Brave the Tempest (Cassandra Palmer #9) - Karen Chance Page 0,194

hundred people running around, snapping to attention at her every word, including a whole phalanx of white-robed young women. And these weren’t the kids that were all that was left of the Pythian Court in my day, but a bunch of late teens to twentyish young women, each of whom had had more training and probably understood more about the Pythian power than I did.

I’d watched them in awe the few times I’d had a chance to take a break, gulping water or tea from the shadows as they swept about, looking elegant in their Pythian finery. I’d always thought the white lace, high-necked, long-sleeved dresses the court used to wear to be a little ridiculous, not to mention restrictive, in case you needed to fight. But now—

They just looked elegant, as did the acolytes’ perfectly upswept hair, their tasteful earrings that glittered under the great chandeliers, and their serene and confident movements. They’d been popping in and out with the passengers I’d brought back, whom they were ferrying to the train depot. Or reappearing from errands they’d run, stepping out of thin air in between one step and another, easily dodging the war mages and servants running around.

It had been breathtaking, eye-opening, and envy inducing, all at the same time. This was what the Pythian Court was supposed to be: a well-run machine capable of handling any problems, any challenges, with ease. This was what it always had been, for thousands of years.

Until me.

God, no wonder Jo had been laughing! She wouldn’t have dared to go up against a court like this! But mine . . . I’d never realized how truly vulnerable it was until today. With only a half-trained Pythia and a couple of acolytes, one of whom was little more than an initiate and couldn’t even shift yet, and another who should have been enjoying a well-earned retirement. And a bunch of children who were basically sitting ducks because I couldn’t protect them, not alone, not from all these new enemies that kept jumping out of the—

“You see my problem,” Gertie said, interrupting my thoughts. “I’m faced with a talented young Pythia, but who has little training and less help. And with quite a few challenges before her. Including a rogue acolyte—from another court, perhaps? Trying to undo Artemis’ spell and bring back the old gods?”

“You’re not supposed to know about that,” I said, annoyed, despite the fact that her memory being intact was one of the reasons I’d been able to persuade her to help me. “You said all of you would mind-wipe each other after what happened in Wales. You said—”

“Did I?”

“Damn it, Gertie! Do the others remember as well?”

Because that . . . would be bad. The big showdown in Wales that Jo and her allies had engineered had required an army to stop it. Specifically, an army of Pythias. It had broken every rule in the book, bringing what had looked like the entire line of Pythias together to try to channel enough power to literally take on a god.

And since that god was Ares, it hadn’t even worked. But it had bought time, with the Pythian power leashing and then holding him back from fully entering this world, long enough for us to pull out a win by the skin of our teeth. But goddamn, it had been close! I’d been grateful for the other Pythias then.

I was feeling less so now.

“If even one of them changes her mind about something because of what they saw—”

Gertie cut me off. “The others were mind-wiped, as agreed. I was the last, and was supposed to have had one of my acolytes handle it.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I thought you might need help. It seems I was right.”

It was said so calmly, and so insufferably, that for a moment, I just looked at her. And then I got up to leave, fighting a bit with the blankets first. Which is how she caught me before I hit the door, her hand surprisingly strong on my arm.

Or maybe I was just that weak.

“How much did you take?” she demanded again.

“None of your business!”

“You know it kills, yes? In high doses?”

I stopped with my hand on the doorknob.

“It didn’t kill me.”

“It almost did.” Her voice had gone flat and lost its warmth. “That seizure you had wasn’t caused by Chimera, which you somehow did correctly. It was caused by this.”

She held a bottle up to the light.

It was small, triangular, and, unlike every other potion I’d ever encountered,