wanted to talk about Kassandra. He wanted to ask if Myrrine had had any contact with her daughter, how long she thought it would take to finish the task, what she thought the trap waiting for Kassandra in Boeotia was. What she had been like as a child.

Kassandra

She spent the next several days resting her aching ribs and cleaning her gear. Just as the smell had alerted her to, there was some mold and rot, and Kassandra raided the supplies for leather to patch and replace the ruined areas. 

Stentor had been ignoring her completely until he found out and stalked over to yell at her about theft and misappropriation of Spartan property that was required to ensure the army’s equipment in the coming battle, and accused her of sabotage.

She sighed at him and took her bow out on the burned plains to hunt.

She returned dragging three wolves over the dusty, ash covered ground and dumped them outside the Polemarch’s tent. “There you go. Leather. No need to worry anymore, little brother.”

Stentor rolled his eyes and went back to pretending she didn’t exist, and Kassandra returned to her gear to sharpen her blades.

The wolves stayed where they were for a few hours, baking under the hot sun. It was a waste of good hides and it irked her. She could get good drachme at the agora for three scraped wolf hides, but she refused to take care of them. There was no way she would be doing any ‘women’s work’ while in Stentor’s camp.

But it was a waste.

It seemed Lycophron agreed with her because he eventually ordered his soldiers to skin the beasts and clean their hides.

Most of the soldiers followed Stentor’s lead and ignored her, but Lycophron would usually join her for meals and make light conversation. He had made a few more subtle offers over the week, never pushing and always backing off when she shook her head. He was polite and respectful and insightful in a way that reminded her a little of Brasidas. Now he sat down next to her and started sharpening his blades.

They sat in silence for a while until Kassandra couldn’t hold her impatient worry in any longer. “The message… how long until I can expect a reply, do you think? Another week or so, right? That’s how long it takes?”

She tried to sound casual, unbothered, but the worry over Brasidas and her mater was weighing heavily on her shoulders and her voice was a little higher than usual. Another week of this would break her, she was sure. And going into battle this weighed down and anxious couldn’t end well.

“Well, it depends on if the recipient is where they are expected to be, and how quickly they respond, of course. And if they choose to send the reply as urgently as we sent yours.” He paused to scratch his chin. “I’d say another couple of days or so, probably.”

“Really?” Kassandra was surprised. That was much faster than she had expected. “It took me a week to get here from Arkadia. I figured…”

“We have fresh runners stationed at strategic points to take over delivery, and use horses bred for speed and endurance. It minimizes the time our messengers have to spend resting, and gets messages across Hellas faster.”

Another two days… She would know in just another two days. And if no message arrived… then that was a kind of message too. She couldn’t even imagine Brasidas not answering her right away so if there was a delay... 

Two more days.

Lycophron was looking at her, hands paused on his whetstone. When she looked up and gave him an awkward smile, cheeks reddening a little, he lowered his gaze back to his work. He stayed silent a few moments more before speaking in a low but casual tone.

“I never asked why you were writing to General Brasidas of all people. I suppose you two kept in touch over the years?”

“Ah, no. We met again in Sparta a few months ago. My mater, my daughter and I stayed at his house.” She glanced at him, still awkward, and saw a small smile tugging at his lips.

Without looking up from his whetstone, he continued in the same low, casual tone. “Brasidas is a good General, and a good man. One of the best I’ve ever met, in fact.”

“I…” She hesitated, unsure of why he had made the comment. “Yes... He is.”

The slight smile didn’t leave Lycophron’s lips, but he didn’t say anything more, and for the rest of her time in the camp, he didn’t make any more subtle offers for her to share his bed.

Chapter Text

Give me a few days of peace in your arms.
I need it terribly. 
I'm ragged, worn, exhausted.
After that I can face the world. 

- Henry Miller

Brasidas

He let her sleep, conscious that she might not have had a safe, restful night since coming to Arkadia.

Stepping away only to relive his bladder and to collect more wood to feed the fire, he spent the rest of his watch silently stretching his tired muscles and staring blindly into the flames.

Helios was above the horizon when Myrrine woke up. Her eyes suddenly open and clear as she shifted into a sitting position. There was nothing in her appearance or demeanor to indicate she had in fact been sleeping for several hours. 

It was very different from how her daughter woke up. Kassandra was alert and ready between one heartbeat and the next, but she was not graceful and composed.

Now, only a very slight husky quality to her voice betrayed Myrrine as she spoke. “Good morning, Brasidas. Do you want breakfast?”

“Good morning. Please, yes.” His stomach didn’t betray him by growling loudly this time, but it still felt hollow and empty. Myrrine handed him two eggs and started peeling one for herself. Just like the night before, neither of them spoke until they had finished eating. Brasidas wasn’t going to let her get away with avoiding his questions this time though.

“So, what have you been doing? You avoided the question so neatly last night, but if we’re going to expose the traitor, we will have to work together.”

She gave him a thin smile and brushed bits of shell from her apron. “I suppose I’ve gotten so used to keeping my secrets to myself over the years that it’s hard to change now.”

“You’re not alone anymore, though. You have Kassandra and me now, and we…” He trailed off, fighting down a blush. He’d spoken about Kassandra as if they were a unit, when they were just supposed to be acquaintances.

Myrrine gave him an amused look but didn’t comment on his slip. “I’ve been doing much the same you have. Traveling around Arkadia to investigate the supply lines. I had information from my contacts in Sparta that the Cult had infiltrated some warehouses and distribution points, but like you’ve found, nothing obvious is wrong. They are there but seem to not be doing anything.”

She paused to drink some water.

“But you’ve found more than that?”

“Yes. The supply of grain, flour, and bread seems to be undisturbed. Sparta and all its villages, its Forts, its camps, its navy, the front line… Nothing has changed in quality or volume beyond natural variations over time. I thought they might be poisoning the grain. Keep up with shipments but send poison to weaken Sparta’s troops and people.”

Brasidas felt the little hairs at the back of his neck stand up and fought down a shiver. “You thought poison, but it’s not?”

Myrrine shook her head. “No. I can find no evidence of poison at all. Not in the distribution network, not in the people eating the grain.”

He exhaled slowly with relief and steadied himself. Myrrine was not done, she had found something.

“I expanded my search, asked broader questions, and then I did find some alterations to the distribution. Over the course of several years, the have been stops or delays in the delivery to some smaller villages, the occasional military camp. The stops have only lasted at most a few weeks before delivery started up again, but there was never a good reason for the delay. It was never due to a shortage of grain or flour. Deliveries were just stopped.”

“You think they’re testing it? Their influence over the distribution?”

Myrrine nodded. “I do.”

“So they know that when the time comes they can stop it all and weaken Sparta for takeover.” It made sense. Infiltrate the distribution network, test that you can stop delivery, how fast alarms are raised, and verify that supplies aren’t coming in from any alternate routes during the stops. So that they were ready to strangle the entire network when it was time to act.

Brasidas thought he had it figured out, but Myrrine was shaking her head. “No. The Cult doesn’t want Sparta to fall. The Cult doesn’t want Athens to win. The Cult wants control. These stops in delivery are tests to prove that they have people in the right places to use that control. One treasonous King is not enough. Sparta would just throw him out and replace him with an uncorrupted one. The Cult wants control regardless of how many Kings or ephors are loyal to their cause.”

Brasidas tried to take in her words. It was difficult to think about this as an enemy not against Sparta but against all of Hellas. Even rooting out the Cult and expelling them from Sparta wouldn’t solve the problem long term. Hellas had an invisible enemy they needed to fight together. Except hardly anyone knew there was anything to fight at all.

“So the King has set this all up to control Sparta even if he’s discovered and exiled?”

Myrrine was shaking her head again. ”This isn’t the traitor King alone. The leader of Arkadia is corrupt and must be exposed as well.”

“The leader of…” It took Brasidas a few moments to process what she had said. “... you mean Lagos?No. No, no no. I know him. I’ve known him for years! He’s a good man!”

Myrrine was giving him a stern look. “The Archon is corrupt. Whatever friendship you two have isn’t relevant to his dealing with the Cult.”

He shook his head, voice rising just a little bit. “No! Lagos is a good man. He's not interested in wealth or glory or power. He’s a farmer!” Myrrine was pursing her lips in displeasure and shaking her head but he pressed on. “I’ve known Lagos a long time. He got supplies through to my lines when my soldiers were starving. For him to act so dishonorably is completely out of character.”

Myrrine was looking incredulous. “Supplies? One time, long ago, this Lagos followed orders to bring you and your troops supplies and you think that makes him immune to corruption? Really, Brasidas, now you’re just being ridiculous.”

He felt his cheeks heat up in indignation. No one had spoken to him like that since the agoge. But his retort was interrupted by the sound of hoofs in the distance. Myrrine rose to her feet and began to swiftly repack her belongings. “I prefer not to be seen.”

Brasidas stood as well, torn between wanting to defend Lagos and respecting Myrrine’s desire for secrecy. “We have to talk about this. Where can I find you?”

“You can’t. I’ll find you.” Her tone was dismissive as she mounted her horse, and Brasidas grabbed the reins to keep her in place.

“Myrrine. We are doing this together. How do I contact you?”

She glanced down the road to where the sound of hooves was getting louder and then sighed in defeat. “There’s a wooden statue of Artemis east of Tegea. Do you know it?” Brasidas nodded. Lagos had taken him there years ago. Proud to show off his beloved Arkadia. “There’s a crack in the base where you can hide a letter. It will get to me.”

She dug her heels into the flanks of her horse before he could respond, forcing him to let go of the reins. He watched her leave and wondered how he could convince her of Lagos innocence. 

“General Brasidas! Welcome back! Good journey?” The Commander clapped him on the back and led him into the shade of the barracks.

“Yes, thank you. How are things here?”

“Good, good. Same old, you know. But you are a popular man, Brasidas. You have several letters waiting for you!”

There was a small pile of missives on the table he’d appropriated as his desk. Sparta’s ephors had written back to him, a short note saying they were discussing his report and telling him not to take action without their approval. He fought the urge to roll his eyes and checked the next letter. It was from the camp Commander to the north at the Golden Fields, informing him of a bandit raid that had lost them several soldiers and asking him to include that in his assessment of the region.

Brasidas checked the third letter. It was his own letter to Lagos, returned unopened with a note from the messenger saying Lagos wasn’t at his compound and the guards at the site refused to divulge where he could be reached.

Brasidas frowned. Where had Lagos gone? He hadn’t given any indication he was planning a trip when they met. The opposite in fact. He’d told Brasidas he wanted more time to catch up now that they were both in the same area for once. That he was now gone was odd and something he should look into, especially considering Myrrine’s words, but first…

He turned his attention to the largest scroll. It was heavy and bore the seals of both of the Kings. The response to his report and his new orders.

He moved to open it and saw a small crumpled and dirty piece of folded parchment hidden underneath, with his name a smudged scrawl across its surface. Curious, he picked it up and unfolded it.

It was from Kassandra. He felt a wave of warmth and relief at the sight of her name signed awkwardly at the bottom of the note. She had made it safely to Boeotia and had taken the time to write him.

The text was badly smudged and difficult to make out, and once he deciphered it, he frowned. It felt odd, a strangely urgent note, obviously written in haste, but seemingly without good reason. As far as he knew, the women had agreed to meet in Tegea, but Kassandra was claiming otherwise.

“Commander? When did this arrive?” 

The other man looked up from his own desk and squinted slightly at the small note. “Hm… three days ago, I think. Is it important? It wasn’t even sealed.”

Brasidas nodded and pulled out a fresh parchment and a pot of ink. “It’s urgent. Do you have a runner I can borrow? I need to get my reply to Boeotia as fast as possible.”

“Boeotia? Really?” The Commander looked like he wanted to know more but shook himself and nodded, walking out of the room to fetch a messenger.

Brasidas wrote his reply quickly and waited impatiently for the ink to dry before he folded the parchment and sealed it with his sigil. The messenger was already waiting at his side.

“This needs to go to Polemarch Stentor’s camp in Boeotia, and be put it in the hands of a mercenary named Kassandra. It is urgent and must arrive without delay.”

The messenger nodded and ran out the door, letter tucked into a pouch on his waist.

Brasidas didn’t know why Kassandra wanted to meet outside of Tegea, but he assumed it had something to do with the Cult. And urgent meant Kassandra would be returning soon, surely?

She had aided Stentor at Megaris to great success, but from the information he had gotten from Lycophron in Korinthia, it was clear that Stentor believed that Nikolaos had been murdered by Kassandra. Was Boeotia really the trap the two women feared? It certainly seemed so if the Kings had handed Kassandra over to Stentor’s command. 

He had no doubt Kassandra would walk unscathed from a fight with Stentor, but would that fight mean she forfeit her claim on Nikolaos’ estate?

Brasidas’ mind was full of questions, but he couldn’t deal with them right now. Later, he would go leave a note to Myrrine and arrange to meet her. He was very curious to hear what she would make of it all. 

But that would have to wait. Brasidas turned back to the desk and picked up the scroll from the Kings, trying to focus on the words. 

Kassandra

Over the next two days, Kassandra cleaned and inspected and sharpened everything again, all the while keeping an eye on the road by the camp.
On the third day she woke up a restless mess and sat down right by the entrance to sharpen her blades again while staring out at the road. Lycophron pulled her up to her feet after a few hours with an admonishment to not ruin her weapons and sparred with her for a while. When he needed to tend to other things, he set her to instruct some of his younger soldiers in non-regulation, non-Spartan fighting techniques. 

The sun set that third day without any sign of a messenger and she laid on her bedroll, staring up at the night sky, telling herself it didn’t mean anything.

Two days had been a rough estimate. Lychophron didn’t know. There were plenty of reasons for a delay. Washed out roads, storms, injury, sickness. It didn’t mean anything.

The fourth day had her challenging the soldiers to sparr, until after lunch when they all refused her. Instead she dragged Lycophron around the camp, pointing out all the weaknesses and flaws in its defenses, until Stentor stomped over and dragged her by the arm out of the camp. He threw her bow and quiver after her and told her to be useful, and stop annoying his men.

She returned after a few hours, dragging two wolves in each hand, with a fifth slung over her shoulders. Dumping them at the center of the camp, she ignored the wide eyed, awestruck looks from the soldiers, and went to stand by the entrance, arms crossed while staring at the road.

“I said probably a couple of days.” Lycophron was standing next to her, eyeing the empty road. “There are hundreds of reasons for it to take longer.”

She didn’t respond. He was right, of course he was, but she couldn’t help her restless frustration.

“Look, I don’t pretend to know why this reply is so urgent, but I do know that if he is able, Brasidas will reply.”

Kassandra pressed her teeth together and felt her eyes burn. “Yes. If he is able.”

Lycophron stared at her a moment longer before sighing. “Why don’t you go skin the beasts? Give your hands something to do.”

She was about to snap about not being here to do ‘women’s work’ but thought better of it. Ripping hides off wolves was just what she needed. She could pretend it was a pile of Cultists.

Kassandra had skinned two of the wolves and was halfway through a third when she noticed a shift in the air. Looking up, she saw several soldiers looking towards the camp entrance. Someone was jogging down the road.

She jumped to her feet and strode over with excitement. As the stranger got closer, the soldiers at the entrance lowered their spears, pointing sharp, glinting tips at the man.

Kassandra tried to move closer but was stopped by Lychophron’s outstretched arm. “No.”

She could see the stranger clearly now. Not a man, barely even a boy. He looked scared, eyes flitting between the sharp spearpoints aimed at his neck. Thin arms raised in surrender and an even thinner voice called out, cracking slightly in the middle. “I have a message for the Polemarch!”

Stentor seemed to materialize out of thin air, striding past her with his back straight and head held high. He scowled down his nose as the child fumbled with a pouch and pulled out a scroll of parchment. Stentor snatched it out of the boy’s trembling hands and broke the seal. The Athenian seal.

He read silently as everyone around him watched, then he turned his scowl back to the child who cowered. “Tomorrow. Tell them yes.”

The boy nodded frantically and backed away. “Y..yes, sir!”

Stentor turned on his heel and strode back to his tent while the soldiers playfully thrust their spears at the child and laughed cruelly when he staggered backways and fell. Their laughter followed him as he scrambled to his feet and ran back down the road. An image of a much younger Phoibe running errands on Kephallonia came to her mind, and her heart clenched for the frightened boy.

“Stop that! He’s just a kid!”

The soldiers laughed harder and aimed small rocks at the scrawny, retreating back. “Who cares?! It’s an Athenian kid!”

One of the soldiers was readying to throw a practise spear, and Kassandra punched him, blood spraying from his nose as his knees hit the dirt.

“He’s Boeotian! And he’s supposed to become Spartan if you manage to win this battle. But now you’ve made sure that kid will always hate Sparta, and grow up to ally with Athens. Great job!”

The men started to protest but fell silent when Lycophron spoke. “She’s right. This behaviour is unacceptable and unbecoming of a true Spartan, and if you were my men I would punish you for it. But instead your behaviour and lack of discipline will reflect on Polemarch Stentor and his ability to lead an army.”

The men looked chastised and dispersed into the camp. Kassandra was about to thank him when she felt a light touch on her arm. “For you, mam.”

Next to her stood the messenger Lycophron had sent out thirteen days ago, and in his outstretched hand was a folded parchment with Brasidas’ seal holding it closed. Kassandra took the letter gingerly and felt her legs grow weak.

Brasidas

The Kings’ orders showed that Sparta had heeded his warnings and decided to reinforce Arkadia. This was complicated by the situation in Boeotia. If Sparta won they would need to station even more troops there to ensure their hold on the region, and a loss would result in heavy casualties and a need to reinforce the border to Boeotia, to prevent Athens encroaching further into Sparta’s claimed territories. 

A decision had been made to retreat from some of the less strategic islands in the Aegean and shift those troops back to the Peloponnese, as well as moving the military camps from the southern border to cover the north east. They would also shift troops from around Lakonia into Arkadia.

Brasidas’ orders were to oversee these changes and coordinate them with Lagos as the Archon of the region. 

Those orders had given him his excuse to revisit Lagos, but he had found the compound just as empty as his messenger had, and the soldiers stationed there just as unhelpful. Now he was stuck arguing with a stone-faced Captain who wore Spartan colors but didn’t respect Sparta’s chain of command. The man refused to divulge Lagos’ location, refused to relay a message to him, refused to believe that the orders Brasidas carried really were from the Kings of Sparta.

“With all due respect, General. We do not take orders from you, we take our orders from the Archon and he was quite clear that his whereabouts should not be spread to outsiders.”

“You don’t tak… Outsiders?! The Archon is a subject of Sparta. He takes his orders from Sparta!”

“And we take our orders from the Archon. When he changes his orders, we will comply. For now, the Archon is not available to visit or contact. Please leave.”

“How is the Archon supposed to be reached by his new orders if he can’t be reached?”

The Captain didn’t answer but stared stoically back and Brasidas swore he was smirking. If you could smirk without moving a single muscle.

He gritted his teeth and tried again. “These orders concern the strategic defense of Arkadia. The region is vulnerable and the Archon has to cooperate to rectify that.”

“The Archon is always acting in the best interest of Arkadia.”

Brasidas pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “You’re telling me that Lagos - the Archon of Arkadia - has run off somewhere, where he can’t even be reached by messages, and this is somehow in the best interest of Arkadia? Despite the fact that he’s currently supposed to be leading Arkadia, but is not available to do so? It is in Arkadia’s best interest to not have a leader?”

The Captain’s expression didn’t shift at all. “Please leave. You are keeping me from my duties.”

Somehow, Brasidas managed to scrape together enough patience to turn away and mount his horse without shouting every insult he knew at the insufferable man whilst pummeling his smug face until his fists bled.

Instead he rode away, back to Tegea.

Once he reached the city he headed, not to the barracks, but to a tavern. He was still fuming and didn’t want to face the Commander and his soldiers just yet.

Instead he sat down in a dark corner and glowered into the kylix of wine and bowl of soup the matron brought. 

There was definitely something wrong. This behaviour wasn’t just out of character for Lagos, it was ridiculous behaviour for anyone. It had to be the Cult. This disappearance had to be part of their strategy, though Brasidas couldn’t figure out how. 

He wanted to discuss it with Myrrine. She had been dealing with the Cult for so long she seemed to understand them and their behaviour easily.

Except he didn’t want to talk to Myrrine about it at all. She would just take it as proof that Lagos was a Cultist.

What he wanted was to talk to Kassandra. She would listen to him when he said this was out of character and exceedingly strange behaviour for his friend. She would investigate and help him uncover the truth. He knew she would.

“...rrine and Kassandra. Never heard of them. Are they raveling together or…”

The familiar names made Brasidas snap out of his brooding and back into the tavern. Two rough looking mercenaries sat at a nearby table, hunched over their wine and staring at a parchment on the table between them.

“The bounty is so big though. It might be worth it to check everyone we find.”

“Excuse me.” Brasidas had walked over to them and was peering down at the parchment on the table. It looked like a bounty. “Do you mind if I take this?”

One of the mercenaries started to protest but the other shushed him. “Go ahead, General. There’s plenty to go around.” She made a vague gesture at a table near the entrance where a stack of similar parchments sat.

He nodded at them and tucked the note into his belt, walking out and back to his horse.

It wasn’t late yet, but riding out to the Artemis statue and back would see him return in the deep dark of night. It couldn’t be helped though, Myrrine needed to know there was a bounty on her head as soon as possible. A bounty signed and sealed by the Archon of Arkadia.

The reward was enormous. So large Myrrine wouldn’t just have to fear mercenaries. Everyone from farmer to sophist would jump at the chance at a new life of luxury.

He rode fast and reached the statue just after dusk. The place was deserted, no sign of Myrrine or anyone else.

Lighting a torch to see better, Brasidas walked around searching for the crack in the base. He found a section the size of his fist that came loose and revealed a hollow space inside.

He tucked the bounty letter and a hastily scrawled note inside, asking Myrrine to meet him by the statue at noon the next day. Then he put the stone back and returned to his horse.

He almost missed the whisper from the dark woods among the rustling of his armor, but he stopped and listened.

“Put the torch out.”

He dropped it to the ground and rolled it under his sandal until the flames were snuffed out, then he moved cautiously into the thicket where he’d heard Myrrine’s voice, eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. Soon he could see well enough to make out individual trees and among them her silhouette. 

“Myrrine.” He spoke in a low whisper, following her lead. Even standing close, he couldn’t see more than her outline in the dark. Her voice sounded strained when she spoke and he wondered if she was injured. 

“Were you followed?”

“No. I made sure. Myrrine, there’s a bounty on your head.”

He could hear the grimace even if he couldn’t see it. “Yes, I had noticed that. Come, we shouldn’t stay here.”

She led him though the dark woods, and Brasidas followed the soft sound of her feet until they reached an opening in the rock. “Mind your head. It’s a low opening.”

He crouched down and followed her inside. The ceiling rose after a few steps allowing him to stand straight again, but without even the stars to guide them, they were in impenetrable darkness.

Myrrine led them through the winding passage and after a few more bends in the tunnel Brasidas thought he could make out her vague silhouette in front of him. His eyes slowly made out more detail until they turned a last corner and found firelight spilling out of a larger chamber.

Myrrine held a couple of birds he hadn’t noticed she was carrying and he watched in astonishment as she sat down by the fire to pluck them. He looked around the small cavern and saw she had made a decent camp there.

“We can talk here. No one will hear us.”

By the light from the fire he could see a dark, nasty bruise on her forearm, as well as a lighter one on her jaw. Something dark stained her apron. “Blood?”

“Yes.” 

“But not yours?”

“No.”

He sat himself down across from her and watched her fingers pluck the feathers from the dead bird’s skin. “Kassandra said you were ruling Naxos when she found you.”

Myrrine looked up at him with a questioning look. “I was.”

“And before that, you were a pirate.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I was.”

“I’m glad you are well trained to defend yourself. I doubt my own mater could have won a fight with a dedicated mercenary even in her prime, despite her devotion to Sparta’s training regiment.

He saw a smirk tug at her lips. “Two. It was two mercenaries.”

His jaw dropped a moment but he composed himself. He shouldn’t be surprised. This woman was Kassandra’s mater. She hadn’t gotten everything she was from Nikolaos alone.

“She wrote to me.”

“Kassandra?”

“Yes. An urgent message asking me to set a meeting place for the two of you, since she had forgotten to before leaving.”

“We planned to meet at the agora in Tegea.”

“I know. I wrote back and told her to meet you at the statue.”

“Do you have it with you?” She wiped her hands on her apron and took the dirty, crumpled parchment he held out to her, reading it with pursed lips.

“Strange. Very urgent, but not about anything important. If it’s code, it’s nothing I can decipher. But it’s probably about the Cult.”

“Or the trap.” He had expected her to react to Stentor’s name, but she hadn’t. Now she raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Stentor. He is Nikoloas’ adopted son, and he believes Kassandra murdered Nikolaos in Megaris.”

“Really?” A look of genuine surprise came over her face.

“You didn’t know?”

Myrrine shook her head and pulled out her knife to gut the bird she was holding. “I heard a rumor long ago that he had adopted a boy, but I never learned the name. Stentor. Hmm. Is he good?”

“Yes, he’s very good. He was Nikolaos singular focus for over fifteen years. Not yet thirty and he’s leading the charge in Boeotia. Surely he’s the trap you two talked about?”

Myrrine nodded and cleaned out the second bird. “Yes, most likely. But if he is as good as you say, and was trained so diligently by my husband, then he will see the strategic value in her help.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then my husband will lose yet another child and the Kings won’t return the house to us.”

They lapsed into silence and Brasidas watched as she set the birds to roast over the fire.

“Your friend’s seal is on that bounty.”

Brasidas couldn’t help it, he cringed at her words. “I know. I’m sorry, Myrrine. I don’t understand what’s going on. The Cult…”

She interrupted, voice soft but stern. “You still believe he’s incorruptible?”

“I… listen. I went to his compound today and he’s not there. They refuse to tell me where he is or even take a message to him. The guards are dressed like Spartans but no Spartan would be so dismissive of the Kings’ seals. Something is wrong, I know it. This isn't like him. The Cult must be forcing him, coercing him somehow.”

He could hear his voice take on an almost pleading quality as Myrrine regarded him silently.

After a moment she stood up and walked over to a bundle in the corner, returning with a stack of parchment. “These orders are all signed by the Archon. He’s not innocent.”

Brasidas took the documents and Myrrine stretched out next to the fire. “I need to rest a while. Don’t forget to turn the birds.”

Her eyes closed and after a few minutes her features slackened in sleep, leaving Brasidas alone with letter upon letter giving orders to shift troops away from the borders, away from the supply lines, away from any place of strategic value under the Archon’s control. All signed by the same hand, and sealed with Lagos’ personal sigil.

He read through them all, searching for clues, for evidence of innocence, of coercion, but he found nothing. By the time Myrrine sat back up again, he was squinting at the signatures in the firelight, trying to determine if they were forged or signed under duress.

“Do you want to eat?” Even through his frantic scouring of the letters, he had remembered to turn the birds until they were golden brown, and now they sat on their skewers next to the fire, keeping warm but no longer roasting. The cave was filled with the delicious, mouthwatering scent of roasted fowl, but the lump in Brasidas’ stomach was too large for him to want to eat.

“No, thank you.” He held up several sheets of parchment. “This doesn’t prove he's not being coerced.” He was sure he looked desperate but he didn’t care. His friend couldn’t be a Cultist. There had to be another explanation to all of this.

“It doesn’t prove his innocence, either. Brasidas… Sometimes people change and grow into someone you don’t recognize. It doesn’t mean they weren’t the person you used to know, but the person you used to know also doesn’t mean they didn’t eventually change to someone new.”

He heard her and knew that she was right, but he didn’t want to listen. Instead he handed the letters back and got to his feet. “I’m sorry, I have to go. You should stay here, away from the mercenaries. I’ll come back in a couple of days with supplies.”

“Brasidas. It’s the middle of the night, how will you even find your way back to the statue again?”

“I’ll manage.” He waved a dismissive hand at her and walked into the narrow winding path leading outside.

Kassandra

The battle had been brutal and much more even than it should have been. Many of the men she fought alongside today were the same men she had stood shoulder to shoulder with in Megaris. Then they had been fighting like it was a pre-rehearsed dance, everyone moving in step and knowing their precise and intricate choreography. But now… they were good, there was no denying that, but there was a slight lack of structure, of cohesion, that kept worsening as the battle wore on.

In the end though, they had been victorious and had driven the Athenians out of Boeotia.

The soldiers were pleased with their victory but it was muted, too many of their own lay dead in the field beyond, too many were gravely wounded.

Kassandra walked away from them and stared out over the flat landscape. Where was Nikolaos? Once she had the note from Brasidas in her hand, his personal seal proving he was alive even before she opened the parchment, her mind could finally unclench from it’s singular focus, and she remembered Nikolaos. She really thought she had gotten through to him and that he would keep his promise to return to Stentor. But as she had laid awake the night before the battle, she couldn’t even fool herself into believing he would show up.

So, now she stood staring out over the scorched earth and wondered if Nikolaos had been killed or injured, or if he really had abandoned them all again.

“Victory is ours!”

She almost jumped at Stenor’s loud words and glanced to her side where he now stood, a small proud smile tugging at his lips. It was a welcome change from his usual murderous scowl and Kassandra hoped it signaled a slight softening in his attitude towards her.

“The victory is yours. You led us well today.”

He glanced at her, expression unchanged. “My Pater taught me everything I know about commanding an army, too bad you took him from me before I could learn more. I’m sure he would have ensured a more decisive victory.”

Stentor’s expression hadn’t changed. It was still calm with a slight smile tugging at his lips.

“Stentor. I didn’t. He’s…”

“I wanted you to die fighting the Champions.” He spoke, interrupting her protest, with a voice as calm as if he was discussing the weather. “But I was disappointed. I wanted you to die on the battlefield, but again, I was disappointed. First, I thought the gods must surely be punishing me, but now I know the truth.”

“Oh?” He had turned to face her now and she could see the cold glint in his eyes.

“Yes. A man does not wait for others to solve his problems. A man does not plead with the gods to handle his simple, mortal affairs. A man acts!”

“Stentor… don’t. I didn’t…”

“A man brings glory and victory to his people, and avenges his murdered kin.”

He had drawn his spear and was pointing it at her throat. “Stentor. You don’t have to do this.”

She could see soldiers beginning to gather, but only to watch, not to interfere.

“Yes, mercenary. I do have to do this. You killed my Pater! I will have my revenge!”

“I didn’t…”  She knew it was pointless, he would never believe her, and so sighed and drew her spear.

If she killed Stentor the Kings wouldn’t give their house back, she was sure, but that didn’t bother her. Her mater could go back to ruling Naxos if Sparta threw her out. What bothered her was if Brasidas would stand by her once Stentor’s death forced her into exile.

They were circling each other now, Stentor looking for an opening to strike and Kassandra looking to deflect his attack. Before either of them could take their first lunge, a familiar voice rose over the din of the gathered soldiers. “Killing each other won’t heal the wounds of the past.”

They both turned towards the sound and Kassandra saw Stentor’s face shift into bewilderment, his spear dropping forgotten into the dirt. “Pater!”

“Hello, Stentor.” Nikolaos' voice was warm as he greeted his son, taking his outstretched hands in his own.

“I thought you were dead.”

“No, not just yet. Come, Stentor. We should talk.”

With a nod to her, he led his son away to the Polemarch’s tent. Kassandra stayed looking after them a moment before she picked up her brother’s spear and followed them.

As she stuck the spear into the dirt outside the tent, she could hear their murmuring voices from inside. They seemed calm, not raised in anger or accusation so she figured it would be safe to leave them be while she went to pack up her belongings for the journey back to Arkadia.

“It turns out you weren’t lying after all. He really is alive.”

She turned around to see Lycophron standing at the entrance of the tent she had claimed as her own. “Told you.”

She rose to her feet, hefting the pack over her shoulder and together they walked back to Stentor’s tent. They stopped outside where her pater’s murmuring voice could still be heard.

“So… Nikolaos. He’s back. Any idea why he waited until after the battle to show up?”

She shook her head and frowned. “No. I really thought he would come earlier…” She looked up at him. Lycophron had a cut at the bridge of his nose, a black eye beginning to swell shut, and his arm was tied to his chest in a sling. “Will you be ok?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll be fine, just need to wait for the arm to heal. I’ll be traveling with the other wounded back to Sparta in the morning. And you’ll be heading to Arkadia, I suspect.”

“Yeah, as soon as possible.” She glanced at the tent, trying to tamper down on her impatience. Stentor deserved some time with Nikolaos before she interrupted them.

“To see Brasidas.”

“Yeah.” Distracted, she gave a small, relieved smile before she remembered who she was talking to and that her relationship was supposed to be secret. “I mean, I’ll be meeting my mater, but I’m sure I’ll have time to stop by and say hello to General Brasidas as well.”

Lycophron looked at her, amusement glittering in his vivid blue eyes and she felt her cheeks heat up. “Well, if you do find the time to visit with him, would you mind bringing him this letter?”

He held out a folded parchment sealed with wax and she took it from him, nodding her head. “Of course.”

“Chaire, Kassandra. May you travel with the gods on your side.” He gave her a slight bow and walked away before she could respond.

From behind she heard the rustle of fabric and sandals on the ground.

“She should pay for what she’s done!”

Stentor’s voice was full of the same anger as before and Kassandra rolled her eyes, turning around to face her adoptive brother, arms crossed. “For what I’ve done? What is it that I have done, little brother? I helped you win in Megaris and helped you win here. Are these the crimes you’re punishing me for?”

Stentor scowled but she cut him off before he could speak and gestured at their pater. “He’s here, just like I told you. Not dead, just like I told you. Because I didn’t kill him, just like I told you.”

Stentor looked at Nikolaos who shook his head. “Your anger came from a place of honor, son. You believed Kassandra was to blame for my death, but that belief was misplaced. It’s time to let go of your anger towards her.”

She watched Stentor clench his jaw and look to the sky as if to pray for strength. Then he took a deep breath and looked at her, his scowl and contempt undiminished. “Shouldn’t you be leaving? Your work here is done.”

“Glady, but you have to sign the writ from the Kings first.”

“No.” He turned on his heel and marched back into the tent, leaving her behind.

“Stentor!” She looked to Nikolaos who shook his head with a small smile and beckoned her to follow him into the tent. 

They found Stentor standing with his back to the entrance, arms crossed and staring at the tent wall. “Stentor. Just sign it so I can go.” 

Nikolaos watched his son’s back in silence and Kassandra rolled her eyes again. “If you don’t sign it, I won’t leave. I’ll go out there and tell the men you don’t want me to leave because you’ll miss me too much. Because you love me, your big sister, so much. I’ll tell them you got so scared by all the angry mean soldiers on the battlefield, and won’t be able to sleep if I’m not there watching over you, singing lullabies and stroking your hair while you cry.”

She caught Nikolaos’ smile in the corner of her eye just before he regained his composure in time for Stentor to turn around and stare at her in disgust. Without a word he held out his hand for the writ and Kassandra handed it over.

She watched as he signed and pressed his seal to the parchment, handing it back with his customary scowl. “Go away.”

“With pleasure.” He turned his back again and Kassandra exited the tent, tucking the writ back into her pouch.

“Have patience with him, he’s been carrying that anger a long time. It’s sometimes difficult to shift such a weight.” Nikolaos stood next to her, his face old and tired, and she nodded. “You’re meeting your mater next?”

“Yes, in Arkadia. She had leads she was tracking down.”

Her pater nodded and stared out over the camp, looking uncomfortable. “Do you want me to bring her a message?” He ignored the question and continued staring ahead so she moved to stand in front of him. “Pater?”

She saw a flicker of hesitation on his face, and then it was gone. “Your nose has healed well. No more whistling.”

Kassandra sighed and let it go, allowing the change in subject. “Yes, it stopped after a few days. I didn’t even notice.”

“Good. Well. You should get going or it will be too dark for you to travel.” He lifted a hand and squeezed her shoulder before heading back into the tent.

Kassandra hoisted her pack over her shoulder and headed to the stable. She pondered taking Stentor’s horse as a last spiteful jab but decided not to. The old mare she had rode in on had served her well, but it was time to get her back to a farm where she belonged.

She mounted and set off down the road without a backward glance. Another week and she would be back with Brasidas again. Then, hopefully, there would be time to get some actual sleep.

Brasidas

He returned as promised two days later with small sacks of lentils and flour, as well as a tightly wound packet of dried fish.

It took him a while to find the cave in the daylight. When he finally did, he sat down a little way from the entrance and watched the surrounding woods for any trace of a pursuer for almost an hour before slipping in through the opening in the rock. He waited until he was deep enough inside that his voice wouldn’t carry outside before he announced himself.

Once he rounded the corner he saw Myrrine sitting by the fire. “Chaire. I brought food.”

“Chaire, Brasidas. Were you followed?”

“No. I made sure.”

He felt awkward, uncomfortable, the weight of his worry for Lagos heavy on his shoulders. Spying a hydria laying on it’s side at the wall of the cavern, he walked over and picked it up, examining it for cracks.

Finding none, he walked back outside again. “There’s a stream nearby, I’ll go for water.”

He didn’t wait for Myrrine’s response, but fled the cave with hurried steps. Fetching water was women’s work, but he didn’t care. He’d done it enough times as a young soldier to know how to do it without spilling or dropping the hydria, and he needed a little more time away from Myrrine’s accusations and evidence against Lagos.

He rinsed the vessel thoroughly before filling it and hoisting it onto his shoulder. As he walked back to the cave, he wondered when Kassandra would return. It was too early to start watching for her at the statue, but when should they start?

The messenger he sent should make it to Boeotia in the next day or so. If she returned right away after receiving the message, she should arrive in about a week and a half. Maybe a week if she rode hard and swapped out her mount when it got tired.

She didn’t really have any reason to exert herself like that, but he hoped she would anyway.
He missed her.

Back at the cave, he didn’t sit and wait for pursuers, but slipped inside and around two bends before setting the hydria down to wait. 

It didn’t take more than a couple of minutes before he heard movement. There was a small chance it was Myrrine and he listened intently for clues to his pursuer’s identity. The person was silent, almost completely, but their soft footsteps sounded heavier than Myrrine, and there was a slight metal scrape of armor.

Brasidas stood, knife in hand, and waited until they stepped within reach before driving his blade through the soft flesh of their neck and into their spine.

The body fell limp at his feet and Brasidas waited a few more minutes in case this one didn’t travel alone, before hoisting the hydria back into his shoulder and walking onward into the cavern.

She was cooking something with the food he’d brought but looked up when he set the hydria down nearby. “Thank you. Were you followed?”

“Yes. I left the body in the tunnel. I’ll dispose of it when I leave.”

She stared at him in surprise for a moment before wiping her hands on her apron and disappearing into the passage carrying a small lamp.

Brasidas looked around. There was a limit to how much he could carry with him without raising eyebrows and suspicion, but Myrrine would need to hide here for at least another week, probably longer, until they figured out how to free Lagos from the Cult and cancel the bounty.

He should bring oil next time. Olives, maybe some fresh fruit and vegetables.

Myrrine returned carrying a bundle of fabric, armor, and weapons. Brasidas sat down and stirred the fire to have something to do. She returned to her cooking.

The silence felt awkward where before it had always been comfortable. 

“I received orders from the Kings. They’ve taken my advice to shift troops away from the southern border to strengthen the other three. And they’re pulling men out of some of the less valuable islands to bring here as well.”

Myrrine frowned and he wondered if she was worried for Naxos. The letter hadn’t specified which islands would be sacrificed, so he couldn’t tell her if her worry was warranted.

“The troops won’t matter when the Cult holds the grain.”

It was Brasidas' turn to frown. “No. But Sparta isn’t fighting the Cult. Sparta is protecting Arkadia from its neighbours, who all want the land. Cult or not, it’s good that we are strengthening our hold.

She gave him a nod of agreement and scraped the herbs she had been cutting into a clay pot, added water from the hydria, and set it close to the fire to cook. 

“Do you have any news from Boeotia?”

Brasidas shook his head. “No. Not even when the battle is scheduled. Could be days, could be weeks or even months.”

Myrrine pursed her lips in irritation. “I can’t hide in this cave that long. There’s work to be done. This bounty is meant to hinder that work, so the bounty must be lifted.”

He knew she meant Lagos. Lagos had set the bounty, and he was the only one who could lift it.

“Myrrine, I… he’s my friend. I can’t believe this of him. I need proof.”

“You have proof. The supply line. The orders. The bounty. The hiding. You have proof, you just don’t want to believe it.

