And then there was Zander. The only immortal Argonaut. Only he wasn’t quite so immortal after all, was he? The guardians had all assumed he couldn’t be killed because he hadn’t found his Achilles heel like every other male from his line had. But after 829 years, they now knew he had one vulnerability: Callia. Whatever physical effects she suffered, he suffered as well, and when her life ended, his would too.
Casey’s stomach churned and a whole host of new worries lit off in her brain. This now went beyond simply Casey and Isadora. If Isadora wasn’t found…not one, not two, but four would die. And the kingdom…
She had to tell Theron.
“Something has to be done,” Callia said, her worried voice cutting through Casey’s thoughts. “I’m not afraid to die, but I can’t—I won’t—let anyone turn out my son.” Until Isadora produced an heir, Max was next in line for the throne. “Do you honestly believe the Council would let a ten-year-old rule?”
No, Casey didn’t believe for a second Lucian, the Council leader, would live up to that agreement. It didn’t matter that Callia’s son Max was of royal blood, that his father was an Argonaut. To the Council he would forever be the illegitimate grandson of the king. And in their eyes, tarnished. Casey now understood what Theron so adamantly protected every day of his life—not just the order of the Argonauts, but their entire kingdom, their world. The Council did not grasp the depth of Atalanta’s vengeance or her hatred. If rule were left up to them, Atalanta would already have Argolea in ruins.
“I can’t sit back and do nothing much longer,” Callia whispered.
“Hopefully you won’t have to.” Casey tugged Callia the rest of the way to the king’s study and pushed the door open.
Heads turned as they entered. Theron looked up from some map he was studying on the desk and smiled Casey’s way, but it was a tight, strained motion that spoke of his stress. Zander crossed to tug Callia close. Max sat in Theron’s chair, listening to the guardians, and his face brightened when he saw his mother step into the room. Cerek and Phineus stood by Theron’s desk with their massive arms crossed over their chests.
“Where is Titus?” Casey asked her husband.
“He went to see the witches, to try to locate Orpheus.”
Casey glanced at her sister, then back at Theron. “Why do I get the feeling that’s not a good thing?”
“Because O’s gonna seriously fuck things up instead of make them better if someone doesn’t stop him,” Phineus mumbled.
Theron shot the Argonaut a scathing look, then turned back to Casey and forcibly relaxed his features. “I’m still not sure this is a good idea.”
She frowned, because they’d already been through this. Several times. And they’d already agreed this was the best option they had. “We have to know one way or the other, right?”
“Know what?” Callia asked.
Theron looked her way. “Whether Demetrius is truly guilty of treason like Gryphon said before…skata, before he poofed out of here.”
“And how do you plan to figure that out?” Callia asked.
“Casey’s gift is hindsight, thea.”
Callia turned to look up at Zander. “So you’re telling me she’s going to look back to see if he planned to kidnap Isadora?”
“Not his plans,” Casey corrected. “I can’t see his thoughts. But by touching him—or, well, something of his—I can get a glimpse of his past. I can tell us all if what Gryphon said is true. If Atalanta really is his mother. If she is—”
“Then every one of his badass moods and questionable actions over the years makes a sick sort of sense,” Cerek muttered.
Callia’s gaze swept over the room and then her eyes settled on Max, sitting in Theron’s chair behind the desk, his legs swinging in the air. And as if she’d finally clued in to what was going on, they jumped right to Casey. “You’re not strong enough to do this on your own.”
“I’m fine—”
“You’re not fine, meli.” Theron looked to Callia. “I won’t risk her, even to know this about one of our own. I need to know if it’s safe for her to do this. She grows weaker every day Isadora is gone. I don’t want to put extra stress on her.”
Callia’s eyes settled on Casey again and Casey frowned, both hating and loving Theron’s protective nature. “I’m fine, Callia. Max is only here as a precaution. In case I need a little extra oomph to look. Trust me, if I was really ill I wouldn’t even consider it.”
Callia stepped close, held out both hands in front of her sister but didn’t touch her. Her eyes fell closed and she seemed to be concentrating, but on what Casey didn’t know. Casey felt a warm tug deep in her chest, then nothing but a smattering of tingles.
Seconds later Callia opened her eyes, then looked back at Theron. “She’s telling you the truth. She’s strong enough. But it’s a good idea to have Max here just in case.”
Max swung his legs back and forth, glanced from face to face. His power of transference was the most valuable any of the Argonauts possessed, but he was still only ten, and if Casey’s suspicions were correct, what she was going to see in Demetrius’s past wouldn’t be appropriate for a child.
“I’ll tell you if I need Max’s help.” Casey turned to her husband. “Feel better now?”
The crease in his brow said no, but it was the worry in his dark eyes that softened her. She stepped to him, ran her hand over his jaw. “Stop worrying, okay? Everything’s going to be fine.”
“Everything will be fine when Isadora is home and I know you’re safe,” he whispered. “Until then, you’ll just have to deal with me.”
Demetrius made it halfway down the steep hillside toward the beach on the northern side of the island before he heard the horrific scream from the trees behind him.
He jerked that way. Not human, not Argolean, definitely monster. But the sound had come from the direction of the stream.
Isadora.
Shit. Shit!
He’d just left her. She couldn’t have gotten into trouble already. Did the female have a target strapped to her forehead?
He scrambled back up the steep hill, his heart pounding hard against his ribs as he moved. Sweat slicked his skin as he raced along the path. When he reached the riverbank minutes later, he found nothing but empty plastic buckets lying on their sides and the dagger he’d given her resting near the edge of the stream.
“Skata.”
Worry jumped to panic. “Isadora!”
An ear-piercing scream brought his head around. He reached for the blade at his back and took off at a dead run.
He skidded to a stop where the stream spilled into a small lake. A thick, soupy fog hung all around the water, making it hard to see what lay beyond the western shore, but there was no missing what floated in the middle. Or what hovered above, waiting to strike.
Isadora lay on her back in the center of the water, her eyes closed, her hands fanned out to the side. She looked peaceful, like she was asleep, but above her three shadowy wraiths lingered. Waiting. Licking their chops like vultures ready to devour.
His heart shot into his throat.
“Hey!” He jumped up and down to get their attention, waved his sword in the air. Isadora didn’t so much as move, but the heads of all three monsters came up and their crimson eyes zeroed in on him with deadly focus.
Oh, shit. Not wraiths at all. These were the Keres. Daughters of Nyx, sisters of the Fates, female death spirits who drank the blood of their prey. They couldn’t kill, not by force. And from what little he knew of them, they waited until death was already drawing close to strike a target.