Cassandra was hungry, despite the sawdust in her mouth.

  "Pass the bread."

  "You ate it already."

  She checked. He was right. She started eyeing the rest of his lunch.

  The door opened. It framed Anaktoria wearing an old tunic. Her face was still swollen from crying but somehow younger. Letting her dreams finally catch up to her.

  Cassandra started to say something about sleeping through the work. Didn't. Moved over on the bench instead.

  Anaktoria sat. Looked at the fresh wood in the wall.

  "We fixed the roof."

  "I see that."

  "I did most of it."

  "She's lying."

  "The wall too."

  "Also me."

  Damon focused on his food.

  Anaktoria picked at his lunch. "Haven't slept like that in a while."

  They ate in silence. The chicken coop clucked in the distance.

  "Prophet! You fell from the heavens!"

  "Fuck."

  Three villagers at the gate.

  Anaktoria stood.

  "Turn around. Walk away."

  They ran.

  She sat back down. Finished off Damon's lunch.

  "Where's Democritus?" Damon asked.

  Twenty-six miles away, Democritus stood in dead grass. His beard had fallen off somewhere on the road. He'd look for it later. It was his favorite.

  Athena stood beside him, preferring her donkey shape.

  "Cassandra dies tonight," Athena spoke into his mind. "After dinner. She walks alone. Arrow through the lung."

  "How terrible!"

  "A real archer. We've run into him before. Sick daughter."

  Democritus watched the sun tracking west. "Athena...we agreed. No more interventions."

  "She's my half-sister."

  "Exactly! It's time she grew up."

  He scratched where his beard used to be. "Also, we're on Notice."

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "Just this once..."

  "Sorry, but listen to me just this once!"

  Democritus turned away. "Let her fly or let her fall. But we must stop carrying her."

  Athena was sad. Then, "you're really going to let her die."

  "I'm going to let her live. There's a difference."

  They left. Where they'd stood, the ground had aged a century in perfect circles.

  Theron had been watching Penthesilea's compound since the start. His daughter had the wasting sickness. Three months now. The healers wanted silver he didn't have.

  He'd tracked them perfectly to those rocks above the coastal road. Two sets of prints, one male, one female. Fresh. They were hiding right there while his squad rode past. He'd known it. But that crazy prophet with the donkey had sworn they'd gone south, and the captain believed him.

  Week wasted chasing nothing. By the time he'd doubled back, Troy was already burning again. Dead or alive became just dead.

  The whole village had seen that bronze bird crash through the roof. The prophet was in there. Had to be. But she hadn't emerged. Yet.

  His daughter would be twelve next month. If she lived that long. The healers said silver might buy medicine from Egypt. Might.

  The bounty would buy ten treatments. Another year.

  He shifted position, vertebrae popping. Tonight.

  They ate dinner in comfortable silence. Penthesilea had made fish stew. It was perfect. Everything hurt less when you were full.

  "Early night," Damon said, already yawning. "That roof was a bastard."

  "Your age is showing," Anaktoria said, but she was already standing too.

  They went to their beds. Cassandra listened to them settle. Damon's breathing went deep almost immediately. Anaktoria took longer, shifting uncomfortably.

  The house went quiet. Just breathing and the creak of old wood.

  Cassandra's body was staging a rebellion. She turned onto her side. Worse. Onto her stomach. Much worse. Back again. The room was just too small to handle her.

  The moonlight through the window showed her the path. The same deer trail she'd seen from above when they crashed. It led to a stream, maybe a quarter mile through the trees. She'd been meaning to explore it.

  Across the room, Anaktoria whimpered. Another nightmare.

  Cassandra wanted to go to her. Didn't trust what she'd do when she got there.

  She sat up slowly. The floor didn't creak. Excellent work, Cassandra.

  The door opened silently. Night air on her fevered skin. She walked barefoot through the garden, past the gate, before she could reconsider.

  The path was silver in the moonlight. Clear enough. The sound of water grew louder.

  The stream. Cold water would help. Had to help.

  Theron saw the gate open.

  She emerged barefoot, nightdress, moving like someone drunk on their own body. Young. Walking straight into the woods alone.

  His back screamed when he stood. Week of sleeping rough. He followed anyway, keeping distance, stepping where she stepped.

  She was almost running by the time she hit the stream. Walked straight in, gasping. The water soaked her nightdress transparent. She bent to splash her face.

  In the moonlight, her profile stopped him dead. Same angle to her jaw. Same way of pushing her hair back. His daughter...

  He wanted to vomit. Wanted to run. His Mara needed medicine.

  He drew. Aimed for the heart. Quick and clean.

  She turned as he released. Pure instinct. The arrow hit high, just under the collarbone, spinning her backward into the water.

  For a moment, nothing. Then she screamed. Once. Sharp enough to carry back to the compound.

  His back spasmed as he rushed forward. He stumbled, caught himself on a tree. She was crawling through the shallows, blood clouding the water.

  "Please stop," he called. His voice was ragged. "I'll make it quick. I promise."

  She made it to the bank. Crawling still, leaving red handprints on white stones. He followed, nocking another arrow. His hands shook.

  She'd collapsed against a fallen tree. Hand pressed to the wound, eyes huge and dark. His daughter's eyes.

  "I'm so sorry," he said, drawing. "I'm a monster. It was you or her..."

  The blade punched through his windpipe from behind. Then his jaw. His temple. Someone was screaming. The person killing him.

  His last thought was that he would be with Mara soon.

  Anaktoria didn't stop until the body stopped twitching. She'd never made that sound before. High, raw, animal.

  She blindly turned towards Cassandra.

  "Get back!" Penthesilea was already there, drunk, shoving Anaktoria away. Damon had carried her.

  Blood filled Cassandra's throat. She spat it out. More came.

  Penthesilea cut. Her hands shook. The arrow scraped bone with each breath.

  "Through." She held up the arrowhead. "Can't take it out. Seal it."

  Wine on the wound. Damon packing cloth around the shaft. Everything going gray.

  Anaktoria held Cassandra's face between her hands, mouth moving, no sound coming out.

  Everything sounded muffled.

  "i love you i love you i love..."

  The gray got darker.

  Then black.