“No, no I don’t. I have evidence of the Cult’s influence in Arkadia, but not of Lagos’ guilt. All of this could be accomplished through coercion, force and threats. Lagos’ hand on the pen, but not his will moving it.” Myrrine huffed out an irritated breath but Brasidas continued before she could interrupt. “I think his disappearance now is evidence of his innocence.”

“How?” Myrrine looked at him, incredulous.

“Because we are friends, Myrrine. We have known each other for a long time. If he was the villain you claim he is, why leave and risk the wrath of the Kings? I told him what I was here to do, he must have known what I would find. He would have had plenty of time to think of reasonable excuses for it all for when I inevitably came back asking questions. According to you, he’s been manipulating me and everyone around him all along. Why would he assume he would suddenly fail to do so with me?”

He was on his feet now, pacing the small cave as he spoke. “But if he’s being coerced, Myrrine. If he’s being threatened. Who better than an old friend to notice something was wrong? I think the Cult have whisked him away to prevent us spending any more time together. Prevent me reading the fear on his face. Prevent him from signaling for help.”

Myrrine was eyeing him skeptically. “But you’ve already met with him, haven’t you? Shouldn’t you have noticed these things then? Didn’t everything seem fine?”

Brasidas pinched the bridge of his nose. He was getting a headache. “I noticed the guards acting strange. Wouldn’t let me in or even call for him at first. I remembered your warning and didn’t speak of anything sensitive at all because a servant stayed with us the whole time. That servant was attentive. Listened to everything.”

He thought back to the visit. What else had he noticed? “His family. His wife and son weren’t there. Lagos said they were staying with his sister in Elis. He sounded strained when he said it, but I couldn’t see his face because the servant stepped between us. Maybe… maybe he sent away his family to keep them safe? Maybe we could try to find them, ask what they know? Philonoe is an intelligent woman, if someone was coercing her husband, she would know.”

He looked at Myrrine pleadingly. If he didn’t make sure Lagos was guilty, he would never be able to let it go, never be able to forgive himself.

She looked thoughtful. “I could check with my contacts, see if there’s someone who can look in on this woman’s sister.”

Brasidas smiled, relieved. “Thank you.” But then he remembered their situation. “You can’t leave this cave. It’s too dangerous. That bounty is so high it will turn your allies against you.”

She gave him an incredulous look and let out a short, soft laugh. “Brasidas. My contacts don’t know I’m Myrrine. They don’t know Kassandra is my daughter. They don’t even know I’m Spartan.”

He almost blushed at his own foolishness. Of course she wouldn’t be so careless and trusting. “I’m sorry. Of course. But you still shouldn’t go outside. Every mercenary in Arkadia is searching for you, soon it will be everyone in all of Hellas once news of the size of the bounty spreads. It’s not safe.”

“Then we need to kill Lagos to get the bounty lifted.”

Brasidas gritted his teeth. “No. That’s not what I meant and you know it. Can’t we get the message to your contacts without risking your life like this? I could deliver it.”

She snorted and shook her head. “No. My contacts would not take kindly to a visit from a high ranking Spartan General.” She held up a finger to silence his protest. ”Not even one in disguise.”

She cocked her head to the side and looked at him for a moment. “I’ll think of something. You should dispose of that body before it starts attracting predators.”

He took it as the dismissal it was and nodded to her before making his way back out of the cave. Dumping the corpse on the other side of the statue, he returned to his horse and rode back to Tegea.

Brasidas returned the next day. Something told him he hadn’t gotten through to Myrrine and that she would leave to continue her investigation, or worse, to kill Lagos. As planned, he brought oil, olives, figs, grapes, cabbage, and carrots. Just like the day before, he sat and watched for pursuers before entering the cave, and then also waited a while inside before moving deeper.

This time there was no welcoming fire waiting behind the last bend. The cavern was as pitch black as the winding tunnel leading up to it. Brasidas called out without answer and lowered the package of food to the ground. He walked cautiously to where he remembered the firepit was and crouched down, searching with his hand until he found the ash-covered mound. It was cold.

Did she leave on her own or was Myrrine laying dead or injured just a few paces away? 

He sniffed the air but couldn’t tell if there was fresh blood. The cave air carried the scent of fire, of the food Myrrine had cooked, of the bird she had slaughtered, of her night vessel pushed deep into the furthest corner. He couldn’t be sure.

Fumbling at his belt, he brought out his flint and restarted the fire. As soon as he had a small flame going he looked around the space in search of a body or evidence of a struggle. Everything looked neat and tidy, pointing to Myrrine leaving on her own.

Brasidas cursed. She could be out there hunting down Lagos this minute and he didn’t even know where to start looking. He couldn’t even stay to confront her when she returned, he was expected at Fort Arkas to help prepare them for the arrival of soldiers from the islands.

He cursed again and put out the fire. The trip to the Fort would be cut short and he would return here as soon as he could.

Kassandra

She had made good time after riding hard and had reached a small village on the border to Arkadia. She only had about two days to go if she didn’t get lost trying to find this statue Brasidas’ letter described.

Just like her journey to Boeotia, she was pushing herself and her horse hard, swapping out the beast for a fresh one every chance she got. Now it was early evening and she wolfed down her bowl of soup before heading to the guesthouse for a few hours of sleep.

The room was filled with rows of thin, uncomfortable sleep mats, most of which were empty since it was still early. Kassandra laid on her back and closed her eyes, forcing herself into a kind of half slumber, while part of her remained awake and aware of her surroundings. She had slept like that often since she moved into her own shack on Kephallonia, knowing full well that the price of her independence from Markos came with the risk of uninvited guests at night.

It had done her well, been enough to give her the rest she needed and always kept her out of trouble. But then she had returned to Sparta and relearned what true sleep was like. She had slept almost every night in Brasidas’ arms, safe and secure, and deep.
And now she was addicted to it. Like wine or poppy milk, she needed more and nothing else would satisfy.

Two days to go. She didn’t care if her mater wanted her to return straight to the Kings, or go on a Cult-slaying mission. Didn’t care if Brasidas wanted a thorough report from the front lines, or wanted to be thoroughly acquainted with her body. Before any of that, Kassandra wanted a fucking nap.

She dosed, fitful, her sleep interrupted each time someone came in to lay down on their own mat. Evening became late night and most of the other guests had settled in to sleep, but something kept niggling at her, dragging her awake even when no other patron made a sound. Eventually, she gave up and grabbed her things, heading for the stables.

Everything was dark and quiet save for light spilling out from what she assumed was the kitchens. Inside, she heard indistinct, murmuring voices but kept walking only to stop after a few steps. She had definitely just heard her own name. Carefully lowering her pack to the ground, Kassandra snuck back and listened at the doorway.

Several people, maybe three or four, were having a whispered argument about something. One voice, which she though she recognized as the innkeeper, was saying they mustn’t disturb the other patrons, and that his reputation would be ruined if he let them in there. Another younger voice argued that sneaking in there to kill her in her sleep would be the easiest and safest option, and besides what did he need his reputation for if he was rich?

Kassandra weighed her options. She could just leave, they wouldn’t know until she was long gone. But if she did that, she would never know what this was about, and that would bother her. Was it the Cult sending strange incompetent assassins? Or maybe Stentor?

Before she could make a choice, it was made for her. The group finished their discussion and walked out of the room, and Kassandra didn’t have time to hide so she stayed put and came face to face with two brutes in mismatched armor. Mercenaries. She could see the innkeeper behind them and next to him what looked to be his son.

As soon as the brutes saw her, they both gave a loud unintelligible roar and grabbed for her with meaty fingers, so she danced out of their reach while pulling her spear free. She made quick work of them both, using their size and momentum against them to slide her blade into their hearts before they could spin around to catch her.

That left her with the innkeeper and his son. The boy was maybe fifteen and had a manic gleam in his eyes as he brandished a rusty bent sword in her direction. Kassandra deflected it easily and looked to the father who was advancing on her with a cooking knife in each hand, and a look of grim determination on his face. “Stop this! You’ll both just die, can’t you see that?”

“You’re the one who will die!” The boy yelled at her, triumphant and high pitched, as he made another clumsy lunge with his sword.

She pleaded with the innkeeper while easily avoiding the blade. “He’s your son. Do you really want to lose him like this?”

The old man gave her a grim smile. “Go on. Kill him. I can buy a new son with the drachme your corpse will get me.”

The words shocked her so much she almost missed the next lunge of the rusty blade but managed to dance away in time. “You’re insane, both of you! You’re family! Stop this!”

The boy laughed and the old man grinned again. “Who needs family when you have drachme!?”

Their fight had woken up the other guests who were now peeking out to see what the commotion was, and several of them ran from the building shouting for guards. Whatever this was, Kassandra wasn’t getting out of it with words, and soon reinforcements would arrive. If she wanted to leave without pursuers she needed to leave now, while it was still night.

When the boy next lunged for her, she slid her spear under his arm and deep into his chest. The innkeeper didn’t so much as flinch at the sight of his son’s blood on her blade but kept slashing wildly at her with his two small knives until she cut into his heart as well.

She heard shouting from outside, the fleeing patrons returning with armed guards presumably. Before fleeing though, she quickly rummaged through the pockets of the mercenaries until she found a bounty letter with her name on it. Not pausing to read it, Kassandra clutched it in her hand as she ran to the stables and grabbed the first horse she found. Mounting it, she dug her heels hard into its flanks to set it to gallop. Forced to trust the beast wouldn’t run them off a cliff in the dark.

Brasidas

He returned to the cave three days later at dusk. Despite his sense of urgency, he forced himself to wait for pursuers before venturing into the cavern where he hoped Myrrine would be waiting, safe and sound.

She was not.

Brasidas cursed at the inky darkness that greeted him and felt his way to the firepit again, lighting it. Once the cave was illuminated, he turned in a circle, searching for any change since his last visit, but there was nothing. Even the supplies he’d brought were still laying abandoned by the entrance.

Where was she? Out murdering Lagos right now? Or had she met her match in a greedy mercenary, and was now laying dead and mutilated in a ditch somewhere?

Brasidas groaned and paced the small space. Kassandra would never forgive him if she lost her mater like this. And he would never be able to forgive Myrrine is she killed Lagos without proof. He didn’t know what to do. Stay in the cave and hope she’d return? Or ride back to Tegea and check if the bounty had been collected?

“Brasidas?”

He whirled around and pressed his knife to the black-clad mercenary’s throat before the voice registered. “Myrrine?”

“Yes. Please release me.”

He did, stepping out of her personal space and sheathing his knife, watching as she pulled the shroud from her face and started to peel the armor off. It wasn’t until she was down to a dirty, dust colored tunic with old faded bloodstains that he realized she was wearing the clothes of the mercenary he’d killed. “Where have you been?”

She gave him a quick glance while she dipped a rag in water and wiped her hands and face. “Talking to contacts.”

“Have you killed Lagos?” His voice was accusing and he saw her eyes soften slightly.

“No. The Archon lives. I’ve only been gathering information.” She spied the package by the entrance and walked over to pick it up. “Have you eaten?”

“No, I came directly from Fort Arkas.” His relief at hearing Lagos was alive and from finding Myrrine safe made his head swim a little and he sat down by the fire. He’d been holding onto that tension for days, but now it finally released.

He watched as Myrrine made a paste of flour, crushed lentils, water and oil, and fired it on a thin, flat rock she’d placed over the flames. She let them sizzle there while she handed him a fig, biting into her own in a way that told him she was very hungry.

She flipped the flatbread with her knife and bit into a second fig without offering him one.

“Is there anything you want me to bring next time I come?” She hummed and chewed the fruit, lifting the bread from the stone, handing him one. “Wine, salt, eggs, cheese. Pumice.”

“Alright.”

They ate in silence as usual but this time he didn’t need to ask for her to tell him what she’d learned. “There was no need to send someone to Elis. The Archon’s family isn’t there.”

“No? Did you find them? Where are they?” Brasidas was brushing crumbs out of his beard and tried to not sound too excited.

“That, I couldn’t find out. The Archon’s wife used to be a regular feature in Tegea until she just stopped appearing many months ago.”

“But you’re sure she didn’t go to her sister in Elis.”

Myrrine nodded. “She doesn’t have a sister. No siblings at all. Neither does the Archon.” She gave him a piercing stare. “He lied to you.”

Brasidas frowned back at her. “Yes he did, but that is not evidence he’s a Cultist.”

“He had disappeared his family, Brasidas. He’s not a good man.”

“Myrrine. This can just as easily prove the opposite. The Cult are using his family to force him to do what they tell him to.”

She pursed her lips in irritation and looked away from him. “Are you staying the night?”

He was thrown by the sudden change of topic and looked at her. She saw busying herself with tidying up after the meal, but he could see dark smudges under her eyes and a hunch to her shoulder that told him she was very tired. She hadn’t eaten properly during her excursion, and probably hadn’t slept either. “Yes, I’m staying. I’ll take the first watch. I need to prepare my report from Fort Arkan while it’s still fresh in my mind.”

She didn’t reply, but laid down to sleep, lips still pursed.

Brasidas woke the next morning to the smell of food cooking. Myrrine wasn’t in the cavern, but she soon reappeared carrying the refilled hydria. “Good morning, Brasidas. I apologize for last night, I was very tired. You are right, the family’s disappearance might be evidence of coercion. We should investigate.”

He smiled in relief and accepted the bowl of stew she handed him. “Thank you, Myrrine.”

She held up a warning finger and gave him a hard glare. “If we don’t find evidence of them being used as leverage, then the Archon dies. No more excuses.”

They ate their stew and Brasidas marveled at how she managed to make good food under these circumstances. He’d known many camp cooks who had all the resources they could want but still never managed to produce anything even remotely palatable.

“Do you know when we can expect Kassandra?”

They hadn’t finished eating yet, so he was a little surprised at her question. “Well, I sent my reply to her nine days ago. It should have arrived about three or so days ago. If she set out right away and rode with speed and minimal breaks, she could be here in four or five days.”

Myrrine nodded thoughtfully and finished her food. “We need to start watching the statue soon then.”

Kassandra

She had ridden until dawn and then led the horse off the path and deep into the woods before taking a break.

Helios pale morning light had finally let her read the bounty and it made her blood run cold. It wasn’t just a bounty on her, it was a bounty on her and Myrrine. For some reason, this Archon of Arkadia wanted both her and her mater dead, and he was willing to pay a literal fortune for it.

Kassandra stared dumbfounded at the amount of drachme offered. It was enough to live in the lap of luxury for the rest of your life. It was enough that even the most loyal of her crew on the Adrestia would turn her in. Not Barnabas, of course, not Herodotus. But the rest of them? In a heartbeat.

Who was this Archon? Why was he doing this?

The confusion on her face melted into a wide grin. Her mater had found something. Something big that would expose the Archon as a corrupt Cult member, she was sure. Myrrine had evaded their kidnapper, and found evidence to expose them, and Kassandra had escaped Deianeira unscathed, and was now on her way back to reunite with her mater.

No wonder they were scared.

Kassandra laughed softly to herself and reread the bounty letter. It had a description of her that included her grandfather’s spear, the three distinct claw marks on her arm, and her braided hair.

While the horse grazed and rested, she pulled her spare chiton out of her pack and wrapped the spear, securing it to the saddle. Next she undid her braid and made a tight knot at the base of her skull instead. Finally, she tied an old bandage around her arm and wrapped her foul weather cloak around her shoulders.

It wasn’t a perfect disguise by any means, but hopefully it would be enough. She really didn’t want to add another week to her journey by having to sneak through the woods on foot in the dark.

She mounted the horse again and set off south towards Tegea. Brasidas’ note had said the statue was located straight east of the city, on a hill a few hours away. Hopefully she would find it without much trouble.

Brasidas

He returned two days later with the provisions Myrrine had asked for, but he couldn’t stay, instead riding north to inspect the camps that had been shifted from the Lakonian border to protect the Golden Fields.

While he was there, he looked in on the farm he’d stayed at on the way to Cyllene years ago and was surprised that they recognized him. He let them invite him for lunch and listened to them tell him that the scouts he had sent out during his first days in Arkadia had helped expel several bandits who’d forced their way onto the farm. With the new military camp watching the nearby border, and regular patrols to keep the farms and their harvest safe, the farm was doing much better than last time he’d been there.

He rode south in high spirits and with a vague lingering sense of longing for Kassandra and a small house surrounded by waving fields of wheat. The farmer’s wife had insisted on giving him a package of food for the road, and he brought it back to Myrrine who savoured the wine-dipped bread with closed eyes.

He didn’t stay the night but returned the next day and spent a couple of hours waiting by the statue until it became dark when he joined Myrrine for dinner in the cave.

“Your men don’t ask where you keep running off to?” Myrrine was washing her chiton and apron, while wearing the mercenary’s tunic and looking uncomfortably like a servant in the stained, worn fabric. It had been a few days in a row of him riding out to spend the afternoon waiting by the statue and then the night in the cave, before riding back to Tegea in the early dawn.

Brasidas smiled ruefully at the question though, and she raised her eyebrows at him. “The Commander at the barracks thinks I have fallen for some peasant girl, and am bringing food to persuade her pater to let me stay the night with her.”

Myrrine huffed out a soft laugh. “How did he come up with that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve refused to say where I’m going beyond carrying out the Kings’ orders, so he’s concocted this tale to satisfy his curiosity, I suppose.”

They lapsed into silence a long while, with only the sound of Myrrine’s brushstrokes filling the cavern.

“So… Brasidas.” Her voice startled him, sudden as it was after the long silence. “What are your intentions with my daughter?”

He felt his shoulders tense at the unexpected question, and for a moment, he floundered, until he reminded himself that Myrrine already knew and had given her approval. “I intend to be her husband. For her to be my wife.”

She stared at him, her eyes shrewd and hard like flint. “She won’t be a typical wife. Won’t do what is expected of a Spartan woman. She will be difficult.”

He frowned, defensive of Kassandra and confused as to why Myrrine thought he didn’t already know her daughter was different. “She is not difficult. She’s Kassandra. She will be exactly what I expect her to be. Herself.”

Myrrine kept staring at him, eyes hard for a few more moments before she looked away with a small smile. 

Brasidas had the feeling he’d just passed a test.

They lapsed back into silence and he watched as she scrubbed the fabric rhythmically with her brush. The silence stretched until he was sure the subject was dropped and his shoulders began to relax, his brow unfurrowed.

“And Phoibe?” Myrrine’s voice was casual, her eyes on her task.

His shoulders tensed again, frown returning. “What do you mean?” He waited for a reply but when nothing came he prompted her. “Are you asking what will happen to the girl once Kassandra is married?” 

Myrrine still didn’t answer but continued her work unfazed, letting him struggle to understand her question without help. “Is that what you’re worried about? Phoibe is Kassandra’s daughter. The child of my wife is my child. It really isn’t very complicated.”

He waited for a response but only got another small smile and a nod. It seemed he’d passed another test.

Kassandra

With the bounty, she couldn’t ride as hard as she wanted, couldn’t risk trying to trade in her horse for a fresh one. And the closer she got to Tegea, the more difficult it became to stay unnoticed. The roads had people and farmers and merchants and soldiers and mercenaries, all giving her curious looks, several stopping to challenge her.

Finally, finally, she saw what must be the hill Brasidas’ note had described and rode towards it. The top was obscured by trees but she thought she could glimpse a statue between their trunks, but it was impossible to tell if her mater was there waiting for her.

The path wound its way around the hill in a spiral, all the way up to the top and Kassandra urged the horse to go a little faster, eager to be done with this journey. Once she reached the top though, her mater was nowhere in sight. Instead she saw a man dressed in the red and gold colors of Sparta.

“Brasidas!” She launched herself from the horse as he rose, catching her in his strong arms. She wound her own arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his in a desperate, eager kiss. Brasidas kissed her back, pressing her tight to his chest and lifting her slightly off the ground.

They broke the kiss with a laugh and Brasidas tucked some loose strands behind her ear. “You changed your hair.”

He was smiling, matching her joyous grin with his own. “It’s a disguise. There’s a bounty.”

“I know.”

She squeezed her arms tighter around him. “I’ve missed you, and I haven’t slept at all since I left Sparta. I need a nap.”

He chuckled against her lips and she could feel his wide smile. “Me too, Kassandra. Me too.”

Chapter Text

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

- Robert Frost

Kassandra

Seeing him felt like an exhale. All the worry and fear for him that had lingered with her slipped out into the air, and she let him lead her away through the trees, her hand in his firm grip. The familiar tingle where their skin touched was like a low hum between their palms and it made her feel warm and distracted. Kassandra squeezed slightly and felt him squeeze back.

Brasidas brought her to a small opening in the hillside, bending low and pulling her along inside the cave. She followed his lead, slipping soft and silent into the ink-dark passage. 

He stopped once they were deep enough to not be heard from the outside, his fingers ghosting up her sides making her shiver. “Your mater is ahead, just follow the tunnel. I need to wait here in case we were followed.”

His voice was just a low whisper but it still rumbled pleasantly along her spine, reminding her how much she’d missed hearing him speak.

Kassandra felt him cup her face and press a kiss to her lips before a gentle hand ushered her along, so she moved deeper into the darkness, leaving him to his watch.

The tunnel twisted and turned a few more times before it opened up into a larger cavern lit by a flickering fire. There were two bedrolls, a few urns of varying size, several packs of provisions and supplies stacked neatly against the wall. Bent over one of them stood Myrrine and Kassandra felt the last bit of tension leaving her shoulders.

“Mater, I’m back.”

She watched her whip around in surprise before a smile spread over her face. “Kassandra! I didn’t hear you come down the tunnel.”

She accepted the hug her mater offered and squeezed back a little harder than necessary. “I’m sorry. Force of habit. I don’t usually venture into deep dark caves unless I’m sneaking up on someone.”

Myrrine gestured for her to sit by the fire and turned back to the packs of supplies. Kassandra sat down, unwrapping the spear and returning it to its place on her back. Her mater pulled out vegetables and a packet of dried fish, and sat down to prepare them. “We weren’t sure we could expect you for another few days yet. How did it go in Boeotia?”

Kassandra pulled the cloak from her shoulders and started unwinding the bandage she had wrapped to hide the scars on her arm. “It went well. Sparta won the battle and secured the region, so the Kings should be satisfied. And I saw Nikolaos.”

“Did you?” Myrrine didn’t look up from her cooking, but she thought there was a subtle shift in her posture nonetheless.

“I did. He sends his regards.”

“Does he?” This time her mater did look up, giving her a look and Kassandra shrugged and shook her head. 

“No. He asked about you, but when I asked if he wanted to send you a message, he pretended he couldn’t hear me.

Myrrine gave a small smile and nodded. “Sounds like him.”

“I told him you were a pirate. He wasn’t surprised. I think he might have been a little proud, actually.”

She thought her mater’s smile became a little bigger as it bent back down over her cooking.

Kassandra began to loosen the tight knot she’d coiled her hair into, fingers creeping between the strands to scratch at her itching scalp. “What about you? I assume you’ve uncovered something big considering this bounty. Who is this Archon?”

Her mater’s lips pursed in disgust. “He’s a Cultist who’s taken control of the supply of grain to Sparta and its troops.”

“He’s being influenced by the Cult. We don’t know if it’s willingly or through coercion yet.” Brasidas entered the cavern and sat down next to Kassandra, giving Myrrine a hard look. “Collaborating with the Cult and influencing the supply lines is very uncharacteristic for Lagos. I have known him a long time and he has always been a just and kind man. Now his family has vanished as well, and we have agreed that needs to be investigated, to reveal if they are being used as leverage against him.”

“Leverage? You think he’s being forced?” She looked to Brasidas who nodded earnestly while her mater looked like she was about to roll her eyes.

Kassandra bit her lip and tried to remember. There had been so much going on during the Cultis meeting she’d infiltrated, but she was sure… “There was a man being threatened. In Delphi. In the cave. I only heard a small part of it through a door, but I heard one Cultist threaten another’s family if they didn’t comply with their orders.”

Brasidas clapped his hands together once, the sound loud and echoing in the cavern. “There! Proof Lagos is being coerced!” 

He looked triumphant towards Myrrine who looked back, unimpressed. “It does not prove the Archon is innocent. It only points towards someone being coerced to do something.”

“Mater.” It was Kassandra’s turn to want to roll her eyes. “Brasidas says this Archon’s behavior is unusual for him and that his family is missing. It is not unreasonable to assume that is connected to what I overheard.”

Kassandra saw her mater’s jaw clench briefly but she nodded in agreement. “Yes, this we will look into, but then we will deal with the Archon. This bounty is a nuisance.”

She chuckled. Nuisance wasn’t the word she would use for a bounty so large it could turn anyone desperate. “Have you run into any trouble?”

Myrrine waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Did you have any trouble?” Brasidas was sitting close, his knee almost touching hers. His hand rested in his lap and she wanted to reach out and take hold of it. Fit it back against her palm.

“Yeah, some mercenaries. An innkeeper. The disguise helped a bit though, let me take the roads instead of creeping through the woods.”

Her hair was loose now, hanging over her shoulder in a stiff curl. She needed to wash it. Actually, she needed to wash everything. It hadn’t been as noticeable outside, but here in the cave she could smell herself. Sweat, dirt, blood, horse. The more she thought about it, the more her skin itched.

“How was Boeotia?” Brasidas shifted a little next to her, knee grazing hers, grabbing her attention.

“Oh, you know. Kill some people, win a battle. Lots of waiting around.”

He smiled fondly at her, shaking his head. “And what did you think of the trap the Kings had waiting for you?”

Kassandra rolled her eyes. “She was a complete loon. Wouldn’t stop talking and cackling like some manic bird. She might have been a good fighter if she could keep quiet and focus on the fight, but no, she was easy.” 

“She?” Brasidas sounded confused.

Kassandra looked back at him with equal confusion. “Yeah. Deianeira? One of the Champions of Boeotia that I was tasked to kill. She was a Cultist?”

“Really? We thought your brother might be the trap.” Her mater sounded curious and Brasidas nodded in agreement at her words.

But Kassandra couldn’t help the snorting laugh that escaped her at the thought of Stentor being a cunning Cultist trap. “Stentor? No, no. No. He’s no threat. He’s just… you know. A brat. Cranky and surly and never satisfied with anything you do. Broke my nose when I arrived. Threw some insults. Scowled a lot. But nothing worse than that.”

She caught them exchanging a glance but was too distracted by a wide yawn to question them. “I’m exhausted, I need to sleep for a bit, but first I really need to wash. I reek. Is there a stream nearby?”

Her mater nodded but Brasidas frowned. “I don’t think you should be going out there with this bounty. They are looking for you.”

She was about to protest and point out that she always had some form of bounty on her and it hadn’t stopped her from washing herself when she needed it, but her mater spoke first, small amused smile tugging at her lips.

“Well, that’s not true. They are looking for a mercenary. Not a sweet peasant girl having a bath in the company of her Spartan soldier.” They both turned to look at Myrrine who blinked innocently back. “It’s a disguise. Just leave your armor and weapons here, no one will know you’re a mercenary. And if they attack anyway I’m sure Brasidas can take care of them.” Her mater gave her a lazy shrug and turned her attention back to her cooking.

Kassandra felt her itching skin call out for relief, and nodded. She pulled off all of her armor, took the pumice and pot of oil her mater offered, and slung her spare chiton over her shoulder. It smelled like horse, but that was better than putting her current soiled one back on.

Brasidas, with cheeks just a little pinker than before, grabbed a hydria standing by the wall and led her back out of the cave.

Helios was still high in the sky, making them blink at the bright light as they emerged out of the dark tunnel. They walked in comfortable silence through the trees and Kassandra slipped her hand back into Brasidas’, who interlaced their fingers. The air was calm and filled with the scent of flowers, birds were chirping from nearby trees, and the grass under their sandals was lush and green. The difference from the burnt plains of Boeotia was so jarring she almost wondered if she was dreaming.

The stream Brasidas led her to was shallow, the water only reaching her knees, the bank lined with green grass and small boulders. She set her things down on a flat rock and bent down to unlace her sandals, watching as Brasidas waded out into the water to fill the hydria.

Her soiled chiton would need more than a dip in a stream to get clean but she pulled it off and dunked it in the water anyway, rinsing it out before dropping it in the grass.

Crouching down in the water, she used her hands to splash her body, rubbing at the dried blood and dirt on her legs and arms.

From behind she heard Brasidas pull in a sharp breath and turned around. He had set the hydria down on the bank and was staring at her, a little slack-jawed. 

Kassandra stood back up and watched his eyes follow the rivulets of water down her body. “Are you enjoying the view, Brasidas?” She was smiling at him, teasing, but was sure she too would be staring just as transfixed if their roles were reversed.

He nodded, still distracted for a moment before he pulled his eyes up to meet hers with an almost sheepish smile. “I haven’t seen you like this before. In daylight. You are beautiful, Kassandra.”

She stepped out of the water and pressed a smiling kiss to his lips. “Maybe you should save the compliments for after I’ve washed all this dirt and blood off?”

He rewarded her with deepening the kiss for a moment before taking a step away to sit down on a boulder. “Dirty or not, you are beautiful and very alluring, and if I don’t keep to myself you’ll never finish your bath.”

Kassandra laughed and sat down on the bank, rubbing the pumice in small circles over her skin. “Maybe you can distract us both by telling me what you’ve been doing since leaving Sparta?”

She washed herself thoroughly while he told her about his investigation of the situation in Arkadia, of his discoveries of the Cult’s influence over the supply lines, and about Lagos. It seemed the Archon had been a very dear friend to Brasidas, even if they had drifted apart in the last few years, and Kassandra hoped he was right about the man being coerced. She didn’t want to have to kill one of his friends if she didn’t have to.

While he spoke, she had finished cleaning what she could reach herself and handed him the pumice to clean her back. His hands on her skin and his voice in her ear made her warmer than the sun could, and she leaned back into his touch until he put the stone down with a smile in his voice and pulled her to her feet. “Time to rinse off.” 

She walked back into the stream and stretched out, letting the shallow water wash away all the dirt and dead skin that had been scraped free. When she stood back up, Brasidas helped wash her hair, massaging her scalp and rubbing the dirt and oil out of the long strands.

Once done, he led her back up onto the bank and handed her the pot of olive oil. Kassandra sat down on the soft grass and oiled her skin while Brasidas sat behind her, teasing out the wet tangles of her hair. 

The cold water had woken her up a bit, and the rumble of his voice and touch of his hands on her back had heated her up to the point where her need for sleep was pushed away. Now though, with his deft fingers rubbing her scalp and pulling her hair back into its customary braid, she felt the call of Hypnos again. She let her heavy eyes fall closed and her head dropped forward while he worked, drifting away.

It was only for a few moments, then she was brought back to feel Brasidas’ hands massaging the oil into her back, the finished braid draped neatly over her shoulder. This time when she leaned into his touch, he let her, sliding his hands around her waist and kissing her neck.

“I missed you, Kassandra. It was difficult to sleep without you.” His words were muffled against her skin, the warm puffs of air sending shivers down her spine.

She twisted around in his arms and stood up on her knees between his splayed legs, voice almost too earnest. “I couldn’t sleep without you either. You’ve ruined me, Brasidas of Sparta. I used to be able to sleep anywhere, anytime. But now it’s no good, it’s like it’s not real sleep, no matter how long I lay there. On the way back here I could barely think of anything except how much I wanted to get back to you, just so I could get some malakas sleep.”

Her hands were braced on his shoulders and she felt his palms glide up her bare thighs as his smile shifted from fond to teasing. “Only sleep?”

Despite her exhaustion, she wanted him, of course she did. Wanted to pull all his armor off and have him quickly before laying down for a long nap right there on the bank, and then spend the rest of the evening reacquainting herself with his body. But there was the bounty and with it all the people looking for her, they really shouldn’t stay out in the open much longer, or someone would find them. 

But, on the other hand, what Spartan soldier and sweet peasant girl would venture out for a secluded bath without taking advantage of the privacy? Really, they should indulge a little if they wanted to sell the disguise. Pushing him to lay back on the grass, she bent over him, pressing their lips together as she stroked her palm up his thigh.

Myrrine had bowls of stew waiting for them when they returned to the cave, and Kassandra ate greedily while fighting heavy eyelids.

As soon as she finished, she was overtaken by a series of wide yawns, and took hold of Brasidas’ wrist, tugging on it lightly. “Come on, I can’t stay awake anymore. I have to sleep.”

Brasidas

It felt like a long time later that Myrrine’s hand on his shoulder woke him for his turn to keep watch. Kassandra was still sound asleep curled against his side, and he shifted himself gently free.

While the two women slept, he busied himself with cleaning Kassandra’s gear which she had carelessly discarded in a pile when she undressed earlier. It gave his hands something to do, but it didn’t stop his mind from wandering to Lagos and all the evidence piling up against him. If his family wasn’t being held by the Cult, then there was nothing left to do but accept his guilt. 

It was unthinkable to him that the Lagos he knew could do something like this, but then again, he would never have thought either of the Kings could be a traitor and the evidence seemed to point in that direction as well.

Behind him on her bedroll, Kassandra shifted onto her back and let out a soft snore, making him turn to look. Her chiton had ridden up to reveal her upper thigh and Brasidas wanted to reach out and stroke his palm over the soft skin. Would have, if Myrrine hadn’t been there. Their quick romp by the stream had helped to take the edge off, but he wanted more. Wanted to fill his senses with her scent and taste, to check if she had any new scars, to feel that strange, compelling tingling her skin gave him, remap her skin as thoroughly as they had the night before she left for Boeotia.

She shifted again and sat up, giving him a bleary-eyed smile. He smiled back and glanced at Myrrine’s sleeping form before jerking his chin towards the tunnel. Kassandra nodded and got to her feet, slipping silently out of the cavern.

Brasidas took her blanket from the bedroll and grabbed a jug of wine before following her.

She was waiting for him with a kiss as he ducked outside, and he pulled her down to sit between his legs as he leant back just next to the cave opening. Wrapping the blanket and his arms around her, he tucked her head under his chin. 

The moon was a thin crescent and the sky was covered in a blanket of stars. It wasn’t much light to see by, but it was enough for them to know if someone approached the cave.

They sat for a long time, sharing the wine and listening to the sounds of the night around them. A thought came unbidden to him and he broke the silence. “The letter. Why did you send it? Was it code?”

He felt her shiver a little in his arms before she twisted around to briefly press her lips to his neck. “Deianeira. She said the Cult had sent an assassin after you. To kill you, and to kidnap mater. She said it had happened long before I even reached Boeotia. I just…”

He squeezed her tighter and pressed a kiss to her hair. “You just needed to know if it was true, and if they had succeeded.”

“Yeah.” 

“It was true. They did send an assassin.” She twisted around again, eyes large and gleaming in the moonlight, and he pressed a kiss to her lips. ”It was a Spartan Commander. I met him Korinthia. He took over for me after I was sent to Cyllene. He was supposed to do it back then, but failed.”

“And now he failed again. The Cult won’t like that.”

“He doesn’t have to worry about disappointing them anymore, your mater killed him. He had a couple of letters with his orders on him and one of those strange shards.”

She gave a happy chuckle which he could feel vibrating in her chest. “Really? Another one down then. That’s two so far just from this trip. Maybe three if this Archon doesn’t slip away. Maybe it won’t take so long to finish this after all.”

He tensed up when she mentioned Lagos and he felt her respond by stroking his forearms soothingly. “I didn’t mean that. Just… if mater is right and he’s a Cultist, then he has to die and will no longer be a threat. And if you’re right, then the Cult will lose their hold on him and he won’t be a threat anymore. So either way…”

Brasidas relaxed and squeezed her tighter. “Yeah, either way.”

Her fingers were playing idly with the pteruges from his belt when she broke the silence again. “Do you like being a soldier? A Spartan?”

He felt her head moving under his chin as she spoke, and nodded, the gesture hampered by the top of her head and she shifted slightly to the side. 

“I do.” It was an odd question to ask, but she didn’t seem to realize. “Why do you ask?”

He felt her body move against him in a shrug. “No reason, just curious. It’s Sparta, it’s not like you have a choice even if you don’t like it. I’m just… curious.” She glanced up at him, smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t actually know you that well.”

He wrapped his arms tighter and kissed her temple. “Yeah. It feels like we’ve known each other for years, but it really hasn’t been very long at all.”

“Why do you like it? Being a soldier.”

He paused, it wasn’t a question he’d ever been asked before and he didn’t have an answer ready. “It’s… I like the camaraderie, the sense of belonging. Working together for a common goal. I like the glory and admiration from the other men that come with success. I like being truly good at something and actually receiving recognition for it. No matter how good a farmer is at tilling his fields, no one is going to give him laurels for it.” 

He stopped, pondering the question a bit more. “I like… I like trying to outwit the enemy with strategy and cunning. That it’s more than just brute force. You need the right kind of troops at the right place for a victory. And if you do it right, the enemy will go into the battle thinking they have you completely outclassed and they are in for an easy win, going in overconfident and unprepared.”

“Like my grandfather at Thermopylae?”

“Mmm, sort of like that…” He pushed his nose to her neck and took a deep breath. “What about you? Do you like being a mercenary?”

She shrugged. “I’m good at it.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He felt her sigh and push a little harder back into his chest. “It’s like you said. Doing something you’re good at makes you feel good, accomplished. But I can’t say I like it. It’s a means to an end. I need drachme, I need information, I need to travel around Hellas. There are not many options beyond mercenary that would let me do that.”

The word hetaera hung unspoken in the air between them and Brasidas pushed it away. “Once you’re done, finished with the Cult. You want to stop being a mercenary then?”

“Yeah, I guess. But I’m not sure what I would do instead.”

He snuck a hand free and tickled his fingers against her ribs. “Oh, you wound me. You don’t want to sit in my house weaving and cooking and pining for me to return from the battlefield?”

She squirmed away from his fingers and twisted an arm back to capture his head, pulling it close to press a kiss to his lips. He stopped his tickling and kissed her back, but it wasn’t long before she let him go and sank back against his chest again.

“No, I don’t want to weave. And trust me, you do not want to eat my cooking.” She fell silent and he pressed his cheek to her hair. 

“Even if you will have a very unconventional approach to it, it still will be very different from what you’re used to, being a wife and running a household. It comes with responsibilities to the servants, and to the community, and to Sparta that we can’t ignore. Are you sure you’re ready for that? To settle down? We could wait if you want.” She remained silent, fingers painting lines over his forearm and Brasidas pressed on. “I know you’re used to being on the move, traveling around, meeting new people. I don’t want to take that away from you.”

Kassandra twisted to press a kiss to his neck and then settled down again. Her voice had a slightly different quality when she spoke again, one that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was more monotone but still seemed to hold a jumble of emotions. Anger, betrayal, resignation, sadness, loss. 

“Everyone always wants something from me. Always have. They want me to fetch something or deliver something, steal something, break something, kill something. Kill someone.” She took a deep breath and repositioned herself against his chest. “I don’t know why, but I thought it was  Kephallonia. That it was uniquely Kephallonian to make everything contingent on favors. Food, drachme, friendship, sex. You do this for me and I’ll give you that. I thought things would be different if I just got off the island, and then when I finally, finally get away… I find it’s exactly the same everywhere. Big or small, but still favors. Always.” 

She scrubbed a hand over her face and gave another deep sigh. “I haven’t been traveling around because I don’t like to stay in one place. I’m doing it because everyone keeps sending me off to do favors for them, and it’s only if I do these favors that they will give me what I ask for, what I need. I’ve been all over Hellas because I wanted to find my mater, and now because she wants her house and citizenship back, and after that… who knows what other hoops I have to jump through for whatever comes next. Then on top of that, there’s the malakas Cult. Whom I know wouldn’t leave me or my family alone if I decided to just ignore them.”

Her fingers have long since stopped trailing patterns over his skin, instead gripping his arm tight. Then she suddenly let go as if she realized how tightly she’d been squeezing and took hold of the hem of her chiton instead. The fabric bunched in her fist. “I don’t know if I’ll be content staying in one place, settled down. But all my rushing around isn’t because I like it. I just wanted to find my family, and I just want them to be safe and happy.”

She lapsed into silence again and Brasidas stroked his hand over her arm, sensing there was more coming. And he was right, after another deep, slightly shuddering breath, she spoke again, her voice clearly tinged with hurt now and not much more. “You know, there are only three people who haven’t asked me for a single favor since I left Kephallonia. Only three people whose friendships aren’t contingent on what I can do for them.”

Brasidas stayed silent waiting for her to say the names. His breath was caught painfully in his throat, knowing his name wouldn’t be among them. Kassandra lifts up her hand in front of her, counting off the names on her fingers.

“You, Barnabas, and Nikolaos. That’s it. Three people.”

