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  They were well and thoroughly fucked. Sheer willpower was all that kept the contents of her stomach in their rightful place. After a walk that felt interminably long and immeasurably short all at once, Persephone reached her family’s chambers. There was no way she could share this information with anyone. Her father and brother would never go along with things if they knew what was coming, and the fallout would be disastrous. Not just for them, but for all of Galilae. She couldn’t see it yet, but there had to be a way out of this.

  * * * *

  When morning finally came, Antaios’s growing anxiety threatened to completely consume him. This was to be the first Council meeting of the season. Council members and their guards would be in and out of the palace all day. Would there be opportunity to alert someone of the siege? He desperately wanted to. Had visions of their army marching in to eradicate the scourge that had infested their walls. Persephone’s words had filled his head with doubts. Without a leader, could the troops even be rallied to aid? And how would they fare against Sempronius’s men?

  Antaios hadn’t recognized the name when his sister had announced it, not until she called him by his nickname. It wasn’t that Sempronius’s name was unknown; it was just that when he was spoken of in Galilae, most people referred to him only as the Reaper, so Antaios hadn’t connected the two. Despite her accusation that he paid no attention in their politic lessons, he knew exactly who the Reaper was. The stories about him were sufficient to curdle stomachs and haunt dreams. Antaios desperately wanted to take action against him, but deep down, he knew that his fear of the man outweighed his desire to attempt a subterfuge. For now, at least.

  Tension in the room was high as they waited. Forcing himself not to pace agitatedly, Antaios leaned against the wall. His father and mother managed to sit, though the king tapped his fingers restlessly against the arm of the chair. Persephone was sitting against the far wall with Koli sitting in front of her. Persephone was braiding and unbraiding Koli’s hair while Koli hummed tunelessly to herself – the only sound to break the silence festering in the room.

  Antaios and his parents all snapped to attention when they heard the key in the lock. Even Kolimpri froze when the door opened. Only Persephone seemed unaffected by the arrival of the Perdomans, not bothering to look up from her task as Sempronius and Hadrianus stepped into the room.

  He’d expected it – they’d been informed during their briefing with the captain the previous day – but nothing could have prepared him to see the Perdoman soldiers wearing Galilaean armor. It made sense; Hadrianus was to attend the Council meeting as their Arms Commander, and the Perdomans had other soldiers around the palace; they could hardly parade themselves in their own armor if they intended to keep their presence a secret. Still, it was jarring.

  Kolimpri was first to break everyone’s stunned silence. “You look funny.” Seemingly unafraid of the man, and completely unabashed by the impropriety of her observation, she spoke directly to Sempronius.

  Antaios’s gut clenched. Young and full of both questions and opinions, Koli was quick to speak her mind. Evidently she’d been given too much free rein to do so, because she blurted the sentiment with no mind for the consequences.

  “Kolimpri! We discussed speaking out of turn, did we not?” Persephone said with a sharp tug on a thick lock of Koli’s hair.

  Koli winced, a reflection of her surprise, but Antaios knew that the action on Persephone’s part had been more to get Koli’s attention than to cause pain. Persephone was frequently Koli’s disciplinarian when it was needed, but she was always extremely careful not to actually hurt her.

  Thoroughly chastised, Kolimpri hung her head. “We did, sister. Apologies.”

  “And who else must you apologize to?”

  It felt like a new kind of betrayal to hear Persephone prompt Koli to apologize to Sempronius – like she was taking his side rather than the family’s – but in this instance Antaios could do nothing but grudgingly agree with the decision. The last thing he wanted was to see Koli injured for what was, to her, an innocent remark.

  In reply to Persephone’s question, Kolimpri looked at Sempronius with big doe eyes. If there was one thing their little sister excelled at, it was pouting. Telling her no and staying mad at her were nearly impossible tasks.

  “Apologies, sir,” Koli said quietly.

  “Quite alright, Little Princess. Likely I look very strange to you. I feel strange as well, but do not tell anyone.” He finished the thought with a wink and Kolimpri smiled back mischievously before flopping over Persephone’s legs, starting a new entertainment even though her hair was only half-braided.

  If seeing the Perdomans in Galilaean armor was a shock, hearing the Reaper reassure Koli so sincerely was flooring. As it was, Antaios practically felt his jaw hit his lap. He wasn’t the only one; both his mother and father gaped dumbly at the exchange. His mother recovered fastest. With a slight shake of her head, she closed her parted lips, returning her face to the regal serenity she typically wore.

  Persephone, he noticed, had tilted her head and was glaring at Sempronius with open contempt. Her reaction was a surprise; he found himself immensely grateful that Sempronius had been kind rather than cruel to Koli after the slight. Was Persephone angry that he’d undermined her? Did she generally loathe him? Or was it an act for the benefit of the rest of the family? After all, no matter what they were getting from it, she was voluntarily fucking the man. The thing was, with Persephone her motive could have been any or none of the reasons he’d considered. The people of Galilae thought they knew who she was, but the truth was Antaios didn’t think anyone really knew her. He sometimes wondered if she even knew herself. How could she, when she spent all her time pretending to be someone else?

