Mother hummed her favorite lullaby, a morose melody about Gaea’s grief over her monstrous children, trapped in the underworld. The infant suckled at Mama’s breast while the matron worked to stem the blood dripping to the floor. Mother finished the lullaby, then laid her head back and shut her eyes. The newborn drifted off in her arms, and they both fell silent.
“Mama?” I asked.
Acraea touched my mother’s shoulder and listened for her breathing. The matron raised her bloody hands and swiped at her forehead with the back of one, waiting. After an eternity, Acraea bowed her head.
“Gaea, receive thy daughter,” she said, her voice breaking.
Matron Prosymna prayed as well. “Gaea, welcome Stavra beyond the gates of the sun and into the land of dreams.”
Tears brimmed in my eyes. How peaceful my mother appeared, like she could have been sleeping—but she was too empty looking, too still.
Matron Prosymna opened the window to let in air. Leaving the infant with her mother, the vestals mopped the floor with rags.
“She was too pretty,” said Acraea.
“She should have worn her velo,” replied another vestal.
Matron Prosymna nodded gravely. “This is what happens when a woman isn’t careful.”
I balled my hands into fists. “My mama did nothing wrong! The Almighty did this. He and his bastard.”
“Shh,” said the matron. “You’ll wake the baby.”
The infant slept despite the death around her. She was small and fragile now, but she would grow into her birthright. She was an atrocity—half human, half Titan.
Fully a monster.
I scooped her up and ran to the open window. Once there, I didn’t know what to do. I only knew that Mama was dead and someone had to pay.
“Put the baby down, Althea,” said the matron.
“She killed my mama!”
Matron Prosymna lifted her hands, still stained with my mother’s blood. “Stavra is at rest. Let her soul go to the gods in peace.”
“The gods don’t care what becomes of her soul,” I said. “Every day, we prayed for her safe return, yet she’s gone.”
“Goddess forgive your insolence,” the matron hissed. “Quit this ridiculousness and hand over the baby.”
“The world needs one less Titan,” I replied.
“She’s an innocent.” The matron patted her chest, over her heart. “What will you do to honor your mother’s memory? Will you care for your sisters—all of your sisters? Or will you break your promise to Stavra before her body has gone cold?”
I glanced at my mother’s body, then out the second-story window. The babe slept fast, her ignorance unfathomable. Didn’t she know everything was ruined? Didn’t she know that Mama—our mama, my mama—was never coming back?
“Who will teach her about your mother?” the matron pressed, gradually crossing the chamber to us. “Who will tell her how brave and strong your mother was?”
The newborn stirred a little and squeaked, like a bunny.
Matron Prosymna paused, just out of arm’s reach. “The babe isn’t your adversary, Althea. She’s your sister. Your family.”
I eyed the baby more closely. Her nose was too large for her face. I often complained about the size of my own nose. Bronte and Cleora liked to tease me about its width. The baby’s nose was the same shape and had the same proportions as mine. She might have been half Titan, but she was also half mortal.
Half my blood.
Half me.
“You should name her,” said the matron.
“Name her?”
“Yes, child. She needs a name.”
None of the Titan spawn sired by the Almighty deserved a name. Still, I wondered what my mother might have called her.
Footsteps pounded in the corridor. The door swung open, and three soldiers barged in. The one in the lead—a man with a long, angled face like a rat’s—spotted my mother lifeless on the bed, then swung his attention to me.
“Hand over the baby,” he said.
The matron stepped in front of us. “She belongs with her family. No one need know she survived. I swear on Gaea’s boundless name, none of us will tell a soul.”
Ratface stepped closer, swinging his meaty shoulders and gripping his sword. “Save your promises, matron. The babe comes with us.”
“You condemn her to death,” she replied. “The God of Gods will end her as he has all his children.”
“It isn’t for us to question the Almighty’s will.” He shoved the matron out of his way and prowled toward me.
My mother’s words cut through my mind. Protect your sisters.
I lunged out the open window onto the ledge. Ratface’s long arms swiped at me. Light on my toes, I scurried along the sloped rooftop as he climbed out after me.
Holding the newborn tighter, I edged around the corner of the roofline. The courtyard stables ran parallel to the temple. The ledge ahead ended at a gap between two peaks. Unafraid of heights, I stepped across. My ankle turned on a loose roof tile, and I wobbled backward. My bottom hit the sloped roof, and I slid. Air whooshed around me as I landed in a pile of hay.
The baby groused in my arms. I hushed and rocked her.
Bronte and Cleora leaned out the gynaeceum window on the second floor and gaped at me. Ratface searched for a safe path down from the roof. I wriggled out of the hay to the ground, my ankle aching as I limped toward the front gates.
A soldier emerged from the shadows. He was bigger than the others, with a shaven face and wavy dark-brown hair that hung down his back. I paused, waiting for him to draw his sword. His brow pinched.
“Angelos, secure the baby!” Ratface yelled.
The soldier in my way started for me. “Give me the baby and I’ll see that you’re safe.”
“No,” I argued.
Angelos opened his arms to take the baby. I jerked away, jostling her awake. Though her eyes were closed, she began to wail. He grabbed for her again. I kicked him in the kneecap and sped past him.
“Run!” Bronte and Cleora shouted in chorus.
I rushed the gates. Two soldiers with swords drawn hurried out of the temple and blocked my pathway.
Ratface gave up on descending the roof and started back through the window. “Get me the baby!” he ordered, then disappeared inside.
The soldiers blocking the front gates prowled forward. I whirled around to find Angelos behind me.
He opened his arms for the infant, his expression solemn. His voice matched his sympathetic eyes. “You must let her go.”
The babe howled.
Another soldier reached around me from behind and tried to wrestle her from my grasp. I held on as tightly as possible without hurting her, but he wrenched her away. I beat my fists against his back.
“Let her go!” I cried.
He pushed me hard. My sore ankle turned on its side again, this time with a popping noise, and I fell to the ground in pain.
Ratface stormed out of the temple and saw they had secured their prize. He whistled, and the soldiers mounted up, except Angelos, who lingered beside me. He extended his hand to help me up, but I pushed to my feet, my ankle aching fiercely.
The newborn wailed and wailed.
“She’s my sister,” I pleaded.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.