CHAPTER 3

I wish I didn’t have to move on. Thank you for taking me in. “Oikogeneia.”

I say the word for family out loud as I write it in the ancient language of the Gods, hoping someone in the circus can read it and knows the power and promise it holds. Aetos doesn’t have that kind of schooling. Desma and Selena might, and I trust them to use the magic only if they have to. Aetos would die for me. Desma would die for me. Vasili and Selena might, too, and probably a dozen others. If they call me, there isn’t a threat in the three realms that will keep me from coming back to them.

Before I came to the circus, there was only one person I wouldn’t have been willing to kill, if it came to that, or let die for me. Now there are more than I have fingers and toes, and it makes me weak.

Family.

It irks that a word so contaminated in my mind contains such power. I gave it power and gifted it to my friends. I would kill myself before letting it cross my lips for any of my remaining blood relations.

My few belongings are packed in the old brown satchel I stole off a sleeping merchant on the Fisan coastal road eight years ago. Some clothes and a pair of old boots, a cloak, three throwing daggers, a few hair ties, a comb, and my stage cosmetics—everything I possess. I strap the circus’s bedroll and blanket to the ties at the bottom of my bag. I don’t think Selena will mind. It’s hardly theft at this point.

Straightening, I think about my next step. When Poseidon gave me my gifts, he also gave me his obsession. The frigid northern lakes and the Fisan Ocean are both about three weeks out of my reach. As usual, that means settling for a Sintan stream. It’s still water, even if it’s warm. I’ll stop at the creek, somehow get out of my pants, clean up, cool down, and then… I don’t know. Nothing will ever change, no matter where I go. I’ll still live in fear, the black crow of dread circling my head.

The circus was different. With Selena and Cerberus here, I almost felt safe—safe until that dratted warlord decided to stick his big, hooked nose into my life.

Growling in frustration, I look around my tent for the last time. No one will see me leave. Where I’m concerned, stealth reaches an entirely new level.

The warlord’s taken this from me. Home and family mean something to most people. I never understood what it was until Selena took me in, and Aetos and Desma decided I was theirs. They’re mine, too. Leaving them is like cutting off a limb.

Deep breath in. Long breath out. Cats don’t cry.

My tent flap snaps open, and the warlord fills the doorway, a mass of shadow and steel.

I freeze, stunned. Disbelief leaves a sour taste in my mouth. “H-How did you get back here?”

He steps inside, crosses his arms, and leans casually against the tent post. The torch pops, sending a flicker of firelight over him that illuminates his inky hair and sun-bronzed skin. The wavering glow highlights the hard muscles rippling under his rolled-up sleeves, tapering down to corded forearms, thick wrists, and powerful hands. Hands that could break me in two.

His teeth flash. Wolfish. Confident. “I have my ways.”

My mouth falls open, and a shiver scrambles down my spine. I’m rarely at a loss for words.

“You took my copper and didn’t evaluate my last man.” He nods to his final companion. “Kato. You’re up.”

The last man ambles forward, casual, followed by Carver and Flynn. They’re all so relaxed. What’s wrong with these people? Don’t they know the world is falling down around my ears?

The man called Kato stops a few feet from me. I take him in with a glance. He’s big, blond, and almost impossibly handsome, with startling cobalt eyes. The mace he carries tells me he’d rather bludgeon than slice. I get that. There’s something satisfying about whacking people over the head.

Backing up, I dig around in my pocket, which is not easy, and pull out one of the warlord’s coppers. “Here’s your coin. Now get out.” I throw the copper at him.

He catches it on reflex and then tosses it back, hitting me in the chest.

I glare at him, fuming.

“I’m loyal,” Kato volunteers cheerfully. He looks like he’s always happy. There are smile lines etched into the tanned skin around his mouth and eyes, and perfect teeth like his are just made to be shown off with a grin.

I scowl at the blond warrior now, reluctantly noting that he’s a rather perfect specimen of a man while giving him a heaping dose of the evil eye. There’s no soul ripping this time, and everyone knows it.