  They had been close once, Antaios and Persephone. Their relationship had changed after her one and only engagement was dissolved. She had changed. From the time he had turned seven and started combat and politic lessons, Persephone had expressed interest in joining him. It was after her brief engagement that she began insisting on it, and Antaios had never understood her sudden adamance. At the time, he’d been too young to read into it. And now? By this time, the rift between them had grown so vast that he no longer cared to explore it. She did whatever she wanted, so her motives struck him as inconsequential.

  He never did learn how she had managed to convince their parents to allow it, nor Prodotin to sanction it, but somehow she had. In the beginning, he had felt sorry for her. Though he was two years her junior, brotherly affection and instincts insisted that he should protect her. Irked by her sex and firmly adamant that politics and combat were not women’s business, Prodotin ensured that she was horribly abused in the beginning. He believed that if she took enough beatings she would quit. It was at Antaios’s behest that their mother began inquiries and brought in an instructor from the Far East when it was clear that Prodotin would do nothing to actually teach her. A decision Antaios would quickly, and it would seem eternally, regret.

  With a new instructor, Persephone had learned quickly. The fighting style utilized some of the same elements, but maintained an entirely different focus than the Galilaean training. Soon after her new instructor was brought in, Persephone began besting the boys in their lessons. Including Antaios. The first time she bested him, Antaios believed it was because he had taken pity on her and allowed her to do so. The second time, Prodotin had insisted she’d cheated. By the third, Antaios had begged Prodotin to let him join her and learn both styles. Their Arms Commander had insisted he was not in possession of a cunt, and therefore he would not be taught to fight like one. When Persephone had stopped losing – ever – she had been banned from joining in Antaios’s lessons. Antaios had always wondered whether it was her training or something inherent to her that had made her fearless. He liked to think it was her training, because to think otherwise would be to admit that she was innately superior to him.

  With Persephone’s absence from lessons, the emotional space between t
hem mirrored the physical space, and Antaios soon joined his peers in taunting her from afar. The first time he called her a whore had been the first time she’d retaliated and called him a coward. The pain of the insult had been intense because he knew it to be true. Was it the same for her? Though none of them could be confirmed, there were rumors about her. It was part of the reason their father had finally stopped insisting that she marry. Her indiscretions would have been viewed as a failing on the king’s part, and their father worried about the shame that would come down on their household if it was discovered that she was not pure. Actually, Antaios did as well, especially in light of her newest indiscretion.

  His momentary nostalgia was broken when Sempronius spoke. “Highness, you and your son will go with Decimus to the day’s Council meeting. You have your instructions. Persephone, come with me; you will do your stochasmos while the meeting is in session.”

  He was going to let her do stochasmos? Antaios shot Persephone a stunned look, but she ignored him. There was no way Sempronius knew what stochasmos was. If he did, and had agreed to allow it anyway, then he was a fool. Because Antaios knew him to be anything but a fool, he couldn’t help but wonder how Persephone had managed to obtain his permission. Had she lied? Quite possibly. But there was another possibility Antaios had to consider; he had called his sister a traitor in anger, but had never really believed it to be true. What if she was?

  * * * *

  Cato waited next to Augustine in the courtyard. He’d been surprised when Augustine had arrived with Seraphime rather than Persephone. When he’d asked, Augustine had explained that Persephone had requested the opportunity to change as she’d not been in possession of the needed garments at the time. So, Augustine had collected Seraphime and sent Seneca to attend to and bring Persephone down. According to Augustine, Decimus had successfully collected the king and the prince. Now they would see if the king valued his life more than his pride. It would be too risky to receive updates throughout, so he and Augustine would not hear of the outcome until the end of the day. The anticipation before a battle was always worse than the battle itself. This was no different. It was going to be a taxing day.

  To try and dispel suspicion, they had sent a protective detail that included both Perdomans and Galilaean turncoats. Some of the Galilaean guards, like Prodotin, had been bought prior to its outset, while others had surrendered rather than fight to the death to defend the palace. All of the surrendered soldiers had been interrogated extensively by Augustine, Cato, and Decimus, and those whose loyalty was malleable were going to be put to use. They would always be paired with, and outnumbered by, Perdomans in their assignments, but it would be helpful to have more native soldiers to maintain appearances to the rest of Galilae. For the moment, every soldier in the palace wore Galilaean armor. When Augustine formally presented himself with Cato by his side to the Council, they would don their own Perdoman armor, but until that time, everyone needed to blend in if they were seen in passing.

  With everything in place and moving according to plan, he and Augustine had opted to observe what stochasmos – the meditation practice Persephone had sold valuable secrets for – consisted of. That she had wanted it badly enough to give up such extensive information about the tunnels undoubtedly meant that the practice itself was of high value.

  “Gods fuck me,” Augustine cursed as the two of them watched Persephone step onto the grass with Seneca and Lucius on her heels.

  Seneca’s expression stated that he shared their shock and he didn’t know how to explain it either. Both Cato and Augustine looked behind them to where Seraphime waited silently before looking back to Persephone. Seraphime’s eyes had remained downcast, but the barest whisper of a smile dusted her lips.

