Kryptic ↟ Deimos

ten: the final push

He lifts his chin, tilting his side to the side to size up the woman that had invoked so much fear in his men's hearts. "My men say you're a ghost" —Nikolaos shakes his head— "but you're just a snake."

"Not anymore," she bites back. Your son saved me. The Wolf can see the pain etched onto her face —she is still so young and has endured so much, just like his daughter. Lesya looks back over her shoulder, fingers flexing. "The Cult wants you dead," she tells him —no preamble. His rise through the Spartan ranks was nigh legendary after the tragedy that befell his family on Taygetos. His renown made him a target of the Cult, and should he return to his polis, they would seek to eliminate the perceived threat. "Do not go back to Sparta." It is a warning.

"Where should I go, then?" Nikolaos asks, skeptical, but he knows if she were sent to kill him, the deed would be done already.

She looks over her shoulder to the north where Boeotia lies, then returns her burning gaze to the Spartan general. "To find the honor you should've had that night on Taygetos when both your children died," Lesya spits. Time and time again, she'd witnessed that stormy night on the slope of Mount Taygetos where his children's lives were forfeited.

Shock takes hold of his stern expression. "Alexios?" Nikolaos breathes. Kassandra survived the fall. Could that mean? No, he shakes his head. He had watched Myrrine cry over the broken body of their son before she fled Sparta. The baby was beyond saving. Not even Asklepius himself could have spared the child from the Ferryman.

Deimos, her heart seizes at the thought of him, and a flash of longing crosses her face. "Alive," she tells him, "but twisted into a weapon." Like me. Lesya does not wait to see Nikolaos' reaction. She turns back to the western coast of the Megarid. Her mind cannot help but stray back to Deimos —she'd committed the lines of his face to memory and the feel of his rough lips against her. We should have stayed on that beach.

Kassandra is already aboard the Adrestia by the time Lesya returns. "Where were you?" The Eagle Bearer asks, not trying to hide the suspicion in her tone though Barnabas and Reza greet her with a smile.

Lesya flips one of the bloodstained blades in her hand and kisses the worn leather-wrapped hilt. "Couldn't leave it behind," she says, smiling. It's a lie for the moment, but she would have gone back had one of them been lost. Deimos had been the one to give her the dual blades shortly after their final trial to become champion. Since then, Lesya had not parted with them.

She joins Barnabas and Kassandra at the helm as the rowers begin to push away from the dock. "We go to Phokis," Kass announces, crossing her arms, "Elpenor said he'd meet me there. He owes me money and an explanation." Lesya masks her surprise at the mention of Elpenor. Kassandra had not mentioned the merchant before, but now Lesya understands. This had all been part of a scheme to get rid of Nikolaos and begin hunting for the bloodline.

Ikaros sweeps down from the sky with a loud cry and settles upon Kassandra's outstretched arm. The eagle's piercing stare makes it seem as if he can see every lie and atrocity Lesya has ever committed. Frowning, she takes her leave of the helm and scales curved bow-post sitting above the gilded ram, looking off over the water as the sun begins to sink low in the sky.

"DEIMOS!" ENYO SHOUTS, but he does not hear her, nor does he see the brute approaching him from behind —a heavy ax lifted above his head. Ramming one of her blades through an Athenian's thigh, she spins and throws the same blade as hard as she can. It finds its mark deep in the side of the brute, and he collapses backward. Deimos dispatches the last of the leader's guards with a tight slash across the throat. "I had this under control," she hisses, pulling her blade free with a soft squelch. The leader had been wet clay in her hands. A few moments longer, and the information would have been hers for the taking. "We were supposed to use stealth," Enyo reminds him, anger contorting her expression.

"And he wasn't supposed to touch you," Deimos growls, gripping her arm —dark eyes burning into hers. Enyo turns, entering the leader's villa, this time to purge it of riches. The Cult would put the money and jewels to work, fanning the flames of war.

The journey back to Phokis had not taken long from Achaia. They each sit an offering of gold before the gathered cultist's feet. "All of Hellas knows what you did!" One of them bellows. Lesya lifts her head and sees it is the only cultist who looks to be a warrior himself. He stands a head taller than Deimos, is wider too, and wields a flat mace. "Next time, you'll listen when we tell you to go unseen!" He roars, hand rearing back to strike Enyo —she's closest to him.

Deimos leaps to his feet and stops the mace mid-swing. "Do not touch her," he spits, ripping the mace from the brute's grasp and breaking the thick wooden lance over his knee. Quiet gasps and whispers undulate through the massive chamber. The Monger's face is hidden behind an ivory mask weeping red, but the anger in his soulless eyes is evident. Enyo looks up at Deimos, heart pounding in her ears.

"This was my doing," he says, though his tone is no less dangerous. Several guardians force him to his knees before a lit brazier and strip away the gold-and-white breastplate, tearing open one side of his dark exomis. Deimos's fingers dig into his knees when the hot iron presses across his shoulder blade. He will not give them the satisfaction of seeing him in pain. The scent of burning flesh tickles Enyo's nose as two guardians hold tight to her arms. It was more painful to watch them hurt Deimos than anything they had ever done to her. She wants to scream for them to stop, but that will only make it worse. A cultist with a weak stomach gags turning away to lift his ivory mask then retches —spilling his stomach over the floor.

"You fool," Enyo growls, breaking open an aloe leaf and squeezing the clear sap onto the brand. He flinches when she begins spreading the sap, glancing over his shoulder to see her expression is a mix of anger and deep concentration. Catching his tawny-gold gaze, Enyo purses her lips. "Don't ever do that again," she tells him, bottom lips trembling.

He shifts, lifting a rough hand to her cheek. "It was my fault," Deimos admits, his eyes locking onto hers. Her laurel eyes are as soft as the spring grass. It didn't matter if it was his fault or not. He'd bear all her punishments. Enyo leans into his hand, turning her head to place a soft kiss in the center of his palm. Deimos watches in a trace that's only broken when she leans forward, pressing her lips against his.

Lesya wakes with a faint smile, despite the grim memory. Sitting up, she can make out the dark shape of mountains drawing close and the glow of Kirrha's harbor —filled with ships. She has not been to Phokis since fleeing for her life, and now the future is more uncertain than ever.