Apparently satisfied, the warlord steps closer. “Now that that’s settled, you’re coming with me.”

I snort, stepping back. “Never in a billion suns. Not even if Zeus showed up as a swan and tried to peck me in your direction. I wouldn’t go with you even if my other option was Hades dragging me to the Underworld for an eternal threesome with Persephone.”

The warlord pierces me with a hard stare. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

“Or no way,” I retort.

He lunges for me. The tent is small, and he’s shockingly fast. His hands close around my upper arms, and satisfaction flares in his eyes. “Not poisonous anymore?”

“A shame.” I stomp on his foot, crushing with the heel of my boot.

He laughs. Bastard.

I disappear. I’m still there, just invisible, and he lets go. They always do. The warlord lets out a sound somewhere between a snarl and a grunt and stares at his empty hands. It never occurs to people to just hold on.

I inch away, silent. Four men block the door. They shed their casualness like it’s a second skin, becoming battle ready in an instant, alert, the air around them charged with tension.

“Guard the door,” the warlord rumbles. “She’s still here.”

Gods damn it! I glance around. There’s no escaping under the tent. The material is tight and flush to the ground. Aetos drove the spikes in for me, and it’ll take Aetos’s muscles to get them out again. There’s a knife in my belt. I could slice the canvas, but by the time there’s an opening I could fit through, the warlord would be on top of me. My only option is to draw them away from the door. If Flynn and his giant ax would move about a foot to the right, I could probably slip through.

The silence in the tent is absolute. I don’t even hear them breathing. Then the warlord turns and looks straight at me. Impossible.

Still one moment, he pounces the next, grabbing me. I’m so shocked I lose my concentration and pop back into sight. One big hand is clutching the better part of both breasts, and the other is clamped over my ear, his fingers digging into my braid.

I suck in a sharp breath and pound on his wrist, trying to dislodge his hand from my chest, shaken by how large the warlord is, and how ungodly hot his hands are on me—a firestorm of muscle, sinew, and bone.

His eyes flaring, he adjusts his grip, banding hard fingers around my left arm. I fly at him with my right fist and punch him in the neck. He jerks, taking the blow on the muscular column instead of the sensitive front. I draw back for another hit, but he plucks my fist out of the air and then forces it down, easily shackling both wrists in one hand. He uses his other hand to disarm me, slipping the knife from my belt and into his own.

I nearly cringe at my own stupidity. Eight years with the circus has made me soft. I had a knife, and I didn’t even think of stabbing him when he couldn’t see it coming.

Snarling, I bang my forehead into his jaw.

A muscle feathers along the warlord’s cheek. Grasping my upper arms, he lifts me clear off my feet. “That is not a good idea.”

He’s conveniently put his nose within reach. I drive my head toward it, but he dodges, growling a curse as my nose slams into his cheekbone. Pain makes my eyes water. Gasping my next breath, I go still, dreading the gush of blood. When there isn’t any, I screech like a Harpy and kick him in the shins.

With eyes like thunder, he sets me down, spins me in his arms, and then crushes my back against his chest. “Settle down, Soothsayer.”

Settle down? Settle down!

“Could you see me?” I wheeze, his heavy arm compressing my rib cage.

“No, but I knew where you were.” The warlord sniffs loudly and then exhales, his hot breath tickling my ear. “You stink.”

Lovely. “Who are you?”

He turns me back around, keeping hold of my arms. “Beta Sinta.”

I go numb with shock for the split second before fear surges through me in a paralyzing rush. This is the warlord who put his sister on the throne? This is the Hoi Polloi who somehow overcame the previous royal family’s magic? This is the man now second in command of all of Sinta?

No wonder he got past Cerberus. All he had to do was order someone to bring him back here. He owns us all. He could have Desma arrested, Aetos executed, Tadd, Alyssa, Vasili, and all my other friends tortured until they begged for mercy. Selena deprived of her life’s work. No explanation necessary. He’s Beta Sinta.

“The better question is who are you?” He studies my face. “Fisan. I can see that even through all the paint.”

