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Prologue: Wedding
Sweet and joyful, the notes of a lyre danced through streets of patterned limestone. The trill of a double flute and the beating of hand drums mingled with the silver jingle of bells tied around the ankles of a chorus of women. Each clad in long robes, they had woven flowers into their long, loose hair.The bride followed in a chariot decorated with floral wreaths, her face hidden by a veil. Normally, Thalia Alexandris hated hiding her face outside the palace, as her father had always required. Today, she was grateful for the privacy from the prying crowds that had gathered on either side of the street. No one would see the tears streaming down her cheeks.She looked to Sappho, who escorted her beside the chariot. Over the last two years, the slave had become Thalia’s only confidant. Thalia had taught Sappho to read and write, and in return, Sappho kept her secrets, of which there were many.“Tell me there’s another way to save this country,” Thalia begged.“If there is, I don’t know it, Princess.” Sappho gave a weak smile. “Come on, is Nerva so bad? He’s a prince.”Thalia lowered her voice. “They say he has the nose of a hawk and the voice of a crow.”Sappho snorted to keep herself from giggling. “Princess, you know better than to heed rumors.”“There must be some truth in them if they’re so persistent.” Thalia shook her head. “Besides, we both know what marrying into an empire means.”Although she was fifteen and to be married in name only, the consequences of her union remained very real. Attica would lose its sovereignty and become nothing more than a convenient military base for the Reim Empire in its war against their mutual enemy, Parthevia.“We’ve lost too many men to Parthevia already.” Sappho folded her hands in front of her. “If we must fall to another nation, let it be Reim.”Thalia scowled under her veil. “The heroes of old would never have given up so easily.”Every Attican child was raised with tales of the achievements of their forefathers, back when the land had been blessed by the gods. With the guidance of the goddess Asena in particular, Attica had once been a vast empire stretching from Reim in the west to Musta’sim on the edge of the eastern continent. Then, over the last two generations, corruption, hubris, and Asena’s displeasure had stripped the Attican Empire of its holdings until all that remained was a single city-state precariously located on an island between warring Parthevia and Reim.“Yes, well, we aren’t heroes. We’re women.” Sappho cast her eyes to the ground. “Besides, the temple of Asena says your union will restore Attica in the eyes of the goddess. Have faith in our protector.”Thalia fought to maintain her balance as the chariot clattered over a pothole. “I have faith in Asena herself, not her priestesses. Besides, the prophecy said I would marry a powerful man from Reim. Nerva is certainly that, but so are dozens of other more qualified candidates.”“Ones with armies at their disposal?” Sappho raised an eyebrow.Thalia let out a sour grunt just as the parade reached its destination. While the guards used their shields to push back the converging crowd, she stepped down from her chariot onto the sacred soil at the base of a wooded hill. The scent of fresh earth filled her nostrils. She closed her eyes and performed a good luck gesture with her hands before glancing toward the winding, moss-covered staircase that led to the temple.There he was. Her husband-to-be standing with his hand stretched out to her. But he looked nothing like a bird. In fact, he looked like no one she had ever seen. His hair, red and flowing, was like the sky in its final moments before nightfall—radiant, ethereal.His irises were red too. They stood out sharply thanks to the black lining his eyes. She thought he’d applied kohl until she realized they were markings. He was not from Attica, but he was certainly not from Reim. He was Fanalis.Thalia stared. She had only heard of his people in books. The once-proud tribes of hunters had dominated the southern region of the Dark Continent, using their super-human abilities to navigate the untamed terrain. Decades ago, slave traders had discovered a method to subdue them and had captured nearly all of them. These days, they were mostly slaves to the citizens of Reim.It seemed impossible for Reim’s prince to be one of them. But here he was. His golden armor betrayed his military status and the expensive purple dye of the sash over his shoulder must have cost a small fortune.Of all the nights she’d spent wondering who her fiancé would turn out to be, she had never imagined this, never imagined him. Her face burned—it was probably as red as his hair— and she was once again grateful no one could see her under her veil.A hush fell over the crowd as she stood motionlessly, gawking. Sappho nudged her forward, and she stumbled close enough that she could take his hand if she wanted.Did she want to?He gave a hesitant smile. “Princess Thalia?”