He slowly released the breath and squeezed her tightly. “But, Kassandra, I… I have asked a favor. I’m asking for help finding Lagos family, proving his innocence. That’s…”

She twisted in his arms to look him in the eye. “If I said no, would you leave me? Wash your hands of me and vanish from my life? Take away your support for our petition to regain our house? Your support regarding the Cult?”

He looked at her, startled. “I… No, of course not. I would be saddened, hurt, but I understand that all the evidence points to Lagos’ guilt. It’s a selfish indulgence I’m asking for, to believe my hunch over the evidence.”

She nodded and pressed a kiss to his lips before settling back down. “You are asking for help, not a conditional favor while holding hostage something I need. If I denied you this, I would be no better than Anthousa, or Aspasia, or Markos.”

Brasidas pushed his nose into her hair and took a steadying breath, relieved to have passed this test.

“What about Phoibe? She isn’t on your list.”

She shrugged in his arms and shook her head. “Phoibe doesn’t count. She’s my… she’s my daughter. She has the right to ask anything and everything of me. What we do for children aren’t supposed to be favors. It’s just parenting.”

He sensed there was a lot buried there, things about this Markos, as well as about Myrrine and Nikolaos, but he decided to leave it for another time.

They sat in silence and stared at the stars for a long time before Kassandra spoke again. 

“Have you never wanted anything different? Always soldier and nothing else?”

Brasidas hesitated. It really wasn’t the kind of thing Spartan men should ever think about, let alone admit it.

But then a memory floated to the surface of his mind, of a farmer and his family, of a young boy feeding goats and chickens and a soft smile came to his lips.

“After Korinth, I thought about you. A lot. I wondered where you were and if we would see each other again. When I had to travel to Cyllene, I often imagined you with me. Seeing the beautiful vistas with me. Sharing meals. Keeping me warm.” 

She tilted her head back and pressed a smiling kiss to his throat. “You told me.”

“There was a farmhouse in Arkadia where I spent the night. They seemed to have such a hard life, working their land with thin arms and aching backs. But the more I looked, the more I saw the quiet joy. It was a home, not a house. They loved each other, their land, and their animals in an open and carefree way that isn’t really appropriate in Sparta.”

He leaned down, pressing his face to her neck as if it would make the confession less scandalous. “For a moment, I imagined myself as the farmer. Living a quiet and unremarkable life with just my family. No chance at glory in battle or remembrance after death. Just me and my wife and our children. I would be lying if I said it didn’t seem an attractive prospect in the moment. And if… if you had shown up then and offered me a life on a farm with you, I think would have taken it.”

Kassandra pushed herself out of his arms then and turned around to stand on her knees, facing him. With her hands resting on his shoulders she scrutinized him silently.

After a moment her serious expression softened into a smile and she moved in close to straddle his legs. “I don’t think you’d be as happy as a farmer. You are a good General, Brasidas, and you bring honor to Sparta and your family and to me with your accomplishments, but… it’s good to know we have an alternative if we ever want it.”

He smiled back at her and pulled her in close to his body, wrapping the blanket around her back and accepting the deep kiss she pressed to his lips. It took some fumbling but soon they were pressed even closer, faces buried in each other’s throats to muffle any escaping sounds.

They crept back inside as Helios started lightening the sky and waited for Myrrine to wake up. Kassandra added wood to the fire and set the remains of last night's stew to heat for breakfast. She was portioning it out into bowls when Myrrine sat up, fully awake and alert, as usual.

“Good morning, Brasidas, Kassandra.”

“Morning, mater.” She handed over a bowl and jerked her chin towards Brasidas. “We have an idea for how to find Lagos’ family.”

“Do you?” He didn’t miss the sharp glance she sent in his direction at her daughter's use of Lagos’ name over his title.

“Yes. Lagos has a small farmhouse outside Tegea. It’s where he goes when he wants to get away from his title and conduct his private affairs. If he’s left any clues for me to find, they will be there.”

“You think the Archon is leaving you clues?” Myrrine gave him a sceptical look and Brasidas shrugged. 

“I think that if he were to leave clues for anyone, it would be for me. He knows he can trust me to help him.”

“Like you know you can trust him?” Brasidas clenched his jaw in irritation but Kassandra spoke up first.

“Stop that, mater. If Lagos is being coerced and his family threatened, I don’t see why we wouldn’t want to know that. Wouldn’t want to rescue them. Our family isn’t the only one that was ruined by the Cult, and we should help others who suffer under their influence.” She turned to him with an apologetic smile. “But we should do it quickly. The Kings will wonder if I delay my return to Sparta longer than necessary. We’re supposed to be very eager to get our house back, after all.”

Myrrine pursed her lips the way she always did when she was irritated but nodded. “Yes, you are right. You two go to his farmhouse, and I’ll go talk to my contacts to find what they know.”

He would prefer both women stay in the cave while the bounty was on their heads, at least during broad daylight, but he knew the suggestion would just make them both angry, so instead he helped Kassandra with her disguise.

Kassandra had told him she didn’t like the way the tight bun pulled at her scalp, so instead he gave her a looser braided knot that his sisters often wore. 

Her scars needed to be hidden, but wrapping a bandage around them again would be too obvious and invite questions. Instead the women switched chitons. Myrrine’s longer garment pinned into sleeves that mostly covered the marks on Kassandra’s arms and shoulder, and was long enough to completely hide the scars on her legs.

Leonidas’ spear was hidden at the bottom of a basket Kassandra carried on her arm, while several small knives were hidden at her wrists and behind the apron. When they were done she looked nothing like the dangerous warrior she truly was. Instead she looked like the sweet peasant girl the Commander at the Barracks was convinced Brasidas was having an affair with, and he hoped vehemently that they wouldn’t run into him.

Myrrine dressed in the armor of the dead mercenary again, and slipped out of the cave ahead of them, already vanished by the time they emerged into the sun.

He must have looked concerned, because Kassandra nudged his side and smiled. “Don’t worry so much, Brasidas. Mater can take care of herself. She managed to evade capture by the Cult for years. A few greedy mercenaries don’t stand a chance against her now.”

She was right, of course, and he smiled back, hooking her arm in his as he led her to his horse, still waiting patiently for him near the Artemis statue.

They rode back towards Tegea at a leisurely pace to avoid the attention speed would invite. Kassandra sat behind him, her strong arms wrapped around his waist. Her body was warm against his, her breath soft against his neck, and he resisted the urge to steer the horse off the road to find them a secluded spot. Instead, he picked up the pace a little to get them to their destination a little faster. 

Soon the yellow fields of wheat just north of Tegea came into view and they stopped some ways from the farmhouse. They had discussed how to approach Lagos’ farm without drawing attention and had settled for splitting up. Now he dismounted and lifted Kassandra off the horse before giving her a lingering kiss. Then he stood a while and watched her walk away down a dusty path between the fields, lifting a hand to wave whenever she turned back.

Hopefully, to anyone watching they would look like lovesick fools. 

Once Kassandra had vanished out of sight, he mounted the horse again and rode back towards Tegea until he reached a copse of trees. There he left his horse and slipped back towards the farmhouse through the wheat, ducking low to hide from curious eyes. He stayed there, watching the house and nearby road, until the coast was clear and slipped inside through a side door.

The air was stale and a thick layer of dust covered everything in the room he first entered. No one had been in there for many months. Brasidas moved on, silently searching through the rooms until he reached Lagos’ study up on the second floor. There the walls were covered in shelves stuffed full of scrolls, and the desk and tables all held parchment, several kalamos, and packets of ink. All neat and tidy and covered in dust.

“I don’t think anyone’s been here for months.” Brasidas jumped at the sound of Kassandra’s soft voice from the doorway. “Not since long before you came to Arkadia. I’m sorry, Brasidas. If your friend left you a message, he didn’t leave it here. Is there somewhere else we can look?”

He shook his head, feeling his shoulders sink in defeat. “No. If there is somewhere else, I don’t know of it.”

Her eyes were soft and understanding as she held her hand out to him. Walking over, he wrapped his arms around her waist instead, burying his face in her neck. If Lagos hadn’t left a message, how would he find his family? Where would he look? Was he really going to have to depend on Myrrine finding them? Myrrine who didn’t want to find any evidence of Lagos’ innocence.

Kassandra was rubbing her palm over his back, steady and comforting. Her eyes were still soft when he lifted his head again. “If we don’t find his family, the Cult will kill them if we get to him. Regardless of Lagos innocence.” 

It wasn’t a question, but Kassandra gave him a slow nod nonetheless. “That is not an unreasonable assumption.”

He looked up at the ceiling, blinking away the frustration burning his eyes. “So, what do we do? How do we find them? I don…” Kassandra’s fingers on his lips silenced him, and he followed her to the nearby window. 

The sound of footsteps was coming from the courtyard below.

They stood to each side of the window, glancing carefully down at the visitor. It looked to be a servant, or maybe a slave, though his back had the straight prideful posture of a free man. The man stood still, patiently waiting while glancing idly around. When his gaze slid up the building towards their window, Brasidas and Kassandra moved away out of view.

The man stood in the courtyard for a long time, until finally a second set of footsteps approached. These belonged to what appeared to be a Spartan Captain.

“Were you followed?” Brasidas couldn’t see the newcomer’s face under his helmet and didn’t recognize the voice when he spoke, but still, he was sure this man wasn’t Spartan, but instead yet another imposter.

“No.” The servant’s face was an expressionless mask.

“You have the letter from Lagos?” The man posing as a soldier sounded young and a little worried, while the servant’s voice was confident and almost lazy. It was an odd dynamic.

“I do.”

“Well? Give it to me! I don’t have time to wait for you. I need to deliver it to the other side of the fucking valley!”

The servant pulled out a sealed parchment and handed it over. The soldier snatched it out of his hand and stuffed it into the pouch on his belt as he turned around and marched off without another word. The other man remained in the courtyard a few moments longer before slipping away as well.

As soon as the man’s footsteps faded away, Brasidas exploded into motion, running out of the room and down the stairs in pursuit of the soldier. Kassandra kept in step with him. There was no need to discuss or strategize, the farmhouse held no answers for them, but that letter might. 

They caught up with ease. Luckily, he didn’t have a horse but strode down the dusty road with pounding steps. The wheat hid them well until they reached Tegea. 

Instead of walking around the city, the soldier went through, forcing them to break cover. 

They tried to maintain their disguise as besotted lovers while walking fast through the streets, desperate to keep the soldier in sight.

Before he knew it, they were walking down the street by the Barracks and Commander’s jovial, booming voice made them both jump. “Brasidas! What do have we here? Is this who I think it is?” 

He was grinning wide and slapping Brasidas on the shoulder, while looking Kassandra up and down approvingly. “What’s your name, little lady?”

They both plastered on polite smiles and tried to not be too obvious in keeping their eye on the soldier as he disappeared down the street. “Eh, I’m K.. Kyra.”

“Well, hello there, Kyra. So you’re the one who’s captured our General’s heart? He’s always running off, shirking his duties even. I hope you’re treating him well? A man like our General here, you couldn’t find a better man. Truly.” He was leaning down a little, talking to her as if she were a small child, and Kassandra glanced at Brasidas for help.

He took hold of the Commander’s arm and tugged a little, pulling him a few steps to the side. “Eh, we’re trying to get a little time to ourselves, right now, while her mater is busy at the agora. You don’t mind, do you? If we just..?” He trailed off with a grimace and rubbed at his neck awkwardly.

The other man’s mouth fell open in surprise and then he was laughing heartily, slapping Brasidas on the back again. “Of course! Of course! Don’t let me keep you!” He gave Kassandra an exaggerated wink and a wave before they continued down the street, just shy of jogging to catch up to the soldier.

“And that was…?” 

Brasidas glanced at her and sighed. “That was the Commander of Tegea’s Barracks where I’m stationed right now. Except I haven’t been spending much time there between the investigation of the supply lines, carrying out the Kings’ orders, and checking in on your mater. He’s invented a peasant girl I must be courting to keep me away all the time.”

Kassandra laughed and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “As long as I don’t have to work the fields, I’ll happily be your peasant girl whenever you like.”

Brasidas felt a little surge of heat at the thought of Kassandra in a wheat field, in a pile of hay, in the back of a dark barn, and bit the inside of his cheek to take back control of his focus. 

Ahead, the gates to the city stood open, and striding fast down the road was their prey.

It was dusk when the soldier finally stopped at a small farmhouse just inside the edge of the woods. 

He handed the letter over to another man dressed as a Captain and went to sit by the fire.

Brasidas and Kassandra waited outside the ring of light, listening to the soldiers complain about boredom while the newcomer complained about his aching feet and empty stomach until someone disappeared into the shadows, returning with a leg of lamb to roast over the fire.

He counted six soldiers around the farmhouse. Three by the fire, two inside the house, and one patrolling. There could be more, hidden from view, but he was too distracted by the smell of roasting lamb to care. It had been a long time since breakfast. 

“We should split up. One of us waits for the patrolling guard over by that old well, one of us takes out the men by the fire, and then we take the ones in the house together.”

Kassandra looked at him skeptically, looking eerily similar to her mater. “Big risk we end up fighting them all at once, doing that.” She paused and looked over to the patrolling guard. “You sneak around until you’re hiding near the well, but don’t take out the patrol until the men at the fire are gone. Alright?”

It was his turn to look skeptical. “Why would they all leave the fire? What are you planning?”

She gave him a smirk and kiss on the lips. “Distraction. Now, go on to the well.” She patted his behind with another smirk and Brasidas moved away through the dark, slipping silently from shadow to shadow until he was crouched behind a bush to the side of the well. The patrolling guard was walking slowly in his direction, torch held high in his hand, and Brasidas glanced at the campfire. He was surprised to see only two soldiers seated there now. Where had the third one gone? As he watched, the remaining two shot to their feet, staring out into the dark where he’d left Kassandra. They started searching through the shrubs, and Brasidas' heart sped up. One soldier turned his back slightly and missed the dark shape swooping in to drag his comrade to the ground. When he turned back again, he was alone, looking around in bewilderment and calling out for his fellow soldiers in the dark. The dark shape swooped in again, vanishing the third man. 

The patrol had reached the well now and was leaning over the edge, looking down at the water. Brasidas used his momentary distraction to move up behind him, slicing his knife across the man’s throat, and then held the soldier until he slumped forward, hanging over the edge of the well.

He was just about to go back to help Kassandra with the men in the house when he heard something. Or rather, didn’t hear something. 

The soldier he had just killed was still bleeding heavily, the blood rushing out of his throat and pouring into the well. Brasidas expected the faint sound of it hitting the water, but instead he heard the faint sound of it hitting the ground. Moving the body out of the way and picking up the fallen torch, he leaned over and saw that the well  was fitted with a ladder. Far below, the shaft opened up into a doorway, faint light emanating from the hidden room beyond.

From behind, he heard the creak of a door and hurried down to help Kassandra with the last two soldiers inside the house.

It turned out to be four, the two unaccounted for sleeping in a corner, but waking up to aid in the fight. She was dodging and parrying them all with grim determination when Brasidas entered and ran his spear through two of the men in one thrust. After that, she dispatched the other two before he could pull his blade free to help, but instead of looking triumphant, she was biting her lip and looking guilty.

“What?”

“I should have kept one of them alive to ask about his family, I’m sorry, Brasidas.”

He reached out a hand and pulled her close for a kiss. “It’s ok. We will search this place for information, see what’s in the letter, and if that fails we’ll go after that servant. That well is a passage to a cave so there might be answers or more soldiers below..”

Kassandra smiled and pressed another kiss to his lips before handing him the letter. “It was on the table when I came in. It’s in code, though, and the only person I know who can decipher it is on Naxos, if she hasn’t moved on by now. So that won’t help us.”

He looked down at the blood smeared note and squinted at the text. It was both familiar and indecipherable at the same time. He recognized Lagos’ hand on the pen, but the letters didn’t form any words he knew. 

Kassandra tugged at his wrist and he followed her out the door. She led him back to the fire and he heard her stomach growl. “I hope this meat is cooked now. I’m famished. We can search after we’ve eaten.”

She cut a chunk out of the leg and held it up to the light. The meat was still mostly raw and she sighed irritated. “Malaka. Fine. I’ll just..” 

She dropped the meat onto a stone and walked over to a nearby bush, cutting several branches off and trimming them down to straight sticks. Then she sat back down by the fire and cut thin slivers of the raw meat, threading them onto the sticks which she held close to the fire.

It didn’t take long for the lamb to cook this way, and soon she was handing him a stick of roasted meat to eat. His stomach rejoiced with a loud rumbling and he silenced it by stuffing his mouth full. Ordinarily, he might have been embarrassed by the greed and lack of manners, but Kassandra was just as ravenous as he was, devouring her food with all the grace of a wolf.

“Do you think they have anything to drink?” Brasidas shrugged and got to his feet, searching the farmhouse until he found a jug that had survived the scuffle. 

Kassandra was making new skewers out of the ones they’d already finished when he returned. “See, you can cook, after all.” 

He smiled at her and she rolled her eyes, reaching for the jug and drinking greedily. “Anyone can burn meat over a fire. But if you want stuff on it, you’re better off asking someone else.”

“Stuff? You mean herbs? Spices? Salt?”

She nodded and popped another piece of lamb into her mouth. “Yeah, that stuff.”

He blinked at her in surprise before shaking his head with a fond smile. She really hadn’t been exaggerating then, when she said she couldn’t cook, and Brasidas made a mental note to ask Ilina to guide Phoibe in how to use a kitchen and all the stuff that went into making food.

They had almost finished the whole leg when a shout came from by the well, and they looked up to see a soldier running towards them with his sword raised. It was a foolish and pointless gesture on his part as he was cut down as soon as he stepped into the circle of firelight.

It was a clear signal that they were done resting, though, and went to explore the space under the well.

They found a large cavern, lit only by a small fire, and a soldier nodding off nearby. As Kassandra drew her blade across the man’s throat, Brasidas heard a soft gasp from the corner and moved to investigate, finding a couple of cages.

It was dark, but his eyes soon adjusted and he could make out the people inside. A woman in one, and a young boy in the other. “Philonoe?” 

She was thinner than he remembered, clothes torn and filthy, dirt and blood smeared her face where a black eye was beginning to fade. 

“Brasidas?” Her voice was thin and rasping, filled with disbelief.

“Yes. Yes, it’s me, let me just.” His hands shook as he fumbled with the cage door. 

At his side, he heard Kassandra approach the other cage, speaking in a calm, reassuring voice to the boy inside.

With the door finally opened, Philonoe staggered out and he caught her, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her steady as they waited for Kassandra to release Niloxenos.

As soon as he was free, he rushed to his mater who sank to her knees and wrapped her bruised arms around him.  The boy was just as thin and filthy as his mater, but Brasidas couldn’t see any bruises or wounds on the boy. His stomach churned at the thought of what Philonoe must have endured to keep the boy safe from the thugs. 

“Come, there’s time to talk and rejoice later. We need to leave before any more soldiers show up.”

Getting the two of them out of the well was a challenge, as they were both too weak to climb the long ladder to the surface, but they managed together.

They sat them by the campfire to rest, while Brasidas and Kassandra prepared two of the soldiers’ horses, quickly searching through the farmhouse and packing up all food and supplies they found.

It was dark now, the stars and moon not nearly enough to see by, but they set out anyway. Niloxenos rode with Kassandra, falling asleep almost immediately. Brasidas sat Philonoe in front of him on the horse and held her carefully to his chest. She tried to stay awake, but her exhaustion won and soon she too nodded off.

They reached the Artemis statue before Helios began to lighten the sky and used the cover of darkness to bundle their guests into the cave. 

Myrrine was not back yet, so Kassandra got the fire going again while Brasidas unpacked the horses and transferred everything inside. He was carrying the last of it when Myrrine appeared at his side.

“Chaire, Brasidas. Did you have any luck in finding your message from the Archon?”

He was tired from the long day, patience waning and frowned deeply at her. “We found his family. They are inside.” He saw her eyes widen in surprise at the news and nodded, expression serious as she picked up her pace. “Have they said anything? Anything about the Archon or the Cult?”

Brasidas shook his head in irritation. “No. It was not the time or place for an interrogation. We got them out of there as quickly as we could.”

“And you’re sure they’re not spies? Planted by the Archon and Cult to find us?”

He stopped, dropping the parcels to the ground in surprise and outrage, and grabbed her shoulder tightly. His exhaustion was shortening his temper.

“They are not spies, Myrrine. They need help. They have been starved and tortured. This is not a plot against you, this is a plot against Lagos. And if I find Lagos had any hand in what was done to them? Trust me, I will kill him myself, and not you or Kassandra or the stupid malakas Cult will get in my way.”

He picked up the parcels again and strode quickly back to the cave, ducking inside without waiting for her to follow.

“Your mater is back.” They we’re all seated by the fire, Philonoe and Niloxenos eating bread soaked in wine while Kassandra explained how they found them. Two pairs of apprehensive eyes turned to the entrance as Myrrine entered, looking intimidating in her mercenary disguise. Their guests relaxed as Myrrine peeled off her armor and greeted them warmly.

“I understand you’ve been through quite the ordeal. Can you tell me what happened?”

“My husband found new business partners a while back. They started coming around more and more, started having opinions on how he ran his business, how he ran Arkadia. Eventually they stationed guards around our home. Around us. For our safety, they said. Then one day, those guards dragged us away to that cave and…” 

Philonoe’s voice had started out strong and full of anger but now it trailed off, thin and brittle. Niloxenos wrapped his thin arms around his mater and looked at Brasidas with wide, wet eyes. “Can we go home now? Are the men gone?”

He crouched down and stroked the boy’s head gently. “Not yet, Nilo, the men are still with your pater, so you have to hide here with us for a while.”

Myrrine rose to her feet and reached her hands out to Philonoe. “Come, there’s a stream nearby. We’ll go there now to wash before Helios rises, and then we can tend to your wounds.”

While Myrrine and Kassandra took care of their guests, Brasidas left them to move the stolen horses away from the statue and to fetch his own from outside Tegea. It was mid morning by the time he walked into the Barracks, exhaustion making his steps clumsy. 

“What on earth happened to you?! Last I saw you, you were running off with that lovely Kyra, and now look at you.” The Commander rose to his feet as Brasidas entered their shared room, face creased with concern. 

Brasidas looked down at himself and realized he was still covered in dirt and blood from their fight with the Cult soldiers. “Bandits. They put up a bit of a fight. I’m… I’m exhausted Commander, forgive me.”

He lowered himself down onto his bedroll and closed his eyes, falling asleep immediately.

He returned in the afternoon to find the two women sitting outside the cave. Kassandra was back to wearing her mismatched mercenary gear, Myrrine still in her borrowed armor. “Anything new?”

Kassandra shook her head and pulled him down to sit by her. “No, not really. They’re sleeping again.”

“Philonoe says they were taken to that cave several weeks ago. Sounds like it happened around the time the Archon vanished from his compound.” Myrrine was looking at him, jaw clenching slightly. “It seems you were right, Brasidas. The Archon is being coerced by the Cult.” He nodded at her and gave Kassandra’s hand a light squeeze. “He’s in Fort Samikon. My contacts told me. He’s been there for weeks.”

“Well then, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!” He tried to get up, but Kassandra pulled him back down.

“You can’t go, Brasidas.” She looked apologetic but firm.

“What? Of course I will go! He’s my friend, I need to help him.”

But the women both shook their heads. “Samikon is a Spartan Fort. There are some Cult guards there, yes, but most of them are just regular Spartan soldiers. You’re a General, Brasidas. You can’t go in there and kill what appears to be Spartan soldiers and kidnap the Archon of Arkadia. Or maybe kill him.”

“Kidnap? Kill? What are you…?”

“Brasidas… this only looks clear from our perspective because we know how the Cult are infiltrating and influencing everything. To everyone else, we are the ones who are behaving treacherously.” Kassandra’s eyes were soft and understanding, and her hand squeezed his. “I will go alone to get Lagos.”

“No, I should be there. He doesn’t know you.”

Myrrine broke in, voice flat and matter of fact. “We still don’t know he’s not with the Cult willingly. His family only proves he’s being coerced, but we don’t know to what extent. He could still be a loyal Cultist pressured into doing something specific he’s against. Could you handle that? Could you kill him to sever the Cult’s hold on Arkadia if needed?”

He began to protest but Kassandra stopped him with raised hand and sad smile. “I will not kill him lightly, Brasidas, but we need evidence against the the corrupt King, and if Lagos chooses to protect the traitor then he’s not our ally. You must remember, we’re not doing this to save Lagos. We’re doing this to save Sparta. To save Hellas.”

He knew she was right, that they both were, but that didn’t make it easier to accept. “I will come with you. I’ll wait outside the Fort.”

“No, Brasidas, you have to stay here and help protect everyone. The bounty is still on and soon they’ll be looking for Philonoe and Niloxenos too.”

But Brasidas snorted and looked at Myrrine who looked away. “Your mater is perfectly capable of keeping herself and the others safe. The only danger is if they leave the cave. But if they stop doing that there won’t be much of a risk, will there? You, however. You will be out alone, in the open, with the bounty still on your head. The only one who needs help and protection here is you. I will concede that I can’t go into the Fort, but I will go with you.”

Kassandra looked to her mater for support but Myrrine just shrugged her shoulders and jerked her chin at Brasidas. “He’s right. You are the most vulnerable of us.”

Fort Samikon was a few days' ride away, and there was no time to waste. While Kassandra packed up her things, he said goodbye to Philonoe and Niloxenos and tried to be reassuring without actually promising them anything.

He rode with Kassandra at his back to Tegea, leaving her to wait outside the walls while he went inside to collect some supplies, acquire a second horse, and to excuse his coming absence to the Commander. That last part was particularly easy, as the Kings’ orders had tasked him with supervising the redistribution of troops all over Arkadia, and soon they were riding away from the city.

They didn’t bother with a disguise beyond a cloak wrapped around Kassandra’s shoulders, hiding some of her scars and her spear. Mostly, they were left alone and unchallenged, likely because of Brasidas’ uniform.

After a few hours' ride, the darkness had set in fully, and they made camp just off the road among the low shrubs. 

“I suppose it’s too much to ask for us to sleep together?” Kassandra had a soft, wistful smile on her lips as she spread out the bedroll next to their small fire, and Brasidas shook his head.

“No, sadly, I think that would be inviting trouble.” 

She stretched out with a yawn and laid her head by his thigh, the hairs tickling his skin as she settled down to sleep. Brasidas couldn’t resist the urge and let his fingers stroke over her cheek and forehead. Soon she was asleep, a soft steady snore issuing from her pretty but mangled nose.

They set out again early the next morning, not stopping until the horses started to complain and veer off the road to snag some leaves and grass to munch on. It was an exposed place, open meadows and a small stream, but they settled behind some trees by the bank which mostly blocked them from the road, and ate their lunch while the horses grazed and drank.

Once she’d eaten, Kassandra settled herself in his arms, leaning against his chest and letting her hands curl lightly around his knees at her sides. Her eyes slid closed a while and he thought she had fallen asleep when she suddenly sat straight with a soft gasp. “I almost forgot. I have a letter for you.”

She dug through her pouch and pulled out a folded parchment, slightly rumpled but still sealed with a sigil he didn’t recognize.

Kassandra settled herself back against his chest again and closed her eyes while he opened the letter to read.

General Brasidas,

I had the good fortune to spend some time getting to know Kassandra while she aided us in Boeotia.
She is intelligent, witty, compassionate, and the best fighter I’ve ever seen.

And clearly, she is madly in love with you.

If you do not immediately claim her as yours and end her suffering this uncertainty, I swear, General,
I will dedicate myself wholly to the task of wooing her to be my wife.

 

With friendship and respect,

General Lycophron 

Brasidas’ eyes went a little wide as he read the letter and cleared his throat. “So, you met Lycophron in Boeotia?”

She didn’t open her eyes but nodded. “Yeah, he was in Stentor’s camp. Lucky for me or I wouldn’t have had anyone to talk to at all.”

“Mmm, well, you certainly made an impression on him.”

Kassandra opened her eyes to look at him, brow creased in confusion. He handed her the letter and watched with a smile as her cheeks turned pink as she read.

“You know, I think we better marry as soon as we are back in Sparta.” He pressed a kiss to her blushing cheek and continued. “It seems we might have trouble keeping it a secret much longer anyway, and once it’s not a secret anymore… well, my mater will not rest until it’s official.”

She smiled as she handed the letter back. “And because you’re worried Lycophron will swoop in and steal me away from you?”

Brasidas smiled back and pulled her in for a kiss. “Lycophron is a good man, you could do much worse than him. And he’s younger than I am, so you get more time before your husband becomes a grouchy, wrinkled old man.”

Kassandra shook her head in exasperation and leaned up to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his eye. “You’re already wrinkled, Brasidas, and I refuse to believe age will turn you grouchy.”

He laughed as he twisted them around and laid her down in the grass, hoping the trees would shield them as they invited trouble for a while.

They rode on for several more hours and as dusk approached, they saw the hills rising into mountains ahead. Fort Samikon was situated on top of a small mountain overlooking the sea and the valley they were riding through. A good strategic position and a difficult place to sneak up on. For an army, at least. Kassandra would have no issue getting in there unseen. Getting Lagos out though, that was another matter. If there were Cultists posing as Spartan soldiers within those walls, it was a good bet they had orders to not let the Archon leave. 

They found an old abandoned farm to stay in that night, and Kassandra went to investigate all the buildings while Brasidas got a fire going and set out their dinner rations. It took a long while before she returned, and when she did, she had a secretive smile on her face. 

“What have you been up to?”

“Nothing.” She tried to look innocent but her face cracked into a smile when he raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s nothing! I’ll show you after we eat.”

So they had their dinner, and discussed how to approach the fort and Lagos, but all the while the smile never quite left Kassandra’s lips.

When darkness fell, Brasidas went out to relieve himself and make sure the horses were secure inside the small, half-crumbled stable. When he returned, Kassandra had not prepared the bedroll like he’d expected, but had instead packed up at their things and doused the fire. She handed him a lit oil lamp she must have found somewhere in the abandoned house and beckoned him to follow, her smile now wide and excited.

She led him over to the barn. One corner of the building had collapsed, giving it a strange lopsided look, and Brasidas looked apprehensively at the support beams as he followed Kassandra inside. She took him to the corner opposite the collapse and climbed up a rickety ladder to the second floor. 

He stopped and looked up to where she’d disappeared. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to be here, Kassandra. I don’t think this building is safe.”

She stuck her head over the edge and looked down with a wide grin. “Yes it is. I checked. Come on.”

He climbed up and looked around. The second floor was mostly collapsed and gone aside from the corner they were now standing on. Behind him, Kassandra took hold of the ladder and hauled it up, slotting it in between two beams in the ceiling. Then she took the lamp from him and set it on a bench by the wall. 

There was a pile of straw in the corner, covered by a blanket and Kassandra spread the bedroll out on top of it. Surrounding it hung sheets of linen she must have found abandoned in the farm, creases from where they had once been folded still visible. The space looked a lot more cozy and inviting than the little camp they’d made outside.

What didn’t look inviting was the area outside of the linen cocoon. There the floor was strewn thick with shards of pottery, and leather cords were strung up, hung with bits of metal and more sharp shards of broken ceramics. You couldn’t take a single step without making noise unless you came up the way they had come. 

Brasidas let her usher him into the little room she had made and watched as she strung up a few more leather cords and then covered the remaining floor with broken pottery from a basket.

Once finished, she stepped inside and released a rolled up sheet he hadn’t noticed pinned to the ceiling. Now they were enclosed and couldn’t see anything beyond the improvised fabric walls.

The smile she aimed at him was triumphant and infectious. “Kassandra, what is all this?”

“This is probably our last chance to spend any time alone together for a long while. Tomorrow I go to the Fort to get Lagos, then it’s three days back with him in tow, then we have to go straight to Sparta with our evidence if we have it, and if we don’t have evidence then I still have to go and prove I completed the Kings’ task. And you will have your hands full here, with the troops and maybe with purging the Cult if Lagos has the proof we need, and..”

She was rambling and he kissed her to stop the flow of words. “You’ve created a lovely little room here for us, Kassandra. Thank you.”

She grinned at him again. “And no one can get close without waking us up, so we won’t have to take turns keeping watch.”

“I figured that might be part of it.” He winked and grinned back at her, and saw her expression turn serious as her eyes filled with heat. 

She didn’t say anything when she sank to her knees and began to untie his greaves. This was the dance they had learned in his bedroom in Sparta, and they both executed the steps flawlessly until they both stood naked in the lamplight. 

She reached out a hand and trailed her fingertip over his stomach. “You are beautiful, Brasidas. Lycophron can’t compare. No one can compare.” 

Her words made heat surge in his stomach and he opened his mouth to respond, to reciprocate, but she crowded close and kissed him deeply, urging him to lay back on the makeshift bed. 

Just as the night before she left for Boeotia, Kassandra took her time to explore his body, thoroughly mapping his skin with her lips and fingers and tongue. This time though, whenever he pressed his hand to his mouth to muffle his sounds she pulled it away with an angry hiss. “Your parents are not here, Brasidas, and the horses don’t care. Stop hiding from me. I want to hear.”

He shook his head in pleasure and frustration, biting his lip, still uncomfortable with being so open and vulnerable after a lifetime of keeping himself under tight control.

She kissed him then, nipping at his lip until he released it and let her hear his unrestrained moans. “You are a monster. A nymph come to drain the life out of me.”

The words were panted between gulping breaths and she laughed and kissed him again. “No, I’m still just Kassandra, but I’ve missed you very much, Brasidas.”

He stared as she bent back down while he stroked his palms over her back. “We’ll see how easy you think it is when I return the favor. You’ll alert the mercenaries with your noise, and we'll be forced to run for our lives.”

She lifted her head and gave him a wicked grin, her lips rubbed bright red and glistening wet, and distractingly inviting. “Promise?”

He didn’t return the favor right away. Too exhausted, he fell asleep with weak arms pulling her to lay on his chest. When he woke again a few hours later, Kassandra was drawing invisible lines on his stomach. 

“Did you sleep?”

“Mmhm. A while. Brasidas? How does marriage work in Sparta? I’m sure I knew it as child, but I can’t remember now.”

He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “How it works?”

“I mean, how do you get married? There some kind of ceremony, right? On Kephallonia, the paters would exchange dowry, then there was a meal with both of the families and maybe the friends and neighbors, and then at the end the groom would get up and lead the wife to their house to consummate. There was usually a lot of cheering and whistling and stomping of feet during that part.” 

She was smiling a little, like she was recalling a fond memory, and Brasidas stroked his hand over her hair.

“There isn’t much of a ceremony, really. Since our parents haven’t arranged this, there won’t be an exchange of dowry, unless they decide to do that anyway. If the man is still in the agoge, he needs to get permission to leave the barracks for a few hours to consummate the marriage, but he has to return there to spend the night.”

Kassandra pushed herself up on an elbow and looked at him in surprise. “Really? He doesn’t even get to spend the whole night with his wife?”

Brasidas shook his head and stroked his palm over her back. “Really. And until he reaches thirty years old and can move out of the barracks into his own house, he won’t officially spend any more time with her. He has to sneak out each time.”

Kassandra smiled and shook her head, leaning down to kiss his skin. “Mater mentioned something about sneaking around when she told me about meeting Nikolaos. She seemed to enjoy it. I’m very glad you’re not in the agoge anymore, though. I don’t think I could put up with something like that.”

“Oh, I don’t know… you seemed to be enjoying sneaking around last time I checked.” 

She rolled her eyes at him and bit his skin lightly. “Only for a short time. I couldn’t stand it if I had to spend months or even years like that.”

“Yes, agreed. Either way, it’s not relevant to us. Since there’s no dowry and I’m not in the agoge, it will be a day like any other, except this time when I return home from the syssitia you will be living in my house. Our house.”

“Really? That’s it?”

Brasidas shrugged and stroked his palm down her side. “Really. I think I heard somewhere that there used to be more of a ceremony long ago. Where the men and women ate separately and celebrated. The women shaved off the bride’s hair and dressed her in boy's clothes and brought her to her new house for her to wait for her husband to come.”

Kassandra snorted out an undignified laugh. “They shaved her head? Why??” 

Brasidas laughed too and shook his head. “I have no earthly idea. Maybe they had a lice problem?” 

She continued to giggle a while, her body shaking against his, and he stroked his hand down to cup her buttock before sliding his palm back up her side. Her eyes glittered with mirth when she looked up again. “So, I just move myself into your house one day while you’re at the syssitia, and that’s it? How come we’re not already married then? I moved myself in months ago. And we’ve done plenty of consummating.”

“Lack of intent, no official declaration. If it were arranged between our families, our pater’s would announce it at their syssitia. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to do it myself now or if my pater should. I’ll have to ask him.”

“Hm… seems a little boring. Spartans aren’t very good at celebrating things, are they?”

“We are very good at celebrations. Just not at this specific one.”

“I’m sure Phoibe will be disappointed, she never really got to attend a wedding meal on Kephallonia. And I know Barnabas will be heartbroken at missing out on the chance to drink free wine.”

“Maybe we can have our own celebration later, for the marriage and your return to Sparta? Invite our friends and families. I want to meet Barnabas and Herodotos and your crew, at the very least.”

Brasidas’ hand had ended up on Kassandra’s buttock again, and this time he squeezed the flesh gently. “I’m feeling quite rested here, and it occurs to me that I made promise earlier. About returning favors? Is that something you might be interested in?”

She grinned at him and leaned in for a kiss. “As it happens, I would be interested in that, yes.”

The next morning brought with it heavy clouds and rain that hung like mist in the air, and the happy, carefree feeling of the night before was washed away. Today they would reach the Fort and he would have to let Kassandra go in alone in search of Lagos. She would have to confront him alone, convince him of her intentions alone, persuade him to break with the Cult alone. And if she failed… she would have to kill him. 

The worry churned in his stomach and pinched his brow. He wanted to go in with her, to talk to Lagos man to man, friend to friend, to look him in the eye and gauge his guilt or innocence himself. He believed that his friend was being coerced, believed that the Cult was forcing him to do things he didn’t want to, but… That didn’t mean he hadn’t joined willingly. That he didn’t believe in the Cult’s greater cause. 

Myrrine’s words had wormed their way into his mind and sowed seeds of doubt, and then Philonoe had watered them. ‘Business partners.’ It sounded like the Cult might have been welcomed by Lagos in the beginning.

Kassandra left him and their horses in the woods a ways from the Fort and continued on foot. He was too far away to see anything, to hear anything, or to know if something had gone wrong and she needed his help. But she had made him promise, swear he would stay where he was and not try to interfere. The Cult wanted him dead, had sent assassins after him, had corrupted one of the Kings. If Brasidas was seen aiding Kassandra to infiltrate the Fort - or worse - seen killing Spartan soldiers, then there would be no need for the Cult to send assassins. Sparta would execute him.

She had warned him it would take a long time, that he needed to be patient. The longer it took, the fewer people she had to kill. Her plan was to wait and watch and learn the patterns of the soldiers until she found a way to get Lagos alone. It might have been easier at night, but they didn’t want to waste any time, and their flight afterwards would be easier if they didn’t have to navigate the unfamiliar terrain in the dark.

Brasidas spent several hours in a restless, tense wait. He needed to be ready to throw himself onto his horse and ride away the moment Kassandra returned, so he couldn’t busy himself with anything, or lay down to rest. He could only pace and worry and hope while the misty, cold drizzle of rain soaked him to the bone.

Helios was hanging low in the sky when a rustling sounded up ahead in the woods, getting closer. Brasidas pulled his spear free and readied himself for a fight, but it was Kassandra who emerged from the trees with a winded and frazzled looking Lagos in tow. The relief on the man’s face was palpable, and he reached out to clasp his hands. “Brasidas! I wasn’t sure you really... I hoped, but… My family? They are safe?”

His response was cut off by an urgent hiss from Kassandra. “Later! We have to go now, they will soon notice he’s gone.”

He helped Lagos onto one of the horses and mounted the other to sit behind Kassandra. She grabbed the reins from out of Lagos’ hands and set off at a gallop, ensuring the other horse kept up and kept close.

He wanted to ask her about how it had gone, what she’d had to do, if anyone had been killed, but held his tongue. They needed to escape and find someplace safe to hide out until morning, soothing his curiosity could wait. 

The abandoned farm was too obvious and they rode past without a second glance. As dusk fell, Kassandra slowed down their pace and steered them into the woods until the trees and shrubs became too dense, forcing them to dismount. She took the reins of both horses, leading them deeper, searching for a place to camp, while they followed her.

“I’m sorry, my friend. For everything. I… I don’t know what to say.” Lagos’ voice was low, defeated. “I thought… but everything got away from me and I couldn’t get out.”

