I opened the door to three men in city guard uniforms.
The first one smiled at me like we were about to go on a fun road trip together instead of a forced march to my probable death. "Hecate, right? I'm Chrestos. We'll be escorting you to Silesia." He gestured to the others. "This is Ailomisos and Pammon."
Ailomisos looked like someone had carved him out of a particularly grumpy boulder. Broad shoulders, arms thick and bouldery, and a face that suggested he'd never smiled in his life and wasn't about to start now, also like a boulder. He gave me a single nod, then looked away.
Pammon was younger, maybe mid-twenties, and had the vibe of someone who'd rather be literally anywhere else. His eyes stayed glued to the ground, hands clasped behind his back like he was afraid they'd do something embarrassing if he let them loose.
Chrestos, though? Chrestos kept that friendly smile going like he was genuinely thrilled to be here. "We'll keep you safe on the road. Don't worry."
Safe. Right. Safe until Silesia, and then get burned alive right away I bet.
My father stepped forward and pressed a small leather pouch into my hand. Coins, probably. "For the road," he said quietly.
I wanted to say something meaningful, something he'd remember, but my throat had decided to stop working. So I just nodded.
My mother stood behind him, arms folded, looking about as emotional as a statue. "Remember what I told you."
Another nod. If I tried to speak I'd probably start crying, and that seemed like a bad way to start a death march.
Phisto, however, seemed as cheerful as ever. "Lovely morning for a forced march into certain death, isn't it?"
I'd almost forgotten he was annoying now. "Shut up, Phisto. And it's noon."
Chrestos raised an eyebrow. "Talking to your cat?"
"He's chatty," I replied. "A chatty catty."
I was mortified. Why did I say that? Was it the nerves? Had the events of the past couple of days finally shattered my mind?
No. No, that couldn't be right. I hadn't lost my mind. This was clearly a trauma response. A perfectly reasonable reaction to watching my best friend get executed and being exiled to a country that wanted me dead. If anything, the fact that I was still forming sentences at all was impressive. Most people would've collapsed into a blubbering mess by now. "Chatty catty" was basically eloquence under the circumstances.
Yes. That made sense. I was doing great, actually.
"Ah." Chrestos didn't push it, which I appreciated. "Well, we should get moving. Long road ahead."
My father pulled me into one last hug. Tight enough that I wondered if he was trying to break every single one of my ribs as a parting gift. Then he let go and stepped back, and I could see he was holding it together about as well as I was, which is to say: barely.
My mother just looked at me. No hug, no tears, no last-minute emotional breakdown. Just that steady, unreadable gaze that somehow said don't die and I'm proud of you and you're an idiot all at once.
Then she turned and walked back inside.
That was it. That was goodbye.
***
We walked in silence for the first hour, which was fine because I had absolutely nothing to say. The city gates fell behind us, then the outer farms, then the last of the olive groves. After that it was just road and hills and sky and the fun knowledge that I was walking toward my death.
Chrestos walked beside me, looking way too relaxed for someone escorting a convicted criminal. "Your mother's terrifying, you know that?"
I glanced at him. "Yeah. I'm aware."
"Saw her kill two men once," he said, like he was commenting on the weather. "Just a word. Didn't even raise her voice. They dropped like stones." He shook his head, almost impressed. "Respect, honestly. That kind of power? Most people would abuse it. She doesn't."
I didn't know what to say to that. Thanks, my mother's great at murder? Didn't seem like the right tone. Especially not since I, too, was apparently great at murder now. Which was why we were here in the first place.
"Shame about Menandros," Chrestos went on, which—okay, was not where I thought this conversation was going. "No one liked him, if I'm being honest. Bully. Coward. The kind of guy who'd shove someone down the stairs for fun." He glanced at me. "I heard he had it coming."
Was this a test? Was he trying to get me to confess? Should I lie? Agree? Change the subject to something less did you murder the Archon's son?
"I heard he tried to force himself on you," Chrestos said, voice dropping. "That true?"
Oh. Oh, that's what he thought happened. That made sense. Everyone probably thought that. But that would make me look weak. I had to say something cold blooded in case one of the escorts was thinking about taking me out.
"No," I said, "I just didn't like his face."
Nailed it.
Chrestos gave a good-natured chuckle and held up his hands. "Hey, no judgment here. Some people are just better without their heads attached, right? Don't worry, I'll make sure to stay on your good side."
"Probably a good idea," I agreed.
Ailomisos, walking a few paces ahead, grunted. "We don't get paid to have opinions."