“Yes?” she squeaked. He was tall—so tall, she felt like a mouse, and with his majestic mane, he reminded her more of a lion. Did lions eat mice?He let out a nervous chuckle, his eyes darting to his still outstretched hand. “Please, allow me to greet you properly.”Thalia reached out, resting her fingers on his. Her stomach leaped the moment he dropped to one knee and pressed his lips to the back of her hand. Such greetings were not customary among her people, and his actions elicited a gasp from those behind her. Had Thalia been less well-read, she too would have found the gesture perplexing, if not scandalous.“Stand,” she pleaded. “Please, stand.” She tugged him up to spare them both further embarrassment, but in helping him to his feet, failed to maintain proper distance. Suddenly, he was close. So close, in fact, that she became aware of the sweet aroma of cinnamon and myrrh, which wafted from him like the incense she burned during her prayers.She supposed that, of all the boys she could have been stuck with, this one wasn’t the worst.Together, they ascended, the dense leaves of the forest quickly muffling the din below. Thalia glanced up at him and tried to make conversation.“It’s so good to finally meet you, Nerva. Truth be told, from the rumors, I was afraid you would be more… oafish.” She winced as the last word left her mouth. Gods, why couldn’t she think before she spoke?His bright smile dimmed. “I’m afraid I’m not Nerva, Princess.”“Then who are you?” Thalia halted in her tracks, wiping the hand he’d kissed on her dress. Her husband should have been at the bottom of those steps. It was tradition. Now she looked like an idiot. Was this some kind of prank? Did barbarians delight in dishonoring their brides?The boy held his hands in front of his chest. “I can explain—”“Where is Nerva?” Thalia demanded.The boy scratched the back of his head. “Off in a gambling den, last I saw. You might say he got cold feet.”“So the wedding is off?” She caught the smile that almost slipped its way onto her face.“No.” He shifted his weight. “Reim has deemed your situation too unsafe for its prince and sent me in his stead, as a proxy.”“A proxy wedding?” Thalia looked in the direction of her father, who would be standing at the top of the temple steps, then back to the fanalis. “Why is this the first I’m hearing of this? What do you mean ‘too unsafe?’ Your country is supposed to protect mine; that’s the point of this marriage.”“Please calm down.” He motioned for her to lower her voice. “Reim will fulfill its promise, but we’ve received intelligence that Parthevia intends to disrupt the wedding by any means possible. There are ships on the way this very moment, but they need time. So please…” He held out his hand. “...for the sake of your country.”Listening to the canon fire off the coast, she supposed it did sound closer than usual. Thalia fought back a shiver.“You can relax.” He gave her a gentle pat on the back. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”Though throughout her life, she’d been surrounded by guards, this was the first time someone had actually told her something like that.“And what is the name of my protector?” she prodded. When he didn’t answer, she added, “Or should I call you ‘Fanalis?’”He wrinkled his nose at her suggestion. “I’d much prefer to be called by my name: Muu Alexius. Half-fanalis on my mother’s side.”“Your mother is a slave then?”“Not all fanalis are slaves, you know.” He looked up and sighed. “...but yes, she is.”Thalia winced. She had so few interactions with the world outside the palace walls that she often said things others found distasteful without meaning to. “I meant no offense. I’m sure your mother is lovely.”Muu chuckled. “None taken. In fact, I’m flattered by your interest. Enough about me, though. Tell me about yourself.”Herself? She read books and weaved all day. What was there to say?“Before I do, I’d like to know what you’ve already heard.”As a royal, she was certain there was as much gossip about her as there was Nerva. This was her first chance to find out what the world thought of her. Besides, any topic that distracted her from thinking about the various ways Parthevia might “interfere” with her wedding was welcome.Muu frowned. “As with all princesses, there is a great deal of talk about your appearance, especially since so few have actually seen your face.”“Oh?” Thalia leaned in, accidentally brushing against his shoulder before retreating to a safer distance. “And what do they say?”“You are either a beauty beyond compare or hideously disfigured depending on what rumors you believe.”Her lips pulled into a smile. “And which do you find more credible?”He brought his thumb and forefinger to his chin as if in thought. “Your mother was said to be a beauty of great renown. You must take after her.”Thalia threw her head back and laughed. “Most people say I look more like my father.”Muu cleared his throat. “Your father is pretty for a man.”