Brasidas stopped and turned to look at his old friend. He seemed a bit thinner since they spoke last, face tired and pale. “What did you think, Lagos? What got away from you?” This was it, he would get his explanation and have to decide if he believed it. What would he do if he didn’t? He crossed his arms and waited for his answer. Lagos’ eyes flickered down at the unwelcoming gesture and closed his eyes briefly, as if conjuring courage or praying for help.

“Years ago now, two men showed up in Arkadia asking for an audience. They claimed to have travelled far east where they had learned new farming techniques that increase the yield of wheat and rye, and they were looking for someone to partner with. They wouldn’t just give the techniques away, but wanted to set up a deal where they got a portion of the profit from the increased yield. I was skeptical, of course, increasing the yield isn’t a trivial thing, and every farmer always tries to come up with solutions. So I asked them to explain their methods, which they of course refused to do. Instead, they offered to demonstrate. I would give them a field where they could grow wheat using their technique, and come harvest, I would see they were right.”

“A long time to prove themselves to you. Why not just start their own farms, cut you out completely?” 

Kassandra’s voice came soft and low through the trees, calling for them, and they started to walk again. “There’s not much available farmland. Getting a portion of the profits from me is much easier. And it seemed a small thing, giving them the use of a small patch of land for a season. They insisted on bringing in their own people, erected a fence and stationed guards so no one could see what they were doing. Then we waited. Once it was time for harvest they brought me out and showed me. And the yield was larger.”

Lagos held up a hand to forestall his questions. “I admit that I am a fool, Brasidas. But I am no fool when it comes to crops. I was there for the whole harvest. Walked the field before they started, then watched as they cut and threshed the wheat. It was a higher yield. So… we struck a deal. Their techniques for a share of the profits, and they offered to stay to help implement it all. It all seemed… good. For the first couple of years we were producing more with each harvest, and they helped by touring the farms of Arkadia to train the workers.”

They had reached Kassandra now, who had found an outcropping of rock from the hillside which would shelter them from the rain. She had build a small fire for them to sit by and flicked a short glance in his direction before jerking her chin deeper into the woods and shrugging her bow into view. A silent offer to give them privacy under the guise of hunting. He gave her a small nod and lowered himself down to sit, watching as Lagos did the same. 

His friend looked after Kassandra as she disappeared between the trees. “You said there wasn’t anything between you when you came to my Compound. But there is. You two are very close.”

It wasn’t really a question, or an accusation, but he responded anyway. “I lied, Lagos. Like you lied about your family.”

Lagos nodded, understanding with a tinge of sorrow in his eyes. “I did. I’m sorry, my friend. So sorry. But her… Kassandra. She is a good match for you, I think. She reminds me of you, when you were younger, before you donned the helm and responsibilities of a General. Back when you were a little more passionate and a little more carefree.”

Brasidas could agree that Kassandra had passion, but carefree was not a word he would use to describe her. Or maybe she was, but in a way that made her indifferent to custom and protocol rather than responsibilities and repercussions.

“What happened with the men, Lagos?”

The man lowered his eyes to the fire, and sighed heavily. “They came back with more techniques. They didn’t ask for more drachme, which I think might be why I wasn’t more wary. They just gave suggestions for how we could make the collection from the farms more efficient. How the distribution could be improved. Get the crops to their destinations faster. Keep them safe from bandits and pirates. They started coming around more often, staying at the Compound for days, then weeks. All the while they were talking about the power of farms, how they held the key to any nation's prosperity. How every nation should endeavor to feed their entire polis well. Higher yield and faster distribution means less hunger. Well-fed people make for a strong nation, and hoarding grain for the richest was wrong.”

He paused to scrub his hands over his face. “I have seen hunger, Brasidas. The farmers, the workers, the servants. Thin and sickly while they produce food for everyone else. Never enough to fill their own bellies, everything has to go to someone else. And here these men told me we could have both. Enough food for everyone. And I believed them, because they really did increase the yield. I wanted the same as they said they wanted, thought we could do it with the increased yield. But then when war was declared, and we had to shift our distribution to the troops... That’s when things started to change. They wanted the same insight into the supply lines to the troops as to the rest, and when I refused… they got angry. Threatening. I realized that I was in over my head and needed help, so I wrote to Sparta for help.”

“You did?” There had been no mention of this when they discussed how to redistribute their troops to aid Boeotia. Nothing to indicate that the Archon had asked for help with anything, let alone unknown entities trying to gain access to the supply lines.

“I did. And the response came that I should work with the men for the good of Sparta.”

“Who? Who sent it?” Brasidas was shaking, not from the cold but from the fear of knowledge. He was about to find out who the traitor was. 

“King Pausanias.” Lagos spat the name like a curse, his face contorted in a grimace. “I questioned it. I did, Brasidas, you must believe me. I know the importance of the supply of grain for Sparta and the war. It is not a responsibility I take lightly. But my protest brought the King to my door. Pausanias came himself and told me of the Cult of Kosmos, an organization working underneath the surface of Hellas for a greater cause. He told me I had agreed with their philosophy before, why change my mind just because war came? He… implied it would be in my family’s best interest if I proved my loyalty and joined him as an official member of the Cult.”

Lagos was hiding his face in his hands, voice muffled as he continued. “He left guards behind, ‘for our protection’ and they followed not just me, but my family everywhere. Not a single word could be spoken in private again. Not a single action could be taken without approval. They threatened my family if I didn’t. Then came the order to interfere with the supplies going to the troops. To stall, to reduce, to stop them entirely. All to sway the war in Athens’ favor. I refused, so they took Philonoe and Niloxenos from me... Why? Why did I have to be such a useless, trusting fool?”

His voice broke at the end, tears spilling from between his fingers. Brasidas reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, in silent comfort.

When Kassandra returned, Lagos had laid down to sleep. He was curled on his side, facing the cliff, hiding his reddened face.

Brasidas reached out to her and pulled her to sit pressed to his side. “Do you believe him?”

He nodded and pressed his face into her hair. “I do, but I’m not sure Sparta will. It will be his word against King Pausanias’.”

He heard Kassandra let out a soft huff as she shook her head. “Pausanias is an idiot. Just like all the rest of the Cultists I’ve encountered so far. He wrote his orders with his own hand, and the ones he sent to Lagos he pressed his own seal into. I have them. And once we get back, we can match the hand to the other letters. We have our proof, Brasidas.” Her smile was triumphant and he squeezed her tight, hoping she wouldn’t notice his trepidation. 

Accusing a King of treason wasn’t something you did lightly, no matter the evidence.

Chapter Text

I ask you to pass through life at my side - to be my second self, and best earthly companion.

Charlotte Brontë

Kassandra

They sat off again once Helios began to brighten the sky, and with the light came a change in Lagos. Where the day before he had been a cowed and frightened man, resigned to his imprisonment, he was now determined, with back straight, shoulders squared, and eyes fixed on the horizon.

He pushed to get them back to Tegea faster than the horses would allow, and they had to grab his reins to prevent him riding off on his own when they stopped to rest.

On the way out of the Fort, he had grabbed a small sword which he gripped tightly as he paced back and forth, waiting for the horses to finish grazing.

Brasidas tried to talk to him, get him to sit and rest, but gave up and leaned against the trunk of a tree, closing his eyes to feign sleep, while his taunt, twitching muscles betrayed his tension.

When night fell, they ventured deep into the woods again to make their camp. Without a word, Lagos hopped off his horse and stalked away among the trees. Kassandra exchanged a worried look with Brasidas, but they let the man be as they secured their mounts and got a fire started.

They were unpacking what was left of their provisions when Lagos returned, arms full of sticks and branches for the fire. He dumped them on the ground with a clatter and spoke for the first time in hours. His voice was clear, strong, and held a note of command Kassandra was sure once had helped him secure his seat as Archon. “What is your plan? What happens once we get back?”

He was standing, staring at them both expectantly, and Brasidas shifted at her side, clearing his throat. “Well, first we reunite you with your family, and then we go to Sparta to present the evidence to the ephors, expose the traitor.”

“And you expect me to come with you to bear witness?”

Kassandra frowned and caught Brasidas’ eye, her confusion mirrored there. “Yes… that’s the plan. Your testimony will be impossible for them to ignore.”

Lagos shook his head and put his hands on his hips, standing straighter. “I can’t leave Arkadia to the Cult. The region is already so vulnerable, that if I leave they will take over, regardless of what happens to Pausanias. I have to stay and maintain control.”

She saw Brasidas’ jaw clench and unclench as his friend spoke, and snuck her hand to rest on his lower back, rubbing soothing circles. She turned to the man still standing tall and proud in front of them and tried to bring a note of reason into her voice. “It’s very dangerous for you here, Lagos. If we leave you behind, you will be vulnerable. They can take your family again and then all this will have been in vain.”

Brasidas broke in, his voice tired and disappointed. “And you don’t know which soldiers are Cult, and which are Spartan. And neither do the soldiers. Spartan soldiers won’t know they’re serving with or being led by Cultists, and they won’t heed you if you tell them to disregard orders from their superiors.”

Kassandra thought Brasidas’ words might have made his friend see reason, but instead Lagos smiled, his face almost triumphant. “That is all true, my friend, but I know of a place full of Spartan soldiers not controlled by the Cult.”

“Oh?” Brasidas’ face remained unchanged, jaw still clenched in irritation.

“The barracks at Tegea. There might be one or two low level Cultist soldiers, but I doubt it. I know the Commander there is completely uninvolved with the Cult.”

She felt Brasidas’ muscles relax slightly under her hand. “Are you certain?”

Lagos nodded. “Yes, I am. Every time Sparta moves troops through Arkadia they stop by Tegea and stay at the barracks. It was considered too risky to have it also house Cultist soldiers. All those Spartans coming through and no one recognizes the men at the barracks? Not from the agoge, the syssitia, the festivals, the agora, or just from around the neighbourhood? No one even knows anyone who’s ever been stationed at the barracks, yet they house Spartans? No, that works for the distribution centers that very few Spartans visit, but not a central hub like Tegea. No, the barracks are free of the Cult and we must use that to our advantage to ensure Arkadia while you expose the traitor.”

Kassandra looked between the two men, Lagos with an optimistic and determined smile, and Brasidas with a thoughtful frown. “Alright, so the barracks are safe. You want us to leave you and your family there while we go to Sparta to convince them there’s a traitor?”

Lagos shook his head and finally sank down to sit by the fire, the smile falling from his face. “No. I will go to the barracks alone. You take my family back with you. Keep them safe until the traitor is exposed and they can return.”

“You won’t come see them before..”

Brasidas cut off her question with a gentle hand on her wrist. “It’s better that he goes straight to Tegea. Less risk that we are followed and the cave exposed before we’re ready to leave.”

Lagos nodded in agreement. “I go to Tegea, announce my presence, make sure I stay visible to the community, and start rolling back what I can of the Cult’s orders. Meanwhile, you sneak away back to Sparta. It is how it has to be.”

It was Brasidas’ turn to nod his head. “Yes, this could work. But I will go with you to Tegea. The Commander knows me and will hear me when I say you need to be protected, even from Spartans.” He turned and squeezed Kassandra’s hand lightly. “And you go to the cave, get everything packed and ready. I’ll join you later.”

She felt an almost childish urge to protest the suggestion that they separate, but clamped it down. It was a good plan and the right thing to do. Instead she jerked her chin at Lagos with a half smile. “You better get rid of that bounty, the first thing you do, Lagos. Or my mater and I will have a very difficult time keeping your family safe.”

Brasidas

With only two horses between them, they waited until they were close to Tegea before splitting up. Kassandra gave him a deep, forceful kiss that made Lagos turn away in embarrassment, before riding off alone. He could still feel the ghosts of her fingertips pressing into his scalp as he entered the city. His friend didn’t comment, but a small smile tugged briefly at his lips when Brasidas glanced his way.

Soon they were walking into the barracks and were met by some very surprised soldiers. He showed Lagos into the office and then pulled the Commander aside.

They had discussed what to say to him, how to explain the level of protection needed, and had decided that trying to explain the Cult was too complicated.

“Commander. As you know, I’ve been sent here by Sparta to secure the region and have been traveling all around Arkadia to that end.” The other man nodded and glanced at the door Lagos had closed behind him. “What I have neglected to tell you is that we have suspected Athenian spies in the area, trying to disrupt our supply lines and infiltrate our troops.”

“Athenians? Malaka! Surely, they have failed? No Athenian could fool a Spartan!”

Brasidas shook his head with a sad smile. “It seems they have succeeded. They managed to gain access to the Archon and have been threatening him and tried to kidnap his family.”

The Commander gaped and his normally happy, jovial features twisted into an ugly mask of anger and outrage.

“The Archon must remain in Arkadia, and remain visible to show that he is not cowed. I will be taking his family to Sparta, but I need you and your men to ensure the Archon’s safety until I return with reinforcements.”

“Of course! No malakas Athenians will get anywhere near him.”

“Remember, they have been successful in infiltrating our troops so do not trust anyone who doesn’t already belong to these barracks.”

The Commander then argued with him for a while about bringing a few soldiers with him to help escort the family, but in the end Brasidas convinced him to prioritize the Archon’s security.

Lagos stayed shut in the office for a long time, and Brasidas stepped away to wash the past few day’s travel from his skin, and then packed up some provisions from the Barracks’ stores to make the trip back to Sparta easier.

When the Archon finally emerged, he held orders to cancel the bounty on Kassandra which he handed off to the Commander and instructed they should be communicated to the mercenary community immediately. He also held a thick scroll for the ephors of Sparta, as well as a smaller letter for Philonoe. These he gave to Brasidas with a pained expression on his face, clasping his hand tightly. “Tell them that I am sorry, Brasidas. That I love them and that I am sorry.”

He rode out of Tegea a while later with the reins of a second horse held tight in his hand. Three horses to share between four adults and one child, as well as their packs, weapons, and armor wasn’t enough considering how quickly they should be trying to move, but it was the best he could do.

When he neared the statue this time, he didn’t bother hiding his true destination and didn’t wait to check for pursuers. Instead he tied both horses next to Kassandra’s just outside the opening and headed inside.

He could hear Niloxenos’ high, frightened voice before he reached the cavern, and Philonoe’s soft but clearly worried words trying to soothe him.

Myrrine nodded tersely at him as he stepped inside and hefted their packs over her shoulder, hurrying outside. Kassandra was trying to calm down their guests while packing up the bedrolls. She gave him a pleading look when he walked over and he took a gentle hold of Philonoe’s upper arm. “He’s safe, surrounded by Spartan soldiers under my orders, and if they want to get to him, they will have to do so publicly. He is safe, Philonoe.”

Niloxenos interrupted before she could answer. “But why can’t we see him? I want to see my pater! I don’t want to go to Sparta!”

Brasidas knelt down and took a firm hold of the boy’s shoulders. “Your pater has decided that you must go while he stays behind. It is the only way to make sure the bad men won’t harm anyone else. You will be reunited with him soon, but for now, you must calm yourself and help us pack the horses. We have no time to lose.”

The boy looked ready to protest, but his mother pinched his ear and gave him a stern look. With his lower lip clamped hard between his teeth, he nodded solemnly and turned to lift a bedroll from the ground.

Brasidas waited until the boy had followed Kassandra into the tunnel before pulling out the letter and handing it to Philonoe. “He wanted me to tell you that he’s sorry and that he loves you.” She nodded, lips a thin determined line, and followed her son outside.

Brasidas took one last look around to make sure they hadn’t left anything important behind before stomping out the fire and leaving the dark cavern for the last time.

The horses were packed and ready when he emerged and they set off right away. Myrrine took the lead, with Philonoe and Niloxenos on their own horse close behind. Kassandra sat behind him with her arms around his waist.

After they’d been riding a while he felt her press her nose to his neck. “You washed.”

He chuckled softly and nodded. “I did. Lagos took a while writing his testimony so I had the time.”

He felt air rush over his skin as she inhaled. “You smell good.”

They lapsed back into silence a while, but he could feel the tension mounting in the arms around his waist. There was something bothering her.

“They might not believe us. Not believe the evidence.”

Brasidas nodded slowly. “True. It is a serious accusation. They must be sure before they convict.”

Kassandra became quiet again and he felt her fingertips drumming restlessly on his belt. “What…”

He waited for her to continue but when she didn’t, he glanced back at her, tapping her wrist with a finger. “Hmm?”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If they don’t believe us, then my mater and I can’t stay in Sparta. We will have to flee. I…” She pressed her forehead to his back for a moment and took another deep breath. “I think you should stay out of it. Let my mater and I accuse the traitor without you. Then… then you can say you didn’t know anything and stay in Sparta. Stay safe, and keep Phoibe safe.”

Her words had been pressed into his back, muffled and soft, but he heard her clearly and pulled on the reins to stop the horse. He slid to the ground and pulled her down to stand in front of him. The smug triumph she’d felt after rescuing Lagos was completely gone from her face, as was the almost giddy hope she’d had trouble hiding whenever they spoke of their future together. Now her face was marred with fear, dread, and uncertainty.

Brasidas felt his stomach clench in sympathy and took hold of her hands. “You are right that we might fail and be driven out of Sparta, but if that happens we go together. I can’t pretend I’m not involved in this, even if I wanted to. Lagos testimony will reveal my involvement, as will Philonoe if they decide to question her. But we should be prudent and prepare for the worst. Have Phoibe wait with horses ready in case we must flee.”

He could see some of the tension leave her and squeezed her hands. “Kassandra. The evidence is good. It proves Pausanias is a traitor. We will succeed.”

A soft voice called from the road ahead. The others had noticed their absence and turned back to find them. Then another, much angrier shout from Myrrine had them both back on the horse and off in a gallop within their next breath.

Kassandra

They made camp late in the evening and ate a hasty meal before everyone laid down to sleep. Myrrine still looked irritated after their short delay earlier, and Kassandra insisted on taking the first watch to make sure she would have a chance to talk to her mater alone for a while. After she had gotten some sleep.

When she woke her mater after a few hours, she beckoned her away from the sleeping camp and sat down by a tree. “Brasidas and I were talking and we think we should prepare for them to not believe us. Prepare to flee.”

Myrrine looked at her silently for a moment, head tilted slightly. “You do not trust the evidence?”

“I do, but… If I’m wrong, I can’t risk Phoibe. I need to make sure that if this goes wrong, then I can get her out safe.”

The crease between her mater’s eyes softened and she nodded. “Yes, you are right. We should prepare our escape before we address the court.”

She thought her mater would try to send her off to get some sleep, but instead she tilted her head again and squinted suspiciously. “There’s something else you’re not telling me.”

“No, there isn’t.” Kassandra felt a blush creep up her cheeks and shrugged. “It’s just… we’re planning to get married once we get back to Sparta. So that it’s done and out of the way. Brasidas will likely have to return to Arkadia right away to deal with the fallout of all this, so we would just quickly…”

She trailed off. Her mater looked surprised. More surprised than Kassandra had thought she would be. She knew they were planning to get married eventually, after all.

“You plan to announce your victory in Boeotia, expose the traitor, then get married after that on the same day, and then have Brasidas return to Arkadia the day after that?”

Kassandra nodded and Myrrine let out an uncharacteristic laugh before she clamped her hand over her mouth to stop herself waking the whole camp.

“What’s so wrong about it? I know we talked about weakening the Cult first, but he’s not going to prevent me doing that work, and if we’re married then Phoibe will be better protected if something happens to me. And it’s not like it’s a big deal or will take a lot of time to get married anyway.”

Her mater’s eyes narrowed. “How do you think a marriage takes place, Kassandra?”

The question made her suddenly uncertain and she shrugged, picking at the hem of her chiton. “Brasidas said there isn’t really anything much to it at all. I just move into his house while he’s at the syssitia and then it’s done.”

Myrrine snorted softly behind her hand and rolled her eyes. “Men.”

“What? What else is there?”

Kassandra watched as her mater shook her head, rolling her eyes again, and settling herself more comfortably against the tree. “It’s true that Spartans marry without much celebration, but it’s still an important union and an important day. And before you get to that day, there are preparations that need to be made, and most importantly, the families have to discuss and agree to the marriage.”

Kassandra’s heart sank. The thought of rushing their wedding had made her feel light, hopeful, and happy. From one day to another, she would have gone from being a solitary nomad with very few attachments or connections, to officially, legally being part of a new, big family. She would have had a real place in the community. Not as someone’s thrown away daughter, or that weird mercenary who works for information over drachme, but as a wife and mother. She would have been openly tied to Brasidas and he to her.

Now, a heaviness began to settle in her stomach at her mater’s words. How long would they have to wait? Brasidas’ work in Arkadia could take months, and who knew where the Cult would take her during that time? It could be years before they were together in the same space again.

“The discussion between your family and Brasidas’ family has to be completed before anything else can happen. That discussion might be nothing more than a formality in this case, but it must still take place. Then the marriage needs to be announced to the community, and only after that can we start preparing you both to just move in while he’s at the syssitia”

It was Kassandra’s turn to narrow her eyes. “What do you mean by prepare? Everything I have is in that pack over there. I don’t need to prepare to carry that into his house and dump it in a corner.”

That was met with a huff and rolling eyes. “The syssitia explains the duties of a husband, how to run his household and how to…” Myrrine paused briefly and cleared her throat. The flickering firelight made it hard to tell for sure, but she could have sworn her mater looked a little sheepish. “...how to handle his wife to make sure the marriage is fruitful.”

Kassandra stared blankly at her mater. “Seriously? You want to delay this so a bunch of old men can tell Brasidas how to make babies? Mater. I assure you, he already knows.”

Myrrine shrugged and waved a dismissive hand in the air. “It’s how it’s done.”

“And what about me? What preparations do you imagine I need? Because I already know how to make babies too.”

Her mater sighed and rolled her eyes again. “Yes. Part of it is explaining what is expected of a wife and how to make babies. But there are other things as well.”

“Like what?”

“Your female relatives and friends gather and help you pack your things, to help you move into his house, they help bathe and dress you. There’s cooking, weaving, singing, stories. It’s… it’s fun, Kassandra.”

It was her turn to roll her eyes. “Mater, I don’t want fun. I don’t need help packing and moving, I can wash myself just fine, and I don’t want to hear any stories and songs. I just want this done quickly. Besides, I don’t have any friends, so it would just be you and Phoibe, and that’s just sad.”

“It would not be just the three of us. Brasidas’ mater and sisters would be there, and the neighbours. It’s not just a day for you to celebrate, it’s for the community too.

Kassandra sighed and shook her head. “Mater, please, I just want to do this before he has to return to Arkadia. Who knows when we will have the chance again? There’s so much of the Cult still out there, and Sparta is at war. We could end up at opposite ends of Hellas for years after this.”

Myrrine pursed her lips and sighed in exasperation, but she nodded. “Fine. If the ephors don’t run us out of town, I’ll go speak to his parents after we’re done. But I can’t promise anything. If Brasidas’ family is unwilling to rush this, I can’t force them.”

“Thank you, mater. This means so much to me.”

She waved her hand in dismissal. “Go sleep.”

Kassandra smiled as she walked back to the bedrolls, but a frown settled on her face before she reached them. What if Brasidas family refused? How long would they have to wait?

Brasidas woke up when she slid onto the bedroll next to him and let out a questioning hum. She shook her head and laid down, but he pulled her close and pressed a finger against the crease between her eyebrows.

“What is it?” His voice was soft and low and she felt it rumble in his chest under her ear.

“It’s nothing. I’ll tell you tomorrow when we ride.” She pressed herself closer and felt his hand settle on her head, stroking gently while she drifted off to sleep.

Brasidas

When they finally rode into Sparta the next day, Brasidas’ stomach felt like it was filled with heavy, coiling snakes. The day would end in one of two scenarios, but both would change his life completely. Either he would be driven out of Sparta and spend the rest of his days in exile, or he would soon be married, and acquire a half-grown daughter as well.

He was full of dread, apprehension, fear, excitement, hope, and joy. The jumble of emotions was exhausting, and tensing his muscles to the point of pain. He could tell that Kassandra at his back was not doing much better.

They had agreed to split up to be as efficient as possible. The Kings were expecting Kassandra to announce her victory in Boeotia, nothing more, so there was no good reason for her to delay her visit to the throne room. That meant being very quick with their preparations, so as to not arouse suspicion.

Myrrine would fetch the ephors, Kassandra would prepare Phoibe for a potential fast escape, and himself? He needed to talk to his pater.

Myrrine soon split off from them, and the rest of the group continued to his parent’s house. He hoped they would find both Phoibe and his pater there, or at least find out where they were.

They were in luck. His pater was sitting outside in the courtyard when they arrived, hunched over a stool, sharpening his blades. Brasidas slid off the horse and helped Philonoe and Niloxenos down before walking over.

“Chaire, pater!” In his late seventies, the man was still strong and agile, but his hearing had weakened a little, forcing those around him to raise their voices.

“Brasidas! We were not expecting you, how was Arkadia?”

“Arkadia is not yet finished, I’m afraid. I’m only back for a short visit.” He gestured back towards the waiting women. “Pater, you remember Kassandra of course. And this is Philonoe and her son Niloxenos. They need a place to stay for a while.”

He watched his pater’s eyes narrow and his mouth tighten as he took in the not yet faded bruises on Philonoe’s skin before he took a step forward and smiled at the guests. “I am Tellis of Sparta, welcome to my home. My wife is in the gynaeceum, she will take care of you. Perhaps Kassandra can show you the way?”

He waited until the women had disappeared into the house before speaking again. “There’s a story behind that, I assume?”

“There is, but I don’t have time to tell it just now. There is something important I need to discuss with you, pater. Can we go to the andrōn?”

They walked into the house just as a shriek of delight echoed from back at the gynaeceum. It seemed Phoibe was at the house too.

The andrōn was almost as unadorned as his own, with klinés and tables lining the walls. He sat down and waited for his pater to do the same. A servant materialized with wine and cups, but Brasidas demurred. “I can’t stay, I need to leave again soon.”

“Alright then, son, what’s on your mind?”

The snakes in his stomach coiled and writhed as he met his pater’s steady gaze. “Kassandra. I intend to marry her.”

Tellis’ expression hardened slightly and one eyebrow rose. “You do, do you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s between me and the girl’s pater to decide, not you.”

His pater’s voice held a tone of admonition and Brasidas straightened his posture and reminded himself that he was not a child. “I know that, pater. But Nikolaos isn’t available, as you might be aware. However, Myrrine plans to come by later to discuss it. That’s why I’m here, to make sure it’s not a surprise.”

“Myrrine?” His pater scoffed and Brasidas fought down a sigh.

“Yes. Myrrine. She’s coming here right after her meeting with the Kings to reinstate her citizenship. I intend to be married to Kassandra before I return to Arkadia in a day or so, and there’s much to discuss and plan, I’m told.”

Tellis coughed in surprise and took a long drink of wine to collect himself. “In a day or so? That’s ridiculous! You want me to discuss marriage with her girl’s mater, today no less, so that you can haste through this by… when? Tomorrow?”

“Preferably.”

“Tosh! These things take time! They must be handled a certain way, in a certain time. You can’t just ignore that. And your mater will be furious.”

Brasidas couldn’t help the soft snort that escaped him. “Mater will weep tears of joy that I am finally asking to be married. She won’t mind the haste. But she will be furious with you if you stop it, though, I’m sure.”

His pater shrugged at that and nodded in agreement. Then he squinted suspiciously. “Be truthful. Why the rush? Is she pregnant?”

“She might be.”

Tellis laughed hard and Brasidas waited patiently until he finished. “Are those your only objections? The rush and that Nikolaos isn’t here?”

His pater leaned back and regarded him a while before nodding. “Despite their history, Kassandra is from a good line and has proven herself formidable from what I understand. Raises good children too. That Phoibe girl has great potential, strong, very clever. Uneducated, of course, but we can’t fault her for that, I think, and your sisters are taking care of it, anyway.

Brasidas felt the snakes in his stomach begin to calm. “Then, pater, I ask you to please help me make this marriage possible, despite the rush. We are at war, the Moirai alone know where I’ll be sent next or when I’ll return.” He left the ‘if I’ll return’ hanging unspoken in the air and saw his pater being to relent.

“And you’re not getting any younger.”

“No, I’m not.”

“And your mater would throw me out of the house if I foiled a chance for her son to be married.”

Brasidas smiled and ducked his head. “Yes, pater, I believe she would.”

“Alright, I will talk to her and to Myrrine and see what we can do.”

When he stepped outside again, Kassandra was waiting by the horses with her daughter who was beaming brightly and waved when she saw him. “Chaire, Brasidas!”

“Chaire, Phoibe. Are you well?”

“Yes, thank you, your family is really nice!”

He smiled at her and reached out to tap her forehead. “And no more headaches?”

The girl grinned and shook her head. “Only a couple of small ones. I’ve been careful.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Kassandra had mounted one of the horses while they spoke and now he lifted Phoibe up to join her before he sat up on the other and rode towards the center of town.

It didn’t take long before they reached their destination and slid to the ground. Kassandra handed Phoibe the reins and gave her a hug before walking over to the entrance. Her daughter smiled wide and waved enthusiastically after them, and Brasidas waved back.

“What did you tell her?”

“That she wasn’t allowed in the room with the Kings but I wanted her right outside to celebrate with us once we get our house back.”

He nodded in approval. “Not a bad cover.”

“Mmm, and hopefully, not a cover at all.”

Kassandra

She felt almost numb as she walked back towards the doors. They had succeeded, both in regaining their house and in exposing the traitor. Now her mater had her house back, and she would be talking to Brasidas’ parents to arrange the marriage and then… then they would be married and she would finally belong, and so would Phoibe, and they were all good things and she was so happy. But the traitor had been exiled, not executed. He’d tried to take over control of the supply of food from Arkadia and threatened the Archon, had sent assassins after Brasidas, a kidnapper after Myrrine, and actually kidnapped the Archon’s family. He’d tried to wrest Naxos from Sparta and give it to Athens, and probably so many more things that they weren’t even aware of. Yet, he was alive and got to walk free. His only punishment that he no longer could call himself King or Spartan.

‘They murdered me - a child - for trying to save my brother, but this traitor gets to live after everything he’s done?’

Just before she reached the door, she felt an arm wrap around her shoulder, and was confused that Brasidas’ would so publicly show affection until she heard her mater’s voice in her ear. “We will take care of him later, my lamb. For now, let us be happy and celebrate. We have won two great victories today. Do not let the Cult take that joy from you.”

Kassandra nodded and pushed the door open, answering Phoibe questioning smile with a wide grin and ran over to sweep her up into her arms. “Chaire, Phoibe of Sparta!”

She giggled happily and reached out to Myrrine who took her hand and kissed it. “You have your house back now, yayá?”

Kassandra settled Phoibe more comfortably on her hip while her mater stroked the girl’s cheek. “Our house. And yes, we have it back.”

“Does that mean we can go inside now?”

Myrrine gave a delighted laugh at that and kissed her hand again. “Yes, we can go inside now.”

“But first!” Kassandra lifted Phoibe up onto the horse and glanced at Brasidas who was standing behind them with an amused smile. “First yayá has promised to go talk to Tellis and Aggi about something important. Then we go to the house.” She hopped up on the horse and gave her mater an expectant, urging stare.

It didn’t take any time at all to get back, and the closer they got, the more nervous and fluttery she felt, as if her stomach was filled with tiny fishes swimming around all in a rush. What if they said no? What if they said yes?

Tellis was sitting on his stool again but stood up when they arrived and gestured to a servant who disappeared into the house. “Myrrine, welcome. Was your petition successful?”

“Yes, Tellis. It was very successful. I’m sure you’ll hear all about it at your syssitia tonight.” Her mater slid down from her horse and gave a slight smile at the skeptical eyebrow Tellis had raised at the implication that his syssitia would be concerned with whether she got her house back or not.

“I understand we need to have a conversation?”

Her mater sent Kassandra a quick, exasperated glance before nodding. “Yes, apparently it’s urgent.”

This made Tellis smirk and glance at his son, and Kassandra felt a blush creep up her cheeks.

Aggi appeared from the house with a loud greeting and kisses pressed to everyone’s cheeks. While she admonished her son for running off without saying hello earlier, Kassandra crouched down and cupped her daughter’s shoulders. “I need you to go into the gynaeceum for a bit. I’ll come get you in a little while and then we’ll go to the house, ok?”

Phoibe looked suspiciously between the adults and didn’t move. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t have time to tell you right now, but I promise I will tell you everything once we get to the house.” The girl hesitated and Kassandra pushed her gently towards the house. “It’s nothing bad, Phoibe, I promise. Go on.”

When she stood back up she saw her mater disappear into the house with Tellis and Aggi. Brasidas was standing next to her, his cheeks a little pink. “They’re going to the andrōn. We’re supposed to wait outside.”

They walked together into the house, careful to not touch each other. When they reached the closed door, Kassandra leaned against the wall and tried not to fidget. “Is this normal? Waiting for them like this?”

Brasidas shook his head with a smile. “No. Not normal. We should not be involved. Our maters should not be involved.”

She smiled and shrugged. “Well, we won’t be having a normal marriage anyway, so they might as well get used to it.”

He chuckled softly and they stood silent, listening to the murmuring voices beyond the door. “Will you stay at your mater’s house tonight?” Brasidas’ voice was low, mindful of potential nearby servants.

Kassandra nodded. “Yeah. I want to spend some time with Phoibe. There’s a lot I need to tell her, and I want to hear what she’s been up to while we were gone.”

He nodded and after a moment, smiled wide. “The barn was a good idea. Very wise.” She grinned at him but any reply was interrupted by the door opening.

Aggi was gesturing them inside with an uncharacteristically serious look on her face, which was mirrored by both Tellis and Myrrine.

As soon as the door closed, Tellis’ stern and displeased eyes pinned her to the spot. She hadn’t received that look from him since she was a small, rambunctious child, and had to fight off the memories trying to resurface. “Myrrine tells me your pater is alive and commanding troops in Boeotia.”

“Yes?” Kassandra wasn’t sure where he was going with the question and glanced at her mater, who was staring at the floor.

“Considering the history, I understand that it would have been inappropriate to discuss this marriage with any of your male relatives here in Sparta. Furthermore, I was under the impression that Nikolaos was dead or had exiled himself. That is why I agreed to discuss this with Myrrine. But, since your pater is alive and still Spartan, I can’t accept this marriage without his involvement.”

Her mater was still staring fixedly at the floor, Aggi looked stern, and from next to her came a soft sigh as Brasidas shifted slightly.

“Why? It’s not like he doesn’t approve.”

“What?” They all stared at her, even her mater had lifted her head in surprise. “What do you mean he approves? How do you know that?”

“Because he told me?” Brasidas shifted at her side again, but she didn’t look away from Tellis’ penetrating stare.

She needed to choose her next few words carefully so that no one, not even Nikolaos, could accuse her of lying. “I met Nikolaos in Boeotia and we spent some time catching up in Orchomenos. I told him mater and I were back in Sparta, told him about Phoibe, and about Brasidas.”

It wasn’t a lie. She had told him about Brasidas… lending them his house.

“And then he told you he would accept your marriage without the opportunity to discuss it with me?” Tellis sounded deeply skeptical.

“He told me that he had been thinking about arranging our marriage since I was a child. This was before he tried to murder me on Mount Taygetos, obviously.” Her mater hissed at her over the last comment, and Aggi gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. She could tell that Brasidas had fully turned to face her now, but she ignored him.

Tellis looked a little rattled, and hesitated for a moment. “He told you about that?”

“It’s true? You were discussing it back then?” Aggi spoke from behind her hand and Tellis shrugged.

“We spoke of it a few times, but nothing serious. She was just a small child. I’m sure he spoke to many of the paters.”

“He didn’t say anything to me about anyone else. Only Brasidas. He said Brasidas is a good soldier and General, with an impressive reputation. And that he saw great potential in him even as a boy.”

Her mater gave her a hard, scrutinizing stare, but Aggi dropped her hand from her mouth and waved it at her husband. “Well, that takes care of it then, doesn’t it? We can go ahead now?”

Tellis glanced at her before frowning at Kassandra. “Can you prove this?”

“Prove it?”

“Did he give you a message to deliver to me? A token or seal? Anything?”

“No.”

“Why not if he knew he couldn’t be here himself?”

She gave him a hard stare and spoke in a calm, even voice. “I suppose he didn’t think you would accuse his daughter of lying.”

Her mater groaned and buried her face in her hands while Aggi’s eyes flew open in shock. Beside her, Brasidas’ shoulders sank, his head dropping in defeat.

Tellis’ eyes narrowed as he stared at her and she stared back with confidence. She hadn’t lied. Everything she had said was true. She had nothing to worry about.

Finally, Tellis broke eye contact and looked at his son instead. “Are you sure about this? She is not going to be an easy wife, I can tell. Too headstrong and cocky. You will struggle to control her.”

Kassandra bit her cheek. Behind Tellis’ back, Myrrine looked affronted and Aggi grimaced, but Brasidas just chuckled and nodded his head. “Yes, pater. I am sure.”

Tellis glanced at Kassandra again and rolled his eyes. “Fine. I accept. Be married. But if Nikolaos returns in anger, on your heads be it. I take no blame if his women are liars.”

He turned away nodding curtly at Myrrine and patting his wife lightly on the shoulder. “I need to go and speak to the syssitia so they can make their preparations. For tomorrow.” He rolled his eyes again before walking out the door.

There was a moment of silence as they all stared after him, then Aggi rubbed her hands together. “Tomorrow! There’s so much to do!”

Kassandra groaned softly and lifted her hands in placation. “Theia. Please don’t make a fuss.”

“Nonsense! You deserve the same as everyone else. But don’t worry, your mater and I will handle it.”

Aggi turned to Brasidas and cupped his cheeks. Her voice was warm and loving, and her eyes brimming with tears. “My boy. My beautiful boy. Getting married. Finally!”

They all jumped at her shout and then jumped again when she clapped her hands together. “I must tell your sisters! They will be ecstatic! Myrrine, I will see you later to plan.” She gave them all loud kisses and rushed out of the room with a last shouted Finally!

Brasidas grimaced and blushed and they smiled at him while he squirmed.

“Mater, can you go fetch Phoibe and I’ll meet you in the courtyard?” She nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her with a soft scrape.

Before it had even closed fully, Brasidas pulled Kassandra into a tight hug, burying his face in her neck. She squeezed him back and they stood like that for a moment, until he loosened his hold and looked at her. “Is it true about Nikolaos?”

She grinned and shrugged casually. “Sure it is. I told him about Kephallonia, Phokis, Athens, Korinthia, Keos, Naxos… I told him about Markos, and adopting Phoibe, and finding mater, and returning to Sparta. And I told him that you had kindly lent us your house.”

“The house? Not… the rest?”

“No. Not the rest.”

“And he… told you he wanted us to be married?”

“Hmmm… No. He said all those nice things about you after I said you lent us your house. The marriage thing was just him reminiscing about the past. We didn’t dwell on it.”

A slight frown settled on Brasidas’ face. “So, he doesn’t actually approve?”

“Yes, he does. He just doesn’t know there’s something to approve of yet.” She pressed her lips to his before untangling herself from his arms and taking a step away. “But more importantly, Brasidas. The day Nikolaos threw me off a mountain is the day he lost the privilege to approve or disapprove of my choices.”

She watched the frown deepen a moment before he finally nodded. “I need to go now, but I will see you tomorrow. After your syssitia.” She grinned at him and he grinned back. She didn’t leave though. Instead she let him pull her back into his arms for a deep, longing kiss, full of promise.

They broke apart when their lungs screamed for air and moved a few steps apart. Still panting, Kassandra put her hand on the door. “I really do have to go now.”

He nodded, chest rising with his heavy breaths. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She turned away, only to turn back again. “One last thing. According to my mater, your syssitia is going to explain to you how to handle me in this marriage. Don’t you dare listen to a single word they say.”

He laughed and shook his head, raising his hands in placation. “I promise.”

Her mater was already in the courtyard when she emerged, with Phoibe who wondered what had been going on. Her voice was almost whining when she asked why Myrrine wouldn’t tell her anything, and Kassandra snuck up behind her, grabbing her by the waist. “It’s because I’m going to tell you!”

Her mater gave them an indulgent smile and started to walk towards their old house and Kassandra followed with the giggling girl in her arms.

The air was stale when they stepped inside. Her mater only hesitated a moment before moving to open the shutters to let more air and light into the room.

It was obvious the house had been abandoned a long time, maybe even since that night on Mount Taygetos.

The dust covered everything like a thick blanket, some of it whirling up into the air. Phoibe coughed and waved a hand in front of her, making more dust swirl in the sunbeams piercing the room.

Kassandra stared around in awe. She recognized everything, even through the thick obscuring dust. The table, the chairs, the urn in the corner, the lamp on a side table. “It looks exactly like I remember. Nothing has changed.”

