She knew she ought to be more tired. She ought to be exhausted, given the amount of power that was coursing through her. But the steady warmth of the Aegis against her breast made her feel as if she’d never been more alive.
At last, just as the sky was growing light enough that she feared she would need to fly away, Selene saw something that could help her: Corocotta’s little slave girl, hobbling between buildings on her way toward what Selene could only imagine was their own latrine: a small building against the outer wall not unlike the one she’d just left behind in the encampment.
Not far away was a secluded pocket of shadows, created by piled crates and barrels. Selene floated there, then she dropped down to the ground and landed in a soft crouch, quiet as a cat on its paws—the only sound the clatter of debris that swirled about her as she descended.
The wind cut off abruptly, but she held the power close as the noise subsided, listening. Hearing no shouts of alarm, she took her hand off the Palladium, already missing its power, and then slipped it into the satchel at her side.
The dust that had been kicked up settled around her quickly as she lifted the shawl over her head, made herself small, and slipped between the shadows to where the little slave girl was just leaving the latrine. She had a different crutch now, Selene saw. It wasn’t the Lance of Olyndicus. That, she imagined, Corocotta kept close to himself, as Caesar did the Trident.
Panicked, realizing that she had no real plan, Selene looked around, trying to decide what to do. She thought about calling out to the girl, luring her into the shadows, but of course she could not speak the girl’s language. To speak would only give herself away.
But, seeing there was no one else in sight, she made a decision. Stepping out from the darkness, keeping her head low, she walked straight for the latrine herself, walking so close to the little slave that her shawl brushed against her. And then, pivoting quickly, she swung around behind the girl and clamped her hand over the girl’s mouth.
She lifted as she pulled her back toward the shadows, surprised at her own sudden strength—was that the Aegis, too? she wondered. The little girl kicked and tried to scream, but Selene’s grip was too tight for anything but the most mumbled sound, and her legs did nothing but flail in the air. The girl dropped her crutch as she struggled, and Selene kicked it ahead of her into the darkness from whence she’d come.
Selene carried the struggling girl in that same direction, keeping the crutch ahead of her, all the way back to the quiet spot where she had landed. There she leaned forward to whisper in the girl’s ear, “I’m going to set you down. I’m going to let go. Please don’t call out. You didn’t hurt me, and I don’t want to hurt you. Do you understand?”
The little girl had stopped kicking as she talked, hanging limply, and when Selene was done she simply nodded her head once up and down.
“Thank you,” Selene said, and she leaned forward to set the girl’s feet upon the ground, releasing her mouth as she did so.
The slave took a deep breath, but to Selene’s relief she did not scream. She steadied herself by leaning on a barrel to her right, and then she carefully turned to face her. “Who are you?” the girl whispered.
Selene leaned down and picked up the girl’s crutch, holding it forward as a kind of peace offering. “My name is Selene,” she said, keeping her voice quiet. “I need your help.”
The little girl studied her for a moment, then took back the crutch. “You’re the one I saw with Caesar. How did you get here?”
“I have my powers, as do you.”
“I could call the guards. You would be no match for them. Corocotta will destroy you.”
Selene opened her arms, allowing the shawl to part and bring the Aegis of Zeus into view. “Corocotta is nothing before the power of the gods. He’s just a man.” She released her arms and leaned forward. “He is nothing without you.”
The crippled girl had been staring at the breastplate, staring at the Shard. “I am a slave.”
“Only because you are not yet free,” Selene said. “What’s your name?”
The girl swallowed hard. “Isidora.”
Selene blinked. It was a beautiful name. A Latin name. “You’re a Roman?”
Isidora nodded quietly. “They killed my family, took me when I was young.”
“Your name means ‘gift of Isis.’ Did you know that?”
The girl looked up. “Who is Isis?”
My mother, Selene wanted to say. Me. Fate. She smiled, warmly and genuinely. “Someone who wouldn’t want you to live in chains.”
Isidora’s eyes flashed with dampness in the growing light. “What can I do? I am only a girl.”
“And you are more powerful than Corocotta can ever be. You are stronger than he is. That’s the reason he makes you use the Lance, isn’t it? It will destroy him. He knows that.”
“It’s destroying me,” Isidora whispered. “That stone will destroy you, too.”
“I’ve come only to take my husband back. That’s all.” That was all, wasn’t it? She could leave the power behind after that, couldn’t she? Or perhaps she could use it just awhile longer.
Tiberius. In her mind she saw his pleading, his begging as her powers ripped him apart. Yes. Tiberius.
“Selene?”
Selene shook herself. “Yes?”
The girl had a look of confusion on her face. “I asked who your husband was.”
“I’m sorry,” Selene said, trying to get her bearings again. What had she been thinking? Those thoughts of destruction didn’t feel like her own. “My husband … He was the one who fought you.”
“The water.” Isidora nodded in remembrance. “He is a slave, too.”
Selene started to object, then nodded. “In a way. But in our land a slave can be a prince. He is that, too.”
“And you are a princess? You answer to this Caesar?”
“No man rules me. I am a queen, and I have come to take back my king. No matter who or what stands in my way.”
Isidora nodded again, then her eyes got wide. “I can’t—”
“You tried to warn me,” Selene interrupted. “Back on that hillside. You didn’t want to hurt me any more than I want to hurt you. So I know you won’t call out for help. But please, just tell me where my husband is. Where are they holding him?”
Isidora’s mouth opened and closed. “I cannot tell you,” she finally said. She looked Selene in the eyes. “But I can show you.”
“You will take me there?”
Isidora nodded, and a smile crept across her face. “Yes, Queen Selene. And then you will take me with your king to this place where I will not be a slave.”
“I will, Isidora,” Selene said, thankfully. “I swear it.”
The little girl nodded curtly and adjusted her weight on the crutch. “But first you will help me get my things. You’re going to need my help in more ways than one.”
18
UNQUENCHABLE FIRES
CANTABRIA, 26 BCE
Octavian—Augustus Caesar, son of the god Caesar and emperor of Rome—was dying. Juba laid another wet rag upon his stepbrother’s fevered brow.
“Such a fool,” Juba said, though Caesar could not hear him and there was no one else in the cramped little cell. “Such a fool.”
Octavian had indeed been a fool, thinking that he could grab the Trident and use it so easily. He’d seen with his own eyes what it had done to Quintus back in Rome. And yet to have done it anyway … “Such a fool.”
And why? What could he have been thinking? It had all happened so fast. Juba replayed it in his mind: Octavian lunging out, wrestling the Trident from the little girl, and shouting. What was it that he had shouted?