“I won’t tell him you said that so you can keep your head.”They laughed and, for a moment, Thalia wished Muu wasn’t just a proxy. She far from disliked him. The slight flush in his cheeks made her wonder if, perhaps, he felt the same. As the son of a noble family, he would also have an arranged marriage. The Alexius’ were a powerful family, but he was the son of a slave and there was no hiding it. Even if his father had acknowledged him, he had little chance of marrying up. He would always be an afterthought to others, but she swore she would never take him for granted if he could save her from Bird Boy.The fantasy that they could save each other from miserable marriages gave her strength as they crossed the final stretch of stairs, where her father and the high priestess awaited them. Her father gave her nothing but a curt nod, as was his usual greeting. She bowed.The high priestess looked to Muu. “Whatever happens today, the princess must live. She is the only one who can provide a rightful heir. Am I understood?”“Of course.” Muu bowed. “I will protect her with my life.”The king and high priestess exchanged glances.“Let’s just finish this.” Her father turned without acknowledging her, and Thalia fought to prevent her sinking heart from reflecting in her demeanor. Perhaps a part of her had hoped that, on her wedding day, at least, he would show some sort of affection.“Yes, Father.”The temple was a large, round building with a hole in the roof so that the sun could shine down on the enormous statue of Asena in its center. Thalia coughed and waved away the dense cloud of smoke that obscured the goddess’ face above. A small chorus of acolytes stood in the corner and sang a haunting hymn.Thalia and Muu stood at the base of the statue with a table between them, upon which sat a bowl of pungent, sickly sweet wine.It brought back memories of her mother shortly before her death. She had always smelled of the stuff, but in her final days, the stench seemed to seep from her pores.Her father looked to Muu. His normally tanned face was ashen, his dark, amethyst-colored eyes narrow.“Did you bring it?”“I did.” Muu brought out a vial from the pouch at his side and emptied the few dark, red drops it contained into the wine. Nerva’s blood.The high priestess approached with a ceremonial dagger and gestured for Thalia to give her hand.Thalia clutched her palm to her chest and looked to her father. “Please, don’t make me get married.”“Princess Thalia!” The high priestess’s dour lips pulled into a deeper frown. “It is for your country!”“Father, I’m scared.” Thalia pleaded.He rubbed his temples as though she were nothing more than a grating nuisance. “Enough!”Thalia recalled finding her mother pale, shuddering even though it had been the middle of summer. She’d been delirious for days, but she’d been fully lucid when she grabbed Thalia’s hand and said, “You look so much like him.”Her voice had been full of malice.Her parents had hated each other. What if she hated Nerva?“Princess.” Muu’s voice broke through her inner turmoil. “Nerva is a decent man, and I will personally ensure he looks after you. Both of our countries are counting on this marriage.” He moved behind her and guided her hand toward the high priestess. “I’m sworn to serve Reim’s royal family, and that includes you now.”Thalia winced as the high priestess sliced her palm. Muu’s hand closed around hers and together, they squeezed her blood into the bowl. The high priestess poured half of its contents into a single crystalline goblet, and the other into a bottle Thalia assumed would be brought back to her real husband. She and Muu made a shared offering to the goddess, then it was time to partake of the wine.As Thalia brought it under her veil to her lips, Muu’s nose twitched.The crystal goblet shattered against the temple floor, crimson liquid hissing and steaming as it contacted white marble. Thalia stared at her empty hand, then at Muu. He was still gripping her wrist so tightly her bones screamed.His hard gaze seemed to pierce her veil. His square jaw was hard set, the boyish grin he had flashed moments ago gone.Slowly, realization dawned on her. She had almost died. Someone had tried to kill her. Before she could scream, her father and his guards ushered her into a secret door hidden behind a wall tapestry. A temple acolyte managed to slip in before the larger of the guards, a beast of a man named Peleus, struggled to bar the door shut. Already, she could hear the clash of metal outside.Muu was still out there. Thalia looked to her father to say something. This marriage had been his doing; the least he could do was save him. Her father the king turned heel and fled into the depths of the tunnel, into the labyrinthine underground.Thalia and the acolyte exchanged stunned glances. As sweat dripped from the girl’s pale brow, her dark eyes darted to the door. She must have been thinking of the others.Just as Peleus managed to fit the thick wooden bar in place, someone started banging on the door, screaming. The acolyte started for the door only to be intercepted by Peleus, who threw her against the wall.“Exchange clothes with the princess,” he ordered.The acolyte gave him a wary stare. “The goddess forbids disrobing in the presence of—”“I’m sure she can make an exception…” He grabbed Thalia by the arm and yanked off her veil. She shrieked and rushed to cover her face. “...to protect her descendant.”The acolyte slowly turned toward Thalia.“No. I don’t want this,” Thalia sobbed into her palms. “It isn’t happening!”“It is.” Peleus pried Thalia’s hands from her face. “Get over it.”
