The shackles were removed. Rhene had no power to resist, and the priests knew it. Her inability to shuffle a single step forward on her own further eliminated the need for protective measures. Spots of black fuzzed her vision as tainted snow while every movement rippled with dizzying echoes of itself into a kaleidoscopic tunnel. The blurring of a sea of a white-clothed audience stuffed enough recognition into Rhene’s struggling focus. White. The color of mourning. 

White was the altar. So pure in its cut, in fact, that Rhene wondered if it’d been carved and placed specifically for her. Her head lulled in a circle as the priests hoisted her upon the stone, so Rhene appreciated the unforgiving surface keeping her steady. The ceiling was too far to make out. Even Nelephyrus’s face rose beyond her. Rhene dully stared at the bend of his knees instead. Her body ached with voracious urge to close her eyes, but wisps of will warned her lashes wouldn’t have the strength to open again if she did. 

The common priests stood off to the side at each end of the altar. The head priest began a chanting prayer as the priestesses wandered the room with more sticks of incense. Someone sneezed. Rhene almost wanted to laugh. If only she could. Her blood barely flowed, and chill quivered a body that couldn’t sense how cold it’d become. Time dilated, and Rhene blinked slow, slow, slow before finally recognizing Aetion shifted into place next to her. He ignored the priest praying and connected their stares of matching hue. His stare held no more luster than hers. 

“What did you drink?” Rhene spoke. She’d just sense enough to know she whispered and likely slurred. 

“Something to numb my emotions. I’d chosen to reject the drink that I should face my actions without a shield to hide behind. Then you looked at me, and I became a coward...” Aetion divulged softly. 

“A family trait then.” 

“Orius must not have gotten what he wanted from seeing you.” Aetion swallowed hard. “What are you thinking right now?” 

Rhene searched past the collage of color that was the ceiling to land her stare beyond reality. The sting of bittersweetness crinkled the corners of her eyes. “I wish I’d had a few more days. You said you’d help me choose my own horse and we could go riding together. I wanted to braid my sisters’ hair and chase them in the surf as we spent afternoons at the beach. I wanted Orius to teach me a little of the sword, even if I was so bad that he’d have to laugh at me. I wanted to...” 

“Yes?” Aetion prompted. 

“I wanted to hold Sebasteia at least once.” Much sweet collapsed under the weight of the bitter. A pained smile twitched her lips as what last few tears her body could produce tickled her rims. “I was disgustingly jealous of my younger sister Maia getting married and having a child of her own, even though she almost died in labor. I held Amiantos and secretly wished that he were mine.” Three warm tears ran down to her ears. “I wanted to be a mater. I think I would have been a good one.” 

Aetion pressed a few of his fingers against hers. How much affection and regret spread across his face for the one to soon steal everything from her. He could barely speak, “You would have been a wonderful mater.” 

That comforted her. Perhaps it shouldn’t have, but it put imaginings of her dearest dream in a mind eager to withdraw in fighting the tidal surge of painful consciousness. Why should she await the sight of the knife? Why should she spend her last breaths fearful? Rhene shouldn’t. She closed her eyes, and bliss was instant. The head priest’s final words of prayer echoed into nothingness while Aetion removing the touch of his warm fingers left no abandoning freeze. There was darkness. There was silence. There was a peace that left her unflinching even as the priests grabbed her shoulders and arms to steady her for the soon aimed blow. 

Rhene forgot that it was to happen at all. So deeply, so fully the bliss swept her away that she already stopped recognizing her existence. In a pervasively empty void, she floated. Time ceased to be while yet passing in eons. In that impossible instant then is when Rhene was reborn. A forced crack wiggled her from her drugged stupor, in truth, but for the abrupt return of self, body, touch, and sight she knew no difference. What had given her new breath was wind. Wind, wind—a veritable cyclone of wrath slamming those sitting to the ground. Covering themselves from flying debris, their cries were no match for the wrathful shriek of the storm. 

Rhene’s cracked sight saw Haidee over her. The words were heard but not comprehended. Rhene’s stare lazily flicked around watching without curiosity the flying bags of gifted gold, broken sticks of incense, and several lost himations rolling and dipping as manic specters. The priests no longer held her down. Rhene couldn’t see Aetion. What she did see was the kri-kri. The same unusual, stag-like form of the goat stood with legs out and head dipped low and furious as the provoking eye of the storm. Those words of Haidee’s Rhene couldn’t grasp shifted the kri-kri closer to them where Rhene’s world tumbled over itself several times. In one of those times, Orius—shouting—fought fruitlessly to push through the wall of wind shoving him back. 

