Chapter 3

Theia tears through the storage chamber like a woman possessed, ripping open chests, throwing aside linens.

The shelves are bare.

No bronze clamps. No clean cloths. Not even a strip of boiled linen.

"The herbs! The bloodroot! The womb-tonic!"

A young temple girl whispers from the corner. "They were carried up. To the third tier."

"Lord Alexios's order. Everything goes to Selene first."

Theia slams her thin fist into the wood. The shelf splits. Her knuckles split with it.

She turns to me. Her eyes are red and her lips will not stop shaking.

"Forgive me, child. Forgive me —"

"There is nothing left. Nothing."

Calista glides over. Pats her shoulder like she's comforting a senile aunt.

"Don't fret, Theia."

"She hasn't delivered yet. Once Selene is finished, we'll bring everything back down."

Her eyes drift to my belly.

"And if the babe comes out anyway? She's a girl. One less mouth. The House of the Sun won't miss her."

Theia can't take it anymore.

"Calista — this is murder. I have served this house for forty years. I pulled you into the world with these hands. And now you would let your own kin bleed out on a stone floor for a prophecy?"

"Murder?" Calista laughs, sharp and bright. "Mind your tongue, old woman."

"Women die in childbed. They always have. The temples are full of their names."

"And this is the business of our house. Our blood. You serve us. You do not decide for us."

She waves to the temple guards.

"Take her to her cell. She's overwrought. Bar the door."

"I'll see to Lyra myself."

Two guards seize Theia under her thin arms. She thrashes against them with a strength that shouldn't belong in a body her age.

"Lyra! Untie every knot on you! Your sash, your hair, every braid — tear them loose! Eileithyia hears a bound woman last! Call her name! Call her name until your throat bleeds!"

"Don't give up! The child can still live! Lyra —!"

Her voice fades down the corridor.

Calista shuts the door. Turns to me. Slow. Calm.

She pulls a small bronze hand-mirror from the folds of her gown.

It is a speaking-glass — Hecate's craft, blessed by her lesser priestesses. Nobles use them to whisper across distances. Calista taps the rim three times and breathes Alexios's name into the metal.

The polished bronze ripples. His face surfaces in it like a reflection rising in still water.

"Brother. Lyra is starting to push. Want to watch?"

The image of Alexios shimmers — he's standing outside Selene's birthing chamber, women rushing past him in the background.

"Calista. Stop playing."

"Selene isn't well. The midwives say the child's heartbeat is slowing."

Calista turns the mirror toward me.

"Look at her, brother. So much blood. Maybe she'll go before Selene does."

Alexios glances at me. Just once. Then he looks away.

"Make her wait. The healers will come down once Selene delivers."

"Lyra. Be patient. I can't leave."

The image dissolves. Bronze again.

Calista shrugs. Slips the mirror back into her sash.

"You heard him?"

"In my brother's heart, Selene comes first."

"You? You're a womb. Nothing more."

"And a womb that fails its purpose gets thrown away."

I close my eyes.

I don't want to look at her face anymore.

My hand slides behind me. Finds the inner seam of my gown. Beneath the embroidery, sewn into the lining, is something small. Hard. Cold.

A black iron ring.

My father slipped it into my hand the night before my wedding. He pressed his forehead to mine and whispered —

"Lyra. The House of the Sun runs deeper than you think. If anything goes wrong — anything at all — break this ring. Break it, and we will come."

I laughed at him then.

"Father, Alexios is good to me. His family treats me like a daughter of their own."

What a fool I was. What a sweet, smiling fool.

My fingers find the ring. Pull it free of the threads.

I close my fist around it.

And I squeeze.

The iron cracks against my palm. I feel it splinter — a sharp, clean snap, no louder than a twig breaking.

But somewhere far below the earth, in a hall lit by black flame, my father has just lifted his head.

He has felt it.

Father said — once you break that ring, we will be there before the sun moves a finger's width across the sky.

Half an hour.

Maybe less.

But half an hour…

Can my baby wait half an hour?