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Chapter 1: Whore
Having spent the last ten restless minutes pacing the floor, Thalia Alexandris yanked at her metal collar—the one that marked her as a slave. For two and a half years, it had rested around her neck. It slept with her, bathed with her, prayed with her under the laurel tree in the Mariadel Company garden. It had also sabotaged three escape attempts. Though it was her companion, it was not her friend.Thalia didn't have friends, not really. Everyone in her life knew her as Echo—unquestioning and uncritical. A commoner with no last name and no noble blood, Echo's highest calling was to make her mistress happy. Echo had plenty of friends.There was, of course, Shamhat from the deserts of Qishan in the east. She sat with her nose buried in an obscene romance, oblivious to Thalia's distress. Maeve, too, had busied herself mouthing off loudly to the head slave, Fatima, who'd made the grave mistake of criticizing her homeland up north years ago and had borne her animosity since. Then there was Dinarzade—kind, sunny Dinarzade—who had witnessed Thalia in this state many times. At some point, she must have realized her attempts to help did nothing but sting Thalia's pride. She sat in front of a vanity applying rouge to her naturally pink lips.Inside the scaenae frons of Napolia Amphitheater, the girls were preparing for the biggest show of their brief dancing careers. This was their first time on the Reiman mainland, and their first time in an arena this big."I wish you would sit down," her boss, Marcus Alexius, said from his seat on the couch as she walked past. Not offering her a choice, he grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her into the seat next to him. "You're making me dizzy.""Sorry," she said. Though, really, she wasn't. Part of her blamed him for this. The sultry dances were his choreography, the skimpy outfits his idea."Echo, look at me." Marcus tilted her chin up until their eyes met. "They're going to love you."How could she tell him that she was afraid of exactly what he’d just described? That one day, one of the beasts in the stands would offer enough money to turn her mistress' head. That she would become some barbarian's whore.Her country had stories about what happened to women who knew a man's touch outside of marriage. It was the one thing the gods never forgave, which was why Attican women covered themselves when leaving the house and why unmarried men and women only mingled a few times a year.But the barbarian nations didn't follow the customs of her people. In Reim, she was a slave, not a person. She couldn't marry, but her master could do with her as he pleased anyway.Humiliating. Shameful. Disgusting. She wanted to vomit."Thank you. I feel better," she said because Echo didn’t complain.He gave her a firm pat on the back. "That's my girl.”His girl… What a strange concept. She wasn’t, of course. Though he was her boss, he was not her master. About a year ago, Thalia’s mistress, Lady Maader, had started loaning her out to work in his gambling den. Marcus had needed a dancer, and Maader had wanted to market Thalia to a wider range of potential buyers. They had arranged to split the profits 60/40, but neither of them had anticipated the success that followed—the packed floor and soaring profits. While the arrangement was originally supposed to be temporary, they had already renewed their contract once, this time adding Dinarzade and the others to the terms.Yes, the money these performances brought in for Lady Maader was the only reason she hadn't already been sold off as some patrician's plaything, and maybe she should be grateful—she was grateful—but with the burden of her birthright resting on her shoulders, she could not accept her lowly position with grace.Echo could, though. Squeezing his hand, she issued him a smile to acknowledge everything he’d done for her.He smiled back, confident and radiant—the kind of smile that could make a woman’s heart skip a beat. Thalia was no exception. Bronze-skinned, golden-haired Marcus was a statue cast from the gods' finest mold. His straight nose and chiseled jaw must have been lovingly crafted by the goddess of beauty, and his eyes held oceans in their depths. He looked every bit the part of a king.A man so blessed could only have pleased the gods somehow, and Marcus was no exception. He was Reim's greatest philanthropist, renowned for his generosity. The profits from his gambling house went toward rebuilding war-ravaged communities—ones, she could only hope, like her homeland.Thalia returned her hand to her lap as someone entered through a side door, letting in the draft of a humid late-spring night. It was Thalia's mistress, Lady Maader, a crimson smile painted upon her beautiful moon-pale face. Her dark eyes assessed Thalia's shimmering, red costume. "My, you look so grown up in that thing."Thalia stood to greet her, ignoring the urge to cover herself with a giant blanket. She had almost forgotten the reason for her distress.Maader approached her before tilting her face from side to side. "You are using that cream I gave you, aren't you? If you have so much as a blemish, someone's bound to complain.""I hardly think anyone will notice from their seats," Marcus offered generously.Maader shot him a sharp look, and he pretended to take an extraordinary interest in the ceiling."I've followed all of your instructions, Mother." Thalia wrung her hands together as she answered. Lady Maader was kind, but her punishments