The last child in the sanctum gets pinned to a marble pillar by one of the Empusae and torn open like a ripe fig — and that's when the men finally lose it. "My king! You swore Daphne was lying! You swore she was just jealous! You told us to hold the mountain and guard you and Lyra through the starfire!" "I come home and my newborn son doesn't even have a body left!" Castor goes white as bleached bone. I look at the blood on the marble and something inside me cracks down the middle. Last time the Empusae came for the sanctum, my husband — Basileus of this polis, son of Ares — was up on the high temple with his little nymph, lighting a sky full of starfire for her name-day. I dragged every last one of his men home in time. I saved them with my own voice. But Lyra threw a fit over missing her rites. She slipped out past the wards alone, and the Empusae tore her apart in the dark. Castor killed every one of them and sat for a week holding what was left of her shinbone. Didn't speak. Didn't eat. The day I gave him a son, he hacked off my hands and my feet. Threw me into a pen of starving Empusae. Watched them eat me down to the bone. Then had the priest-healers stitch me back together. Again. And again. Until there was nothing left to stitch. "You did this to her, you jealous bitch. You wanted her dead. So I'm going to make you die slower than she did." I open my eyes. The Moirai have cut my thread and tied it back. Same room. Same morning. The Empusae haven't come yet. The shrieking reaches me through the trees. Far off. Not far enough. I run. Straight to the altar of the herald's horn. My palms slam down on the bronze before I'm thinking. "Citizens — all citizens —" "The Empusae of Tartarus are at the gates. Get inside the sanctum. Now." Screaming starts up outside before I even finish. "Move!" I grab a blade and shove people through the doors, cutting down the two Empusae that lunge in with us. An old man. Three children. A girl carrying her little brother. I push them in by the shoulders. The bronze gate slams shut. The shrieking on the other side goes muffled. People drop to the floor sobbing. A woman is whispering Hestia's name over and over. Another one, with a baby in her arms, grabs my wrist hard enough to bruise. "Daphne — go find Castor — make him bring the men back —" I close my eyes. There's no soft way to say it. "Castor is on the high temple. With every man of the Phalanx. He's lighting Lyra's starfire." The room goes silent. Then it explodes. "He's what?" "Starfire rites? Now? He left us here to die for that little —" Boom. Boom. Boom. The bronze gate dents inward. We don't have time. "Maybe we don't need them to come back." The thought drops into my head like a coin. I look at Hera. My husband's mother. The old Amazon under the dust. "The hearthfire. Hestia's hearthfire on the outer wards. We light it, and they burn where they stand." Her eyes go sharp. She pulls the message-stone from her belt. The line connects. "What. I'm busy." He sounds annoyed. Annoyed. Hera keeps her voice flat. "Castor. The polis is being overrun. The sanctum is breaking. Light the hearthfire on the outer wards. Now." A pause. Then he laughs. "Don't be dramatic. The fire's all up here for the starfire — I'm not pulling it for a few hours, you'll ruin Lyra's whole name-day." A sneer. "Is Daphne next to you? Is she putting you up to this? She's so eaten up over Lyra she's dragging you into her little theater now?" Hera is shaking head to foot. "You stupid — you don't even know what you've —" The stone goes cold under her hand. The room is dead quiet. Someone whispers, "We're finished. We're finished." I stare at the dented gate. So I came back for nothing. Nothing changes. Hera grabs my arm. "I trained every one of those men myself. There's a goat-path up the back of the temple. I'll go up and order them home. They will not refuse me to my face."