Her mater nodded slowly and moved toward the kitchen. It was just as abandoned, but here there were also old mummified remains of food. Dried husks of what Kassandra assumed were fruits or vegetables, bags of grain and lentils long since chewed open and emptied by vermin, and in the corner she spied a rodent skeleton.

Her mater continued deeper into the house, opening doors and peeking inside. She didn’t speak, only taking everything in with wide, haunted eyes.

Kassandra turned to her daughter who was biting her lip and looking worriedly at her yayá. “Phoibe, can you go upstairs and open all the doors and windows? And see if you can find something we can use to clean up this place? We have a lot of work to do here.”

She nodded and disappeared up the stairs. Kassandra walked through the rooms on the ground floor, opening all the rest of the windows and doors to the outside. Then she went to find her mater.

She found her standing in the middle of the andrōn. This room wasn’t nearly as barren as Tellis’ and Brasidas’ were. There was a rug on the floor, a large wolf pelt on one wall and an intricate tapestry on another. Laurels were sitting on a small table, and a shield hung by the door. A few pots held the shriveled remains of long-dead plants. All of it was covered in a thick gray layer of dust.

She watched silently for a moment before reaching out a gentle hand. “Mater?”

“I don’t think your pater ever set foot in this house again after…” Her voice was low and distracted, and her eyes looked far away and glassy. “I thought… with his new son..”

Kassandra heard Phoibe coming back down the stairs and tried again. “Mater. We need to clean this place up or we’ll have to sleep outside tonight.”

Myrrine blinked a few times and shook herself. “Yes. Yes, you’re right. We really have a lot of work to do.”

They stepped out into the front room and found Phoibe trying to clear cobwebs from a very old and brittle-looking broom. She looked up at them and grimaced. “This was all I could find. The others were broken, I think something chewed on them.”

Myrrine shook her dead and sighed. “Well, this won’t do. I’m going to go ask the neighbours for help. Why don’t the two of you have your talk now before the gossip gets here?”

Her mater left and Kassandra held her hand out to her daughter. “Let's go outside where we can breathe.”

They walked over and sat down in a small meadow nearby.

“So, I need to tell you something before yayá comes back and we have to start cleaning. It’s really important.” Phoibe looked torn between excited curiosity and worry, and nodded slowly.

“It’s about Brasidas. We are getting married.”

The girl’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “You are? Really?”

Kassandra couldn’t help the small, happy laugh escaping her. “Yes, really. And when Brasidas becomes my husband, then he will also become your pater.”

“Really? My pater?” Phoibe’s eyes were very wide as she stared ahead in blankly.

“Yes. Your pater. That’s good, right? You like Brasidas, don’t you?”

She stared into space for a moment longer before she snapped back and her face broke into a smile. “Yeah. I like Brasidas, he’s really nice.”

“I think so too.” Kassandra smiled at her and they sat grinning stupidly at each other for a while, until Phoibe’s curiosity took over again.

“When?”

“Tomorrow, actually. That’s what we were talking about while you had to wait in Aggi’s gynaeceum.”

“Tomorrow? That’s so soon!”

Kassandra laughed again and nodded. “Yes, it is. I know it seems sudden. Usually these things are a bit better planned and not so rushed, but we really want to be married before we both have to run off again.”

“Is there going to be a party, like on Kephallonia?” She looked hopeful but Kassandra shook her head slowly.

“No. It’s different here. No big celebration, and the men and women spend the day separately. Yaya said the women usually spend the day preparing and having fun, but…” She shrugged and shook her head. “With this house needing so much work, and the marriage being tomorrow, I don’t know if there’s really time for anything else.”

Phoibe nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we can celebrate later, it’s more important to get this house clean. It’s a mess. Worse than your house on Kephallonia even.” She giggled and Kassandra swatted her on the shoulder.

“We’re not going to be living here though. We will live with Brasidas in his house. Our house. Yaya will live in her house once we’ve cleaned it and replaced the furniture.”

“All alone? Won’t she be lonely?” Phoibe looked worried and Kassandra shrugged.

“Well, she’ll have servants of course, and we will visit her all the time, and maybe my pater will live here too one day, if she lets him.”

“Your pater?”

She looked up in surprise and blinked stupidly at her daughter for a moment. “I forgot… Oh, Phoibe, I have so much to tell you.”

She told a heavily censored story about her time in Boeotia, hunting the Champions, reuniting with Nikolaos, and fighting in the big battle. When she told her about the violent reunion with Stentor, Phoibe gasped, appalled and affronted. “He punched you? Why?!”

Kassandra laughed and shook her head. “It’s ok, he was just angry. He thought I had killed our pater.”

“Oh… but he’s not angry anymore, because your pater isn’t dead? So he’s not going to hit you again, right?”

“He might…” Kassandra laughed again at the expression on her daughter’s face and wrapped an arm around her. “Stentor really doesn’t like me, Phoibe. Even after Nikolaos returned, he was still angry with me. But it’s fine, I’ll just stand out of arm's reach next time.”

Phoibe snuggled close and a frown creased her face. Kassandra could tell that she was thinking and waited.

“Stentor is your brother. But he’s adopted, right?”

“Right.”

“Maybe... “ The frown deepened a little. “Maybe he’s afraid your pater will throw him away now that he has his real child back. And that’s why he’s angry at you. Because he’s scared.”

Phoibe was staring down at her hands and Kassandra could feel her tensing up under her arm. “Phoibe… Stentor is Nikolaos’ real child. But you are right that he might be scared.”

Her daughter continued to stare at her hands and resisted when Kassandra tried to turn her face up with a finger under her chin. “Phoibe, are you scared? Are you worrying about what will happen when Brasidas and I have children?”

The girl gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head and let out a very small ‘No.’ aimed down at the ground.

Kassandra pulled her onto her lap and squeezed her tight. “Good. Because you are my real daughter and you can’t be replaced. We are growing our family, not swapping anybody out. Ok?”

“Ok.”

Her mater had returned while they were talking, and accompanied by several people from the sound of things. They walked back and found the house full of women tackling the dust and dirt with brooms, brushes, and rags.

Aristomache stood in the door to the kitchen, talking to a group of children. She waved Phoibe over and told the group to fetch lots of water from the well so the floors could be scrubbed clean.

Kassandra left them and moved deeper into the house, searching for her mater.

She found her in one of the upstairs bedrooms sweeping cobwebs from the ceiling. Aggi was in there with her, and Kassandra could hear them discussing the marriage preparations, but they stopped abruptly when she entered.

“Chaire, theia. Thank you so much for helping.” Aggi smiled and waved dismissively, twirling her broom into a thick cobweb in the corner. A fat spider fell onto the floor and Kassandra stomped on it before it could skitter away.

Her mater lowered her broom to the floor and wiped dust from her brow. “How did she take it?”

“Very well. She was surprised but happy. She likes Brasidas. She’s a little scared we won’t want her once we have kids, though.”

Myrrine nodded sympathetically, but Aggi scoffed and shook her head. “My son would never. He will be a wonderful pater, you’ll see. Loves kids, my son. Very good with them. Always dotes on his nieces and nephews and little Hyptia without ever spoiling them, or letting them get away with things they shouldn’t. You will be happy with him, both of you. You’ll see.”

Kassandra smiled and reached out to take Aggi’s hand, squeezing it tight. “Yes, theia, we will be very happy.”

Brasidas

After Kassandra left, he went to find Philonoe and told her about the successful accusation of the treacherous King. They agreed that he would return to Arkadia without her to talk to Lagos, and let him decide when it was safe for them to reunite.

His next stop was his own house to talk to Ilina and tell her that their household was suddenly about to grow. He had thought she would be shocked, but she just gave him a sly smile and nodded. “You’re not surprised?”

“No. I have eyes, I have ears, I have a nose.” She laughed at his expression and patted his cheek. “You will be good for each other, I think. Make each other happy.”

Brasidas smiled and nodded. “Yes, I think so too.” Then he grimaced and rubbed his neck awkwardly. “You might have to teach Phoibe some things though. Kassandra isn’t really… traditional.”

Ilina laughed again and waved his awkwardness away. “Don’t worry, it will all work out. You’ll see.”

It wasn’t quite time for the syssitia, but he figured he might as well go there early. There would be many questions about Pausanias and Arkadia, as well as teasing about Kassandra, he was sure, and he wanted to get it all over with as fast as possible.

He found his pater speaking to a couple of elders when he stepped inside, but he broke away and stalked over with a murderous scowl on his face. “You exposed a conspiracy at the very heart of Sparta and exiled Pausanias, and you didn’t tell me?”

Brasidas cringed and ducked his head. “I apologize, pater. It just didn’t seem important at the time and I… forgot.”

“Forgot?” Tellis hissed the words, incredulous. “You forgot that you had deposed a King just moments before? Instead you just talk about marriage…” His pater stopped mid-sentence and stared at him a moment before shaking his head in disgust. “You get this from your mater. Romantic drivel.”

Brasidas grimaced again and nodded. “Yes, pater.”

A finger appeared between them, trembling with anger and indignation, and pointed at his nose. “You better give me grandsons. Scores of them. Legions.” Tellis shook his head and walked away, still muttering. “Stupid, love-sick, romantic boy.”

Brasidas fought off a blush as the few men in the room stared at him. Soon though, he was inundated with questions and spent the rest of the evening explaining everything that had happened in Arkadia and in the throne room, over and over again.

The next day was strange for him. His mater had arrived early in the morning with a vague explanation that they needed to prepare and that Myrrine’s house wasn’t ready yet. Then she threw him out and told him not to return until after his syssitia.

He didn’t really have anything to do though. He had given all the information he had about the Cult in Arkadia to the ephors during the audience the day before, and they hadn’t invited him to their meetings, so instead he wandered aimlessly around Sparta for a while, making polite conversation with friends and acquaintances he met, and tried to not look lost.

Eventually, he made his way to the training grounds and spent a few hours sparring with the soldiers he found there.

It made him pleasantly exhausted, and he headed to the barracks to clean up. A few men from his syssitia were there and congratulated him on his upcoming marriage, before spending a few minutes teasing him about making sure he was extra clean for his new wife so he wouldn’t traumatize her with his stink.

He still had a few hours left before he could head to the syssitia, so he found an unclaimed bedroll and laid down to rest.

Finally, it was time, and when he entered the syssitia, most of the men were already there. They let out a loud cheer when they saw him, and pushed him into a seat at the long table, where a large pitcher of water was placed; the only drink he would be allowed for the evening. Everyone found seats, slapping him on the back as they passed, and then the servants brought out the food.

Brasidas looked around and saw that some of his friends belonging to other syssitia had joined them for the evening, and Aristomache’s two eldest sons had been excused from the agoge to attend.

After everyone had settled down, his pater stood up and cleared his throat. The room fell mostly silent and the men turned their attention to him.

“Several interesting and notable events have recently occurred. Sparta won an important victory in Boeotia, the daughter of Leonidas has returned home at last, a conspiracy against our state led by the treacherous Pausanias has been exposed.” Scattered cheers and jeers rose from the crowd as he spoke, but Tellis continued undisturbed.

“Those events are not what we are concerned with tonight. Tonight, my son, Brasidas of Sparta, will be married.” Several loud shouts of ‘Finally!’ interrupted him, and his lips twitched slightly. “My son will be wed to the daughter of Nikolaos of Sparta. The Wolf. Sadly, Nikolaos and his son, Stentor, are not here to celebrate with us tonight, as they still remain in Boeotia.”

There was a surge of both confused and displeased murmurings at that declaration. Some didn’t know Nikolaos had reappeared and others protested the marriage moving forward without the girl’s family present. His pater stomped his foot to silence the crowd. “Let those of us who are present lend my son our collective wisdom, and teach him how to be a good husband and give Sparta many sons and daughters.”

That was the start of a long succession of stories from the married men. Some were just bitter gripe from unhappily married men who spent all their time in the barracks, far away from their wives. Some had advice on how to avoid arguments or handle disagreements. Some talked about the stresses of pregnancy, childbirth, and babies on a marriage. Others spoke about how to deal with the separation when war and duty kept a man away from his home and family for months or years, and talked of the pain of missing out on their children growing up.

One of the younger men, recently wedded, tried to describe the consummation of his marriage in grinning, lurid detail but was drowned out by boos and jeers as the men pelted him with grapes and olive pits. The oldest member of the syssitia rose from his seat and pointed a bony finger at the young man. “If you treat your wife so poorly that you would speak of her to your peers the way a pubescent boy would speak of a hetaera, then you will soon find yourself bitter and alone, living out of the barracks, undeserving of both home and family. Shame on you!”

The men cheered in agreement and the old man nodded curtly at Brasidas before sitting down again.

There was much less teasing and lewdness than he had expected, and Brasidas found himself enjoying the evening, even if most of the advice he received was unlikely to be appreciated by Kassandra.

After a few hours he felt a light tap on his arm and turned to see Aristomache’s youngest boy, not yet turned five, standing behind him. “For you, theíos.” He looked nervous as he stood with his arm stretched high over his head, clutching a bit of folded parchment. He ran out of the room as soon as the note left his little fist, and Brasidas looked after him. Standing outside, at a respectful distance from the door, stood the boy’s older sister. He raised a hand and waved at her, and she waved back with a shy smile before dragging her brother away out of sight.

Brasidas turned his attention back to the note in his hand, and unfolded the parchment.

Please don’t stay late at the syssitia.

This is the most exhausting and boring day I’ve ever experienced.

Save me.

Brasidas grinned wide and tucked the note into his belt. He caught his pater’s eye and nodded at the door with a raised eyebrow. Tellis responded by rolling his eyes and letting out a loud, exasperated sigh, but nodded.

He took that as permission to end this part of his evening and stood up from the table. “Gentlemen! I want to thank you all for the advice and support you’ve given me tonight.” Some people tried to drown out his words with boos and called for him to sit back down, that the night was still young, but he ignored them.

“I am aware that many of you thought this day would never come, but it is, in fact, finally here. However, I will not actually be married until I leave you and go home to my waiting bride, and I can find no good reason to delay here any longer. So I wish you all good health and a good night.”

With that he turned around and walked straight out, trailed by laughter from the crowd.

They were right that it still was early. Helios hung low but hadn’t set yet. The streets were not completely empty, but most people were inside having their evening meal. Brasidas walked through the streets towards his house with a bounce in his step. Kassandra would be waiting for him, warm and smiling and home. From now on, they wouldn’t have to hide and pretend anymore, and it felt glorious.

He didn’t have that much farther to go when he saw a man standing up ahead in the shadows, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed and eyes staring fixedly at Brasidas. He glanced at the man’s face and felt a tugging at the back of his mind. Did he recognize him?

A little further along stood a second man leaning against a fence post. He was also staring intently and it pulled a thread of memory loose from Brasidas’ mind. There were the men from the alley. Where they had blocked him in and advanced until he was sure they would attack, but then Kassandra had appeared and they had left them alone.

His mind reeled and he slowed his steps. Were they Cult? Here to complete the assasination order? Were they planning to follow him home and attack him there? Whatever was going on, he wanted to handle it right now.

“Can I help you?” He had stopped in front of the second man and met his penetrating stare with his own.

At first the man didn’t move or even acknowledge him, but then his face broke into a wide, almost friendly smile. “No, General. Not tonight. Congratulations on your marriage. May you give Sparta many sons and daughters.”

The man pushed himself away from the fence and took a few steps away, but stopped and turned back. “I’m sure we’ll meet again in the future, though. General.”

Brasidas stood dumbfounded and stared as the men disappeared down the street, a chill running down his back. What was going on? If the Cult wanted him dead, why didn’t they just get on with it? And if it wasn’t the Cult, then who?

He hesitantly turned away and continued towards his house.

It was quiet and still, the shutters closed and no sounds coming from behind the door. Brasidas opened it and stepped inside. He had expected some kind of change. New decorations or even furniture, or something to show that such a big change had occurred in his life, but everything was just as he had left it that morning. He could smell traces of food, wine, and perfume in the air though. “Kassandra?”

Movement in the corner of his eye made him turn to see her walking out of the kitchen with a tray of wine and fruit.

He smiled stupidly at the sight of her and all thoughts of mysterious men, the Cult, the war, and even Sparta itself poured right out of his mind and onto the floor.

“Welcome home, Brasidas.” Her smile was soft and warm as she sat the tray down on the table.

“Welcome home, Kassandra.” His smile was so wide it hurt his cheeks.

She walked up to stand in front of him and spun in a circle. She was wearing a new chiton, red with a patterned edge, and small white and yellow flowers had been tucked into her braid.

He smiled at her and captured her hands. “You have flowers in your hair.”

“I know. That is the work of your nieces and daughter. They insisted, you see, because they didn’t want you to think I smell bad and call the whole thing off.” He gaped at her and she nodded. “They said this to me after both of our families had spent an hour scrubbing me clean.”

“They bathed you?”

“Yep. Like a baby.”

“Oh dear.” He pulled her into his arms and pressed his nose into her hair. “I’m sorry, but I can confirm that you smell very nice.”

“Thank you.”

“What else happened?”

The question made her groan softly and bury her face in his shoulder. “They tried to make me weave. All day. Wave! I don’t weave, Brasidas. I purchase. Or steal. Or loot. But I do not weave.”

He laughed and pushed her away a little to see her face. “Really? Why did they want you to do that?”

“Apparently, the preparations starts with them peeling off my skin, and then the rest of the day I’m supposed to sit and weave fabric for a chiton, for you, while the rest of the women sing and dance and cook and gossip about their husbands and tell me how awful it is to be pregnant.”

“Um.” He didn’t really know what to say. “That doesn’t sound like much fun.”

“It’s not. It’s boring. But apparently, having no skin and then spending several hours making a very small portion of a chiton is very important because the quality of the weave will tell you the quality of the marriage.”

She cupped his cheeks and gave him a sad look. “I’m very sorry to tell you that the quality of our marriage will be very poor, unlikely to hold together even a full month.”

He leaned in to kiss her lips and smiled. “I’m willing to take the chance if you are.”

Kassandra let her hands trail down his body until she was stroking his bare thighs. “Mmm, I might be persuaded. But what about you? Did you learn how to handle me?”

Brasidas mirrored her movement and slid his palms over her thighs. “I learned a lot of things about our neighbours’ marriages that I would have preferred not to know, but very little that might help us.”

“Oh dear.” She pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “It seems we’ll just have to make our own way here. Without a single prophetic weave or handling technique to guide us.”

He chuckled and kissed her deeply. “I am sure we’ll do just fine.” He stroked his fingers up higher under her chiton. “But first, I would like us to consummate this, so that there’s actually a marriage for us to make work.”

She smiled and nodded and stepped out of his arms. “Bring that tray. We’re going to need it.”

He picked it up and followed her out of the room. “Oh?”

She glanced back at him with a wicked grin. “Yes. I am going to make you scream.”

He watched her legs as he followed her up the stairs and licked his suddenly dry lips. “Hmm, I don’t think the neighbours will like that.”

Kassandra walked into his - their - bedroom and shrugged her shoulders casually, somehow making her chiton fall to her feet. She kicked it into the corner and watched as he sat the tray down.

“If the neighbours don’t like it, they can move.”

Brasidas woke up late the next morning, with Helios already high in the sky. He felt sore, tired, and very, very happy.

He reached across the bed but found it empty. Sitting up, he saw that Kassandra’s chiton was gone from the floor and when he listened intently he heard muffled voices downstairs.

Kassandra was setting down a bowl on the table when he walked in, and she greeted him with a warm smile. “Good morning, husband.”

His stomach did a little flip and he grinned wide, walking over to wrap her in his arms, kissing her smiling lips. “Good morning, wife.”

They stood smiling stupidly at each other for a moment until a sound from the kitchen made him look over. Phoibe was standing there, looking uncertain and a little awkward. Brasidas reached out a hand to her. “Good morning, daughter.”

She grinned and rushed over, wrapping her arms around their waists. “Good morning, pater.”

Chapter Text

That chill is in the air 
Which the wise know well, and even have learned to bear. 
This joy, I know, 
Will soon be under snow. 
The sun sets in a cloud 
And is not seen. 
Beauty, that spoke aloud, 
Addresses now only the remembering ear. 
The heart begins here 
To feed on what has been.

Night falls fast.
Today is in the past. 

Blown from the dark hill hither to my door 
Three flakes, then four 
Arrive, then many more.

- Edna St. Vincent Millay

Kassandra

They didn’t get to spend much time as a family before it was time to run off again, but they did get that first day.

Her mater and Aggi waved away her offer to help restore the house and Brasidas didn’t have to depart for Arkadia until the next morning, so they took the opportunity to bond as a family.

Ilina packed them a lunch and then the three of them set out together to explore the woods and fields around Sparta, showing each other their favourite places, and telling stories from childhood.

Kassandra showed them where she’d made her first successful hunt - a small rabbit - and laughed at how both her parents had treated it as if she’d taken down a fully grown lion.

Brasidas brought them to where he’d killed his first wolf, and told them the dramatic story of how the beast had attacked his sister, Theoklia, and that he - armed with only a knife and the scrawny arms of a seven year old - had managed to slay the animal. He showed them the now old and faded scars on his forearms where the wolf had bit and scratched him, shrugging at their astonished praise.

They took their lunch in a flowery meadow, each taking turns to spar with Phoibe, using found branches as training spears and swords.

When evening came, they returned to their house and ate dinner together, Brasidas having been granted a rare pass to skip the syssitia for one night.

All in all, it had been a good day, a perfect day, and Kassandra didn’t want it to end, but eventually they had to go to bed.

She laid in her husband’s arms and felt his breathing return to normal, her eyes dry and itching with exhaustion, but refusing to close them for sleep.

Brasidas’ hand stroked over her hair, moving the end of her braid away from her face. “You’re going after Pausanias?” Kassandra nodded and pressed her palm to his stomach. It was warm and smooth and the hairs tickled her skin. “And then?”

“I don’t know. If he gives me names, I’ll go after them. If not, I’ll strategize with mater. Her contacts might have something.”

He nodded and absently wound her braid around his finger. “Maybe I’ll be able to dig something up in Arkadia.”

She smiled and pressed a kiss to his skin. “That would be helpful.”

Pausanias wasn’t difficult to track down. His face so well-known in Lakonia, and those who didn’t know him had still noticed the wealthy man who traveled through their settlements without guards or drachme.

She followed the pointing fingers of servants and farmers and villagers until she reached the Port of Gytheion, and found him at the harbor. He was trying to barter passage on the ships that lay docked, but failed again and again when they discovered he didn’t have so much as a single coin on his person.

Kassandra leaned against a stack of crates and watched him grow more and more desperate, waiting until all the sailors had refused him before she walked up to stand at his back.

“I know someone who can ferry you from here.” Pausanias whipped around, his expression of hope falling instantly when he recognized her. “Kharon will take you where you need to go. But…” He took a step away from her and she unsheathed the spear, placing the tip under his chin.  “... you don’t have any coin to pay him with, do you? Shame.”

The traitor’s eyes widened for just a moment before he shoved the spear away and tried to turn from her. She took his arm in her free hand and squeezed, silently reminding him of her strength. “I’ll give you a coin for the ferryman, Pausanias. If you answer my questions.”

He tried to yank his arm out of her grasp and she squeezed it tighter with a grim smile. Her spearpoint was back at his throat, the sharp tip digging into the soft flesh.

The exiled king’s eyes darted around for a few moments, seemingly looking for weapons or for help, but when he found neither he let out a long, slow breath. “What do you want to know?”

“The other Cultists. I want their names.”

Pausanias’ brow furrowed and his eyes began to search for an escape again as he spoke to her in a rush. “I don’t know any names. It’s secret. No one knows anyone else.”

She leaned in closer and pressed the speartip deeper, making blood well from the cut. “Liar. I will not give you a coin for lying. Give. Me. Names.”

“I don’t. I don’t know. There’s only one left I know, the rest are gone. Killed. I don’t know any others.”
His voice had taken on a whiny, pathetic tone and Kassandra rolled her eyes. “Name.”

“Kallias. In Olympia. He’s a former Champion and judge. That’s it. The rest I knew of are gone.”

She watched him raise his head as if inviting the blade and arched an eyebrow at him. “You think one name is enough?”

His eyes met hers and she could see they were a little wet now. “I don’t…”

“Yes, yes, you don’t know any more names. You told me.” She shifted the spear from his neck and laid it against his groin. “Tell me why the Cult wants my husband dead, Pausanias, or I’ll cut your manhood away and sell you to a brothel in Korinth.”

He seemed thrown by this sudden shift of topic and threat, and his mouth worked silently for a moment, eyes flittering around, still searching for help. “It’s not… your husband. The Cult doesn’t want to kill your husband. The Cult wants to get rid of General Brasidas. He’s… He’s too good, incorruptible. He’s like your pater. Too good. He could take Athens and end the war prematurely. Almost did. He needed to go. It… it wasn’t… personal.” He trailed off lamely and swallowed, throat dry and clicking.

She regarded him in silence while he stood careful and trembling with her blade still between his legs. “You haven’t given enough answers to earn the coin, Pausanias. No names, no leads. Maybe I’ll just throw you into the harbor for the sharks to feast on.”

He was shaking his head, voice still whiny and pleading. “I don’t know. I don’t know. There’s a leader, but I don’t know who or where. I think Athens, but I don’t know. They’re like a ghost. No one knows who it is. No one sees them. Please, I don’t know, please.”

Kassandra rolled her eyes at the pathetic figure the fallen King cut and drove her spear into his heart. He was dead before he hit the ground and she stared down her nose at the crumpled body, debating if she should toss him into the sea. Deciding it was more effort than she felt like putting in for him, she walked back to her horse and headed north towards Elis, and Olympia. Maybe this Kallias would be more helpful.

It was sheer luck that she was in Sparta when Nikolaos and Stentor returned from Boeotia.

The kids were running outside, yelling excitedly about the approaching soldiers, alerting everyone, and Kassandra went outside with the rest of the neighborhood to see the legion of men approaching on the horizon.

Kassandra knew she needed to catch her pater before he reached the city, as he would no doubt encounter people who wanted to congratulate him not only on his victory, but also on his daughter’s marriage, and his wife’s successful exposure of the traitor king. She was sure she’d never live it down if she let him be surprised like that.

She pushed herself back out of the crowd and hurried over to her horse. “That’s your pater coming now, isn’t it?”

Kassandra turned to see Phoibe standing behind her, curious and smiling. She hesitated just a moment before nodding and hoisting the girl up onto the horse. “Yes, he is. Let's go meet him.”

They rode through the narrow streets, keeping a frustratingly slow pace to avoid running anyone down. When they finally reached the open road out of the city, she picked up the pace, galloping towards the approaching army, while Phoibe clutched tight at the horse’s mane and giggled.

She slowed down when they got close, spotting her pater and Stentor sitting proud on their own horses at the head of the troops. Their expressions turned surprised when they recognized her but didn’t have time to say much before Kassandra lifted Phoibe from her horse and sat her down in front of Stentor. 

“Phoibe. This is your uncle Stentor. Say hello. I need to talk to Nikolaos.” She didn’t give them time to protest, but gripped her pater’s reins and put some distance between them and the soldiers.

Nikolaos turned back to look at his son who was scowling down at the girl now seated in front of him. “That’s your daughter?”

Kassandra nodded. “Yes. Phoibe. I’ll introduce you in a minute. There are some things you should know before you reach Sparta.”

He nodded and returned his attention to her. “I got married. To Brasidas. Tellis’ son.” She saw her his face slacken slightly in shock. “I told them you already knew and had given your approval when we met in Boeotia.”

He stared at her for a moment, still surprised. “Brasidas?”

“Yes. Tellis’ and Aggi’s son.” She waited impatiently for him to process the news. Sparta was looming closer. “I assume you won’t force us to divorce because you weren’t there?”

Nikolaos shook his head, and regained his composure. “No. No, I won’t. That’s… Congratulations, Kassandra. I am very pleased for you. Brasidas is a good man.”

She nodded and glanced over at Stentor. He was saying something she couldn’t hear, but Phoibe’s higher pitched voice rose over the sound of hooves and marching feet. “Why don’t you like Kassandra? She’s really nice!”

A few of the surrounding soldiers averted their eyes or bit their lips to stop themselves laughing and Kassandra turned back to her pater. “Mater and I found evidence that Pausanias was serving the Cult of Kosmos. He was threatening the Archon of Arkadia and had given the Cult control of the supply lines. Amongst other things. He was exiled for his crimes and mater got the house back.”

“Was in the Cult?”

“Yeah. I took care of him.” Nikolaos nodded and Kassandra shrugged. “I just thought you should know before someone catches you by surprise.”

He nodded again and gestured back at Stentor. “We should rescue your daughter before your brother throws her to the ground.”

Kassandra rode over and saw Phoibe gesturing, but she couldn’t hear what she was saying. Only a couple of words made it through the noise. ‘Scared.’ ‘Growing.’

When she got close enough, she lifted her daughter back onto her horse and gave Stentor an insincere smile. His face held a look that was both livid and scandalized, but he didn’t say anything to her. Instead he dug in his heels and rode ahead towards the city at a fast gallop.

Kassandra stared after him, surprised he would pass on an opportunity to insult her, then bent down and peered at her daughter. “What did you say to him?”

Phoibe shrugged and glanced curiously at Nikolaos, riding at their side. “Nothing. I just explained that we’re family now.”

Kassandra laughed and pressed a kiss to her hair. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. Now, I’d like to introduce my pater; General Nikolaos of Sparta.”

I talked to Nikolaos.
Told him about us and of Pausanias.
He took it well. Approves, I think. 

I’m sorry I missed you in Tegea.
I’m on my way to Argolis now.
I’ll try again on my way back. 

I love you. 

K.

 

Brasidas

He walked through the barracks towards the officers quarters, greeting soldiers as he passed.

Reaching the room, the peered discreetly inside before announcing himself. The Wolf stood with his Captains, discussing a map spread between them and Brasidas rapped his knuckles on the doorframe, drawing their attention.  “General Nikolaos. May I have a word with you?” It only took the older man a moment to recognize him and wave him inside, dismissing his Captains. 

He waited for them to leave, but one of them stopped and stared at him. Brasidas didn’t think he’d ever actually met the man before, but Kassandra’s description of his sharp features and deep scowl left him in no doubt that the man in front of him was his new brother-in-law.

“You’re the one who married my sister?” He sneered the word like it was an insult and Brasidas stared back, expression blank.

“I am.”

“Why? You seem normal enough. Why would you want to saddle yourself with that?” 

“Stentor, that’s enough! Leave us!” Nikolaos barked the order and his son gave him a sharp nod before disappearing out the door.

“Please, excuse my son. There have been many changes for him lately. He is still adjusting.” The older man walked around the table and took his hand, shaking it. ”Brasidas. It’s good to see you. It’s been a long time.”

Brasidas nodded, relieved at the friendly greeting despite the circumstances of the meeting. “It has, yes. A long time. I… I’d like to apologize for how… How this marriage happened.”

Nikolaos gave him a penetrating stare. “Did you know she was lying about my approval?”

“I did.” 

“Yet, you went ahead. Lied to your own pater.”

“I did.”

“Why? I never had the impression of you as someone who flouts rules and tradition.”

Brasidas shrugged. “It didn’t seem important. Under the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?”

“We wanted to be a family. Belong. Have the security marriage entails. Give Phoibe legitimacy.”

“And that was so urgent, you could not wait a few months?”

“There’s a war, General. It’s foolish to assume there are months for us ahead.”

“You doubt Sparta will be victorious?”

Brasidas shook his head. “No, General. Sparta will always prevail. But she will prevail because of our individual sacrifices.”

He saw Nikolaos flinch at the last word, hiding the movement by turning away to pour them each a cup of wine. His gaze was steady again when he turned back and Brasidas accepted the drink.

“I am not displeased that you are my daughter’s husband, Brasidas. She chose well.” Nikolaos raised his cup and Brasidas mirrored him. “To your marriage and the new head of the family.”

He would have choked on the drink if he hadn’t stayed his hand. “General?”

Nikolaos gave him a tired, resigned look. “It is no secret that I lost the respect of my wife and daughter on that mountain. Pretending otherwise will only cause them more suffering. It is better this way. They have you now, and I will stay out of their way while I honor my duty to Sparta.”

Brasidas floundered. This was not at all how he had expected this meeting to go. “General. Nikolaos. Your family is not better off without you. They don’t want to be without you.”

The older man gave him a small, bitter smile but didn’t answer. Before Brasidas could argue further he was interrupted by one of the ephors, who greeted him warmly before dismissing him from the room.

I have spoken to your pater and apologized for the deception surrounding our marriage.
You were right, he does approve.
I am sad to say he seems to feel he should be staying away from you and your mater.
You should talk to him when you have a chance.

With love,

Brasidas

Kassandra

It felt strange to walk through the streets of Sparta wearing just a chiton and apron. The lack of weapons and armor made her feel a bit naked, but she pushed the thought away. She wasn’t a mercenary here. She was a wife and mother, not some outcast just passing through.

Kassandra picked up her pace, worried she would be late, and searched the small gathering ahead for familiar faces. Hyptia sat in the green grass, her son nursing sleepily at her breast. Theoklia stood next to her and looked to be lecturing her youngest daughter, whose lip was stuck out in a pout.

“She’s upset she can’t join a chorus yet.” Kassandra looked to her side and found Aristomache walking in step with her. “Her sister and all her cousins have joined now, and she feels left out.” She stopped and smiled at her sister-in-law, pulling her into a hug.
“It’s so good to see you! Are you well? And Phoibe?”

“Yes, we’re all well. I’m glad you got here in time, we were worried you wouldn’t when you hadn’t arrived yesterday.”

“Oh, I almost didn’t make it. I only just had time to rush home and change out of my armor. I still smell like horse.”

Aristomache chuckled and pulled back from the hug, scrutinizing her a little. “You look tired. And that’s a fresh cut on your cheek.”

Kassandra waved her hand dismissively and started walking towards the other sisters again. “It’s fine. Don’t worry. I was just delayed and had to ride hard to get here in time. I can rest later, this is more important.”

“And the cut?” Aristomache’s voice told Kassandra she was used to hearing children lie about what trouble they might have gotten up to. In fact, she was sure she had done her own share of that sort of lying to Aristomache as child. 

Now though, she smiled and rubbed her sister’s shoulder. “A tree branch from when I took a shortcut to get here faster. Don’t worry, I promise I’m fine. Just a little smelly.”

Theoklia had sat down next to Hyptia when they joined them. Her daughter stood with her back turned and her arms crossed, like an angry little thundercloud, and tried to ignore them all while the women greeted each other. She got distracted from her anger when she realized Kassandra was there though, and accepted a hug and a kiss before her mater pulled her into her lap, giving her an apple to munch on while they waited.

Kassandra’s eyes scanned the edges of the crowd. “Our maters? Are they coming?”

Hyptia shook her head, moving her sleeping son from her breast and setting her chiton back into place. “Mater’s back is acting up. She’s resting at home. But she’s seen the girls practice. It’s fine.”

“And my mater?”

The two younger women looked away, uncomfortable, and busied themselves with their children. Aristomache sighed lightly and shook her head. “I don’t think she’ll come. Lately she’s been…” She broke off when a murmur rose through the crowd, turning away to look.

Several groups of girls were approaching. They were all dressed in matching red peplos, skin painted with thin white lines and symbols, their hair pulled into strict, tight buns.

Kassandra spotted both Aristomache’s and Theoklia’s daughters, whispering and giggling with the other girls in their chorus. Her eyes found Phoibe at the back of the group of older girls. Her daughter looked tense and a little nervous, and Kassandra didn’t blame her at all.
The other girls had been training and practising these songs and dances for years, but Phoibe hadn’t been allowed to join a chorus until after Brasidas had adopted her, so it was all very new to her. 

The audience waited in silence as the girls positioned themselves. Those playing instruments sat down, creating a rough circle in the grass for the others to dance in. The youngest chorus started, taking their place in the middle while the older girls waited in neat rows a few steps away. The first children were very young, still learning to keep balance and rhythm, and danced adorably off-beat while waving to their maters and getting distracted by passing birds, nearby flowers, and their own feet. It was very difficult not to laugh, but Kassandra managed by biting her cheek.

Phoibe was in the second to last group and hadn’t even looked up to scan the crowd as she waited, pale and fidgeting with the hem of her dress. Kassandra saw her take a big breath when her turn came, walking into the circle with her chorus and finding her spot among the girls.

Their dance thundered even on the soft grass. Feet stomping the ground, heels slapping buttocks, palms clapping together. As far as she could tell, they all kept perfect rhythm, even Phoibe, but her daughter remained tense and frowning throughout the performance, concentrating hard while beads of sweat trickled down her temples.

She sagged with relief as soon as the dance was over, and lifted her head to face the cheering audience. Kassandra saw her search through the crowd and waved her hands, trying to catch her eyes, but instead they landed on Aristomache. Phoibe sent her aunt a quick, beaming smile before rushing out of the circle to wait with her chorus while the last group of dancers performed their routine. 

Kassandra pushed away the shard of hurt that pierced her chest and told herself that Phoibe hadn’t known she had made it and so wouldn’t think to look for her in the crowd. Kassandra put her smile back on and watched while the oldest group danced.

Once all the performances were over, the girls were free to disperse, and her nieces came running over with excited shrieks, stumbling and almost falling on the uneven grass.

The older girls were calmer, walking slowly while talking to their friends, not as excited to reach their families and hear their praise.

Except Phoibe, of course. This had been her very first performance, which she only had a couple of months to practice for, and she had done so well. Kassandra was so proud of her that her chest ached a little. Still, that tiny shard of hurt filled her with trepidation as she watched Phoibe hurry through the throng of people, waving to Aristomache with a big smile, and she had to look away.

Then she was almost knocked off her feet when her arms were suddenly filled with her very excited daughter. “Mater!” She squeezed tight and Kassandra squeezed back. “You came! You’re wearing an apron! I almost didn’t recognize you! Did you see the dance?!”

“I did! I did see! You were so good, Phoibe, amazing! I’m so proud of you!”

Phoibe had her first performance with her chorus and she did SO WELL!
I wish you could have seen it, you would have been so proud.

Both of us miss you and love you.

K.

I decided to take Phoibe with me to Arkadia for a little while,
to spend some time getting to know her better
and show her what I do when I’m away from home.
Arkadia is mostly safe now, so it seemed like a good time.
I hope we return before you have a chance to read this.
I don’t want you to come home to an empty house.

I love you, Kassandra.

Brasidas.

Brasidas

He’d arranged for her to have her own horse on the journey instead of having to ride with him, and she sat proud and grown as she kept pace with the young soldiers they were escorting to Arkadia.

They had cleared out the Cult from the supply lines and most of the bandits who had seemed to be allowed to roam the region freely before the borders were strengthened. His time in Arkadia would be coming to an end soon, but before it did, he wanted to take the opportunity to spend some time with his new daughter, and to show her a small part of what he did when he was away from his family.

They made camp in the same spot as they had when he’d taken this journey with Myrrine, and Brasidas tried to not let it bother him. The assassin had been sent by Pausanias, who was now dead. Kassandra had left him a note, giving the fallen king’s explanation for the order, and told him to be mindful of future attempts. But Brasidas was sure that if there was another assassin coming, it would be those mysterious men from the dark streets of Sparta. Men who had chosen to not engage him even when he confronted them, even when he was vulnerable. It seemed to him that for now at least, the Cult had backed off.

Still, he steered his daughter away from the cliff where they had disposed of the body of his would-be assassin and walked with her around the perimeter of the campsite.

Her gait was a little awkward and flailing. In fact, everything about her was a little awkward these days, and he often had to bite his cheek to stop himself smiling fondly and even pityingly at it. She was growing like a weed, making her movements awkward as she tried to adjust to limbs that were constantly a new size. He remembered that frustrated self conscious period well, both from his own childhood, and from the kids in the family.

Phoibe gave him a glance and a small smile. “Thank you for this, pater. It’s great to come along and see what’s going on outside of Sparta.”

He nodded and smiled back. “Of course. I would have brought you sooner, but it was a little too dangerous then still.”

She chuckled in a way she’d picked up from his sister, bony shoulders shrugging under her chiton. “Yeah, I would assume it’s usually too dangerous to bring your kid along to a battlefield.”

He laughed at that and nodded again. “True, true. I will not bring you to battle if I can avoid it, but it’s not all war and battlefields. Arkadia was just overrun with bandits and other unsavory types that we had to clear out. Or if I’m stationed at a Fort or in a City, for example. Then I’ll be doing a lot of talking and negotiating and strategizing and overseeing. Not dangerous and I could usually have my family there to visit.”

“Yeah?” Her smile was a little less awkward this time and he returned it.

“Yeah.”