were severe and unpredictable—beatings, starvation, whippings, and sometimes worse. Though Thalia hadn’t been punished in years, she was well aware that the smallest of infractions could set her mistress off."You're such a good child, Echo.” Maader smiled kindly. “Now go out there and make Mother lots of money." Her sharp fingernails dug into Thalia's skin. "I don't want any mistakes."Thalia swallowed. Her collar was tight again. Too tight. She couldn't breathe."Yes, Mother," she answered hoarsely.Maader backed away, her hands folded gracefully in front of her. The others had gathered and lined up to go on-stage. Thalia took her place at the front, waited for her cue, then shoved her way through the curtain.In Attica, dancing was so ingrained in the culture that it was said the talent ran in their blood. The lively jigs were used to worship the gods, celebrate births and marriages, and prepare soldiers for war. They had meaning and purpose. They engendered pride.As princess, Thalia led many of these dances. At festivals and on the temple portico, she'd lost herself in front of a crowd time and again. Her body was more than sacred; it was an instrument of worship. The veil she'd always worn protected her from the prying eyes of her countrymen, and it had protected her again the day her country fell. The day she'd been murdered.She still remembered it vividly—assassins, an invasion, her father bleeding out on the cold, dark ground. And a temple acolyte—in her dress and veil. Dead. A Lieutenant had been lying in wait for them in Attica’s underground tunnels. He’d almost slain Thalia too, and he would have had it not been for the warrior princess with him. Parthevia’s Venomous Spider Princess. She had reasoned it would be more merciful to sell Thalia into slavery.As Thalia bared half her body in front of thousands, swallowing the lump in her throat to force a smile, she remembered that kindness. Told herself she was grateful. That at least she was alive. At least her mistress hadn't sold her yet. It could be worse. It could be so much worse.So, she ignored the catcalls and the whistles and made each of the animals in the stands believe they were special. She flirted with her eyes, enticed with her hips, hoping that by the end of the night, they would believe she was worth the twenty aureae they'd paid to get in the door. That they would come back time and again, forever, so Lady Maader never sold her.At last, came the finale, during which three girls framed the fourth with serpentine arms as she lowered herself to the floor and, propping herself onto her elbows, undulated her hips in a way Thalia could only describe as vulgar. The move required tremendous core strength the other girls hadn't yet had time to develop, so Thalia had been selected for the task. The smooth contraction of her abdominals brought her lower body into an arch, their release returning it to the floor. Again and again, she followed the rise and fall of the music, The crowd roared as she threw her head back, arched her spine one last time, and raised herself onto her knees.The worst was over, and she could finally breathe. Too fast, air rushed back into her lungs as rose to her feet. The world spun, and she stumbled. It was Maeve who caught her, righted her, and rebuked her with sharp, yellow eyes.The four girls finished to thunderous applause. Dinarzade blew kisses to the crowd. Maeve and Shamhat shared a giddy embrace. Thalia simply waved, a bright smile plastered on her face. In moments, she would be punished for her error. Of that, she was certain.Marcus escorted the girls offstage, placing one arm around Thalia's shoulders and inserting himself between her and the crowd. Thalia didn't know when he'd started doing this, but it had become a post-show tradition, one she appreciated. He was a protector, of sorts. Someone she could count on.But, in the end, even he couldn’t save her, not from her mistress. Lady Maader was already waiting for her backstage along with Fatima, who brandished his whip. Sensing danger, the other girls hurried into the changing room and shut the door.As Maader approached Thalia, Marcus stepped back and cast his gaze to the floor."I take you in—feed you, clothe you—and this is how you repay me?" Maader grabbed Thalia by her collar. "Disobedience?""I'm sorry." Thalia winced as the metal cut into the back of her neck. "It won't happen again."Fatima held up his whip and cracked a sadistic grin. He was relishing this. "She's gotten too comfortable. Let me take care of her, Mother.""Leave us," Maader commanded. She watched him join the others in the changing room before turning her attention back to Thalia. "That's right, it won't." Expression softening, Maader released her. "I've been too hard on you lately—put too much responsibility on you. You haven't had enough time to practice, you poor dear." She stroked Thalia's hair. "This is my fault."It wasn’t Maader’s fault. It was Thalia’s—her stupid anxiety, her inability to let go of her pride. But Maader was merciful, and—unlike her birth mother, who had chosen a drink over her own daughter—she loved her, showed her affection. So what if Lady Maader was strict? At least she cared.Tears welled in Thalia’s eyes. She threw her arms around Lady Maader and let out a sob. Other masters would have had her whipped. "Thank you, Mother.""There now, don't cry. You'll ruin your makeup." Maader pulled away. "When everyone clears out, you'll have the place to yourself to practice. You can stay here all night." She tilted her