They reached Sparta in early August. Barnabas walked alongside her horse as she ambled north from Trinisa port and into the Hollow Land on a bright, late-summer morning. So much time had passed since the disaster at Sphakteria, since she had last seen Mother. It felt like that moment approaching Naxos, years ago. Did Mother even know she was still alive? Was she still well? Her heart thumped as they entered the Spartan villages. Helots stopped what they were doing and stood, staring at her.
“The misthios,” one whispered.
“The heroine of Boeotia,” said another.
“Is it her? She who fought alongside Brasidas at Amphipolis and won the north?”
Spartiates too, braying and mock sparring in the gymnasium, looked over at her, falling silent. They beheld her with evil scowls, as always. Then, as one, they began to lift their spears. For a moment she thought they meant to come at her, but the spears continued to rise, one-handed, pointing skyward in salute. As one, they issued a cry that stirred her to her soul.
“Aroo!”
Beyond them, she saw the gates of her family home creak open. Myrrine slid out between the gap, one hand on her chest as if to control her heart. Kassandra slid from her horse, staggered over and fell into her mother’s arms.
They sat up most nights around the hearth, drinking well-watered wine, eating olives and barley cake. It took many nights to explain it alclass="underline" the disaster at Sphakteria, the long, maddening moons in the Athenian jail and the day when it had all changed. Freedom, the play, and then the journey north to Amphipolis.
“News of what happened there reached these parts last moon,” Myrrine said, supping her wine. “They talked of a great number of deaths, but a glorious victory. About the fall of Brasidas.”
“He was an example to us all,” said Kassandra. “The ephors granted him scraps to work with, and he saved the north from Kleon. I hear they plan to erect a cenotaph for him, near the Tomb of Leonidas. Fitting company.”
“I wept when I heard of his passing. But then I heard people talking of another who was present at the battle—a she-mercenary. At once I felt great hope in my heart that somehow, somehow, it was you. Since that moment I sent you to Sphakteria, I had not heard a thing—just tales of blackened corpses on that burned island. But I never allowed myself to truly believe it was you at Amphipolis. At times, I prayed it was not… for they said Deimos was there too.”
A stone rose in Kassandra’s throat. “He was.”
Myrrine slowly looked up from the fire, her face half-lit, eyes glassy. “Aye, and so the whispers that it was he who killed Brasidas must be true also.”
“You… you asked me to bring him home,” Kassandra whispered. “I could not.”
Myrrine seemed to shut down then, her gaze returning to the fire, staring, lost.
“I tried, Mother. But Kleon of Athens struck him down out of envy.”
After a time, Myrrine nodded. “Then another of our bloodline is gone,” she said quietly. She rose, coming to slide down into Kassandra’s seat, wrapping an arm across her shoulders. “So few of us left,” she said, brushing Kassandra’s loose hair with her fingers, staring into her eyes. “I feel I should answer the question that you asked me once, long ago.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your father, Kassandra. Your real father.”
Myrrine leaned in, putting her lips to Kassandra’s ear.
The name she whispered echoed through Kassandra’s body. It was like a bell pealing inside. Now she understood…
Months passed, and autumn brought with it gales and rainstorms. One morning, Kassandra awoke in the warm comfort of her bed, fresh of mind and her body for once devoid of the aches and pains that had followed her for years. She saw the sullen sky outside, framing the heights of Mount Taygetos. Perhaps it was the closeness of sleep, or the exact hue of the clouds, but something stroked her heart then, conjuring the memories of that night from her childhood. For the first time, she let the memory play out without fear. Since her return to Sparta, she had visited each of the five ancient villages, attended feasts and poetry evenings, trained in the gymnasium and swum in the bracing waters of the River Eurotas at dawn most days. Today, she had planned to take Ikaros hunting in the woods, but she realized now that there was one place she had yet to tread.
She went alone, not telling Mother or Barnabas. Carrying just a drinking skin and a round of cheese, she set off, taking deep breaths to clear her head, the air fresh and scented with pine and damp earth. Walking uphill, she unroped her famous half lance and tried to use it like a walking cane. She smiled sadly, realizing just how inadequate it was for such a purpose, and just how small she had been all those years ago. As she climbed the mountain path, she imagined the ghosts of that lost age walking before her: the wretched ephors and priests. Nikolaos, Mother. And in her arms… little Alexios.
Tears stung behind her eyes, and she did not hear Ikaros’s cries up ahead. When she reached the plateau, she gazed upon the sad, weather-worn altar where it had all taken place. For a moment, it seemed as if all her sadness was set to swell up and explode. She almost let it happen. Only one thing stopped her.
The other figure standing up there.
He stood with his back to her, gazing out over the abyss.
“A… Alexios?” she stammered.
Ikaros’s warning cries were all too clear now, the eagle circling and screeching above.
Alexios did not reply.
“But you fell, at Amphipolis.” She stared at her brother’s bare shoulders, seeing the angry welt of a recent scar from an arrow wound, part masked by his long coils of dark hair.
“The wound is merely a decoration.” He turned to her, his face impassive. “I have been waiting for the last moon on these heights. I knew you would come here eventually.” There was a terrible steel in his gaze. And she realized he was looking not at her, but at someone behind her.
“My lamb, my boy,” Myrrine said, stepping up to Kassandra’s side.
“Mother?” Kassandra hissed. “You followed me?”
“The mountain drew us all here,” Myrrine replied, placing a gentle hand on Kassandra’s shoulder as she stepped past her. “You promised to bring him home Kassandra, and you have.”
Kassandra grabbed her wrist, halting her. “It is not safe, Mother.”
But Myrrine’s eyes brimmed with tears and she extended a hand toward him.
Alexios’s brow pinched and he looked away. “On the edge of the world, a mother reaches out to her child. Touching.”
“Alexios, please,” Myrrine whimpered.
“You use that name as if it means something to me,” he growled.
“It is the name your father and I gave you.”
His head twitched, cocking to one side to behold her in mistrust. “Was that before you brought me up here to die?”
Myrrine clutched her chest. “It was the Cult who brought us all up here that night. I did everything I could to save you.”
Alexios clenched his fists and shuddered where he stood.
Kassandra saw the fire rise within him. “Alexios, it is over: the war, the Cult. Let their clouds clear from your mind. Remember who you are.”
He shook his head ever so slowly. “The Cult sought to bring order to the world. I was their chosen one, and now I will be the bringer of order.”
“We are of the same blood, Alexios,” said Kassandra. “All I have ever wanted is my family. I feel it in you too.”
Alexios’s head lolled. He fell silent for a time. “Once, when I was a boy, under Chrysis’s care, I found a lion cub trapped in a snare. My friend tried to free it… and that’s when I heard the deadly growl of its mother.” His head began to rise again. “I watched as the lioness tore my friend to shreds. In the world of beasts, a family protects its young.” His head rose fully now, his eyes dark and wet with emotion.