Hades’ Daughter. Book One of the Troy Game by Sara Douglass

He hiccuped, now far more than half drunk, and grinned at the memory of his day. Then he leaned forward, partly to pass the flask to Membricus, partly to lay a hand on Membricus’ warm thigh. “She showed me a beautiful woman in this land, my friend. Very, very beautiful. Breasts like globes, legs begging to be parted, a belly just waiting to be filled.”

Membricus grunted, unimpressed, and brushed away Brutus’ hand. “You sound like nothing more than a bragging youth, Brutus. A fit mate for Cornelia, I must say.”

Angry, Brutus grabbed the flask back from Membricus—who still hadn’t drunk of it—then leaned back, taking a massive swallow of the wine. “You’re jealous, Membricus. You’d rather I stuck my thing in you than in a woman.”

Membricus flushed. “No!”

One of the men rolled in a blanket nearby half rose, and mumbled a curse at him, and Membricus continued in a softer voice.

‘No, Brutus, although you know how greatly I treasure my memories of those days when you desired me.”

Brutus snorted. “I desired you ? You were the one to come creeping into my bed when I was but thirteen, if I remember aright. All sweet whispers and warm hands.”

‘And you as recipient as any virgin grateful to lose his untouched state!”

Brutus put down the flask of wine, his drunkenness sloughing off him like an unwanted cloak. “What is it, Membricus,” he said softly. “What troubles you truly?”

Membricus took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and calmed himself. “Artemis,” he said, opening his eyes back to Brutus’ regard. “She has troubled me since she first graced you with her presence.”

Brutus made an impatient gesture, as if he still thought this part of Membricus’ jealousy.

‘No, Brutus, hear me out. I say again, as I have said previously, that I cannot understand how Artemis has suddenly so much power, so much vitality, when for generations our gods have faded in power and influence. I cannot think her who she truly says she—”

‘If she gives me all that she has promised me, then she is enough for me, Membricus.” Brutus picked up the wine and swallowed another long draught.

Membricus watched him in silence for a long moment. “Who is she, Brutus?”

‘All that I need.”

Membricus repressed a sigh, deeply unhappy that Brutus did not seem to care that Artemis might not truly be the goddess at all. I pray to whatever gods are left , he thought, keeping his facial expression neutral, that Brutus knows what he is doing and that he is not allowing his ambition and his pride and his damned lust do all the thinking for him .

‘There is more,” he said softly.

‘And why am I not surprised to hear that?” Brutus said.

‘Brutus, you recognize my ability as a seer, if nothing else.” He paused. “Yes?”

Brutus nodded, the movement ungracious.

‘Then listen to me now. I keep seeing a knife, a great dark dangerous thing with a haft of twisted bone, as if two horns were entwined. I see blood. I see the death of dreams. I see Cornelia.”

Brutus gave an exaggerated groan, and rubbed at his eyes wearily with one hand. “She does not have a twisted bone-handled knife secreted anywhere about her person, Membricus.”

‘She will be your death. She will be everyone’s death.”

‘She has failed most miserably at being ‘everyone’s death.’ She’s effectively harmless, Membricus.”

‘No woman is ever harmless!”

Brutus shot Membricus a black look. “Is any of this true seer prophecy, or just your usual malice regarding women? You hate them all for the ability to draw men to their beds like bees to a honey pot.

Membricus, I am tired of your prating about the treacheries of women. And a knife, for the gods’ sakes, even one with a twisted bone handle! Can you not come up with something more dramatic? More compelling? Ah! This has nothing to do with Artemis or prophecy or vague threats of darkness and death. This is just about you and me, Membricus, and I am most heartily sick of it!”

‘This has nothing to do with women, Brutus! It has everything to do with my abilities as a seer, with my position at your side as an adviser, and as your friend , Brutus. Not your once-and-forever-jealous lover, but as your friend, who cares for you.”