head and smiled warmly. "That would make your mother so happy."It was an order. Thalia nodded and dabbed her tears away with her finger, careful not to smudge her kohl. Once the others had finished changing, Maader and Fatima ushered them out the back door to return to the inn.Marcus lingered, his smile not reaching his eyes. "You were beautiful tonight."Thalia gave a fragile laugh. "You say that after every performance.""And I mean it." He gave her shoulder a squeeze before shutting the door behind him.From the door to the stage, she could still hear the crowd dispersing outside. To kill time, Thalia picked up a candle by its holder and studied the fliers hanging on the walls, advertisements for the other acts that had performed there over the years—a circus, a play, a debate. She moved on to the fourth flier, a long-faded advertisement for a one-man show featuring the fifteen-year-old Sinbad."See how the boy conquered the dungeon!" it proclaimed. Thalia tilted her head, moving her candle closer. She'd heard whispers of dungeons. They were mysterious buildings that had started appearing all over the world around five years ago. The creature inside—the djinn—granted the gift of incredible wealth and power to the first person to make it out alive. And of all those firsts, there had been the first. Was this Sinbad him?Sighing, she set the candle down. How she would have loved to see a show like that—magic, adventure, intrigue. It reminded her of the stories of her homeland. But, the "fifteen-year-old" Sinbad would have been at least seventeen by now. It was funny to think they were about the same age—that he'd raised himself from nothing while she'd had everything taken from her. Some people were just luckier than others, she supposed.When the last of the chatter died outside, Thalia went out onto the stage and rehearsed the show from the beginning. Without spectators, the movements no longer seemed foreign and vulgar. They stirred something within her, hot and heady. There was, in her imagination, a person—sometimes a man, other times a woman—standing behind her.Tonight, it was a man. Though she could never envisage the face, she thought that maybe he would be beautiful like Marcus (though it was not Marcus; she could never seem to picture Marcus in that way). With her eyes closed, she could imagine him more clearly. The hands sliding up her waist were no longer hers; the pressure from her collar was his face buried in her neck.That was as far as she ever let the fantasy take her, but her body knew no such boundaries. Performing the finale for him was ecstasy. Her movements felt fluid—natural. She let her head roll back, her spine arch. When she returned to her knees, her heart raced inside her chest.A slow clap erupted from the first row. Thalia's eyes snapped open. A patrician draped in fine robes high-stepped his way onto the stage."I didn't think I'd get the chance to talk to you alone. Echo, was it?"Rising to her feet, Thalia regarded him warily. How did Maader want her to handle this situation? Ignore him?But, Lady Maader did business with half the patricians in Reim. What if Thalia’s snub offended him? She had already escaped punishment once tonight—a second time seemed unlikely."I am," she answered, clasping her hands in front of her. She bowed her head and lowered her eyes. “How may I help you?”"Marvelous..." he said, positioning himself inappropriately close to her. "You were simply marvelous tonight."Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by low thunder. Thalia jumped, but the patrician remained unfettered, and when Thalia looked into his eyes, she realized they were a pair of anthills, with millions of dark intentions scurrying beneath the surface. The moment she disturbed them, they would come scurrying out. "I was just thinking when I saw the group leave without you how careless it was of your mistress to leave you alone like this." He reached out to stroke her cheek. "There are a lot of men who'd take advantage of a defenseless girl like you."“Lucky for me, I have a gentleman like you looking out for me,” she said. She took a step back to give herself space to run, and he moved even closer, inserting himself between her and the door.Thalia would have screamed, but she had been playing the part of Echo for so long, she’d forgotten how. Her voice caught in her throat. Echo didn’t scream, Echo didn’t complain, Echo didn’t fight.Echo forced a smile. “Please, sir. My mistress—”"Shhhh…” He placed a finger on her lips. “No one has to know. Your secret’s safe with me.But she would know. The gods would know, especially if she did nothing to defend herself. She prepared to bolt, to hurl herself past him. Before she could lift her foot, he grabbed her and threw her to the floor. Her ankle caught the worst of it as she tumbled down, and pain shot through her leg. She let out a sob—not a scream, but perhaps loud enough to call the attention of some passerby."Quiet, whore." He kicked her in the ribs. Thalia gripped her stomach and curled in on herself, choking back another wail. She didn't dare to cry out again.This wasn't happening. It wasn't. Any minute she would wake up in her bed, and for the first time, she'd be grateful to see the ominous black cross that hung in her dorm room.His red linen sash fell to the floor next to her—red like her whorish outfit, red like the blood draining from her father's corpse, red like the wine that had taken her mother from her.Squeezing her eyes shut, she braced herself. This was simply——her fate.