He took her around Arkadia and showed her the vast, waving fields of wheat and barley, explaining how the grains became bread, and how both Sparta and its troops were kept fed by the bounty before them.

He took her to Tegea, discovering the city through her new, curious eyes. Lagos invited them to his new house right at the center of town, where he had relocated his family after giving up the isolated compound. 

When it was time to return to home, he took them on a detour to the statue of Artemis and brought Phoibe into the cave where her mother and Myrrine had hidden.

Brasidas carried a torch with him, and held it high to show her the cavern.

“Were they here a long time?” Her eyes were wide as she took in the small space. The remains of the campfire was still there, as well as a few pots, an old piece of cloth, and the large hydria.

“Myrinne was here for a few weeks while we waited for your mater to return from Boeotia. Kassandra was only in here a couple of days. Mostly, she was with me, trying to find and save Lagos and his family.”

He watched her for a while as she poked around the place, no doubt imagining what it would be like to live there for weeks on end. Brasidas hesitated, then spoke what had been on his mind for the past several weeks. “I’m sorry that I have to be away so much, and I know your mater feels the same.”

Phoibe looked up at him in surprise at the sudden change of topic. Then her eyes slid away from his and she shrugged. “I understand. It’s fine.”

He sighed. “I know it’s fine, Phoibe, but that doesn’t mean it’s good. I can’t be home as often as I want, and I wish I didn’t have to leave you with my sister all the time.”

She was staring at the ground, avoiding his gaze and he reached out to take her shoulder, making her look up. Her eyes were a little wet and glistened in the firelight. “Is my sister and the rest of my family treating you well?”

She shrugged and nodded, eyes sliding away again. “Phoibe, look at me. I’m serious. If there’s something wrong or you’re being treated badly, you have to tell me or I can’t help you.”

Phoebe shook her head and waved her hands as if to dispel his words. “No. No, they’re great. They are. Your sister, your family, they’re really good to me. I swear. I just… you know. I miss Kassandra. And.. I thought we’d be our own family, in our own house. But...”

“...but we’re both always away.”

“Yeah.” Brasidas reached out with his free hand and pulled her into a hug, feeling her arms wrap around his middle. “I know it’s important what you both do. Really important. I just….” 

Her words muffled against the scales of his armor and he squeezed her a little tighter. “Yeah, I understand. I’m not sure when Kassandra will return, but I should be finished in Arkadia soon and then I’ll be home with you in Sparta for a while.”

“That’s good.” She pulled away from him and bit her lip, glancing around the cavern. “Um… can we go back outside? It smells in here.”

He laughed and released her, leading her back through the tunnel.

The sun was still high in the sky when they emerged and Brasidas extinguished the torch. Phoibe stretched out her back, making her bones pop and crack loudly. “I can’t believe yayá was in there for weeks. I would have gone crazy.”

“I think she snuck out sometimes at night, but yeah, you’re right. It’s not a good place to be stuck for very long. Brasidas chuckled and started back towards their horses. “How is she doing? I don’t see her very often when I’m in Sparta. Is she busy with something?” 

He glanced over and saw a frown settle over Phoibe’s face. “No, she’s not doing anything, I think. She’s just…I dunno.” 

“You don’t see her very often either?”

Phoibe shrugged and shook her head. “No. She wants to be alone, I guess. I think maybe she’s not used to being back in Sparta. Maybe she doesn’t like it as much as she thought she would.”

They had reached the horses, but Brasidas didn’t want to interrupt his daughter, so he sat down on a nearby rock to listen. “What do you mean?”

Phoibe sat down too, shrugging again. “I dunno. But she was leading Naxos before she came to Sparta. She had important meetings with important people about important things. Generals and craftsmen and merchants and stuff. I know it was important and complicated, I listened sometimes. But now… she’s just in Sparta. Nothing important going on. I dunno, maybe that’s why. We’re too boring for her.”

She looked small and sad and Brasidas poked her in the ribs before pulling her off her feet and setting her up on her horse. “You, dear daughter, you are not boring.” He hopped onto his own horse and grinned at her. “Let’s race!”

Kassandra

Her mater had tucked the edge of her apron into the waistband so it formed a pocket. Her hand was hidden inside, fingers moving rhythmically over something kept from view.

Kassandra moved closer, trying to get a better look, and saw the edge of some old, discolored fabric. The sight of it sparked a memory at the back of her mind, and she focused on it, trying to pull it forward. Why would she recognize an old piece of cloth? And why would her mater be carrying it around? She stared at the fingers moving inside the apron, at the occasional glimpse of fabric.

Then she remembered.

Alexios’ baby blanket. The priests at Asklepios’ Sanctuary had given it to her, and she had given it to her mater when they were on Naxos. At the time, the blanket had made Myrrine’s eyes water before she tucked it away into a chest. Kassandra hadn’t seen it since.

“Mater... Why are you carrying Alexios’ old blanket around?”

She didn’t respond at first, staring ahead at the empty air, but then her head turned and her eyes focused. “What was that, my lamb?”

“Alexios’ blanket. Why do you have it in your apron?”

Her mater blinked in confusion and looked down at her lap. She seemed surprised at what she found there and pulled her hand away, placing it on the table top. “It’s nothing. I just found it in my things and thought…”

“…Yes?”

Myrrine sighed and drank her wine. “We’re back in Sparta, but the family is not complete. Alexios is still out there, all alone.”

Kassandra snorted. “He’s not all alone, mater. He’s a soldier of the Cult. I doubt he’s ever alone.”

Her mater waved her hand dismissively and took another sip of her drink.

“What about Nikolaos? Have you talked to him yet? He’s part of the family too.”

Myrrine pursed her lips. “Your pater is staying in the barracks.”

“Yes, I know that, but you could have him for a visit.”

“The men eat with their syssitia, you know that.”

Kassandra rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I know, that’s not what I…There are other things...” She sighed and tried again. “Have you met Stentor yet?

“No.” 

“Maybe… maybe we could have lunch together? Or breakfast? All four of us? Here, or you could come to my house. We could cook together. You could teach me, there’s a lot I don’t know and…”

Myrrine ignored her and rose to her feet, stool scraping loudly over the floor. “I have some messages from my sources that might help you.” She disappeared into the back of the house, returning with a small stack of letters. “I only skimmed them but there seems to be leads for a Cultist or two. You’ll have to read them yourself.”

Her mater stood by the front door, holding the letters out in front of her. The gesture was clear.

‘Take these and leave.’

The hand slipped back into the apron as Kassandra stood up and left the house.

“Pater?”

She hadn’t really seen him since riding out to meet him when he’d first returned. Some naive, childish part of her had thought he would be moving into the house with her mater, that they would be a family. That she would have them over for lunch or go to their house sometime.

She had thought that getting the house back, and having the three of them in the same city would mean they mend what the Cult had torn apart, but that hadn’t happened. Nikolaos had been avoiding her, refused the invitations she sent, even ducked away into alleys and cross streets if he saw her coming.

Her mater was no better. She was withdrawn, spending almost all her time inside her dark house, or occasionally making trips to her pater’s tomb or even Mount Taygetos. She barely spoke about anything but the Cult and Alexios and the importance of reuniting their family. The hard, driven woman she had found on Naxos seemed to have crumpled away.

Kassandra had snuck into the barracks in search of her pater, and had found him studying a map spread over a large table.

He had only reacted with discomfort when noticed her. “Pater, please.”

Nikolaos glanced around the room, searching for an escape, but found none and sighed, waving her inside. “You are not supposed to be here.” He didn’t look angry or even irritated, but a deep frown had settled over his face when he saw her, jaw clenched and fingers flexing at his side. Not angry, but not pleased. Something else she couldn’t place.

“I know. You didn’t give me much choice. You’ve been avoiding me and…” She broke off. Arguing with him wasn’t why she had come. 

“I’m worried about mater. She’s not well.” He tilted his head slightly, but didn’t respond. “She’s always alone in the house, no servants even. Or she’s up at the mountain. If she speaks at all it’s about Alexios and the Cult.”

Nikolaos shrugged lightly and looked down at the map. “Your mater is dedicated to weakening the Cult.”

“No, she’s… she’s obsessing. About Alexios. She sleeps next to his cradle, pater. She carries his blanket everywhere. It’s not healthy… Please. You have to help her.”

He stared up at her for a moment, jaw working, fingers flexing, then he shook his head. “You mater is a strong woman. She does not need my help.”

“But…”

“No, Kassandra.” His voice became forceful and he held up his hand to stop her words. “I do not have time for this. I need to prepare for my next command.” He turned his back and focused his attention on the map, ignoring her.

I’m worried about my mater.
She’s acting strange, isolating herself, obsessing over Alexios.
I tried talking to Nikolaos but he’s been avoiding me.
When I finally cornered him, he didn’t seem to care about her at all.
He threw me out.

I don’t know what to do, Brasidas.
Can you check on her? Maybe talk to your mater?

I have to leave for a while. I might be gone a long time.
Mater’s old pirate connections have sent word that they
might have leads on two or even three Cultists.
I have to investigate it.

I’m sorry. I miss you, Brasidas. So much.

I’m back to not sleeping again so I’m taking
the chiton you left behind to be cleaned.
It still smells like you.

I’m sorry. I’ll try to come back as fast as I can.

I miss you and I love you.

Kassandra.

Brasidas

They were sparring in the courtyard of Aristomache’s house, his sister’s two youngest and Phoibe all attacking him with training spears while Brasidas danced around to fight them off.

The kids were shrieking with laughter, running around trying to get their wooden tips past his defenses and it took him a moment to realize Phoibe had stepped away from them. When he looked over, he saw her standing against the wall, weapon discarded on the ground at her feet.

With a swift sweep, he knocked the other two children off their feet and grabbed their spears in his free hand, tossing them to the side. Then he walked over to his daughter who was standing hunched over, leaning heavily against the wall.

“Phoibe? Are you ok? Did you get hurt?” She looked up and he saw that she had gone pale, a thin sheen of sweat dampening her forehead. “Is it a headache?”

She shook her head miserably. “No. My stomach. I feel… I feel sick.”

“Oh no, let's get you inside.”

He led her through the house to the gynaeceum and knocked on the door. One of his sister’s servants opened and took one look at his daughter before wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulder. “Head?”

Brasidas stroked Phoibe’s hair gently. “No. Stomach.”

The woman tutted softly and led the girl inside to lay down on a mat. His niece and nephew followed, silent and wide eyed, and Brasidas left them there to go find his sister.

She was in the kitchen, but he barely had time to greet her before his nephew’s shriek and pounding footsteps rang through the house. “Phoibe is bleeding! She’s dying!” The little boy came running around the corner before they could react, smacking into his mater’s legs and clinging to her like an octopus, eyes streaming with tears. “She’s going to dieee!”

The servant came hurrying after him with an exasperated but amused look on her face. “She’s not dying, child. She’s fine.” Then she looked up at Brasidas with a smile. “It’s just her menarche. Your little girl is growing up.”

He knocked on the door and waited a moment before knocking again. There was no sound from inside. Normally, he would have walked away at this lack of response, assuming the house was empty, but his sister had been sure that Myrrine was at her house.

Brasidas knocked again and pushed the door open, calling out a greeting. A lit oil lamp sat on the table inside. It was smoking, signaling that the oil had run low. He called out again and poked his head into the empty kitchen. He would have expected at least one servant to be in the house, even if Myrrine had stepped out, but there was no one around.

Brasidas ventured deeper into the still, quiet house and called out again. He felt like a thief and a trespasser and had to remind himself that Myrrine was his petherá now. They were family, and he could enter her house at any time.

The gynaeceum was empty and looked abandoned, same as all the other rooms on the ground floor, so Brasidas climbed the stairs and found her in the bedroom, standing in next to the sleep mat, swaying slightly and staring down at something hidden by the door, hands buried in her apron.

“Myrrine? I’ve been calling. Are you alright?”

She didn’t stir until he took a step into the room and gripped her arm, shaking her lightly. “Myrrine?”

She blinked and turned her head. He watched her blink a few more times before her eyes focused and she seemed to snap back into herself. “Brasidas! I didn’t hear you come in! Is everything alright?”

He frowned and released her arm. “Yes, everything is fine. It’s just Phoibe. She’s just had her menarche. I was asked to come fetch you.”

Myrrine lit up with surprise and delight. “That’s wonderful! Is she with your mater?”

He shook his head, still frowning at her strange behaviour. “No. Aristomache.”

She pushed past him out of the room and hurried down the stairs, but Brasidas paused and looked to where she had been staring when he walked in. Pushed up against the wall stood an old cradle.

 

It’s been so long, Kassandra.

I kept leaving notes for you when I left for Arkadia,
and they were always there - unread - when I returned.

So I stopped writing them.

But this is too important for you to miss, so I’m writing anyway,
in case you do return while I’m gone.

Phoibe has had her menarche.
She felt sick and weak but handled it very well.
My sisters and mater helped her celebrate, even your mater joined.

You were right, I think. There’s something wrong with her.
I didn’t notice at first, but she is isolating herself, is distracted.
I found her in her bedroom, lost and dreaming even though she
was standing. Staring at what I assume was Alexios’ cradle.

I don’t know what to do for her either.
My mater says she just needs time, but I don’t think that’s the answer.
All time seems to do is let her drift further away.

I will be done with Arkadia soon. This is my last trip.
I hope you return before they send me somewhere else.

Please come home, Kassandra.

He got home well past midnight and yawned so wide his jaw ached. All day had been spent reporting on everything he had done and found in Arkadia, and planning out the next steps to take in the region. But what else needed to be doing would be done by someone else. He was finally free from the mind-numbing tedium of resource logistics. Sparta had finally called him home to stay while they decided on where to send him next.

Brasidas yawned again and unlaced his greaves, leaving them by the front door. He removed the rest of his armor and placed it on a nearby chair. It was uncharacteristically messy of him, but he didn’t want to wake anyone by jangling his way through the house.

He padded barefoot to the gynaeceum and opened the door a crack. Phoibe and Ilina were sleeping soundly on their mats, barely illuminated by the faint moonlight coming through the closed shutters. Smiling fondly, he pulled the door closed and continued up the stairs, pondering if he should plan another trip with his daughter. Maybe to the coast.

The bright light of the full moon was spilling onto the landing, and Brasidas followed it into his room where the window stood wide and unshuttered.

He stopped in the doorway with a soft gasp, heart skipping a beat.

Kassandra was laying on the bed.

She looked pale and ghostly in the light Selene was casting, and he wondered if she really was there, or if the Goddess had decided to show him an apparition. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time she appeared to him, but usually he was asleep when he dreamt of his long gone wife.

Kassandra was laying on her stomach, diagonally across the sleep mat, as if she had simply pitched forward and stayed where she landed. Her hair was not in its customary braid, but instead in a loose and tangled mess over her face and shoulders. A small length of cloth was barely wrapped around her otherwise naked body, covering her buttocks and not much else.

Brasidas took a careful step into the room, fearing the Goddess would snatch away the vision before he had drunk his fill, but nothing happened. He took another step and sank to his knees on the edge of the mat.

It had been almost two years since he’d seen her. Two years and they had just kept missing each other. She was in Sparta when he was in Arkadia. She traveled through Arkadia when he was visiting Sparta. All they’d had were notes left for the other, expressing hope that next time they would be in the same place at the same time.

The last note from her told him she was taking her ship to track down Cultists somewhere in the Aegean. That had been almost a full year ago, but now she seemed to be laying right there in front of him, asleep.

Brasidas reached out a hand and touched her ankle. It didn’t vanish like smoke under his questing fingers, and he heard himself let out a sigh as he slid his palm up her calf. Her skin was soft and alive against his and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to her back, moaning her name.

He felt her stir slightly without waking and pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades, before reaching up to move the tangle of hair from her face. It was damp. She had washed.

Brasidas leaned in to kiss her freshly exposed neck and whispered her name again. This time she shifted onto her side, drawing herself into a fetal position. He laid down behind her, curling himself around her back and pressed his face into her hair while his eyes burned with relief.

His palm smoothed over her leg again, from ankle all the way up to her hip and then higher. Over her side, her shoulder, along her arm all the way to her fingertips. Finally touching her felt like scratching an itch he hadn’t been able to reach for years.

That tingling that had been so strange and novel when they first met now felt like the way skin should feel when you touched it, and it was everyone else that had something wrong with theirs.

He kissed her neck again and mouthed his way to the shell of her ear. “Kassandra. Wake up. Please. I’ve missed you so much.”

Her fingers twitched under his and her lashes fluttered. He pressed another kiss to her soft skin and felt her sigh. “Kassandra, please wake up.”

Her fingers twitched again, taking hold of his, and the fluttering lashes became slow blinks.

She mumbled something he thought might have been his name and pressed herself back against his chest, making him wish he’d taken off his chiton before laying down. Now the heat from her back soaked through the fabric, but he couldn’t feel her soft skin against his own.

The grip around his fingers became stronger and Kassandra turned her head towards him. “Brasidas?” Her voice was thick with sleep, but she was finally awake.

“Kassandra.” He pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth but she reached back and pulled him in, centering the kiss.

She tasted like sweet water on his parched tongue and he tried to get closer, but the angle was awkward. Kassandra obviously agreed and released him with a frustrated breath, wiggling and twisting until she had turned around and captured his face in her hands.

He opened for her deep kiss, gathering her messy hair away from their faces. When they broke apart to breathe, Kassandra wrapped herself around him, legs circling his waist, arms twining behind his neck. She pulled him tight to her, so tight she almost squeezed out what little breath he had caught. “I missed you, Brasidas.”

He had his arms wrapped tight around her back and felt her fingertips in his hair. “I missed you too. So much.”

Brasidas kissed her again, reveling in the feel of her skin against his, her taste on his tongue, her scent in his nose. He didn’t know when he had grown hard, probably as soon as he had seen her laying there, but it was obvious to them both that at least part of him was clamoring for more than just kisses. His chiton had been pushed up and her towel had moved out of the way when they had twisted into each other's arms, leaving him pressed against her.

She whined and squeezed her legs tighter, slotting him closer. “I missed you. I rode all the way from Gytheion without stopping. I was so sure you would be here, that I would come in and wake you up, but the bed was empty.” She was pressing kisses to his lips and cheeks as she spoke, and Brasidas stroked her back with his palms, reveling in the tingle. “But Phoibe was sleeping in the gynaeceum, and I know she wouldn’t be here if you weren’t coming home. So I washed, but you still didn’t come. I came up here to wait for you but…” She squeezed his whole body with hers. “I wanted to wait for you, surprise you, but I was so tired.” 

She was speaking against his lips and he smiled. “You did surprise me, Kassandra. I’ve missed you so much. It’s been so long. Too long.”

Kassandra nodded and captured his lips again. “Too long.”

She moved her hips and he slid inside her just as his tongue slid into her mouth and they laid wrapped tight, kissing and rocking gently until they both fell into exhausted sleep. Still clinging close to each other and refusing to let go.

Chapter Text

Let a man learn how to fight by first daring to perform mighty deeds, 
Not where the missiles won't reach, if he is armed with a shield, 
But getting in close where fighting is hand to hand, inflicting a wound 
With his long spear or his sword, taking the enemy's life, 
With his foot planted alongside a foot and his shield pressed against shield, 
And his crest up against crest and his helm up against helm 
And breast against breast, embroiled in the action-let him fight man to man, 
Holding secure in his grasp haft of his sword or his spear!

- Tyrtaeus

Brasidas

He woke before she did the next morning, Helios warm rays illuminating the room through the still open window. They had never had the privilege of spending many nights together, but those times they had, Kassandra had always woken easily when he moved or spoke. Now, she didn’t so much as stir when he nuzzled her neck, and Brasidas pushed himself up on an elbow to look at his wife.

The morning light revealed what had been hidden the night before. Deep, dark circles sat under her eyes, her brow pinched and creased even in sleep, and a collection of healing cuts and colorful bruises were spread over her skin.

Brasidas stroked a gentle palm over her side before tucking the blanket around her. Last night, Kassandra had taken a long time to rouse herself even at the sound of her own name. And now, the next morning, with him moving at her side, touching her, there was no hint of her waking. Whatever she had been doing this past year had clearly taken its toll. Now, she needed sleep. Everything else could wait.

He pressed a kiss to her temple and pushed himself up from the mat. His chiton lay in a crumpled pile on the floor where he must have kicked it while he slept. Shaking it out, he draped it on and moved to close the window shutters, blocking out the light and what little noise they could.

From below came the sounds of Ilina and Phoibe emerging from the gynaeceum to prepare breakfast, and Brasidas quickly excited the bedroom in hopes of heading off any loud sounds or exclamations from his daughter when she realized her mater was finally home. He had almost reached the foot of the stairs when he heard a gasp from inside the washroom, followed by Phoibe erupting through the door in a sprint.

He caught her around the waist and pressed the fingers of his free hand against her lips, while his foot caught the door before it could crash into the wall. “Shhh. Quiet, Phoibe.”

He set her back on the floor and cautiously removed his fingers. She was buzzing with excitement, her eyes darting between him, the stairs, and the ceiling beyond which their bedroom lay, but she spoke in a low whisper matching his. “She’s home? Kassandra is home?”

He smiled at her, nodding while leading her away from the stairs with a firm hand on her back.

Illina was in the front room, setting a jug on the table, and looked up when they entered.

“Yes, Phoibe, your mater is finally home.” He spoke in a much softer voice than usual and Ilina tilted her head quizzically. “She’s home, but she is exhausted. We need to let her rest and sleep for as long as she needs, and not disturb her needlessly.”

Illina nodded and walked to the kitchen to prepare their breakfast, but Phoibe shot a worried look at the ceiling. “But she’s ok? She’s not hurt?”

Brasidas smiled again and shook his head, reaching for the jug and pouring them both some wine. “Yes, she’s ok. No big injuries. She just needs to sleep a bit longer.”

When breakfast was over, Brasidas collected all the pieces of his armor that he had so carelessly discarded the night before and brought them out to the courtyard. He went back inside in search of Kassandra’s gear, finding it all dumped in a corner of the washroom. He added it all to his pile and sat down to begin his work.

The rest of the morning was spent cleaning and repairing each piece, working fresh oil into the leather until it was smooth and supple under his hands.

Ilina were taking Phoibe down to the Eurotas, where the women did their laundry. The chiton Kassandra had dropped on the bathroom floor the night before was badly stained and a little torn, and smelled like it hadn’t been washed for many months. Phoibe grimaced when she pulled it from the pile of armor and weapons, suggesting that they just burn it instead of trying to wash it.

Brasidas checked his wife's pack for more laundry and found some stained bandages, a relatively clean perizoma, and his own chiton that she had borrowed when she set out on her journey a year prior. It was folded into a small, tight package, and tucked into a side pocket. The fabric didn’t look stained or worn, and it didn’t smell bad when he sniffed it; a little stale, hints of woodsmoke and sea air, but mostly it just smelled like Kassandra.

His wife had carried his chiton with her for a year, just because it smelled like him. It was the most intimate and tangible declaration of love he’d ever heard of, let alone experienced and felt his heart fill and his eyes burn. It pained him to throw it into the laundry pile, but told himself that Kassandra would want to replace it anyway, as it no longer bore his scent.

It was noon when the door to the house slid open a crack. He turned at the sound and saw Kassandra peering out with bleary eyes, messy hair, and a soft smile.

Brasidas put down the blade and whetstone he’d been working with and slipped inside the house. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

She nodded, yawning wide, and reached for him, wrapping strong arms around his torso and tucking her face into his neck. Her skin was warm and soft with sleep and he let his palms stroke slowly over her back.

“Where’s Phoibe?” The words came out muffled, chased by another yawn, and Brasidas pulled her over to sit on the nearest klinē. “She’s helping Ilina with the laundry. They should be back soon.”

Kassandra nodded and rubbed her eyes, another yawn erupting.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You’re still so tired.”

She nodded and waved her hand dismissively. “I’m fine. Really. I just haven’t slept well since I left Sparta. But now I’m home, and you’re here, and I’m just…”

Another yawn cut her off and Brasidas shook his head with a smile. “Now you’re home and safe so you’re catching up.”

Smiled back at him, nodding. “Yeah.”

Her eyes drifted over his shoulder to the kitchen and he saw her lick her lips. She made a move to stand up but settled back down again when he pressed his palms to her shoulders. “Stay. I’ll get you some food.”

Ilina had left a pot of stew to simmer and Brasidas spooned some onto a plate. He added a wedge of cheese, a piece of bread, and an apple, before carrying it out to his wife.

Kassandra descended greedily on the proffered plate, shoveling the warm stew into her mouth with a famished moan. Brasidas chuckled and returned to the kitchen to fetch wine, cups, and a paring knife.

He sat next to her on the klinē while she ate, coring and slicing the apple into wedges for her. “Did you find any Cultists?”

She nodded, cheeks puffing out around her mouthful of stew and bread. “Yeah. Two for sure, maybe three.”

Brasidas tilted his head in encouragement and waited for her to continue. “Mater’s pirate connections on Keos had leads on one man holed up in the caves on the island. He had leads to another one, and we spent a long time chasing that man all over the Aegean. Finally found him after months and sank his ship with all hands.” She paused and ate one of the apple wedges before continuing. “He was definitely a horrible man who spread misery and terror wherever he went, but I never confirmed that he was a Cultist. He sank and I didn’t get to check if he had a shard.”

Brasidas nodded in understanding and held out another piece of apple. “And the other one?”

Kassandra’s demeanor changed at his words. Her shoulders tensing, brow furrowing, mouth pinched into a thin line. A shudder shook her body and he saw her eyes fill with something between rage and revulsion before she turned her face away.

“That was before the pirates, on Kythera. It was a woman. A girl. I swear, she can’t have been much older than Phoibe and…” She took a deep breath before draining her cup of wine. “I don’t understand how someone so young has even had time to become so effortlessly manipulative, so influential and powerful, not to mention so callous and hateful. She…” Kassandra pressed her lips together in a tight line and shook her head. “She was definitely a Cultist. I killed her and took the shard.”

Brasidas watched her in silence as she poured herself another cup and drained it, but she seemed to have finished talking about her journey. “How many Cultists are gone now?”

She closed her eyes, mouth working silently while running her thumb over the joints of her fingers. “I’ve taken ten, if we don’t count the man I sank. Then there’s Lagos, the assassin you and mater killed, and the one Deimos killed during their big meeting. So thirteen in all.”

“And how many are left?”

She threw her hands up in frustration. “I don’t know. Hundreds? Thousands?”

Brasidas put a hand on her back and rubbed it soothingly. “Kassandra. Be reasonable. If there were thousands, it wouldn’t be a small Cult trying to take control of Hellas. They would already have control and this resistance would have been squashed long ago. And if it were hundreds… shouldn’t there have been more people at the place in Delphi?”

She sighed and leaned against his side. “I know, I’m just… They’re like the Hydra. New ones keep springing up.”

He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. “I know you’re frustrated, but you are making progress. Thirteen is not a bad number. How many were in Delphi?”

“I’m not sure. Forty, maybe fifty. Even with thirteen gone, there are still so many to go. And I’m sure they’re always recruiting.”

“With you on the prowl, thinning their numbers, I doubt they will have such an easy time expanding. And you probably won’t have to take down them all to get rid of the Cult. From what you’ve told me, most of them seem to be in it more for greed than for some kind of higher purpose. And those kinds of people won’t remain loyal to any cause if it doesn’t deliver them their riches.” He squeezed her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Don’t become discouraged, Kassandra. You are winning this war.”

She turned to face him and there was something hard and resigned in her eyes when she looked at him, but it slid away as her brow unfurrowed and her lips lost their tight pinch. The smile she gave him was tired but genuine. “You are right, husband. But for now, I need some rest. It’s been a long two years and I have run out of leads to follow. I’m sure there are clues and answers in Athens, but I’m not ready to take on that task just yet.”

She settled back against his side and laid her head on his shoulder. “What about you? Where are they sending you next?”

“Nowhere. I’m only just finished with Arkadia, and I am stationed here in Sparta until they decide where I’m needed next.”

“Good. Then let us just be for a while. We deserve it.”

He reached for her hand and held it in his lap. Reveling in the peace of having her back and neither of them needing to rush off again.

They were still resting against each other in companionable silence when Phoibe opened the door carefully and slipped inside. She looked around the room, letting out an ear piercing shriek when she saw them, rushing over and throwing herself into her mater’s arms. “I knew you must be awake by now! You’re back! You’re here! Pater said we had to be quiet and let you sleep so we left to clean the laundry but we hurried so we could come back and…”

She was babbling in her excitement and Kassandra wrapped her in a strong hug, holding tight as the words petered out against her neck.

The news of Kassandra’s return after so long spread fast through the neighborhood and visitors began arriving not long after. Soon their house was filled to the brim with family and friends and Brasidas barely had an opportunity to exchange more than a glance or two with his wife for the rest of the day, let alone find time to sit with her.

The rooms were full of people talking, laughing, singing, and dancing. The servants, who had come from neighbouring houses to help out, were moving efficiently between the guests serving them wine and food. It was good to see and catch up with all his friends and family after spending so long in Arkadia, but he couldn’t help worrying that it might all be too much for Kassandra. She had still looked exhausted after a full night’s sleep, but there wasn’t much he could do to rescue her as the men dragged him away to attend the syssitia.

He kept his visit there short and returned to his house while Helios still hung above the horizon. Though most of the men were now gone, the house buzzed with conversation and merriment. Brasidas passed through the front room without seeing anyone from his family, but nodding and smiling politely at the guests as he went.

The gynaeceum housed them all. His mater and sisters, nieces and young nephews, along with his wife and daughter. Even Myrrine was present, talking to a cousin and seeming more animated than she had in months.

Kassandra was seated on the floor, her head propped against the wall, gazing out at the room with a tired smile. Phoibe was leaning against her side, fast asleep.

Braisdas cleared his throat softly to get his mater’s attention and jerked his chin towards his wife. She looked from him to where he had indicated with confusion, until she took in Kassandra’s vague, sleepy smile and slow blinking eyes and rose to her feet, clapping her hands loudly. The people in the room all turned to her in surprise and Brasidas ducked out of the room, hiding his grin.

His mater’s voice rang loud and clear from behind him, ordering everyone out. “That’s it! Time to leave, everyone! It’s late and our hosts are tired!”

He heard some mild protests as he made his way to the kitchen, but only smiled and thanked the guests for coming, avoiding all attempts at pulling him into conversation.

The small kitchen was crammed full of servants, all rushing to prepare more food, wine, and to clean the mountain of dishes forming. Ilina was arranging a tray of honey cakes when he arrived. She looked rushed and tired, but still smiling at the jokes and gossip flying around the room.

Brasidas put a hand on her elbow, pulling her attention away from her friends. “Time to stop serving. The guests are leaving.”

Ilina looked skeptically over his shoulder at the people in the room beyond, none of whom were showing any signs of ending their visit. But she soon had to turn away to hide her grin as his mater appeared to shoo everyone out, even going so far as to enter the andrōn and order the men who hadn’t left for the syssitia to get up and go home. They tried to protest and looked to him for support, but Braisdas just grinned at them and waved goodbye.

His mater called out a few more times until she seemed sure everyone had gotten the message and started collecting themselves to leave, then she walked over to where he stood by the kitchen entrance and kissed his cheeks hard. “You’re a good husband to her, Brasidas. So attentive.” She kissed him again and smoothed her hands over his hair. ”I’m so glad you’re both home again. We’ve all been worried for you. It’s not right for new spouses to be apart this long.”

“At least not before they’ve had their first child.” Brasidas looked up and saw that Myrrine had joined them. She leaned in and kissed his cheeks, less forcefully than his mater had, and he raised an eyebrow at her in surprise. “Oh, you two are just looking for more grandchildren? Is that it?”

A pregnancy would impede Kassandra’s fight against the Cult, and they both knew it, but Myrrine just shrugged at him with a sly smile. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course you wouldn’t!” His mater’s voice was tinged with excitement. “Grandbabies are the most lovely thing. You’ve missed out, dear Myrrine!”

She paused and waved her hands in the air between them as if to dispel the words. “I don’t mean that Phoibe isn’t a wonderful grandchild! She is and we are so lucky to have her in our family. I just mean that you weren't there for her youngest years. Learning to walk and talk, discovering the world as you watch, falling asleep in your arms.” She cooed at the imaginary baby in her arms and they smiled at her while Brasidas ushered them both to the door.

“I’ll see what we can do about that. But there won’t be anything done unless we get a little privacy.”

Kassandra

“Won’t do what without privacy?” Her mater stood at the door with Aggi, both smiling expectantly at her husband, while he smiled back, a little exasperated.

Brasidas shook his head at her with the universal ‘I’ll tell you later’-look, and Myrrine smirked at them before bending down to kiss Phoibe goodnight.

Her mater straightened and gave her a meaningful stare, wholly different from the one she’d given Braisdas. “You’ll come by tomorrow and tell me all about your trip, of course?” Kassandra nodded and kissed her and Aggi goodbye, waving as they disappeared into the evening.

The servants were still rushing around, cleaning up all the trays, plates, and cups of wine, and Phoibe went to help them, but Kassandra wrapped her arms around her husband and tucked her chin over his shoulder, resting her tired eyes. “What had to wait until we had privacy?”

His hands wrapped loosely around her waist and she felt him toy with the string of her peplos. “Babies. They want grandchildren.”

She snorted softly. “Of course they do. But that’s a little hard to accomplish when we’re never together in the same place.”

“We’re together now.”

Kassandra smiled into his neck and pressed a kiss to the warm skin. “Yes, we are.”

She felt his palms press into her back, pulling her closer to his body, and his lips ghosted over the shell of her ear, making her shiver. The pots and plates being scraped and cleaned made a cacophony of noise from the kitchen and scullery as she captured his lips for a deep kiss. They stood together, leaning against the front door, hand roaming idly, as the sounds petered out and the servants all left via the side door.

“I’m exhausted.” Phoibe emerged from the kitchen, stretching her arms high up towards the ceiling.

Kassandra broke the kiss and turned to her daughter with a smile. “Then you’d best go to bed, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. So you two can have your privacy.” She grinned and poked her tongue out before running off to the gynaeceum.

Brasidas laughed, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Her hearing is excellent, at least.”

Kassandra tried to laugh with him, but failed. She looked up at him, serious and guilty. “You know we can’t, though? Not now. I need to…”

He nodded and pressed a kiss to her lips. “I know. Don’t worry. But we can still practise.” His eyebrows waggled comically and then she did laugh, her guilty tension melting away. She pulled him close for another deep kiss, while her fingers slid down to grasp the edge of his chiton, ready to start practicing right away, but they were interrupted by a knock.

Kassandra groaned, a whiny edge slipping into her voice. “What now?” Brasidas shrugged and untangled himself. ”Send them away, whomever they are. We’re busy.” She whispered the words so the visitor wouldn’t hear and Brasidas glanced at her with an amused smile as he opened the door.

The smile froze and he stared at the person outside for a moment, mouth slowly falling open in shock. “Callias! This is a surprise! Come in, come in.”

The visitor smiled wide and stepped inside, kissing her husband in greeting and clapping him on the back. “It’s not too late, I hope? I heard you were having a gathering but I couldn’t leave my syssitia early.”

“No, no, of course not, you’re always welcome, Callias. How are you? How is your wife, and your son? When did you return to Sparta, I thought you were in Makedonia, still?

The young man was a stranger to her, but Brasidas' reaction made it clear this was a dear friend he hadn’t seen in a long time, and it would be a while before he would be coming to bed. She pushed her exhaustion away and smiled at the man who looked curiously back at her over Brasidas’ shoulder. Her husband seemed to remember his manners and stopped his barrage of questions to instead reach over to her with his free hand as he ushered his friend inside with the other.

“Callias, I’d like you to meet my wife. Kassandra.” He seemed almost giddy, and a wide grin spread over his face.

She reached out to take the offered hand, but the young man paused and turned back to Brasidas with a look of surprise. “Wait. You’re married? Really?”

Kassandra watched her husband blush and rub the back of his neck awkwardly, still grinning. “Yeah. Really.”

Callias turned back and grabbed her hands, squeezing them tightly. “Chaire, Kassandra, it’s a pleasure to meet the woman who finally captured our General Brasidas. You must tell me how you managed it. We all thought he would stay a bachelor forever.”

She smiled and shot her husband a teasing look. “You know… I’m not entirely sure how I managed it myself.”

Brasidas winked at her and closed the front door, gesturing for them to sit. “Callias was my second in command back in Korinth, when we were struggling with the Monger problem.”

Kassandra grimaced at the memory of the Cultist and his gang of thugs. “I could’ve happily gone the rest of my life never thinking of that malakas swine again. Good riddance.”

Callias looked at her with surprise. “You know of the Monger?”

“Yeah. We only met briefly before I drove my spear into his chest, but it was a memorable meeting.”

Callias' jaw dropped and he turned to Brasidas again, hand pointing at Kassandra. “Noo! This? This is the misthios from Korinth? You found her?” He paused and looked between them, seemingly taking a moment to remember his friend’s introduction. “You married her!?”

Brasidas laughed and nodded, pulling her close and pressing a kiss to her temple. “Yes. Kassandra is that misthios from Korinth and she is my wife.” He looked proud and happy, and the two men stood grining stupidly at each other for a few moments.

Their joy was infectious and Kassandra smiled despite her confusion. “What are you two talking about?”

Callias’ grin widened as he took her elbow, steering her to sit down. “Oh, Misthios Kassandra, let me tell you the story.” He sat too, his smile becoming teasing as he glanced at her husband. ”We had been in Korinth for months trying to find a way to get rid of the Monger. Brasidas had been getting steadily more grumpy and irritated at our lack of progress. Short tempered. Barking orders. Stomping around. Always frowning.”

“I wasn’t that bad!” Brasidas called from the kitchen where he was fetching wine and cups.

“Yes, you were.” Callias rolled his eyes and turned back, continuing. “Then, one day, he comes strolling back into the camp like he didn’t have a care in the world. Like everything was fine and good and every problem that ever existed had been solved.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

Callias shook his head. “I am not. Stop interrupting, I’m telling a story. So, he’s strolling in, as happy as can be. But! Everything was clearly not fine. He was covered in blood and shit and soot and stinking like he’d been in a house fire. And also smiling like an idiot. When I asked him what had happened, he told me he’d met a misthios, who helped him take out a warehouse full of the Monger’s thugs.”

He paused to take his cup from Brasidas who shrugged, innocently. “She did help me.”

Callias shushed him and continued. “Then he proceeds to tell me that this misthios was a beautiful fighter, and that they fought together like a choreographed dance, and that her skin glowed in the firelight. Which is… not how mercenaries are usually described, I’m sure you will agree.”

He winked and Kassandra laughed, looking at her husband. “Did you really?”

Brasidas shrugged and failed to hide his embarrassment in his cup.

“Yes, he really did. But then, Kassandra. Then he ran off to scrub himself and his armor squeaky clean in the middle of the day, leaving all of his duties unattended, only to then sneak right back out of camp without a word to anyone. Carrying a jug of wine and sappy, lovesick grin on his face.”

Brasidas coughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Didn’t think anyone saw that.”

Callias took a drink of wine and gave him a pointed smirk. “I bet you didn’t think we saw you return either. All disheveled and flustered. But we did.”

Kassandra laughed at Brasidas’ crimson face and wide eyes and turned back to Callias. “This is fascinating. I never knew. Did he say anything else about me? Beyond my beautiful fighting and glowing skin?”

The young man rubbed his chin, exaggerating the gesture as he pretended to think about the question. “Well, he did wax poetically about your skill and prowess for a while after, but soon he was moping and surly again, and didn’t talk much. Not long after, he was called away from Korinth. I didn’t see him until months later.” The young man paused and looked at Brasidas with a sympathetic expression. “He was still moping then. Pining, you might say.”

Kassandra looked in surprise at her husband. She had known he had liked her as much as she liked him when they met in Korinth, and he’d told her he’d thought about her many times until they met again in Sparta, but she hadn’t realized he’d felt that strongly. Enough for his men to notice. Brasidas shrugged at her and took another sip from his wine.

“So. You can imagine how pleased I am to learn that he not only found you, but convinced you to marry him.” Callias’ smile was soft now, and Brasidas returned it.

Kassandra slipped from her klinē and padded over to her husband, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Not as pleased as I am.”

She spent some time just enjoying being in the same place as her husband and daughter, sharing meals, visiting friends, training, even taking a few days away from the city to teach Phoibe how to hunt in the woods.

Summer had arrived and soon it would be time for the Gymnopaedia. The festival was Brasidas’ favourite and his excitement was infectious. He spent almost all of his time in training for it, coming home late each night, exhausted, with muscles sore and aching, which she would soothe with oils and massage.

