Page 11 of A Tribute of Fire

Respecting his desire to shift the flow of our conversation, I said, “Whip scars on my back would have been difficult to explain to my parents.”

“You’re a creative liar. You would have come up with something.”

His assessment was correct. Necessity had forced me to become a very creative liar. “Your childhood sounds terrifying.”

“It was all in service of becoming the best warriors we could be,” he countered. “It helped.”

I’d personally experienced one particular form of his childhood training that I had not enjoyed—Demaratus often had members of my regiment randomly sneak into my room to attack me. I was to never let my guard down—I had to always be ready, always prepared, never in a sleep so deep that I could be taken by surprise.

Demaratus had also attempted to teach me lock picking. He meant to encourage me to steal if necessary in order to survive, as the Daemonians would, but I was hopeless at it. He had given up after calling me “stupid girl” more times than I could count.

He had listed off all the things he’d stolen when he was younger, and I’d tried to look impressed. When I’d wondered aloud if it had been dishonorable to steal, he had rushed to assure me that the honor was in not getting caught. It seemed like strange logic to me, but it worked well for my current situation, in which I very much planned on stealing something priceless.

“Here everyone is soft and weak,” Demaratus complained, his words slurring even further as sleep started to claim him. “Do you know that there are no defensive walls in Daemonia? Only cowards have walled-in cities.”

Whatever he’d been about to say next was swallowed up by a snore.

I walked over to the model of Troas, the capital city of Ilion, that I had constructed based on the information that I’d gleaned over the last year.

The palace lay in the middle of a massive maze of walls. It had been designed to keep invaders out. Demaratus had noted that it would have been very easy for archers to walk along the top of the high walls, out of the infantry’s reach, and pick off the enemy one by one.

The other parts of the city were only accessible through the maze, and I had spent hours poring over this model, memorizing every turn and dead end, where each sector of the city was located, so that I could reach the temple quickly.

Looking at it again wasn’t going to do me any good. I already had the entire layout in my head. I glanced at Demaratus, knowing he wouldn’t come to any of the celebrations and that this might be my final chance to say goodbye.

I went over and kissed him on the forehead and said, “Thank you.”

He grumbled and turned over. I wished he’d been awake to hear my gratitude.

I walked from the barracks back to my room, sneaking through shadows and staying out of sight. It was good practice.

Quynh was waiting for me. “I was worried about you,” she said when I entered.

“I’m fine. I’m in no danger in my own home,” I said as I went over to sit next to her on my bed.

A few heartbeats passed before she said, “The Ilionians have arrived.”

“I know. Mother said the selection will still take place in two days even though they are early. They sent a messenger saying that they will have a feast tomorrow evening to celebrate Lykaon and the betrothal.” Much as I wished for a painful death for all Ilionians, I didn’t mind the extra opportunity to eat their food.

Even if they did mean it as an insult.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just marry the prince?” she asked. “If you were the princess of Ilion, then you could look for the eye as much as you wanted.”

The princess of Ilion. That thought made me feel physically ill. “Only the priestesses and the acolytes are allowed in the temple.”

When I wasn’t training, I had gotten two or three members of the regiment to go down with me to the docks to badger the incoming traders for information. It was how I had been able to construct the model of the capital city of Ilion. The traders had also warned me that there was one way to gain entry to the temple.

The selection was my only chance.

“Are you concerned that there will be repercussions from you not marrying the prince?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I am not a woman men would go to war for. I am no Menelaia.”

“Who?” she asked.

“She was the most beautiful woman in the world, who ran away with her lover and started the Great War,” I said. I wasn’t surprised that Quynh didn’t remember the name. It was usually not spoken in Locris, as her selfish actions had caused us so much pain and loss. “Regardless, I still have the right to choose whether or not I’ll wed. And how can the prince be angry? I’ll be in his kingdom, serving in his goddess’s temple. He can be upset at the goddess if he would like. That won’t turn out well for him, though.”

“You know how some men are. He might be vain and proud. He might wage war on our family for damaging his pride.”

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