Hope flickers up in me, just barely. She's already at the side door. "Wait for me." She's gone. An hour. The gate splits open just enough for one long black snout to shove through the crack. Teeth close on the baby before any of us can move. The crying stops mid-breath, swallowed by wet sounds. The woman slumps down on the stone. Her eyes go dead. A shape stumbles back through the side door. It's Hera. Everyone surges forward. "Where are the men? Are they coming?" She's drenched red. One whole sleeve hangs empty — and so does the arm that was in it. "Block the gap. Now." I catch her before she falls. "Castor —" she spits his name like it burns her tongue, "had men on every path. Every one. He set them to stop anyone who'd ruin her rites." Her eyes are red and furious. The room goes quiet. My knees almost go. He planned for me. He thought past his own mother. "No. We are not just sitting here to die." I lift my head. "If the Phalanx won't come, we call somewhere else. Another polis. Anyone who'll hear me." I'm already at the message-stone, pressing my palms to it, calling the name of every polis I know — Argos, Korinth, Megara, anyone. Long silence on the other end. Then a cold voice. "I'm sorry. We can't help you." "An hour ago, King Castor sent word himself. He said your polis might send false omens tonight. He asked every other polis to turn a deaf ear to any cry from us until dawn." He thought of that. He sealed every road out before he ever struck the first spark for her. Hera goes paper-white. "I am his mother. I am asking —" "Lady. The king was clear. Especially you. Unless you come and ask in person, no one is coming." The stone goes cold. In person. Through miles of Empusae. With one arm. I grip her good shoulder. "I'm going with you." I look at the smear of blood where the baby was. "Everyone here dies if we wait. We go, there's a chance." She holds my eyes, then nods once. I half-carry her up the slope. Her left arm is gone clean to the shoulder. Whatever she's tied around it is already soaked through. She doesn't slow down. "Over this ridge and we can see the temple lights." Halfway up. The polis below us is a black shape with red bleeding through it. The high temple glows white-gold on the far peak. That's when a streak of bronze comes screaming down out of the sky and slams into the rock ten paces in front of us. Stone shatters. The shockwave throws us both backward into the slope.
I push myself up. My ears are ringing. Smoke and grit everywhere. Up on the high temple, two figures in white. Castor with his arm around her waist. His voice booms down through the temple horn, twisted by the bronze. "Daphne. I knew it. You couldn't sell me crying, so now you're charging the mountain yourself?" His voice drops cold. "I knew you'd try something. I am not letting you ruin her night." Another spear-streak. Closer. "Hera — make him hear you!" Hera drags herself to her knees and screams up the slope. "Castor!" A pause from the temple. Then he laughs — louder, uglier. "Daphne. You really hired an actress? You think I don't know my own mother's voice? My mother has both her arms. Stop. Embarrassing. Yourself." Hera shakes. "I am your mother — you can't even tell my voice apart —" Up there, Castor goes still for one breath. Then I see Lyra reach up and tug his sleeve. Her voice floats down through the horn, all velvet. "Castor — I knew Daphne never liked me. Let's just call it off. I'll go down. I'm used to being hated. Really. It's fine. I shouldn't even have been born —" His face hardens instantly. Of course it does. "Again," he orders. More streaks rain down. They walk across the slope behind us, sealing the way back. The moon climbs higher. "No more time. I'll keep his eye on me. You go. Bring help back." Hera's hand clamps on my shoulder, all bone and blood. "Every soul down there is waiting on you." She shoves me off and starts dragging herself toward the temple steps. I lunge for her. "Hera — they can't see you from up there. They will kill you." The horn cracks again from above. "Daphne. If you want to ruin her night so badly you'll die for it — let me help." I look up. A bronze javelin is balanced on his shoulder. Long. Heavy. The kind they say his father Ares forged in the deep fires. It catches the moon and a thread of lightning runs down the shaft. He throws. "Daphne — down —" Hera slams into me. Her whole body covers mine. The crack of thunder splits the air open. Hot blood floods my face. My mouth. My eyes. She's on top of me. The spear has gone clean through her back and out her chest, pinning her into the rock above my head. Her one good hand is curled tight in my hair. "Hera — Hera, no —" She doesn't answer. Her blood is still hot on my face. Above us, through the horn, Lyra's sweet little voice floats down. "Sister. Push her off the cliff. The blood will pull them. You'll die too."
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