It was still several days before the festival when Kassandra woke up before her husband. She laid still with her head pillowed on his chest a while, listening to his slow, steady breathing and wondered what had woken her. The sounds from the street outside told her it was still early, but not so early that they could stay in bed much longer. Propping herself up on her elbow, she gently traced Brasidas’ arm with her fingertips and pondered if they might have time for some practice if she woke him up.

Phoibe’s voice drifted up from below, she was laughing at something. Would they have time before their daughter grew impatient and came to drag them downstairs? Another voice joined in the laughter, a man's voice, and Kassandra paused. Her mind, still sleepy, cast around to identify the familiar sound before breaking into a smile.

‘Barnabas.’

She leant down and pressed a kiss to Brasidas’ cheek, shaking him lightly. “Wake up, husband. We have guests.”

His eyes slid open, slowly blinking at her, and his hand came up to rest on her hip. “Hmmm?”

“Guests. We need to get up and greet them.”

His eyes cleared immediately and he sat up straight and alert. “Who?”

“Barnabas. And I suspect Herodotos too.” She kissed him on the cheek again. “I told you they would be visiting soon, didn’t I?”

Brasidas smiled at her and pushed himself off the bed. “You did, but I expected them sooner. They’ve taken a long time to get here from the harbour.”

She chuckled and pulled her chiton on. “Herodotos probably insisted on stopping at every shrine and hermai and rock on the ground on the way here.”

Brasidas grinned and ran his fingers over his hair and beard, smoothing it down. “Well, he’s really going to enjoy Sparta if even rocks will capture his interest.”

They were sitting with Phoibe and Ilina at the table in the front room. Barnabas recounting how he lost his eye to his captive audience, while Herodotos looked on with silent skepticism.

“I hope you’re not filling their heads with your tall tales, Barnabas?”

She grinned as her Captain shot to his feet when he saw her, spreading his arms wide. “Kassandra! There you are!” He pulled her in for a quick hug, dunking his hand on her back with enthusiasm, before turning to Brasidas with a wide smile. “And you…” He let her go and took a firm hold of her husband’s shoulders, kissing his cheeks roughly. “You must be the honorable General Brasidas we have heard so much about. I am Barnabas, old sea dog and devoted servant to Kassandra. Welcome to the family!”

He then took a step back and scrutinized him playfully, before looking at Phoibe. “And you sure look like a Spartan hero warrior, just like Phoibe said!”

They all laughed except for Kassandra who pretended to be hurt. “I thought I was supposed to be the great hero warrior. Have you discarded me, Phoibe?”

Her daughter giggled and stuck her tongue out, while Brasidas bowed slightly in amused greeting, before taking Herodotos’ outstretched hand.

“It is good to finally meet you, General. Kassandra has told us many good things about you. She did not want to stay away as long as she did.” Brasidas caught her eye and she shrugged at him. It was true. She talked about him often and had made it no secret she’d rather be home with him than running around Hellas hunting Cultists.

Her husband nodded at the two men and bowed again. “It is good to finally meet the two of you. Kassandra speaks fondly of you both, and Phoibe often tells me stories of her time on the Adrestia.” He seated himself next to his daughter and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “From what I understand, you two cared for her when she was gravely injured and helped nurse her back to health. For that, if nothing else, I am in your debt.”

Herodotos nodded solemnly but Barnabas laughed. “You’d be in our debt for Kassandra too, but she never lets us nurse her injuries. It’s always just some sea water and wine, an old bandage and ‘it’ll be fine in the morning’ with her. Good thing we had Phoibe to let us feel useful!”

Herodotos gave him an incredulous look, no doubt thinking that Phoibe’s injury should not be described as lucky, and Kassandra smiled, shaking her head. “It’s good to see you. How was your journey here?”

“Wonderful.” Herodotos’ voice was soft and calm compared to Barnabas’ loud enthusiasm, and she leant in slightly to hear him better. “We spent some time in Tainaros, before setting off towards Sparta. And, of course, we visited the famous Amyklai on the way.”

“Have you visited Sparta before?” Brasidas had poured himself some wine and was softening his bread in it, but his attention was focused on their guests.

The historian shook his head. “No, I have not had the privilege before. Now that I am here, I must take the opportunity to see and learn as much as I can.”

“As long as we don’t miss the Gymnopaedia!” Barnabas winked at them. “The festival is the only reason I managed to drag him here so fast.”

Kassandra smiled and Brasidas nodded. “Indeed, you must take the opportunity now that you are here. It’s quite impressive, if you’ll allow me the boast.”

“So I’ve heard. The festival is famous throughout Hellas and we have of course always wanted to attend.”

“It’s amazing!” Phoibe broke in, her eyes shining with excitement. “It’s all dark and creepy except for the torches, and the singing is so… so big! Like you can feel it inside your head, not just hear it. And the dancers are so strong and stomp so hard that the whole ground shakes.”

“That does sound impressive.”

“It is. And it doesn't get boring. This will be my third year attending it, but I’m still excited. Mater hasn’t been before so we’re excited for her too.”

“Really?” Herodotos turned to her in surprise. “You’ve never witnessed the Gymnopaedia before, Kassandra?”

She was chewing on an apple and shook her head as she swallowed her mouthful. “No, no, I have. As a child, but not since my return. My traveling has prevented me each time until now, so I’m looking forward to attending.”

“And now you’ll finally get to see pater dance!” Phoibe wrapped her thin arm around Brasidas’ shoulder and puffed out her chest with pride. “He’s really good.”

Kassandra laughed and raised her cup to her husband. “I have no doubt that he is.”

“It must take much time to train and practise for such an event?”

Brasidas was leaning down to whisper in Phoibe’s ear but nodded at the historian as his daughter jumped out of her seat and rushed out the door with a wave. “It does take up most of my time, yes. Which is why I will sadly not be available to guide you around Sparta, so I sent Phoibe to fetch her grandparents. I’m not sure about Myrinne, but both my parents will happily talk your ear off about the city and her history if you let them.”

“Myrinne!” Barnabas raised his cup with a smile. “My favourite passenger on the Adrestia, after Phoibe of course. Maybe us old sea dogs can find something fun to do, while we wait for the Gymnopaedia.”

Kassandra pretended to be hurt again. “Your favourite passenger? And what am I? A piece of rotting kelp?”

Barnabas laughed and waved her words away. “You’re not a passenger! You’re the Captain!”

“You’re the Captain, Barnabas. I’m just the one who tells you where to go.”

When they arrived, the amphitheater was already full and vibrating with the sounds of hundreds of people crammed together, excitedly waiting for the performance to start. Kassandra and Brasidas had used their influence with the ephors and King Archidamos to ensure their guests would have a good view, and she dearly wished she could have joined them, seated as they were right in front of the circle.

She wanted to see her husband up close as he danced and sang with the other men. And not just him, Nikolaos would be performing too, as well as her brothers-in-law, and Aristomache’s sons. She was even looking forward to seeing Stentor.

Sadly, it was difficult enough to make sure Herodotos and Barnabas had good seats, so she left them there in the care of Aggi, who was more than happy to be their guide throughout the event. Instead she squeezed together with her mater and sisters-in-law to wait for dusk to settle over Sparta, while the children ran around the rows of benches, singing, dancing, play-fighting, and drunk on excitement for the night of festivities ahead.

Finally, Helios slipped behind the mountains and the amphitheater fell into darkness. Down by the circle, Kassandra’s keen eyes could make out the ghostly silhouettes of men in the shadows as they gathered in preparation for the performance to start.

Unseen drums were beaten, and the shadowed men began a deep, eerie humming which filled the air, making it seem to move like shivers down her spine.

Phoibe leaned in close and spoke in an excited whisper. “I’m really glad you finally get to be here for this, mater. You’re going to love it. Pater is so good.”

Kassandra smiled and reached out for her daughter’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “I’m really glad too.”

She didn’t have time to say anything else because a row of torches was lit, casting the circle and its occupants in fiery light. They stomped the ground in a bone shaking dance as soon as the veil of shadow lifted, their voices lifting in boastful song. Just like in Phoibe’s small performance with her chorus, the youngest danced first. They were the paidiskoi, the middle group of the agoge. Not yet old enough to join in Spartan society, but old enough to still show great skill and prowess.

Both of Aristomache’s boys were there, performing beautifully, their steps and voices in perfect sync with their peers. Kassandra turned to whisper praise to her sister in law, but Hyptia caught her eye with a smirk and a subtle gesture at Phoibe. She twisted her head towards her daughter and saw the girl staring at the young men in slack-jawed awe. Her eyes were locked on the dancers, seemingly transfixed by their movements. As one boy was hoisted high into the air and vaulted to the ground, landing gracefully on his feet in a spray of dust and sweat, Phoibe let out a soft sigh and bit her lip.

In the corner of her eye, Kassandra saw Hyptia cover her mouth with her hand, muffling a giggle, and squashed the urge to do the same. A new part of Phoibe was beginning to awaken, and Kassandra remembered well how strange and overwhelming those feelings were in the beginning, difficult enough to handle without smiles and giggles thrown her way, and promised herself she would take some time for them to talk about it after the festival.

After the paidiskoi came the hēbōntes; Stentor’s group, though her adoptive brother would be turning thirty at the end of Pánamos, at which point he would leave the agoge and take his place as a full citizen of Sparta. He would be granted a house and a plot of farm land and would be permitted to have a family of his own. As she watched him dance, she wondered idly if he already had a wife to move into his new home, or if he at least had his sights on someone. She really didn’t know much of anything about this reluctant brother of hers, but was certain he wouldn’t want her to make friends with his wife.

Finally, it was time for the Spartiates. Their dance was long and elaborate, depicting important battles and victories from Sparta’s past. Kassandra saw her pater in the crowd of men, along with her brothers-in-law, King Archidamos, her husband’s friend Callias. She even spotted General Lycophron, and could have sworn he winked at her as he whirled around the circle, even though he surely could not have seen her in the dark from such a distance. It took considerable effort on her part to give each of these men a portion of her attention during the performance, because her eyes and focus were inevitably drawn back to her husband.

Even from so far away, she could distinguish his voice from the chorus, could see his muscles move and ripple as he danced. His naked skin was gleaming with sweat and the shifting firelight made it shine and shimmer, giving him an almost unearthly appearance.

She wanted to be closer, to feel the air shift as he moved, to smell his hot skin, to touch and taste the drops gathering at his temples and sliding down his neck. Her mouth felt dry at the thought, and she licked her lips absently. Kassandra saw shifting movements in the corner of her eyes, and was sure her sisters were giggling at her behind their hands, but she didn’t care. They had been watching their husband dance like this for years, had plenty of time to get used to it. But this was her first time and she would revel in her husband’s beauty and skill as much as she damn well please.

The performance ended and all the dancers froze in place, their chests heaving with each breath in the few moments before all the torches were doused. The circle was plunged into darkness and the air erupted into cheers. The festival would continue throughout the night, and for several days after that, but the men would now take a break to rest, while the audience ate, drank, laughed and sang.

Kassandra left her family behind, pushing her way through the jostling crowd. She needed to find Brasidas before he vanished into the barracks to rest up until the next performance.

The area beyond the amphitheater was filled with people. Clearly, the men hadn’t immediately marched away, but stayed to discuss their performance and talk to their friends. Kassandra walked among them, searching the faces for her husband.

“What are you doing here?” She whipped around to find Stentor frowning at her.

“I’m trying to find Brasidas. Have you seen him?”

Her brother rolled his eyes with a sigh and jerked his chin at a pillar. Someone was standing there just outside the light of lamps and braziers, only his feet touched by their glow. Kassandra took a step but stopped and turned back, catching Stentor’s wrist before he could slip away. He looked between her face and her hand, seemingly torn between confusion and offense.

“I just wanted to say that I saw your performance. You dance well. You did your family and Sparta proud.” Stentor stared into her eyes, gaze hard and narrowing, before he gave a curt nod and tugged his wrist free, vanishing among the people.

Kassandra turned back and walked to where he had indicated. The feet were gone. Had she missed him? Had Brasidas been there and left while she spoke to her brother? She stepped into the darkness and walked around to the far side of the pillar.

“So, what did you think? As good as you remember?” She turned towards his voice, letting her eyes adjust to the low light. Her husband was leaning against the pillar, arms and ankles crossed casually, a smile glittering in his eyes.

He was still naked, the sweat not yet dried on his skin, and she reached out to trace his collarbone with a finger. “No. Better. Much better. You were… amazing.”

The smile grew a little wider, and a little more smug, but he didn’t move. Her finger slipped down to his chest, and her eyes fixed on his lips. “Brasidas. Can we… leave? For a while?”

The smile widened even more and shifted from smug to teasing. “I can’t do that. I have to return to the barracks with the other men and clean up.”

Kassandra splayed her palm over his sternum. “Have to? Can’t you slip away for a little bit?”

She had moved closer, dropped her voice into a whisper for his ears alone. He bent his head a little, almost letting their foreheads touch. “I have to wash all this sweat and dust off.”

Her fingers dug into his skin slightly, in frustration. “You can bathe at home.”

He shook his head slowly, teasing smile still firmly in place. “The men will help me clean where I can’t reach. Surely you don’t want me to walk around the rest of the night with a filthy, smelly back?”

Finally. Finally, her preoccupied mind caught on and a smile spread over her own lips. “I could wash your back for you. At home. In our bath.”

Brasidas’ teasing smile became a grin and his hands came down to wrap around her waist. In a swift movement, he lifted her up and over his shoulder, trapping her legs with his arm. “That, dear wife, is an excellent suggestion.”

He set a slow, casual pace as he walked away, and Kassandra worried he would insist on carrying her like that all the way to their house on the far side of the agora, which would take much longer than she had the patience for.

He did set her down eventually, but only after he’d carried her past the throng of people coming from the amphitheater. She saw his sisters grinning at them and Barnabas waving enthusiastically, and even though they were upside down and standing quite far away, she was sure she saw her parents standing together, smiling fondly at their antics.

Once her feet were on the ground though, they raced each other to the house, flying through the dim streets as fast as their legs allowed.

Kassandra was winning, reaching the courtyard first and flinging their door open. Brasidas was right behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her up onto the table. His foot kicked back and she heard a thump followed by a crashing sound of wood hitting wood, and then they were in darkness, his form hovering over her, sensed if not seen, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Fast, frantic, and over too quickly, the table creaked under them until Brasidas pulled himself away, forehead resting on her chest. Her fingers toyed with his braid while he caught his breath, and she felt warm air puff out over her skin as he chuckled. “Well, I don’t think that made me any cleaner.”

“No? Hmm… maybe if we try it in the bed, that might do the trick?”

She grinned into the dark and felt his hand tugging at her wrists, pulling her to sit up. “Mmm. Or… we could try the bathtub.”

He led her through the dark house to the washroom. Light was spilling from underneath the door, and when he swung it open to usher her inside, she saw several lamps burning. They illuminated the tub standing full of water, made fragrant by flowers and herbs floating on the surface.

Kassandra paused in surprise before whirling around to smack him on the shoulder. His smile was equal parts smug and amused. “You planned this! Pretending you wanted to go to the barracks instead.” She shook her head at him. ”What would you have done if I hadn’t come for you? If I hadn’t insisted we sneak away?”

Brasidas shrugged and stepped into the tub. “I would have gone to fetch you.”

“Would you?”

He nodded and leaned back. “But I knew I wouldn’t have to.”

Kassandra pulled a stool from the corner and sat down next to the bath. “And how did you know that?”

She took the bowl and pumice that had been so helpfully placed on a nearby table, and scooped up some of the water, pouring it over his chest.

Brasidas took the stone from her and began to rub it over his arms. “Because I know you, dear wife.”

She followed the water with her hand, palm rubbing at the sweat and dirt, washing it away. “And what do you know about me, dear husband, that made you so sure?”

He pretended to focus on the pumice, casually moving it in circles over his skin. If she didn’t know him so well, she might not have seen the grin he was suppressing. “I know that you like me. Very much. And so you would of course want to make sure I was clean.”

She paused in her ministrations and stared at him, incredulous. “That’s it? You believed my first thought after that performance was that you needed to wash?”

His smile became almost predatory as he leaned towards her, pupils dilating until his eyes were almost black. “No. I knew you would come to me, wife, because this was the first time you saw me dance.”

Her skin flushed hot as his words sent her back to the amphitheater and the feeling welling inside her as she watched him move, naked and gleaming in the firelight, but her skin was soon cooled by the water as he pulled her up into the tub.

Slow, heavy steps brought her to the house she had won back for her mater. The gravel crunched under her sandals as she walked into the courtyard, stopping next to the loom set up there. “How are you, mater?”

During the lead up to the festival she had seemed to become the old Myrrine again. Spending time with Barnabas and Herodotus, helping in preparations. Now, she was slipping back into herself. Most of her time spent alone in her house instead of with family or friends.

Her mater glanced up from her weaving and gave her a small smile. “Good morning, Kassandra.”

It was well past noon already, and she felt a heavy lump form in the pit of her stomach. “Mater, couldn’t you go visit with the neighbours and do your weaving there? To have some company? Or you could come to my house? We could sit together?”

Myrrine didn’t answer or even acknowledge that she’s heard anything, and Kassandra tried again. “Have you spoken to pater, at all? I saw you two standing together after the opening of the Gymnopaedia.”

A fond smile tugged at her mater’s lips and she nodded slowly. “He danced well. Reminded me of when we were young. Your pater was always an impressive man.”

“That’s good, mater, that you two spoke. Have you met with him since? Maybe you could have him over for lunch or breakfast?”

Her fingers danced expertly over the threads on the loom, the fond smile still in place. “No. Your pater set off north after the festival. He travels with the new king to bring more troops to Attica. The ephors think Athens can be taken soon.”

“Oh.” She had no idea that Nikolaos had left. Maybe Brasidas had mentioned it and she’d not been paying attention? It didn’t really matter. Her pater avoided her so expertly that there was no difference if he was in the city or on the other side of the world. “Well. Maybe when he returns. Then you can speak again, share a meal.”

Her mater hummed noncommittally, and continued her weaving.

Kassandra didn’t know what to say, not used to carrying a conversation alone in the best of times, and especially not when the other person didn’t seem to care if they spoke or not.

She looked at the weave her mater was making. Myrrine was using two different shades of white or beige, making a pattern she thought she recognized from Naxos, but it was hard to make out in the bright sunlight. “Maybe you should move indoors? The sun is very hot, you might get burned or sick if you stay out here.”

Her mater squinted up at the bright blue sky and nodded. “Yes. You are right, my lamb. It was nice and cool this morning, but now…”

Kassandra picked up the loom and carried it into the front room, setting it next to the table. “Here?”

Myrrine nodded and set her basket of yarn down beside it.

“You should drink something, mater. You’ve been out there a long time.” Another nod and Myrrine disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Kassandra alone with her thoughts.

Whatever was going on with her mater was not improving at all. She wondered if she should force her to move into the house with them, or if maybe she could visit Hippocrates for some remedy that could heal her mind. Or maybe what her mater really needed was to leave Sparta again. Return to Naxos, or to Keos, and leave Sparta in the past.

A shadow blocked the sunlight streaming in from the open door and Brasidas stepped through. “Chaire.”

He looked tense and unsettled, eyes searching the empty room. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you in training?”

“It’s the skirmish at Pylos. Athens is pushing our forces back and reinforcements are needed. I’d like you to join us if you’re willing.”

“Of course, let me just…”

“Athenian soldiers are no match for Spartan hoplites, yet you do not sound confident, Brasidas.” Myrrine stood in the door to the kitchen, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Kassandra saw her husband hesitate, glancing at her before replying. “The troops are as strong as they’ve ever been, but now they face a power beyond imagining.”

“You mean Deimos.” It wasn’t a question. Her mater’s voice had completely lost its vague, dull quality. Now she was present, her back straighter, her eyes and face alive and animated, and she stared at Brasidas as if to challenge him to contradict her.

Kassandra heard him sigh softly before he glanced at her again. “The reports brought rumours of a force of nature in the guise of a man. A man who can cut down any soldier in his path.” He lifted his hand to stop any further questions. “We are wasting time. Kassandra, go fetch your gear and meet me at the barracks. I will ask Aristomache to take care of Phoibe.”

He vanished through the door with a nod and Kassandra turned to say goodbye to her mater. Myrrine had moved from the kitchen and stood right by her side, taking her hands and holding them tight. “You have to save him, Kassandra. You have to bring him back.”

She stared back, incredulous. “Bring him back?”

“Alexios is here, in Pylos. This is our chance! We can save him! We can be a family again. It’s not too late.”

“Mater…” Kassandra tried to pull her hands free. “He’s a Cultist. A believer. He doesn’t want to be rescued.”

Myrrine released her and slammed a palm against the doorframe. “No! You’re wrong! Don’t you understand? He must have seen them for what they truly are. That’s why he’s here. He’s coming home.”

“Mater… I… I have to go. We can talk about this later.”

She tried to turn away but her shoulders were caught in a tight grip and Myrrine stared intently into her eyes. “It doesn’t matter what you have to do. Bring back your brother. You must.”

“Mater…”

“Be safe, my lamb. And bring him back to me. Whatever it takes.”

She clenched her jaw and left the house and her mater behind without another word. The lump in her stomach grew heavier.

Brasidas stood outside the barracks, waiting as the last of his men assembled. The road leading out of Sparta was already veiled in dust, kicked up by the marching troops that had already set off.

Her husband glanced at her when she arrived and gestured for her to join him. At his side, at first hidden by his shield, stood their daughter, expression equal parts proud and apprehensive. Kassandra frowned and shook her head. “Phoibe. You shouldn’t be here, you know that.”

“She insisted. I said she could stay until you arrived, but then she has to leave.” The last part of the sentence was delivered with a pointed stare at his daughter who raised her hands in placation.

“I know, I know. I just wanted to see you before you left and say goodbye.” She gave them both a quick, tight hug. “Goodbye. Be safe.”

“Bye Phoibe, we’ll be back soon.” Kassandra watched her daughter run away down the street and nudged her husband in the side with an elbow. “You're getting soft, Brasidas. Letting your daughter push you around like that. What will your men say?”

He sent her a quick smile and spoke in a low voice, just for her. “Hopefully, they will remember that I’ve only had a couple of years to practise saying no to her big, sad, pleading eyes, and cut me some slack.”

He straightened back up and leveled a stony stare at the troops in front of him before raising his voice into the air, calling for them to start marching to the coast where ships waited to take them around the peninsula to Pylos. Kassandra fell into step next to him, walking in a loose imitation of his march. “You know, if it weren’t so inappropriate, I would kiss you for that adorable comment about our daughter.”

She saw the corner of his mouth twitch imperceptibly, and smiled to herself.

It was strange to step onto a ship that wasn’t her Adrestia, and even stranger to share the deck with Spartan hoplites. Her crew were a motley and mismatched bunch who didn’t stand on ceremony and had a relaxed attitude to almost everything, even battle. These men were tense and focused, backs straight and eyes staring intently at the horizon when they weren’t sparring or training. Her crew usually broke into song the moment the ship was pushed away from the dock, but here the only song came from the rowers below, a monotonous tune meant only to help them keep pace.

Brasidas had disappeared below deck as soon as they set sail, his Captains and Commanders following like a row of ducks. They needed to strategize and plan their assault before arriving at Pylos, and Kassandra left them to it. She sat on the deck and inspected her gear to look for weaknesses, and then sharpened her blades while turning her mater’s words over in her mind.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want Alexios to break free from the Cult and try to make a new life for himself in Sparta, it was just… How? How could she convince him of that? A battlefield was no place for argument and debate. Perhaps she could sneak into the Athenian camp and talk to him there? But he would just raise his voice and she would be surrounded by enemy soldiers. No. There was no reasonable way to get to him when they were standing on opposite sides of a battle like this.

But they were always on opposite sides, regardless of battlefields. The behaviour he had shown in Athens… torturing that man, treating Phoibe like she was nothing but a thing, how he murdered Pereklies. His eyes weren’t empty and soulless when he did those things, just a soldier following orders. No, they were full of mirth and laughter and intent. He had been enjoying himself. Maybe she didn’t want him to leave the Cult and return home. Maybe what she really wanted was just to treat him like every other Cultist and put him down?

“You look tense. Are you worried about your brother?” Brasidas had returned and was lowering himself to the deck beside her.

She sighed and shrugged at him. “I… No. There isn’t really any use in worrying about him. It is what it is. Worrying won’t change it.”

“What did you mater say? After I left?”

Kassandra gave him a tired stare while she packed away her whetstone. “She wants me to bring him home. She thinks he’s here because he wants to be rescued.”

Her husband gaped at her, incredulous, and she nodded. “Yeah. I know. I think after this we need to do something to help her. Find her some kind of treatment or at least move her out of that house so she’s not alone all the time.”

He nodded thoughtfully but didn’t say anything. It was not a problem they could solve now. First they had a battle to win and Pylos was ahead, just then appearing on the horizon.

The fighting was already well underway when they arrived. Shouted orders, pained screams, grunts and clashing weapons filled the air. Fires burned in the shrubs and grass, the smoke a thickening haze that gave the scene an almost dreamlike feeling.

She had thought Brasidas had slipped into his role as commander of the troops before they stepped on the ship, but she had been mistaken. During the voyage he had still partially been her husband, balancing his attention between his command and her. Now as they made landfall she saw her husband vanish completely into his duty, replaced by General Brasidas of Sparta.

There were no words or explanations, no glances or small smiles in her direction. No allowances made for her being an uninitiated mercenary or his wife. His hard, keen eyes scanned the scene before them, assessing the battle, gauging where his reinforcements would do most good. His orders were clear and direct and carried over the din, and everyone of his troops followed them without hesitation.

She was reminded of their meeting in Korinth, where he had entered that burning warehouse alone, without backup, and with an expression of impatient irritation as if the goons and the fire were not a threat at all, but rather a nuisance keeping him from more important things.

Well, here were the more important things, and General Brasidas of Sparta stood more than ready to handle them.

Kassandra felt a surge of pride in her chest and an urge to tell Aggi and his sisters, tell Phoibe and her mater, tell everyone about how good Brasidas was, how effortlessly competent as he assessed the enemy and led his troops. Unless something went very wrong, none of the women would ever get to see him like this. In his element. But she wanted them to know.

His orders placed her with a few other mercenaries and a troop of young Spartanites under the command of one of his captains. The young man brought them around to the side of the battlefield where they engaged the Athenians immediately. If her husband looked at her before they parted, she missed it. The last she saw of him before the fighting blocked her view was of his back as he stalked up the bank with his men, spear raised and ready.

This battle was fierce, much harder than the one she’d joined in Boeotia. Or maybe it was just that she was out of practice. Since returning to Sparta after her year at sea, she had allowed herself to rest, to reduce her training and instead indulged in being a mother and wife, a friend and a neighbor.

She was paying for that laziness now, as Athenian hands brought down heavy swords her arm almost shook with the effort to fight them back. Or maybe it was just that so many of the Spartan troops around her were exhausted from days of trying to hold back the enemy until reinforcements arrived. Too tired to fight as effectively as they should, and so she had to pick up the slack or watch them die.

She hadn’t seen even a glimpse of her husband since they separated by the ships, and let her eyes scan the faces of the men around her in between cutting Athenians down. There also hadn’t come so much as a whisper of the presence of Deimos, and Kassandra wondered if the rumors had been false. Just a ploy to unsettle Sparta and demoralize their soldiers.

Swords stopped swinging at her, and she realized she was standing in a ring of dead and dying bodies. The battle still raged, but from her little corner of the field, Athens had been driven out. She stalked towards the center, looking for more enemy soldiers to engage as a breeze blew in from the Aegean, bringing with it fresh air and lifting away some of the smoke.

Up ahead, too far for him to hear her if she called out to him, stood Brasidas. His face twisted into a mask of determination and rage, his chest heaving with exertion. He too was surrounded by a ring of bodies, he too searched for new men to fight.

Kassandra hesitated. She wanted to go to him, fight by his side like they had in Korinth, but would he want her to? He had assigned her to fight for and take her orders from his captain, and that was who she should be standing with. He was gone, though, she’d lost him in the frenzy of the fighting. No idea if he had fallen or still fought somewhere inside the smoke. Honestly, she was unlikely to even recognize the man if he appeared.

She took a step towards Brasidas but faltered when she saw movement at the edge of her vision.

Deimos.

He was stalking over the battlefield like he was in a hurry to get somewhere, impatiently slashing his sword through any man who crossed his path. There was a movement of red and gold and she saw her husband raise his shield and spear, to charge towards her brother.

Kassandra’s blood ran cold and her breath caught like a fist was squeezing her throat. She wanted to shout, to scream at him to stop, to retreat, to hide, but her voice was barely more than a whisper. Instead, she ran, feet thumping on the ground, trying to get to the men before they reached each other, but she was running through water, through a dream. Too slow.

Deimos noticed Brasidas and swung his sword up, knocking the shield out of the way. His blade cut flesh and Kassandra saw blood spray up into the air, bright red against the sky.

Brasidas’ blood.

The sword swung down, arching through the air and across the now shield-less and exposed body, throwing it to the ground. More blood. It hung in the air, frozen, like the breath in her lungs. But Deimos was not frozen, he stood over her husband, preparing to deliver the killing blow, and Kassandra forced the air from her lungs, forced her limbs to move. Brasidas was not dead. He was injured. Bleeding. He could be saved. There was hope.

“Deimos!”

Brasidas

He was disoriented. Suddenly face down in the dirt and unable to draw breath.

‘Where was Deimos? He had to get up. A Spartan gets back up right away. He had to get up, had to fight.’

His arms were weak and shaking as he tried to push himself from the ground. An overwhelming pain flowed through him as he moved, squeezing the air from his lungs. He couldn’t do it, there wasn’t enough strength in his arms. And they were wet. Rivulets were running down, dripping, pooling on the ground beneath him.

‘Where was Deimos? He had to fight Deimos.’

His arms gave out and he fell, face first into the puddle. The pain became a brilliant searing that blocked out everything else.

He tried again, weak arms barely shifting his weight now.

“Stop. Stop moving.”

There was someone there, talking, a hand at his throat, squeezing. He tried to move away.

“Please, lay still. Please. Brasidas. You’re bleeding. Your neck.”

The voice, he knew that voice. Callias. Turning his head hurt too much, and the hand squeezed tighter, making his head spin.

‘Deimos. He’s here. We have to stop him. Callias. We have to.’

His voice was as weak as his arms. A small, brittle whisper.

“That fight is not ours anymore, General. We can’t help. Please, stay still and you might live to see another battle.”

Brasidas clenched his jaw and used the last of his strength to turn his head from the dirt. He was laying on his stomach, splayed on the ground, and Callias’ arm was in front of him, obscuring some his view of the battlefield, but he could still see.

Deimos was ahead locked in combat with..

“Kassandra.”

His voice was less than a whisper now, but Callias heard him. “She is strong. They are well matched. He is not winning. Our men will soon join her and then he will be defeated."

Brasidas stared, helpless to aid her, struggling to even draw breath. His eyes burned from the pain and smoke in the air, blurring with tears.

He watched them fight, their movements brutal and powerful. Neither was holding back. This fight could not end well. One of them would come out victorious, and the other…

Brasidas' head spun, dizzy, weak, disoriented. His thoughts went unbidden to Myrrine, sitting alone in her house, trapped in the past by her grief and guilt. What would she do if Kassandra came home with her brother’s body? Would she prefer that to her daughter struck down here and her son continuing on, alive but loyal to the Cult?

The wind picked up, clearing some of the smoke away and Brasidas tried to inhale the fresh sea air. It was a little easier than before. The hand on his neck was not squeezing so tight anymore. Not squeezing at all. It was slack, resting open against the ground where it lay wedged beneath him.

“Callias?”

His voice was nothing more than a rustling leaf but his fear gave him renewed strength. “Callias? Answer me. Are you injured? Callias?”

He tried to turn without moving his body, tried to see what was in the farthest corner of his eye. “Callias?”

A creaking, cracking sound came from the direction of the fight and he cut his eyes back to Kassandra. The small movement made his head spin again and his vision blurred, darkened. It looked like a tree had fallen, had taken down Deimos. Was he dead? The fight finished? Would Kassandra come now? Help him with his bleeding cuts, help him with Callias?

She was still standing by the tree, by Deimos. Brasidas blinked. There were black spots dancing in his vision, growing larger, he was going to lose consciousness. A blurry movement, something dark and smoking moved through his field of vision, and that creaking sound filled the air again. Another tree was falling.

He tried to call out to her, to warn her, but nothing came. Then she was struck down and he couldn’t see her anymore.

Chapter Text

False she was, and unrelenting;
When my last joys strewed the ground,
Even Sorrow saw, repenting,
Those sad relics scattered round;

Hope, whose whisper would have given
Balm to all my frenzied pain,
Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,
Went, and ne’er returned again!

- Emily Brontë

Brasidas  

He was screaming, he knew he was. Screaming, hysterical, like a child. They were trying to hold him still and he was fighting them, but only because they wouldn’t tell him what had happened to Kassandra. Wouldn’t tell him where she was. 

The tree had fallen, had taken her down, and he had lost his grip on consciousness, pulled under by the strong arms of Hypnos. When he woke again, the battle was over and the survivors were collecting their dead and wounded.

His voice had been thick and cracked and weak and the young men moving him out of the dirt hadn’t understood, had thought he asked after their victory. They had shaken their heads in solemn defeat. ‘No, General. Sparta was defeated.’

He had tried again, and again, but they shushed him, tried to soothe him, rolled him over, tied cloth around wounds, lifted him onto a stretcher, and that’s when he had seen .

The white-hot pain that seared through him as they moved his battered body, that pushed out all other sensation, did not manage to blind him. The smoke had cleared while he was away, held sleeping against his will by that fickle god’s power, and now he saw the trees clearly. Two of them, fallen side by side, and the space under them was empty. 

No Deimos. No Kassandra.

He was screaming, he knew he was. Desperate for an answer. Afraid of what it would be. They shook their heads, frowned at him, disappointed at his lack of grace and dignity. Confused by his insistence that his wife had been in the battle with them. None of them were his men, none of them knew him, none of them knew Kassandra. 

He was screaming, and then he was not. His voice faded, his head spun, his vision bloomed black, and firm hands pushed him down onto the stretcher.

The man’s voice was monotonous and seemed to be coming from far away as he recounted someone’s injuries. Another man answered, voice less steady, not so spiritless, asking questions. That voice seemed familiar somehow.

They spoke of broken ribs, a cut into the base of a neck, and deep slash into someone’s thigh. 

Brasidas' eyes were blurry, his mind unsteady; he seemed to be spinning and falling, but laying still on the firm ground, all while his whole body hurt. 

Something must have happened to him. Something bad.

He tried to lick his cracked lips but his tongue was uncooperative and dry as bark. 

Suddenly there was someone next to him, close to his side, and he flinched away. The movement sent waves of hot pain through him, and he groaned, eyes watering. 

“Easy, agori mou, you are injured. You must not move.”

That voice. He knew it. “Pater?”

Brasidas looked upward, tried to see the face of the man at his side. It was blurry and darkening at the edges, but he knew his pater’s face anywhere.

Another blurry movement in his line of sight, and a wet cloth pressed lightly against his lips, dribbling water. The feeling was sweet relief and Brasidas sucked more of the liquid into his mouth, soothing his parchment tongue. His throat hurt when he swallowed, a burning, tearing stab that made him cough and choke. That made the pain blossom in his body again before everything faded out into blissful black.

He didn’t know how many times he had woken up only to fall right under again, but each time his pater had been there, wiping his burning skin with a cool cloth, cleaning his waste from beneath him, pressing bitter tea and sweet broth to his lips. The familiar, deep baritone always murmuring prayers, praise, and encouragement.

This time when he woke, it was different. He was clearer. Awake. The blurry blackness was gone from the edges of his vision, the surrounding sounds didn’t seem muffled or to be coming from a great distance. He was tired, exhausted, and his whole body ached, but he seemed to be on the other side of whatever had happened to him.

‘What had happened to him?’

Brasidas searched through his memories, still scattered and unclear. There had been a battle, maybe? Yes, a battle. He could see other wounded laying on mats around him. This was a field camp, for those too injured to be transported far.

‘He had been injured in battle. Who had they fought?’

He looked at the other men in the tent, tight rows of mats with unfamiliar faces, trying to remember. There were soldiers standing just outside, at the entrance. They were speaking in hushed voices to an older man. Was that his pater? The men shifted away and a beam of light fell inside. It was too bright, hurting his eyes, and Brasidas turned his head away. 

His gaze fell on a man in the corner. It was Callias. His friend was on his back, arms laying neatly at his sides, face deathly pale and unmoving. At this distance, Brasidas couldn’t tell if he was even breathing.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the assault of memories. Callias had been laying right next to him on the muddy ground, but he’d stopped talking, stopped holding on to… Brasidas lifted a hand and felt bandages at his neck. His friend had been trying to stop the bleeding, been telling him to lay still, while he had tried to…

“Kassandra!” The name tore out of his throat, ripping at dry, cracked flesh while the memories flooded back into his mind. 

Attacking Deimos. Deimos striking him down. Kassandra and Deimos circling each other, battling without holding back. Deimos struck down by a falling tree. Another tree taking down Kassandra.

Brasidas tried to move, to sit up, to get up and search for her. He had to find her, help her.

Moving hurt, overwhelming waves of pain made him scream, made him squeeze his watering eyes closed. Strong hands pushed him down to the mat. Several hands, holding his arms, legs, shoulders. 

“Lay down, agori mou. You will tear your sutures and bleed again. Lay still! Still!”

It was his pater’s voice. Shifting from soothing pleas to the loud, authoritative one he used with his soldiers and when Brasidas had gotten himself into trouble as a child, but it was tinged with an edge of fear.

He let himself lay back again, felt the hands release him.

“Pater. Kassandra. Where is she? I saw her struck down by a burning tree.”

Through blurry tears he saw those who had held him down back away towards the entrance. He thought maybe they were his men, but he couldn’t be sure, they moved away too quickly.

Brasidas blinked the tears from his eyes, felt them on his cheek a moment before his pater wiped them away with a damp cloth. “Pater. Kassandra. Where is my wife?”

The old familiar eyes were pained in the otherwise stoic face. “She has not been found. The men have scoured the battlefield and beyond, searched the ships and shallows. She is not here.”

Brasidas felt the air in his chest thicken until he couldn’t breathe, until he couldn’t gasp or speak for the heavy pain filling him. His pater wiped the cloth over his face again.

“She was dressed as a mercenary, not clearly with Sparta, so your men thought she might have been brought to the Athenian camp.”

Tellis paused, gestured behind him and one of the men who had backed away came into view. It was one of his Captains. He looked uninjured aside from some bruising and a healing cut on his cheek. 

The man nodded and stood at attention. “General. We found a servant, a young boy, who claimed he saw a woman carried onto one of the Athenian ships directly after the battle. He said they loaded her and the Athenian Champion on board, along with a healer, and set sail right away.”

The man paused, looked at Tellis, at the floor, and then back to Brasidas. “We have inquired with the Athenian camp, but they deny taking her, deny missing a healer, deny missing one of their ships, they even deny having a Champion. The rest of the servants and the healers report the same. No one has seen anything to match the story the boy told. No one has seen an injured woman.”

Brasidas felt like a fist was squeezing his heart. 

They had taken her. The Cult of Kosmos had stolen Kassandra’s body right off the battlefield. He was sure of it. It was not the Athenians. They wouldn’t see any value in taking a lone mercenary or Spartan woman, and they definitely wouldn’t send away any of their healers before the wounded had been treated. No, this was the Cult’s doing.

He tried to keep his composure as his Captain bowed and retreated out of the tent. Tried to bottle his screams of frustration and fear inside. His body became taut on the bed, fists clenching and heels pushing down into the mat, hot searing pain blooming through his injured body but unable to match the pain in his chest.

“Brasidas! Stop! Please, agori mou, stop. Your injuries.” His pater’s voice was muffled and far away and he ignored it. It rose in volume, became desperate, called for the healer, and then ebbed away into nothing as Brasidas sank back down into the dark.

It couldn’t have been too long before he woke again. The healer was packing away his tools and scolding Tellis for letting his son tear open his sutures.

His pater sat down on the mat and began wiping at his body with another damp cloth. No doubt to clean away the fresh blood that had been lost. 

“Brasidas, agori mou. You must lay still and allow yourself to heal. Your injuries are severe.”

He felt his throat begin to close up, swelling with tears and pain. “Pater. They’ve taken my wife. You expect me to just lay here?”

Tellis scowled at him and his voice took on a sharp edge. “I expect you to lay still and heal . I expect you to handle this defeat and setback with some dignity and strength. And I expect you to realise that there is nothing you can do for Kassandra in your current state, and nothing you will ever be able to do for her if you bleed yourself to death.”