I almost say I’m Beta Fisa just to see his eyes bug out, but that joke wouldn’t really be funny for anyone. “Cat,” I answer tightly. I don’t deny being Fisan. My olive skin, light green, elongated eyes, dark hair, and long, straight nose give me away. It doesn’t matter. A lot of people are Fisan.

“Just Cat?” He cocks his head. “I don’t believe you.”

I stare at him, an inferno of hatred in my eyes.

Beta Sinta’s mouth flattens into a hard line as he nods to Kato. The Adonis-like blond takes a rope from Beta Sinta’s belt and then ties one end loosely around my waist and the other around Beta Sinta’s. The second we’re attached, the warlord lets go. I start working on the knot, and no one tries to stop me. It’s more of a bow. There’s nothing to it, so why won’t it budge?

“An enchanted rope.” Beta Sinta’s smug announcement has my eyes widening in astonishment. “Only I can untie it.”

My mind rebels. “You don’t have that kind of magic.” He doesn’t have any magic.

“You’d be surprised at the treasures one can find in the bowels of a despot’s castle.”

Actually, I wouldn’t. “But the Medusa’s Dust…” I sputter a curse. “I saved your life!” Obviously one of my stupider ideas. I used to be good at this stuff. If people could have gotten the better of me this easily when I was a kid, I’d be dead.

“You think you saved my life, but I appreciate the gesture, which is why you’re still conscious.”

I gasp and swing at him again.

He catches my fist before it can connect, crushing it slightly. “Control your temper,” he advises, releasing my hand with a soft shove.

There are some things about my blood even I can’t deny. Temper is one of them. “I’ll show you temper, you oversized, egomaniacal, murdering son of a Cyclops!” I ram my foot into his groin.

Beta Sinta doubles over with an explosion of breath. I’d do it again, but I’d rather run. I swipe my knife from his belt, bring the blade down hard on the rope, and plow my way toward the door.

A second later, I’m on my ass. The rope is perfectly intact, and three men are looking down at me, identical smirks needing to be wiped off their faces. Permanently.

Flynn’s foot lands on my wrist, stomping just hard enough to make me let go of the knife. Beta Sinta uncurls himself, glaring at me while he picks up my blade and slips it into his boot.

I change tactics and start sucking the magic out of the rope. Power nips at my skin and seeps into me, but the rope retains its enchantment. I keep sucking, and it keeps giving—a perpetual supply of magic!

Gods damn it! I pound both hands on the ground and howl.

“Up,” Beta Sinta orders.

I twist and lash out at him with my feet. He jumps to avoid my sweeping kick, and fury erupts in me. I’m fast and well trained, but he’s always a step ahead. Part of me is awed by his speed and agility. Most of me wants to grab Kato’s mace and thump Beta Sinta over the head with it. Repeatedly.

He fooled me at the fair, this man with the quick smile and midnight hair. I thought the warlord was just another warlord. I flushed at his interest and jumped into his dance of teasing threats. I had fun. Now, looking at him reminds me of something much stronger than fleeting attraction. There’s nothing in this world or the Underworld I hate more than royals.

“I’d rather let Cerberus slobber me to death with poisonous drool than go anywhere with you.”

His jaw muscles flexing, Beta Sinta pulls on the rope until I’m forced to either scramble to my feet or get dragged to his. “Come and I won’t have your friends arrested one by one while you watch.”

I feel myself pale. There’s no lie in his words. He’s not bluffing.

So this is it, exactly what Mother was trying to teach me, to pound and torture into me. Love is weakness, an exploitable flaw.

My surroundings fade, and I feel her sharp-nailed fingers digging into my chin as she turns my face and forces me to watch my older brother gut my nursemaid, the only woman who ever held me. Mother beat me when I cried, gave me a puppy the next day, and then ten months later, just when I loved that dog more than anything except for my sister, started the lesson all over again.

I blink, and Beta Sinta’s handsome, treacherous face comes back into focus.

Poseidon, protect me. I pick up my satchel, swing it over my shoulder, and don’t look back.