  Persephone and Seraphime had always looked similar, but their differences had still been obvious. In this moment, as he watched Persephone make her way into the courtyard, Cato was struck by just how many of those differences were exceedingly superficial. Persephone was not wearing her traditional chiton, nor was her hair flowing around her face and down her back in its typical loose curls. Instead her hair was pulled back in a braid identical to Seraphime’s, and she wore a slave’s pieto. Persephone had even foregone her sandals and walked barefoot, a practice exclusive to slaves in Galilae.

  Dressed as they were, their looks were virtually indistinguishable. The only readily observable variances were in the differing colors of their apparel in addition to how they carried themselves. Persephone carried herself as she always did, with her shoulders back and her head high, while Seraphime continued to exhibit the same docile submissiveness they always saw from her. As Persephone drew closer, Cato realized there was one other distinction: the bruise marring Persephone’s left cheek. It was fading, but for now stood as a beacon announcing their identities.

  Persephone smirked as she absorbed their stunned faces. “Such surprise, General,” she mocked while pinching Augustine’s chin between her thumb and fingers. “Did no one tell you? It is not polite to stare.”

  Seraphime never looked up, but immediately fell into step with Persephone when she moved past the two men. As one, they grabbed the zosters belting their skirts to their waists and removed them. Two skirts fluttered to the ground. One soft thump followed as two leather belts landed simultaneously on top. Wearing nothing but their linen subligaria and apodesmos, the two girls stepped into the center of the grass.

  Seneca directed Lucius to the opposite side of the clearing, joining Cato and Augustine. The three of them shared a look before turning their eyes to the princess and her sister-slave.

  “I knew they were alike,” Seneca started, “but this is uncanny.”

  Both Cato and Augustine nodded in unison as the girls began what they called stochasmos. The two moved as one, flowing through different poses seamlessly. It was clear they were well practiced.

  “Truly, I’d have an easier time distinguishing you from Cade, and the two of you are actually twins,” Seneca continued, speaking directly to Cato.

  Admittedly, the differences between Cato and his twin were as superficial as those that seemed to distinguish Persephone from Seraphime; still, Seneca had a point. He and his brother favored different looks, so at a glance, they would be more readily distinguishable.

  Augustine hummed his assent. “Seneca, under no circumstances are they to be unsupervised together. Not even for a moment.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Make it known.”

  At Augustine’s order, Seneca nodded his salute and made his way over to Lucius’s side, undoubtedly to fill him in and share their own observations about what was happening in front of them.

  Persephone had called stochasmos a full-body meditation practice, but some of the poses took incredible balance, flexibility, muscle endurance, and strength. As some of the poses required inversion, it was clear why the two trained virtually naked. Their skirts would have only been in the way. The poses that really grabbed Cato’s attention, though, were those that had them holding their hands in front of their faces and torsos in defensive postures.

  “How much would you wager that this has nothing to do with meditation and everything to do with Persephone’s unique fighting style?” Speaking in barely a whisper, Cato never took his eyes off of what the sisters were doing.

  Augustine observed just as closely. “You know what this means.” Not a question.

  “Seraphime is also combat trained,” Cato supplied.

  Augustine nodded. “Seraphime is not nearly so meek as she pretends to be, though she does pretend very well.”

  “Will you recant?”

  Augustine sighed heavily. “On the surface there is nothing harmful about what they are doing. They are not causing trouble for any of their guards and they are not sparring with one another, which wouldn’t really fall under any of her present restrictions anyway. Persephone bargained for this fairly and has thus far remained true. I am reluctant to prove myself untrustworthy to her.”

  “This
scheme does not require her trust.” Cato hated the idea of acting dishonorably, but as he weighed the pros and cons, the risks of keeping Persephone well conditioned seemed to far outweigh the benefits.

  Undoubtedly, keeping herself well conditioned was the exact reason she had bargained for this privilege.

  “This is true.” Augustine’s tone did not betray his mood. “And believe me, friend, I feel just as leery as you about allowing them to continue a practice that supplements their ability to fight. However, you also know just as well as I that if Persephone wants to make things difficult for us, she can, and will. I want to remind her of all the reasons she has to cooperate. If she does not trust me to keep my word on the smaller bargains we strike, she will not trust me to keep my word on the larger issues, and she will work to sabotage me.”

  “Undoubtedly she already does,” Cato replied automatically.

  Once again, Augustine nodded his agreement. At least he was under no illusions about the woman. Cato hated this. This plan had all seemed very simple and clever when they’d still believed Persephone to be a beautiful, albeit headstrong, altruist, an impression made by listening to the hearsay in and around Galilae and confirmed by Prodotin – fool that he was. Obviously, he’d been wrong on multiple counts. How could he have not known about this? Or, more likely, failed to mention it?

  “What will you do?”

  Augustine tapped his thumb against his lips thoughtfully. “So long as she continues to cooperate, I will let her continue. Persephone and Seraphime are always to wear different colors, if Persephone insists on wearing a slave’s pieto. I do not like being unable to tell them apart at a glance.”