He put away the cloth and started rewrapping the wounds. “She will not forgive you if you kill yourself like this.”

Brasidas closed his eyes and tried to breath slowly. His ribs protested as he inhaled, releasing the breath slowly. ‘Be smart. Be useful. Think ahead. Rest, heal, and then go after her.’

His heartbeat slowed slightly and he forced his muscles to relax. “You are right, pater. Thank you. I shouldn’t have become so emotional. Tell me about my injuries.”

Tellis gave him an approving look, though a sliver of pain remained in his eyes.

“A few ribs, a shallow slash to the base of your neck, and a deep cut to your thigh. You lost a lot of blood on the field, and more after you were brought here. You were delirious, feverish, moving and thrashing and tearing your sutures. You were favoured by the gods when you did not die from the fever or loss of blood. But that cut in your leg is deep. You may need their favour again, if you are to regain the use of it.”

Brasidas’ chest tightened again. If he lost the use of his leg, then he would not be able to mount a rescue for Kassandra. And his career would be over. His influence in Sparta would be gone. He might not even be able to order his men to go after her. 

He would sit in his house, feeble and old before his time, become poisoned by festering bitterness. He had seen it happen to many others before.

Tellis’ words repeated themselves in his mind. Delirious, feverish, tearing his wounds open repeatedly. He remembered none of it. “Pater, how long have I been here? How long since the battle?”

“Almost two weeks.”

Brasidas groaned in pain and his heart clenched. Two weeks. They could have taken her anywhere by now. How would he ever find her again? Where would he even look?

His pater seemed to know what he was thinking. After he finished dressing the wounds, he spread a thick, coarse blanket over his injured body, and spoke with a soothing voice. “Those friends of Kassandra. Herodotus and the sailor. I received word from home that they set sail soon after they heard she was gone, to search for her. Perhaps they will find her, or find someone who knows something that will help.”

The news almost made him smile. Kassandra’s friends knew about the Cult, and were both very well connected throughout Hellas, in their own unique ways. Especially in Athens. They might well be able to find her, or clues to where she was. “Good. That’s good. Please let me know if they return or send any messages.

Tellis finished tucking the blanket tight around his body, as if to prevent Brasidas escaping the bed, and nodded. “Yes, I will. And you, agori mou, will sleep and rest and recover.”

He had to stay several more days in the camp before the healer felt comfortable moving him. The blood loss had been severe, slowing down the process of his wounds closing up and scabbing over. Even now, there was a constant trickle of fluids from his leg, which still throbbed painfully despite how often his pater cleaned it out. The cut on his neck was doing better, developing an itchy scab under the thick layer of salve, and his pater had to continuously slap his scratching fingers away from the area.

But finally, they let Tellis bring him back home to Sparta. He was far from healed, far from safe, but there was no more benefit from staying in the camp. The healer said his wound was improving, that the infection was clearing up, and if it was kept clean and didn’t turn bad again, the proper healing could start. And if it did turn bad again, rotting his leg or poisoning his blood until he died, he could just as easily do that at home.

He was strapped tight to the stretcher and his men carried him onto the ship, wading chest deep out into the surf and lifting him on board. Brasidas might have been embarrassed by them handling him like a piece of cargo, but he was so exhausted he barely woke up for the ordeal.

Despite weeks having passed already, he was still so tired. Always so very tired. 

His mind was clear when he was awake, but could only manage that for short stints before slipping back into Hypnos embrace. Sleeping was good, it helped the healing, but he dreamt when he slept and those dreams were not helpful.

He dreamt he was back on the battlefield, felt Deimos sink his sword through his chest, watched helpless as he cut down Kassandra, watched her fall to her knees with blood and entrails spewing forth into the dirt. He dreamt he was back in his house, laying useless in bed while his wound grew, slowly devouring his whole body, while Phoibe stared at him with disappointment and disgust. ‘Where is my mater? Where is Kassandra? She should be here, not you. I will ask the gods to take you and bring her back instead.’ He dreamt of Myrrine, standing at the foot of his bed with a cruel and condescending smile. ‘ You thought you could kill my son. You thought you could best a god in battle. Look at what your hubris has brought you, Brasidas. My daughter deserves better than an old, useless cripple.’

He dreamt of other things too, strange, disturbing things, indecipherable and terrifying, but their memories evaporated when he woke up, soaked in sweat and heart beating out of his chest. The wound on his leg always throbbed painfully after those dreams. Always felt hotter, like he could look down and see it glow like fire.

His soldiers carried him from the ship to Sparta and onward to his house, reaching the city when Helios had just started rising over the horizon. His pater led them through the morning streets, silent and stoic. Despite the early hour, there were people out, servants and merchants and women doing chores. They all either stared openly with pity in their eyes, or turned their heads demonstrably in respect.

Brasidas lay perfectly still, staring at the sky above, his face a mask of stone. He didn’t want to see anyone, didn’t want to accidentally make eye contact, didn’t want to know if he knew any of the people who would be gossiping about him as soon as the stretcher had moved past them.

They were nearing the house now, and he briefly closed his eyes. He still had no idea what to say to Phoibe. What could he say to her, when he was returning without her mater? Would she even be there? Maybe she had insisted on staying with his sister, refusing to see him after he had failed her so badly?

He was afraid of seeing Myrrine too. Afraid of what he would do or say if she inquired, not just about her daughter, but inquired about her son. He was afraid that if he heard worry in her voice over the fate of her beloved Alexios, he would not be able to bite his tongue.

They arrived. His pater opened the front door and called out into the dark beyond before gesturing the soldiers to follow him inside.

Brasidas’ eyes needed a moment to adjust as they moved him into the front room. 

To his right came movement and light. Ilina emerged from the kitchen carrying an oil lamp in her hand. She looked exhausted, large dark circles sat under her reddened eyes. “Welcome home, Brasidas. We have prepared the andrōn for you.” 

Her voice was thick and a little hoarse, from sleep or maybe from crying, but her smile was soft as she gestured towards the open door at the opposite end of the room.

His pater disappeared deeper into the house while the soldiers carried him inside, setting the stretcher down on the floor to transfer him to his new bed.

The andrōn had been repurposed, the furniture inside replaced. Only one klinē remained, pushed in under the window. Two sleep mats lay on the floor, a large pile of pillows beside them. A table held neat stacks of bandages, bowls, tools, sponges, and herbs. Folded fabric sat on a stool by the wall. Maybe fresh linens, or extra blankets.

There was no sense in complicating his care by keeping him upstairs in his bedroom, so this is where he would stay to recuperate.  As the soldiers left the room, bowing their heads to him as they went, Brasidas wondered how long it would be before he saw his bedroom again. 

Kassandra 

Her belly churned and Kassandra threw herself at the pot in the corner, emptying her stomach. The pot was full of several days worth of waste and vomit already and the smell made her heave again.

When she had first regained consciousness, it had been a gradual, slow thing. Light, made pink by her eyelids, indistinct and muffled voices, footsteps that came and went. She’d risen close to the surface of wakefulness and sank back into the inky black again, over and over. 

When she had finally opened her eyes, she hadn’t know where she was, or who, or even what. Her conscious mind was brand new and knew nothing of the world, so she just laid still and let her eyes stare at the bricks in the wall without understanding they were bricks or part of a wall. She fell asleep, woke again, slept again with no real perception of time. There was only confusion and the steady throbbing of pain in her head.

People came and went in the space around her, left things, collected things, changed things. Some moved her body, her limbs, pushed food and drink to her mouth. Someone poked and prodded her skin, wrapped foul-smelling cloth where it hurt, and asked questions she couldn’t answer. Every movement they forced on her sent sharp, blinding shards of pain through her head, and forced her stomach to turn itself inside out.

Time passed but she didn’t know how long it took before she understood that the brownish-grey things were bricks, part of a wall, which made a room, and that the room was a cell, and that the people who came and went were guards.

She had laid and stared through the door that wasn’t a door for hours before she understood why the word felt so wrong. Doors are solid and can’t be stared through. These were bars. 

So she knew she was in a prison cell, and had been injured, but no more than that. She had tried to ask the guards where she was, who she was, what had happened to her, why she was there, but they all either ignored her or threatened violence.

If she stood on the right side by the bars and angled herself to the left, she could see across a courtyard and through a second set of bars to a city beyond. There were houses and trees and statues in the distance, a couple of market stalls nearby, and occasionally people walked past on the street just outside; their eyes glancing in for the briefest moment before sliding away. 

None of it seemed familiar.

Days later it was raining and she was standing pressed right up against the bars, trying to catch water droplets in her hand when someone stopped in the street outside, their gasp audible even over the smattering rain.

“Kassandra?”

The man was staring straight at her, face alive with surprise and concern. 

“You know me?” She didn’t recognize him at all, but tilted her head trying to get a better look.

“I… yes, you are Kassandra, aren’t you? The misthios who worked for Alkiblades?”

A shout from the guard tower made the man jump and rush away down the street without waiting for her response and she moved away from the bars, back into the cell.

‘Kassandra.’ The name felt familiar, felt correct. The word ‘misthios’ felt right too. Even the other name, ‘Alkibiades’ sent tendrils of recognition through her mind.

Kassandra pushed herself up from the floor and moved away from the pot full of fresh sick and old waste. After she had learned her name, the rest came back to her with speed. Now she knew who and where she was, and though she could guess how she’d gotten there, she didn’t know why.

Possibly, it was just another attempt at recruitment. The Cultists never could seem to agree if she should die or join them, so perhaps her abductor was of the latter camp.

In honesty, it didn’t much matter either way. She didn’t care what they wanted, she only cared about getting out and getting back home.

Deimos had cut down Brasidas at Pylos and she needed to know if he was badly injured, if he was alive.

Kassandra would have already overpowered a guard and made her escape days ago if it weren’t for her head still giving her dizzy spells, her stomach turning itself inside out everytime she ate, and the slight tremor that persisted in her hands.

With that, she wasn’t at all certain she could get herself out of the prison if there were more than one or two guards to get past. So instead she bided her time and waited for her body to heal further. When she made her attempt, it would be successful. 

It was a couple of days later when she once again found herself waking up, groggy and disoriented, with her stomach heaving violently, forcing her to stagger over to the pot.

As the sick splattered down there was a sound of disgust from outside and Kassandra turned to see Deimos staring at her through the bars. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stared back.

His eyes swept over her, the cell, and the overflowing pot in the corner with a disgusted grimace before his features shifted into their customary frown.

“I don’t know what you were thinking back there.”

Kassandra paused, parsing his words. ‘Back there? Pylos? Did he mean when the tree fell?’

“What? Trying to save you?”

“That’s not what that was!” Deimos’ reply came a little too fast and a little too loud. It gave it an air of stubborn defiance, like a petulant child. He seemed to realise and paused, lowering his voice into a menacing growl. “I told you to stay out of my way. Yet here you are.”

Kassandra almost scoffed at him. “I am in prison, Deimos. How much more out of your way could I get?”

He growled at her and she sighed. “I didn’t come here willingly, you know. If you let me out I’ll gladly go back to Sparta and stay out of your way there.”

He growled again. “You are never getting out of here alive.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “So, what? I’m a prisoner until I’m killed?”

“That’s the plan.” 

“Then what was the point of nursing me back to health? Or even to bring me all the way here in the first place? You could have just dropped my unconscious body into the ocean and saved everyone the trouble.”

The smug smile dancing on Deimos lips vanished, replaced momentarily by confusion and uncertainty, until an angry scowl settled over his features. “I could come in there and end you anytime I please.”

Kassandra suppressed an eyeroll and fought the urge to remind him that her point still stood. Bringing her all the way here just to kill her was stupid.

“Tell me what you know.” 

She waited for him to clarify but he just stared at her, angry and expectant. “What I know? About what?”

Deimos huffed in irritation and actually rolled his eyes at her before answering. “About the Cult.”

“The Cult? You are their Champion. Surely you know more than me about your own Cult?” She tried to keep the taunting tone out of her voice but failed miserably.

He growled again and took a step closer to the bars. “Tell me.”

Kassandra threw her hands up in frustration and rolled her eyes right back at him. “I know they are a bunch of rich, greedy malakas who claim to want to steer all of Hellas in a good prosperous direction, but when you look at the actions of the members you see that all they are doing is stuffing their own pockets and satisfying their own selfish desires for power, sex, violence, or all three. It’s a stupid rich man’s club treating the entire world and all of us in it like a game.”

Deimos stared at her, surprised and maybe a little awed at her dismissive summary. He soon schooled his features into another scowl and hissed through his teeth. “Not that. Tell me what you know about me.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You said the Cultists told you everything and I was just a liar trying to trick you.”

He bared his teeth and pointed at her through the bars. “You think I’m just their puppet. So convince me. Tell me everything you claim to be true.”

So, he had doubts about the Cult after all. Kassandra wondered briefly if her mater was right, that her brother could be rescued and brought home.

“After this, I kill you. But first you tell me why I was abandoned on that mountain.”

She rolled her eyes again. He may be a talanded warrior, but he was not a skilled interrogator.

“You weren’t abandoned. It…”

He interrupted her with a slashing wave of his hand. “There is no other name for what you did to me. I was left to die.”

Kassandra closed her eyes for a breath and asked any god who would hear her to grant her patience, and started over.

“It was because of the Pythia’s prophecy. The Spartan ephors decided there was no other choice.”

“A prophecy?” Deimos eyes flickered away and Kassandra took the opportunity to push at the crack forming in his certainty. 

“You and I both know who feeds the Pythia her words.”

He nodded slowly, almost lost in thought. “I do… A baby with a fate so terrible it was thrown off a cliff. What kind of prophecy would lead to that?”

“The Pythia said you were going to bring Sparta to greatness, or to its downfall. Waiting for the outcome was too big a risk.”

“A risk.” Deimos crossed his arms and glared at her. “Is that why you let me go? Because you wouldn’t risk it ?”

“Let you go? What are you…? You have no idea what happened that night!”

“I know what you threw me off that mountain. While everyone just watched. I saw you in that memory.” His finger was pointing at her face through the bars. Accusing.

“I threw… Deimos. I was ten years old. How much control do you think I had over the ephors and priests?”

He faltered at her words, finger lowering and eyes sliding away. “I know what I saw.” The petulant child was back, mumbling his words at the ground.

“What you saw was a stupid and desperate ten year old who thought she could rescue her infant brother, right infront of all the people who had decided he should die. A stupid child who thought all those adults would just let her .

I didn’t throw you, and I didn’t push that priest either. I startled him, the rain made the rock slick, he slipped and fell and I couldn’t catch you.” 

Her voice caught in her throat at the bitter memory. “They killed me for that. Sentenced me to die right there on that mountain. My own pater throwing me to my death.”

Those words brought new defiance into Deimos eyes and his finger lifted to point at her again. “You might have been a powerless child, but our parents are still guilty. They let this happen!”

Kassandra pursed her lips in irritation. “Let? Deimos, I admit I didn’t understand how powerless our parents were against the will of the State when I was a child, but I am an adult now, and so are you.” She raised her own finger to point at him. “They only had the choice to die with us or ‘let’ it happen. And our mater knew there was a chance you could survive a fall like that when no other baby would.”

He scoffed at her. “Survived. No thanks to her.”

“Yes thanks to her!” Kassandra’s voice rose in frustration. “She went after you. Went down the mountain to find you, to rescue you. And she did. She brought you to the priests of Asklepios. They took you, healed you, and then lied to her and told her you had died. But it was the Cult. They stole you from her.”

He stood in silence a moment, staring at her.

“We were both thrown away. Discarded.”

“Yes.”

“But we both survived. Against their wishes.”

“We did. We’re alive.”

His eyes met hers, clear of malice and scorn. “Maybe it serves them right.”

She wondered if this was it, if this was the moment, her chance to convince him to leave the Cult and return with her to Sparta, to their mater. But if it were, then the moment was lost when Kleon came stalking across the courtyard.

“Deimos! We’ve been searching for you, and I find you here, in the gutter.”

Her brother turned his back to the older man, scowl returning to his face. “I go where I pleace.” The words were mumbled into the air, his previous strength and confidence vanished like smoke.

“This was not your action to take, boy! Leave. Now!”

Kassandra startled at the politician’s tone, her eyebrows raising in surprise. Kleon was treating Deimos like a child or a servant, not as the Champion of his Cult. The Champion who had commanded fear and supplication of the entire congregation of Cultists at Delphi, who gleefully tortured and murdered, who could singlehandedly turn a battle in his favour. And here was Kleon, scolding him like a dog.

From her angle, Kassandra could see what the politician could not. Her brother’s spine was straightening, his scowl deepening, his fists clenching, and his obedience crumbling.

It was Kleon’s turn to raise his eyebrows in surprise when Deimos whirled around and stuck an accusing finger in his face. “I am not your puppet. And you are not my master.” 

Her brother advanced on the older man, voice low and menacing, and the politician backed away, hands raised in placation. “Of course, Champion. An indiscretion I won’t repeat.”

Deimos stared him down a while longer before he walked out of the prison without a backward glance.

His Champion’s defiance did not seem to have rattled Kleon as he stepped up to the bars. “Keep in mind you put yourself in the cell.”

Kassandra crossed her arms. “I don’t recall doing that. In fact, last I recall, I was at Pylos fighting a war. Did you put everyone else from that battle in prison too?”

Kleon ignored her response and continued in a conciliatory tone. “You have to understand - this is all for Athens, Kassandra. Periklies would’ve impoverished the entire city. The people were living in squalor!”

She raised a sceptical eyebrow. “So you had him murdered… and abducted me four years later for some reason. Why?”

“You can’t find the perfect yolk without breaking a few of the quail’s eggs.”

“That… makes no sense at all. Are we having the same conversation? Are you the egg in this scenario? Am I here to break you so we can look at your yolk ?”

Kleon had looked smug, like he’d made an excellent point but deflated at her words. “Perikles wasn’t right for Athens, Kassandra.”

She sighed, they were definitely not having the same conversation. “Fine. Perikles wasn’t right for Athens, but you are? The right kind of egg is the type that murders his opposition when he doesn’t get his way? That’s what Athens needs?”

Kleon smirked at her. “Oh, I’m just getting started. If only you’d be around to watch.”

Kassandra shook her head in disbelief. “Really? You abducted me from Pylos, shipped me all the way here to Athens, made sure I was nursed back to health, only to… what? Have the satisfaction of murdering me yourself? How is that a good use of Athen’s funds?”

Kleon looked confused, like he’d actually listened to her a little bit this time, but he quickly regained his composure and smirk. “You are not that important, Kassandra. I have other matters that need my attention.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “The Cult wins, Kassandra. The Cult always wins.”

He turned away, waving at two nearby guards and walked away across the courtyard, sing-song voice bouncing over the bricks. “Now I’m off to Mytilene. Apparently, there’s a revolt brewing.” He stopped at the prison gate, looking back to her before disappearing into the street. “You won’t be interfering with Athens’ affairs anymore, Kassandra.”

He looked almost giddy and she groaned, raising her voice to call after him. “Why didn’t you just have me thrown off the ship if the whole point was for me to die? This was a very wasteful handling of Athens’ resources, Kleon! The people are living in squalor, you know!”

The guards had opened the cell door and stepped inside, both grinning widely. As she turned to them, she realised they were not the regular guards stationed at the prison.

One was a large brute wearing only a simple loincloth and sandals. The other, a smaller man, wore full battle armour, complete with a large, red, double-crested helmet. 

Of course Kleon had brought his pet enforcers to do the work for him. 

Kassandra sighed and raised her empty fists. “Let’s get this over with.”

With her reflexes slowed by her throbbing head and trembling hands, the men got in more hits than she would normally allow. A kick to her shin put her off balance, and dodging the subsequent punch made her trip and fall to her knees. The smaller man laughed, and commented how readily she got into position for them, while the brute kicked her right in the stomach.

The impact made her vomit. What little was inside splattering onto the cobbled floor and her assailants’ feet. They jumped out of the way, laughing harder, and Kassandra took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She needed to fight. There wasn’t time for weakness and pain and vomit , but she was weak; her hands trembled and refused to fully obey, her head kept blinding her with pain, making her stumble and miss her strikes. She was weak and she was failing.

The men’s cruel laughter was pushed from her mind by another voice, speaking to her from long ago. ‘Up! A Spartan rises as soon as they’ve fallen.’

Yes. Fuck this. She could be sick and dizzy and weak later. 

She was Kassandra , the Eagle Bearer, daughter of the Wolf and the Phoenix, granddaughter of King Leonidas, mother of Phoibe, wife of General Brasidas of Sparta. They would feel her wrath.

When both men finally lay dead on the cell floor, Kassandra took a moment to catch her breath. Elbows on her knees, she swallowed hard against the bile wanting to rise in her throat, and wished she had fresh water to drink. 

The moment of respite was broken by raised voices and running footsteps before the door flew open and two men burst inside. Kassandra slid into a defensive posture, fists raised in front of her. Her arms fell to her sides when she saw it was Barnabas and Sokrates. They looked ridiculous and a little bewildered, holding farming tools aloft and trying not to step on the blood oozing from the dead bodies.

“Is this my daring rescue?”

Barnabas grinned and bowed slightly. “It is indeed. Thank the gods you are alive, Kassandra!”

“Yes, to be rescued one needs to still have one's life, it can be assumed. And to collectively keep ours, we must leave quickly before more guards arrive.” Sokrates waved out towards the courtyard and Barnabas took hold of her elbow, ushering her outside.

The philosopher led them into a narrow alley where he unwound a length of cloth hidden under his himation and handed it to Barnabas. “We will reconvene at Perikles residence. Stay in the shadows.” He gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder before disappearing into the busy street.

Kassandra turned to Barnabas who was trying to drape the cloth over her without much success. “What are you doing? And why is he leaving?”

“He is famous in this city. If anyone saw us charge the prison, they would recognize and remember him, and if they see him in the streets accompanied by a bruised and bedraggled woman, they’d probably remember that too. But me? Just an unknown sailor and his long suffering wife? No one will remember us.” He pulled gently at her arm to lift it and wrapped the cloth around her torso. “You need a disguise to blend in on the street. You are… too memorable like that.”

Kassandra looked down at herself. The tunic she had on was old and threadbare, almost see-through, and heavily stained with blood and vomit.

She grimaced and helped her Captain arrange the length of cloth into a respectable garment. He smiled, satisfied at their efforts but the grin faded when he looked at her face. “Let's just clean you up a little before we go.” He pulled a rag from his belt and splashed it with wine from his flask. The rough, sea-hardened hands were surprisingly gentle as they wiped at her nose and around her mouth.

Kassandra felt a pang of shame at the pathetic state they’d found her in and ran her palms over her hair, flattening it down.

Barnabas took her elbow gently, leading her out into the street. She let him guide her, feeling exhaustion settle over her, seeping into her bones. The bruised and beaten muscles in her torso throbbed and cramped painfully, and she grimaced against the pain.

“How did you find me?” 

Barnabas puffed himself up a little, spine straightening a little with pride. “We set sail as soon as we heard you had been captured. Of course, we didn’t know you had been taken to Athens but it was a good place to start. We both know many people here.”

“And that led you to the prison?”

He nodded, leaning closer and lowering his voice. “It was some politician acquaintance of Herodotus. Apparently, a servant recognized you and told his master.”

“Alkibiades?”

“Yes. Strange, that man, but very fond of you, it seems. He tried to use his connections and leverage to get you out, but failed. I wanted to bring the crew of Adrestia to storm the prison but they said it would draw too much attention. When I said I would storm it myself, Sokrates insisted on joining me.”

“I never would have guessed he would do such a thing.” She tried to laugh, but her muscles protested and it became a groan.

They had arrived at Perikles residence and Barnabas led her through a side door and over to a klinē. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom but then she realised the klinē was the same one she had laid the unconscious Phoibe on all those years ago. She froze in her tracks.

Phoibe. Brasidas. Pylos.

Somehow, she had managed to forget her injured husband during her confrontations with Deimos and Kleon, and then her subsequent escape. Now reality came crashing down and found her doubling over as the guilt tore like claws at her stomach.

Barnabas was at her side immediately, guiding her to sit down.

She stopped him with a tight grip on his shoulder. “Brasidas. I saw Deimos cut him down at Pylos.”

“Kassandra, please, calm yourself. Breathe.” She felt him wipe at her nose with his rag and saw it come away red. So her nose had started to bleed again, it was not important. She tightened her grip on his shoulder until he winced in pain. “My husband, Barnabas. Is he alive?”

“Yes. He’s alive, yes. Please, Kassandra, calm yourself.”

She released him and sank onto the klinē he’d been trying to push her onto. “What are his injuries?”

Barnabas grimaced as if she had squeezed his shoulder again. “I don’t know. Word came from Pylos that you had been captured and that he was injured. Injured but alive! We didn’t wait. We set sail immediately. I’m sure he’s alright, Kassandra. Brasidas is a formidable soldier and talented fighter.”

She wasn’t listening, already on her feet and striding towards the door. “I have to get home, I can’t stay here. I have to get home.”

Her path was blocked, Sokrates and Herodotus stood in her way. “You can’t go out there now, Kassandra. They are looking for you. We wait until nightfall, then we can sneak out undetected.”

Ignoring her protests, Barnabas took hold of her shoulders and led her deeper into the house. “We will wait until dusk and then head for port. Our Adrestia is fast, she will get us to Sparta in no time, but now let us find you a bed to rest for a while.”

“I’d offer to share mine, but you look awful.” Alkibiades’ drawling voice came from the doorway. “My favourite misthios, welcome back, you look like you fell in a sewer.”

His nose was wrinkled in disgust and she aimed something closer to a feral grimace than a smile his way. “Alkibiades. I hear I owe your servant thanks for bringing my situation to your attention.”

“You do and I have thanked him thoroughly on your behalf, but don’t worry, you can repay me anytime. After you bathe.”

She didn’t bathe, but found a bed to rest on while the men discussed Kleon in a nearby room. Sleep eluded her though; worry over Brasidas kept her from settling down, and her back and stomach still ached and throbbed where Kleon’s goons had kicked her, making it impossible to find a comfortable position.

By dusk she was so exhausted and irritable that her skin practically crawled with it, and a painful headache had taken up residence behind her eye.

“It’s dusk. Time to go.”

She had stalked up to Barnabas, shouldering past the other men and interrupting their conversation.

“You can’t leave yet, Kassandra. We need your help, Kleon..” Aristophanes’ voice sounded nasal, whiny, and grating to her ears and she ignored him.

“Now, Barnabas.”

“Kassandra, I think you should listen..” It was Herodotus this time, and she clenched her teeth at the flaring pain in her head and the sense of betrayal that burned like red coals in her chest. 

“No!” The word came out louder than intended and echoed off the walls.You all need to listen to me. The time of empty promises and using my desperation and good graces is over. I don’t care about Kleon or Athens or any of you. I care about my husband, who may be seriously injured, or dying, or dead. My husband. Not your city or your politicians or your concerns. The time for favours is over.
Barnabas. Herodotus. We do not need your stories and your drinking to sail the Adrestia. If you will not come now, we go without you.”

Kassandra turned on her heel and stalked from the room without another word. She kept walking, out of the house and down the street towards the Port of Piraeus without a backwards glance to see if her friends had followed.

With every step she took, the churning, guilt ridden fear in her stomach throbbed painfully. Last time she had made this trek was after Perikles murder. Fleeing the city with Aspasia while Phoibe lay badly injured on the ship.  Her daughter had survived her encounter with Deimos, but had Brasidas survived his?

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t pay attention to her surroundings until a hand gripped her arm, yanking her to a stop behind a tall stack of crates. “Soldiers.”

It was Herodotus. He was pointing towards the Adrestia docked a little ways ahead. Several Athenian soldiers were standing around the ship, talking to the crew and searching their belongings.

Barnabas was striding confidently towards them, voice ringing clear through the evening air. “What is this? Have we found new passengers?”

A soldier standing on the dock spat at the ground as he approached. “Who are you?”

“Captain Barnabas of the Adrestia, at your service! Do you need passage?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to board my ship. It’s late and high time to set sail.”

The soldier spat again, much closer to Barnabas feet. “What are you doing in Athens?”

“Dropping off a passenger, and visiting a tavern or two. Athenian hospitality can’t be…”

“Who was the passenger?”

“Herodotus. A great historian, he says. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? Apparently, he’s acquainted with several important people here.”

“Oh yeah?”

Barnabas shrugged, maintaining his harmless, jovial attitude. “So he said.”

“Why are you setting sail at night?” The question came from a soldier on the ship, this one dressed as a Commander. He jumped easily onto the dock and strode up to stand toe to toe with Barnabas. “Sneaking out of port in the middle of the night seems a little… suspicious. Are you smuggling something, perhaps?”

Barnabas laughed goodnaturedly and gestured out towards the dark bay. “No, no. We sail at night out of convenience. Fewer ships out at night, less chance of running into pirates or getting in the way of some sea battle. There’s a war, you know. Lots of spears and arrows flying around.”

The Commander smiled. “Are you sure you’re not smuggling anything? We’re looking for a woman. A criminal. She escaped from the prison today. Murdered several guards on her way. A ship sneaking out of port at night seems a fine opportunity to slip away from Athens.”

Barnabas put on an exaggerated grimace of fear. “You think a murderer might be hiding on my ship? That’s terrible! You must help us search for her, we can’t set sail with some dangerous murderer hiding in the hold!”

Herodotus was tugging at her elbow and Kassandra let him lead her away. “They will not be able to set sail until morning, at least. Let us go back to the house and wait there. We can plan…”

“No.” Herodotus stopped walking when she interrupted him.

“Kassandra…”

“No. I’m leaving Athens tonight. I will find a horse and ride to Sparta.”

“Kassandra, the Adrestia is faster. Even if we are delayed a day or two, the ship will get there quicker.”

“No. Kleon has linked that ship to me. It won’t be going anywhere for a long time. I am not waiting around for that, I need to get home.” He tried to protest again but she held up her hands to silence him. “Go back to the house. I’m going to steal a horse.”

She turned from him without saying goodbye and took off jogging in the direction of the high wall surrounding the city.

Her body still ached from the fight at the prison, her back spasming and complaining about the ride, and each step the horse took sent up a jagged shard of pain in behind her eye.
The roiling in her stomach was still there too, nauseous waves washing back and forth. There was pain too. That kick to her belly must have been harder than she realised. It had left a dull, throbbing pain deep in her gut that was getting more and more pronounced. Could the kick have damaged something important? The pain sharpened suddenly, making her double over, and then spilled her stomach across the horse’s neck.

No. She wasn’t fine. Something was wrong. She had to turn back. Kassandra tugged at the reins to steer them back towards Athens, to her friends’ helping hands but another stab of pain almost made her slide from the horse. 

It veered off the road and into the shrubs, stopping after a few steps, confused by her jerky, inconsistent directions. Kassandra tried to compose herself, tried to breathe through the pain and get them back on the road but it was useless. She slipped off her seat on the next wave of pain, landing in the dirt with a bone jarring thump, and screamed. 

She curled herself into a ball and tried to focus on just breathing. A slow breath in made her ribs ache and protest, a slow breath out made her nausea churn. She wasn’t fine. This wasn’t ok. Something was very wrong. She needed help.

Kassandra pried her eyes open and tried to take in her surroundings without moving too much. There was a lit torch just a few paces away, telling her that this road was patrolled by Athenian guards. When the next one came, they would find her. She was laying just off the road, anyone passing by would see her. Would the guard help? Or turn her over to the prison? Maybe someone else would come first?

She looked in the other direction. The horse was blocking her view of the road. Kassandra stared. There was something her mind wanted her to notice, but her head and back and stomach and body hurt too much, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

‘Focus, Kassandra.’

She forced herself to look at the horse again. It was standing at the edge of light from the torch. It’s neck discoloured where she had vomited.

There was another streak of discoloration. It went from the middle of its back and down the side. Kassandra stared at the matted fur, glistening in the firelight. Blood?

Why was the horse bleeding?

No, no, not the horse. That was where she had been sitting, where she had slid off and down to the ground. It was she who was bleeding. From where? From…

It dawned on her and she reached down between her legs, feeling her fingers become wet and slippery and bringing them into the light to confirm. Blood.

Now that she realised, she recognized the pain in her gut. The pain in her head and back and body had confused her, but this was familiar pain. Familiar, but so much worse than it had ever been before.

Her stomach cramped hard, almost making her vomit again. It was too much. It shouldn’t hurt like this, it never hurt like this. And it wasn’t her time.

The brief, momentary relief evaporated. It wasn’t her time. This was something else. How hard had he kicked her?

The pain came again and again, and Kassandra groaned, whined, and whimpered with it. She could feel the blood flowing from her, too much of it. 

Where were the patrols? She needed help, even if it came from an Athenian soldier.

An eternity later, and Kassandra could hear the soft sound of footsteps on the ground. More than one pair of feet. They were walking slowly, making their way down the road. She tried to call out but it became nothing more than a soft wailing.

The footsteps paused, there was a gasp, and running. 

“There’s a woman here! I think she’s hurt!”

Kassandra forced her eyes open, stared up at the young man hovering above her. Slow, shuffling footsteps came closer from the road.

“Please. Help me.”

The man tried to help her sit up and Kassandra cried out in pain. His eyes slid down her body, to the blood-slicked thighs and he gasped. From behind them, an old woman tutted sympathetically. “Don’t try to move her, boy. Run for help, I’ll stay with her.”

He nodded, and Kassandra mustered the last bit of her strength, taking hold of his tunic and pulling him close.

“Hippokrates. Sokrates. Herodotos. Barnabas. Alkibiades. Anyone.”

Her grip slipped and she fell back into the dirt, vision dimming as another bout of pain flared. She didn’t know if she’d even made enough sense for him to understand her, let alone if any of the names were known to him, but the fast receding footsteps told her he was running to get help anyway.

The old woman was crouched at her side. Strong hands examining her, trying to find her injuries in the flickering firelight. The fingers reached her torso and Kassandra hissed, making the woman pause. “Ribs?”

She tried to shake her head, tried to explain, but she had used up the last of her speech on the young man.

The hands kept moving, crawling over her stomach, pressing hard into the flesh. Kassandra howled and her vision bloomed black.

The old woman tutted again. 

“Losing your child. How sad.” Something was off again, her mind tried to find it, tried to focus. “Just try to relax. This will be over soon.”

What was it? The old woman. Her voice. It didn’t sound so old anymore. And was that… amusement?

Kassandra pried her eyes open to look. The woman was wearing a hooded cloak, the firelight only reaching parts of her wrinkled face. No, not wrinkled. Dirty. Streaks of soot painted into the natural creases of her face.

“Sad about the child, though. They should have been more careful with you. Would have, if they had known you were carrying.”

The woman had dropped all pretence from her voice now. She was neither old nor sympathetic to Kassandra’s suffering, only mildly amused.

“And you, you should have been more careful about naming your co-conspirators. Herodotus wasn’t a surprise, of course. Neither was Sokrates. But Alkibiades? Now that is valuable information.”

Kassandra gritted her teeth, tried to push through the pain, tried to move.

‘A Spartan rises as soon as they’ve fallen.’

Had her pater ever experienced pain like this? Had any Spartan man?

Something flashed and glittered in the firelight. The woman was holding a knife.

“You must die here, Eagle Bearer, but if I stab you, those who find your body will tell your friends. That stupid boy will tell them you were stabbed after he left and your friends might suspect that their secret has been uncovered. But…” The woman gave her a smirk. “I know just where to cut you so they won’t tell, so they’ll think your child killed you.”

Kassandra groaned against another wave of pain. She couldn’t run, couldn’t fight. There would be one chance only to survive this encounter. She had to wait. Be patient. Find the right moment. Stay awake.

The woman got to her feet and walked around to her back, placed a hand on Kassandra’s hip, holding her in place, and leaned down. 

The angle was awkward, would be difficult even if she wasn’t incapacitated. Kassandra took a deep breath and held it as she rolled and swung the knife she’d slipped from her waist, as the woman swung hers. The blade sank into the fleshy part of her hip, stopping against the bone. Kassandra’s knife sank into the woman's neck and twisted. Blood sprayed, cascading over them both. 

She ripped the blade free, releasing a thicker flood of blood, and the woman lost her strength, crumpling to the ground. Kassandra fell back, pain flaring bright. Her head swam, large spots of black danced.

She had to check the body before she passed out, before someone else came and cleared away the clues. It took strength she didn’t know she had to roll herself over, to push herself up enough to search through the woman’s clothes. There were letters she didn’t have the strength to read now, and a shard. 

Kassandra tucked everything inside her clothes and let herself lay back in the dirt.

Another Cultist down. That brought her count to at least fifteen dead. 

And Kleon had exposed himself. She knew what he was now, and he would die for it.

That would make it sixteen out of forty or fifty from the meeting in Delphi. Brasidas was right, she wouldn’t have to take out all of them. Just enough of them to terrify the rest. And if she could get to the most powerful and influential of them all, like Pausanias and Kleon… How could any of them be safe?

And then there was Deimos. She could have sworn she’d seen uncertainty in his eyes, uncertainty and also deep resentment at Kleon. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to bring her brother home, but she might be able to break him away from the Cult. That would be a win, even if her mater couldn’t see it.

Another wave of pain swept through her, followed by another rush of wet between her thighs, and Kassandra gasped. 

Or maybe she would die here in the dirt with her child. It might not be so bad. Brasidas and his sisters would take care of Phoibe, and Kassandra would care for their child until he joined them.
Or maybe he was already there, waiting for them.

Chapter Text

Pain has but one Acquaintance
And that is Death —
Each one unto the other
Society enough.

Pain is the Junior Party
By just a Second's right —
Death tenderly assists Him
And then absconds from Sight.

- Emily Dickinson

Kassandra 

She blinked her eyes open and saw a clean, white ceiling. Expensive, heavy drapes with intricate patterns hung nearby. She was on her back, laying on a soft, comfortable bed, tucked in between expensive sheets. 

Kassandra turned her head slowly. It didn’t throb the way it had before. Her back and stomach still ached, but it was muted, muffled now.

A man sat on a stool next to the mat, staring down at his hands. His short hair circled his bald head like laurels, his hands clean but showing spots of discolouration here and there.

“Hippokrates?”

Her mouth was dry, making her voice brittle, but he looked up immediately, eyes wide and more serious than she’d ever seen. He poured a cup from a pitcher on a table by the window and held it out. She pushed herself up on an elbow to take it, her hand trembling a little, and he reached out to steady her as she drank.

Kassandra drained the cup and set it on the floor by the mat before lowering herself back onto the soft mattress.

“Thank you.”

Hippokrates sat back down on his stool, eyes serious while he seemed to assess her state.

“What’s the matter? Did you think I was invincible?” She tried to laugh but it came out more a cough.

“Do you remember what happened?” His sad, serious eyes made her uncomfortable and she turned to look at the ceiling.

“Yeah. I was kidnapped. Put in prison and beaten. Escaped and had to sneak out of Athens to meet up with my ship by the coast. Almost assassinated along the way.”

She heard him shift in his seat, the heavy fabric of his himation sliding with a soft hiss.

“You have a cracked rib, probably a concussion, and I have stitched the cut on your hip. It was deep. You had bled a lot when we found you.”

“I… Thanks.” She didn't know what else to say. They had warned her not to go and they had been right. 

Hippokrates' voice was soft and sympathetic and it made her uncomfortable. This wasn’t how they were with each other. He was bruske and demanding and she was exasperated and sometimes a bit rude. Now he was being… careful. 

“You were losing your child. It is why you were bleeding so much.”

Tears suddenly burned in her eyes and in her throat, making it thick. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” 

She pulled in long, slow breaths and pushed the tears away, pushed herself up to sit. “I’m grateful, Hippokrates, truly, but I need to go. It’s a risk to us both if I stay here. There will be another assassin sent. Thank you for…” He was out of his seat, arms reaching and catching her as the room faded. She felt his arm around her shoulders, hand cupping the back of her head, gently lowering her down.

He was in his seat again when she blinked the last bit of black away from the edges of her vision. The most subtle hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “I admire your zeal but you are not recovered enough to travel yet. You need to rest and move carefully. You are still very injured, Kassandra.”

She huffed. "Fine. I'm staying put."

A genuine smile flashed over his face but vanished just as quickly.

“Sokrates said you were injured at the Battle for Pylos. That’s why you were captured. Did you know you were with child when you went to battle?”

Kassandra looked at him. Surprised. There was no accusation in his voice, only compassion, sadness. “No. I didn’t know. I…”

She stopped and fell silent. How could she not have known? She hadn’t missed any bleedings, had she? When had it even happened? She wracked her brain while Hippokrates watched her, quiet and somber.