"We get paid to escort her," Chrestos shot back. "Not to pretend she's a monster."
Ailomisos didn't answer, just kept walking.
Phisto trotted ahead, weaving between Ailomisos's legs like he was deliberately trying to annoy him. Ailomisos stopped. Glared down at him, then kicked.
Phisto dodged, hissing. "Fuck this guy!"
I stepped forward. "Hey!"
Ailomisos turned, face completely blank. "Keep your cat under control."
"He wasn't doing anything!"
"Don't care."
Chrestos moved between us, hands up. "Alright, alright. No need for drama. Ailomisos, maybe don't kick the cat."
Ailomisos grunted and kept walking.
Phisto trotted back to me. "I'm telling you right now, that guy's evil."
I nodded. "You'd have to be a psychopath to kick a cat."
Unless he could hear Phisto. Then I could understand why he'd want to kick him.
Chrestos gave me an apologetic look. "He's not a people person. Or a cat person, apparently. But he's good at his job."
I glanced ahead at Ailomisos's broad back. This man took escorting me to my death very seriously. He hated cats. He would be the most obvious one to try and kill me in my sleep.
"Don't worry," Chrestos said, patting my shoulder. "We'll get you to Silesia safe. I promise."
Something about the way he said it—so earnest, so genuine—made me want to believe him.
Maybe they weren't all bad. Maybe I was just being paranoid because the last couple of days of my life had been a non-stop nightmare.
Maybe it was fine. (It was definitely not fine, but a girl could hope.)
***
By the time the sun started dipping, we'd covered what felt like a thousand miles, but it was probably closer to twenty. My legs ached. My feet hurt. I was starting to think that they wouldn't have to kill me at all—exhaustion would get me.
A small inn appeared on the horizon, and I had the wild, optimistic thought that maybe I wouldn't die today after all.
Chrestos pointed. "We'll stop there for the night."
Ailomisos grunted, which I'd learned was his way of saying yes or no.
Pammon actually spoke for the first time in hours. "Thank the gods. I'm starving."
The inn was warm inside, smelling of bread and roasted meat. The innkeeper barely looked at us before nodding toward the stairs. "Rooms are upstairs. Two drachma each."
Chrestos paid, then turned to me. "You should have your own room. Long journey tomorrow. You'll need rest."
I blinked. "You sure?"
"Yeah. We'll bunk together. One of us will guard your door through the night, rotating shifts. Just in case." He smiled. "You're safe with us."
Ailomisos grunted again.
Pammon nodded.
I stared at them. They were offering me privacy, protection, a chance to sleep without watching my back. Either they were genuinely nice, or this was the most obvious murder setup I'd ever heard of.
"Thank you," I said, because what else was I supposed to say? No thanks, I'll sleep in the hallway like a suspicious weirdo?
Chrestos waved it off. "It's nothing. Come on, let's get you settled."
The room was small. It had a bed, table, chair, and a window overlooking the road. I dropped my satchel on the floor. Phisto hopped onto the bed.
"This is a trap," he said flatly.
I sat on the edge of the bed. "They're going to try to kill me in my sleep, aren't they?"
"Yep."
Thought so. I pulled out my revolver and set it on the bedside table where I could reach it easily. Then I hid the second revolver under the blanket, just in case.
I flopped onto the bed, which was significantly less comfortable than it looked. "Go to sleep, Phisto."
He circled twice, kneading the blanket with his paws, then curled into a ball at the foot of the bed. "If you die tonight, I'm eating your face first. Just so you know."
"Noted. Appreciate the heads-up."
I stared at the ceiling, listening. I heard footsteps in the hall, and voices below. I heard the creak of floorboards as someone—Chrestos, probably—took position outside my door.
One of them was out there. Standing guard, just like he'd said.
Maybe I really was being paranoid. Maybe they were just doing their job. Maybe Chrestos was actually nice and Ailomisos was just a grumpy bastard who hated cats and I was overthinking everything because the last week had turned my brain into a suspicious mess.
Maybe it was fine.
I closed my eyes.
Phisto shifted closer, whiskers tickling my face. "Why are you sleeping? You know one of them's going to try something, right?"
"I'm only pretending," I whispered. "And I know."
"My money's on the cat-kicker."
"Mine too."
I let my hand rest on the hidden revolver, then curled my fingers around the grip. Just in case.
I was almost asleep when the door creaked open. Slowly, carefully, like someone was trying very, very hard not to wake me.