Existence faded away again soon after that. Rhene was thrust onto the kri-kri's back where she instinctively buried her fingers into the smooth though gently scraggly hair of its neck. Haidee scrambled upon the altar to leap behind her, providing a needed support to keep Rhene from falling off when the kri-kri charged through the front doors—blasted open and on the ground. They rose to the sky. That was when Rhene’s weary lashes linked a second time for everything to fade. 

She had no knowledge of it, but Rhene remained beyond consciousness for a time far longer than the first. Tauntings of reality broke through the black in bits and pieces only to fade without memory. The shade of a mountain and thick crown of linked trees encapsulated Haidee hovering over her once more in gloomy shadow. Then Rhene was on her side, acrid taste curling her tongue as her abdomen convulsed and throat stung. Next came coughs before cool water wet her mouth. Warm broth with sweet herbs followed. A kind hand stroked her hair. A large, warm back provided her cheek a comfy spot to rest as the sliding of golden sunlight revealed movement. The slight bite of night air, the dirt-scented mist of rain, the relentless chirp of early birds—Rhene eventually came to recall those. 

“Rhene? Can you hear me?” Haidee’s caring call beckoned Rhene’s first proper return to the world though. An alcove in the side of a foothill doing its best to be a humble cave offered a semblance of walls and roof against a foggy morning. Blankets and a bedroll cushioned Rhene against the cold stone, but her head rest upon Haidee’s thigh anyway. 

“I...I hear you,” Rhene wheezed. That Haidee was with her made sense. Past that, Rhene struggled to recall anything. 

“I’m glad,” Haidee smiled yet cried, placing a kiss on Rhene’s clammy forehead. The connecting touch was what brought forth enough sensation for her to recognize the chill, so that Haidee tucked the blankets tighter around her escaped a sigh of relief from Rhene’s lips. “I wasn’t sure what they’d given you, which made me fearful we were still too late.” 

“...Am I to know what you were late for?” Rhene cringed. Haidee’s brown eyes of beautiful light hue were dark with emotions Rhene couldn’t discern. The roil of feelings kept Haidee silent. Not wanting to prompt, Rhene stretched deeper breaths through lungs reluctant to loosen and wiggles to stiff fingers and toes. 

“The other slaves...” Haidee finally mumbled, “they saw how well you treated me. I’m sure they thought getting along with me might earn them the same privilege. They showed me the hidden hallway in the temple wall for slaves to watch for orders from their masters. Instead of watching a beautiful ceremony, I saw...you drinking that poison. I heard their plan to sacrifice you.” 

“Nng!” Rhene squeezed her eyes tight. No bliss took hold this time, but a daggering split shooting from the right side of her skull to the left as Haidee’s words unlocked memory. That was...right. Rhene recalled Jocasta coming to her room, everyone preparing with white clothes, and Aetion leading her before the altar. The awful taste of the potion returned to her tongue while the cold admittance Orius revealed further curled Rhene in her blankets. “I-I...!” About to fall to despair, confusion halted the plummet. “I don’t remember much after Orius left the back room. I spoke a little with Aetion before...before...wind?” Rhene’s face scrunched. “A lot of wind? And the kri-kri from before? No, that can’t be right...” 

“It is right,” Haidee confirmed. Rhene pulling a face graced Haidee with what laughter could be had. “The kri-kri was quite upset Orius used the debt it owed to pull off such a deceitful trick.” 

“How did it know what was going on? Last I saw it, we left it far behind near Tylasus.” 

“Well...” Haidee scratched her cheek. “I do not claim that as my right to tell.” 

“What?” 

“You look like death, Rhene,” Haidee abruptly switched topics with a mothering brow raise. “You were to die, so how the poison affected you past that half hour wasn’t a concern for the priests, I’m sure. I’ll get you some more water and broth to build your strength up.” 

Rhene had no energy to protest. Throat burning for drink and stomach gurgling for sustenance, she greedily tracked Haidee moving about the small camp preparing both. The sharp headache subsided when her whining body was satiated. Before Rhene could push Haidee about the goat’s reappearance, someone else arriving in the alcove distracted her once more. 

“Evelthon?” Rhene gasped as he emerged from the mist. He blinked fast, licked his lips, and gawked at her as much as she gawked at him. Rhene’s tongue dried finding a bandage around his left calf and a thicker one binding his right shoulder. He moved closer, depositing a hunted rabbit by the low fire, as if neither bothered him. “I thought you left.” 