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A spark in the darkness, static in the air. A deep voice resounded throughout the theater.
“Djinn of Wrath and Heroes…”
Thalia lifted her eyes, following the sound to its source. There, upon the parapet, stood a lone figure, scimitar raised to the sky.
“...Come forth, Baal!”
Lightning rained from the heavens, striking the stage between her and her assailant. Her eyes squeezed shut. She heard him land on agile feet, made out his rough silhouette in the green afterimage. He stood with his back to her, his sword pointed toward the patrician.
“Leave,” he commanded.
The patrician stood frozen. “What the hell?”
“She clearly doesn’t want you, so leave.” The air around them stirred, kicking up dust and tossing the long ends of his ponytail. Thalia braced herself for another flash, but it didn’t come. The patrician simply fled.
The god—for what else could he
be?—
approached and knelt before her. Having heard of the gods’ appetites for mortal women, Thalia shrank away when he tried to touch her. Mortal or god, the identity of the assailant didn’t matter. The goddess demanded purity from her daughters.
“Hey, hey. Take it easy. You’re safe now.” The voice was rich, friendly—not what she’d expect from someone about to force himself on her. She squeezed her eyes shut one last time and allowed herself to relax.
He removed his jacket with slow, feline grace. When he draped it over her shoulders, she tightened it around her chest and muttered her thanks.
“It’s no trouble.” He reached for her injured leg. When she flinched, he paused. “I promise I won’t try anything. You trust me, right?”
Thalia furrowed her eyebrows. “Trust you?”
“Not to try anything indecent.”
Chewing her bottom lip, she stuck out her leg for him to inspect. She didn’t have a choice, did she? He could call lightning from the heavens. If he was going to hurt her, nothing could stop him.
Resting her calf on his knee, he inspected her injury. “The swelling isn’t too bad. How much does it hurt? Do you think you could walk on it?”
“I could,” she answered tentatively. “It only twinges a little.”
“Good.” He returned her foot to the floor, taking care to arrange her skirt back over it. “Seems like it’s just a sprain. You’ll be fine if you stay off it for a few days.”
Yes, well, she didn’t have a few days. The next show was tomorrow, and if she didn’t perform, Maader would be furious. Carefully, Thalia lifted herself off the floor and tested her injury, slowly shifting her weight to her injured foot. The dull pain was at least tolerable, but her ankle wobbled before giving way.
“Hey, hey! Easy!” The god caught and righted her. “What did I just tell you?”
She glanced at his calloused hand, gripping her shoulder under the fabric of his jacket. He was well dressed—the complex embroidery on the jacket he’d loaned her must have been painstakingly stitched by a skilled artisan—yet his palms told of innumerable hardships. Her breathing slowed.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, but he was asking for the impossible unless he intended to smite her mistress. She limped away from him and tried standing on her ankle again, yielding the same results.
Damn it.
What was she going to do now?
The god’s gaze locked on her ornate metal slave collar and darkened. “I think I understand. You’re afraid of your master?”
Thalia suppressed a shudder. What was there to fear? Lady Maader was kind, and as long as Thalia made her lots of money by dancing…
But Thalia couldn’t dance—not like this. She would be punished, but that wasn’t even the worst part. She was useless now, and Maader would quickly realize the tickets continued selling without her. There’d be no reason left to keep her, and one of the buyers clamoring for Thalia would finally get their wish.
She choked back a sob. Warm arms wrapped around her, pulling her against a firm chest, and she realized he smelled of the ocean before a storm. It reminded her of her room at the palace, of how she would lean against a pillar and watch the clouds roll in. The harder the gods poured out their wrath, the faster her heart raced.
“I can come with you,” he offered. “Explain what happened.”
Thalia shook her head. “If she knew, it would only make her angrier.”
No, as far as anyone besides this stranger would ever know, this injury resulted from her own incompetence. She had taken a tumble while practicing.
“Why?” His eyebrows furrowed. “How could she blame you? That guy was twice your size; what were
you
supposed to do against him?”
Thalia didn’t know, but Maader wouldn’t take that as an excuse, and neither would the goddess.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, taking a step backward to bow. “You saved me, my lord. I couldn’t possibly ask more of you.”
“Hey, no need to bow.” He placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hold your head up high. Rich or poor, slave or free; we’re all the same inside, don’t you think?”
