preparing herself for it. But no one at Isaura was a servant. No one in the grove wore an amulet exposing who they were beholden to. Their arms were bare, sun-kissed, brawny, strong. They were their own masters, knowing they had to labor in order to eat, to survive.
Evadne moved as if she were underwater.
She extended her arm, waiting.
She did not watch as he brought the silver band about her upper arm, welding it snugly in place, Straton’s crest dangling from it. She distracted herself with thoughts of Halcyon, wondering where her sister was at the moment. They would be traveling the same direction; the common quarry was on the outskirts of Mithra, Evadne’s destination. For the next five years, there would only be a matter of miles between the sisters. Miles that would be impossible to cross.
Although . . . perhaps in time, Evadne could.
Perhaps she might fly there.
As she followed Straton from the silversmith’s shop, the amulet glittering on her arm, Evadne plotted how to earn the family’s trust. If she appeared humble and honored them, perhaps they would come to trust her just enough to grant her a visit to the quarry.
It was an improbable fancy, but it gave her a burst of hope and energy as she trailed the commander back through the market. She relented to look down at the amulet. Straton’s crest was of a sword. One side of the blade boasted a full moon, a tribute to Ari. The other side was etched with a sun, a tribute to Magda. Both sun and moon goddess blood in their family.
No wonder one of Straton’s children had inherited magic. The divine ran deep in their blood.
He led Evadne through a second market. Merchants haggled at their stalls, and a long line flowed toward a baker’s booth. The sweet aroma of cakes mingled with the stench of fish and donkeys and heated iron, and Evadne’s eyes watered. She missed the loamy aura of the grove.
At last, they passed through an iron gate and arrived at a private courtyard, hedged by tall white walls adorned with a flowering vine. A group of people were gathered here, with horses and wagons. Evadne came to a stop when she realized this was the commander’s family and their servants, preparing to depart Abacus. Her face flushed when she drew their eyes and felt the pointedness of their stares.
She was not welcome among them.
And she did not know where to go, what she should be doing, so she merely watched as Straton approached his wife the healer, who was regarding Evadne with a cold gaze. He bent to whisper something in the lady’s ear, her blond hair stirring with his breath, and Evadne looked away, her eyes settling on their daughter. The girl was dressed in another beautiful chiton with a silver band winking on her brow.
She sat on a gray mare, returning Evadne’s stare unflinchingly. Until her brother, Damon, nudged his bay stallion up to her side.
The mage was the only one in the entire courtyard who did not look at Evadne. It was like she did not exist in his world, and it made her feel odd, off-balance. Just hours ago, he had sent a nightingale to her window. He had held her hand and cloaked her with his enchantment.
And now it was as if she were still unseen to him.
She watched him speak to his sister, his conversation drawing the girl’s attention.
Evadne, at last, felt like she could breathe, and she looked at the ground, the safest place to gaze.
“This is Evadne of Isaura,” Straton announced. “I believe all of us are aware of the arrangement she made with the archon yesterday, to take her sister’s place in serving my household for the next five years.”
Look up, Evadne told herself. Do not be afraid. Look up and meet their eyes.
She did, only to find scowls and disgust imprinted on the other servants’ faces. Each of their left arms bore an amulet, the same as hers. And yet she had never felt more alienated and alone.
The longing for Isaura, for her parents, for her family crashed through her, so fiercely that it stole her breath.
Do not think of them, she ordered herself. But the ache in Evadne’s chest was almost obliterating.
“She is to be treated as an equal among you,” Straton was saying to his servants, who glanced at him with pleading, desperate expressions. “She is beneath my protection, and I do not want to hear of anything ill