“I left the household, but I needed supplies. Haidee happened upon me, and I...I was able to help get you out.” 

“I don’t remember seeing you,” Rhene rubbed her temple, but she smiled reassuringly at his flinch. “I thank you. I hope to hear the injuries weren’t from the fight, but...” 

“I heal quickly,” Evelthon shook his head. “Please do not worry.” 

“I don’t think abstaining from worrying is possible anymore...” 

A dry mumble. Her statement known to not simply be of Evelthon’s injuries, everyone stayed their tongue for a while. Evelthon skinned and cleaned the rabbit before cooking what meat it had over the fire with roots and wild grains. Haidee passed around three figs to round out the meal, taking care to pet Rhene’s hair or hold her shoulders when shaking fits reared up whenever Rhene so much as turned her head a tad too fast. The waterskin also drained quickly. 

“I’ll refill it,” Haidee volunteered. 

She slipped off after promising the spring was not far. Rhene propped her back against the wall yet recoiled away from its frigid jab. Evelthon, seeing her shaking form, moved over and, with gentle blushes from them both, silently permitted his left shoulder for her to curl upon. Rhene exhaled gratefully. When that emotion faded... 

“I don’t know what to think about everything,” she whispered. 

“I’d be more concerned if you did. We upended your life only for less than an hour to eviscerate any stability you’d fought to find since. I’m sorry I played as big a role as I did. I truly did not know...” 

“I can see that you are truthful, and I don’t blame you.” 

Evelthon didn’t respond. Rhene, again, gave leniency from prodding about emotions clearly overburdening, although she unintentionally proved a nuisance regardless. The stray straggles of Evelthon’s hair clung to his forehead from the humidity. Rhene softly brushed a few of them clear. Evelthon batted back her touch with a heavy scowl. However, he reacted to the moment far faster than she. 

“I apologize,” he groaned, palm hiding half his face. “I am weary. I’ve been on edge this past day as you slept. Orius’s betrayal and my guilt are one thing, but...there are also personal pains this matter has brought to the surface. I don’t know how I should deal with them.” 

“We’ll both make sense of our messes together then. I,” Rhene stared at her feet, tapping her toes together, “am merely trying to ignore mine for now.” 

“It is not entirely unwise to do so. I’ve managed to get us a decent distance from Myrcaea, yet we remain thick in Samatis where Aetion has great influence and resources. I don’t know if he’ll choose to come after us or resort to using one of your sisters...” Evelthon trailed off grimly, and Rhene’s stomach lurched at the thought of any of those children on the altar. “I think it safer to assume someone is coming for us. The plan might be obvious, but Haidee and I felt it best to return you to Astagoria and your family.” 

“That is what I hoped. I want very much to go home.” 

“Then I’ll see you there, as promised,” Evelthon nodded, an encouraging grin brightening his face. It brightened Rhene’s heart. Their eyes locked, and it squirmed her chest harder with delighted heat. For all the chaos consuming her life, to have those comforting eyes of darkest brown... 

“Hmn?” 

“What?” Evelthon wondered. 

“Your eyes.” 

“Uh,” he squinted, “what of them?” 

“I’ve thought them a stunning brown shade,” Rhene spoke without shame, barely acknowledging Evelthon’s flustering grunt, “but now, seeing them again at such close distance, perhaps they seem so unique because the whites of your eyes are...” 

Rhene’s mother had indeed told her, Perdix, Maia, and Cilissa many tales on their bored nights before sleep. Most centered around the dramas of the gods and their interactions with mortals. In one story, a human woman discovered the nature of her secretly divine lover from a particular trait. Hollow became Rhene’s core recalling the tale, recalling how Evelthon hid after the bear attack, and catching the nervous glint in his eyes where the whites were far too white. As if no red blood flowed throughout them. 

“H-Hey!” Evelthon cried as, with one hearty tug, Rhene undid the knot of the bandage on his leg. It bore a long though thin slice. More important to her at the moment, however, was how the wound was not a flare of warm-hued scabbing but one of glorious silver with flecks of rainbow so brilliantly illuminated by the fire that Rhene could scarcely see its beauty and think it blood at all. Blood it was though, and blood borne by only one type of people. Evelthon gasped another groan as Rhene clutched the front of his chiton. 

“Are you a god!?”