The same? That was preposterous. He was all-powerful, and she was lucky to be alive. Not to mention he’d rescued her from a fate worse than death. Humbled by his magnanimity, she deepened her bow.
He sighed. “Really, you don’t have to.”
“I want to.” She straightened. “You deserve far more than my eternal gratitude, but it is all I can give. May I have my savior’s name?”
“Sinbad.” He puffed out his chest and grinned. “Maybe you’ve heard of me.”
“Yes…” she answered breathlessly. “The boy from the posters—the dungeon capturer. It’s you.”
Perhaps not a god in the most literal sense, but he was a metal vessel user, which made him just as powerful. Besides, immortal or not, it didn’t matter. She’d worship him all the same.
“And if I may have the name of the lady standing before me?” He bowed with a flourish of his hand.
“Echo,” she told him.
Her heart hammered a protest inside her chest. Sinbad had shown her nothing but kindness, and she’d repaid him with a lie. Would he hate her if he found out?
“Echo?” He frowned and brought his fingers to his chin. “Echoes don’t speak their minds. They only repeat what others tell them to.”
“What are you saying?” Thalia asked.
He shrugged. “I’m not sure it suits you. That’s all.”
Thalia limped backward, ashamed to admit he was giving her far too much credit. Instead, she changed the subject.
“If you’re a dungeon capturer, then that lightning earlier… that was…?”
“Baal.” He drew his scimitar, cradling it almost like a child. “That’s the djinn that resides inside this metal vessel. He grants me the power of lightning.” Resheathing it, he reached inside his shirt and withdrew a red pendant necklace. “And this is Valefor. He gives me dominion over ice.”
As he dangled it in front of her face, she reached out and ran her finger over the ruby cabochon, which was cool to the touch despite having been nestled against his skin. She closed her eyes and tried to sense its mystical energy, but all she felt were his fingers wrapping around hers.
Her eyes snapped open.
“I can show you if you like.” He squeezed her hand.
“You’d do that for a slave,” she wondered aloud.
“For a beautiful woman,” he said. “I’m weak to your kind.”
“Oh, dear.” A wry grin found its way to her lips. “If that’s the case, half of Reim must bring you to your knees.”
Leaning in closer, he returned her grin with a lopsided one of his own. “It’s a real problem. Luckily, I think I can trust you not to take advantage of me.”
A tiny hiccup of a laugh found its way to her lips. His expression softened as he wiped the last bit of moisture from her cheek.
“Would you like to see?”
She gave a small nod.
Sweeping her off her feet, he carried her to a seat in the front row. He took a step back, closed his eyes, and turned his palms toward the sky. Something cold landed on her nose, a shock in the warm summer air. Silver snowflakes fell from the sky, nestling in her hair, on her lips, on his jacket.
She reached out to catch a flake. He grinned and raised his scimitar into the air for the sigil to appear on the blade once more.
Thalia gasped. The snowflakes had begun to twinkle like stars, and she was in the center of a swirling constellation. They tingled as they landed, hundreds of tiny jolts that brought her skin to life. She caught one on her tongue and giggled when it gave a slight shock.
Her savior settled in the seat next to her, crossing one leg over the other. “Enjoying the show?”
“It’s incredible,” she answered.
He was incredible.
She dared to study his face. Before, she had overlooked the elegance of his long nose and the expressiveness of his thick brows, but what struck her most were his eyes.
Molten gold. Roiling like liquid lightning, they unsteadied her as if a clap of thunder had shaken the earth beneath her feet. These were the eyes of a man who commanded the elements, bent them to his whim. He could bring monsters to their knees, yet he chose to use this incredible power to bring a smile to a stranger’s face. Not just any stranger.
Her.
He ruffled her hair, scattering a flurry of snowflakes. “Good.”
Heat pooled in her cheeks, her chest, her stomach. Her heart thrummed. She turned her eyes back to the falling sea of stars, but she remained acutely aware of his presence—every rise and fall of his chest, the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallowed, she missed nothing.
Thalia wished she could freeze time and be stuck in this moment forever, but eventually, the first drop of rain landed on her face, followed by the rolling of thunder. The stars faded and the last of the snowflakes evaporated into the night’s heat.
Sinbad stood. “I should really get you home.”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I suppose you must.”
At this point, it didn’t matter if she came back early. She’d allowed Maader’s property to be damaged. How much worse could her punishment be?
Carefully, he lifted her from the seat. She clung to his neck, letting her head rest against his chest and closing her eyes to listen to the calming rhythm of his heartbeat. He was a strange man, this Sinbad—strange, powerful, and wonderful. At least in his arms, she was safe.