Chapter 1

They locked me in the temple cellar to die in childbirth. They forgot one thing: my father is Hades, and the dead always come when I call.

I'm on the birthing stone. The contractions come faster, harder, ripping through me.

Alexios holds my hand. His eyes are soft. Wet, almost.

"Hold on, Lyra. Just a little longer. We're about to meet our child."

I'm drenched in sweat. I smile at him anyway.

Then the priestess walks in with a black clay cup, and the air fills with the bitter, sweet stink of poppy and something else, something older, something my mother once warned me about.

I think — thank the gods, it's the draught for the pain.

Alexios lets go of my hand. Steps back.

The priestess tips the cup to my lips. I'm so thirsty. I swallow without thinking.

The taste is wrong the moment it hits my tongue. Iron and ash and burnt laurel. Hera's herb. The binding draught. The one midwives whisper about — the one that closes a woman's womb until they let it open again.

I hear Alexios speak above me.

"Make sure she drank it all. She doesn't deliver until Selene does."

I stare at him. He doesn't look at me. He glances at the water-clock dripping in the corner.

"Selene's at six fingers. Two more hours. Hold her."

I try to scream. I try to spit the draught back up. It's already in my blood.

The pain in my belly — savage, clawing — stops.

Just like that.

Like a hand closing around my womb and squeezing it shut.

…

They drag me down to the cellar beneath the temple. Cold stone. One oil lamp.

Calista is waiting at the door, twirling a bronze blade between her fingers.

"Don't blame Alexios, Lyra."

"Selene is carrying Castor's son. The first grandson of this house. The oracle named him heir."

"Even if you push yours out first? It's still a girl. Still useless."

I clutch my belly. The contractions are fighting back against the draught now, slow and brutal, and the world goes black at the edges.

"Get the healer," I whisper. "Please. The baby — please —"

Calista laughs.

She walks in. Crouches in front of me. Taps the flat of the blade against my cheek.

"Push? Push what?"

"The draught holds you three more hours. Selene's already on the couch upstairs."

"Be good. Wait. When her son is in the world, you can squeeze out whatever you like."

She stands. Looks at the temple guard at the door.

"Watch her. If she screams, gag her."

The door slams.

I'm on the floor. Blood soaks through my gown. They took every charm and talisman from me at the temple gate — said the gods would be jealous.

That was a lie. Alexios didn't want me calling for help. He didn't want anyone to hear me die.

I curl onto my side. Try to breathe.

But all I can see is his face. Cold. Calculating. Like a man counting coins.

Not a husband. Not the father of my child.

…

Three months ago, Castor — Alexios's older brother — was thrown from a chariot at the games. Killed instantly.

He left Selene three months pregnant.

At the funeral pyre, old Lord Heliades clutched Selene's hands like she was the only thing left of his bloodline.

"Bring him into the world safe. The House of the Sun cannot end."

Him. Already a him. As if the oracle had whispered the answer into his ear at the moment Castor's chariot shattered.

I stood three steps behind him. My hand on my own belly. Mine was already showing — five months along, full and warm and kicking, and I thought — surely now. Surely the old man will turn to me.

I knelt down. I touched his sleeve.

"Father. Don't grieve. We have a child coming too. Alexios and I , we'll honor you all our days."

He looked at me.

His eyes passed across my belly the way a man's eyes pass across a stone in the road. Then he turned back to Selene.

He never said a word to me. Not at the pyre. Not at the feast that followed. Not for three months after.

I understand now.

The moment Castor died, the moment the oracle named Selene's son the heir , my daughter became an inconvenience.

A threat.

A girl-child born ahead of the chosen boy. A whisper of bad omen. A small, breathing reminder that the gods can change their minds.

They were never going to let her draw breath.

I just hadn't been told yet.

…

"Ahhh —"

Another wave. Worse than the last.

The draught is fading. The baby is coming.

I drag myself to the door. Pound on it with both hands.

"Someone — please — the baby is coming — save my baby —"

Silence on the other side. Nothing.

I scream until my throat tears. Until I taste blood in my mouth.

Finally the guard answers. Bored. Annoyed.

"Quiet, woman. Calista said wait."

"But the baby — the baby —"

"Then it dies. That's fate. Should've been carrying a son."

I slide down the door. Shaking. Freezing.

It isn't fate.

Someone in this temple wants my baby dead.