Brutus sighed, then leaned an arm across the railing of the ship, gazing across the water to where the rest of the fleet lay at anchor. He sat there a long while, then, finally, he rose and handed the flask of wine to Membricus.

‘How can you question what we do,” Brutus said, “and where we go? Do you want to spend another fifteen years wandering purposeless? Another fifteen years living from hand to mouth with no pride? No, of course not. Now, perhaps I will cast Aethylla from her place at Cornelia’s side and rest there myself.”

And with that he was off, stepping between the sleepers toward the aft deck.

Membricus lowered his head into his hands, wondering how he could have allowed his warning to be so misinterpreted. These two women, Cornelia and “Artemis,” had both trapped Brutus, each in their own, different ways.

After a while he lifted the flask of wine to his mouth, and drank of it deeply.

He did not sleep all night.

CbAPGGR FOUR C«»t ENVISSA WAS DELIGHTED AT HOW WELL BRUTUS had received and honored her, but her mind was increasingly consumed with Mag’s vexatious disappearance. Mag was an irritating loose end when Genvissa wanted no loose ends at all.

Mag should not have been able to escape… let alone conceal herself so well.

Damn Mag!

How could she have vanished so effectively ?

Genvissa was very tempted to believe that Mag was dead, that she hadn’t vanished so much as winked out of existence. However seductive and comforting that theory, Genvissa knew it wasn’t correct.

She hadn’t felt Mag’s death, and had it occurred then she would have done.

No. Mag was alive somewhere. Hiding. The fact that Genvissa could not scry out the where of that hiding was as effective as Mag dealing her a sharp slap in the face.

Then there was the question of what Mag was doing while she had secreted herself away.

‘Nothing,” Genvissa whispered to herself as she sat before the central hearth in her house, sipping the broth that her middle daughter had brought her for her morning meal. “There is nothing she can do.” There was nothing anyone could do. Asterion was too far away and hopelessly weak; Mag and Og had been crippled and Og would soon be dead (as would Mag once Genvissa got her hands on the silly witch); all the ancient gods of the Aegean were dead or so close to it that collectively they were less nuisance than a single three-legged and blind house rat.

There was nothing anyone could do to stop her now.

Nevertheless, Genvissa felt on edge. Perhaps it was that girl, Cornelia.

She’d hoped that Brutus would have slit her throat once he discovered her part in the Mesopotamian revolt. But he hadn’t, and Genvissa supposed that, like all men, he was hopelessly enamored of the son she was carrying.

Well, the girl couldn’t hide behind her belly for the rest of her life. Once that child was born… then Cornelia could be disposed of.

Genvissa sighed, and rubbed at her eyes. Why was she troubled by such inconsequentials as Mag and Cornelia? “Mother?”

Genvissa glanced up at her daughter, standing a few paces away looking puzzled. She was a lovely girl, this middle daughter, all creamy skin and gentle spirit, and Genvissa loved her dearly.

‘Ah, sweet, I am but muttering away my lack of sleep. Or perhaps I have succumbed to a passing feeblemindedness.”

The girl laughed, and Genvissa smiled with her. “This broth is better than any I could have made. I thank you for it.”

‘My sisters have run to help the Gormagog hunt out the red-lipped mushroom for the frenzy wine, Mother. May I—”

‘Of course, love. Go and catch them up. It would be best in any case, for I will need my solitude this morning.”

The girl grinned, made a hasty bow of respect toward her mother, then was off out the door.

Genvissa smiled as she finished her broth, thinking dreamy thoughts of the daughters she had borne, and the one she was yet to bear, and by the time she was ready to begin her morning’s labor, she was in a more cheerful frame of mind.

Her task required much thought, and some delicate spell-weaving, but once she was done Genvissa’s good mood had only increased.

Time to set in motion those events that would bring Blangan home.

LOCRINIA LAY STILL AND QUIET UNDER THE CLOUDED night sky. It was warm, and the city’s citizens had left doors and windows open to catch any passing breeze that might lift off the bay or the vast seas beyond it.