Page 30 of Minas (Dying Gods #4)

Britomartis

“You look as if you’re heading towards your execution, not to victory,” Kinusi chides, his shoulder knocking against my own as he sidles up next me at the rail of the ship. “Smile, lest the men see your face.”

Ahead of us, Fodele glints teasingly, its sweeping beach pale in the setting sun. Beyond it, Mount Ida looms, purple and grey in the distance.

“I may well be,” I tell him solemnly.

For almost an entire cycle of the moon, I’ve been at sea. I have no idea if any of my messages have been received. I have no idea if support will be coming our way. The Minas Malia, the Minas Phaistos, the Minas Karpathos—any one of them could have chosen to ally themselves with Xenodice. Any one of them could have warned her of my plans.

I rub at my throat, my stomach churning at the thought. At what such a betrayal would mean for Sira. Sweet Sira, defenseless and trapped at Knossos.

“Do you think Inanna will have gotten Sira out of Knossos?” I ask, attempting to keep my voice free of all inflection, as if I am merely discussing any one of our battle plans, any one of our contingencies.

Kinusi gives me a flat stare. “Do I look like I have Appaliuna’s sight? Do you see a cote of carrier doves here ready to bring me messages?” He waves dramatically at the ship, at the coils of rope and full sails, at the men and women taking their rest along the decking.

My cheeks heat, but my jaw tightens. “I merely asked since Inanna is your lover,” I tell him defensively. “I thought you better placed than any to guess as to her capabilities.”

Kinusi snorts. “Oh, she is capable, all right. If anyone can get Sira out of Knossos, it is her.”

I stare at the beach, at the sheltered bay dotted with fishing boats. We are nearly there, nearly close enough to drop anchor. Close enough that I can hear the birdsong from the trees and make out the curling tendrils of smoke from the village rooftops.

Is Sira in one of those houses, even now? Is she sitting on the rooftop, watching us come in?

“She may not be well pleased to see her brother’s ships under your command…” Kinusi hazards, as if reading my mind. Weathered fingers tap against the wooden rail. He keeps his eyes carefully fixed on the approaching coast. “His trades would have belonged to the Minas Crete, you know.”

I scrub at my face, ignoring the grit of salt on my skin. “That would be true, if he hadn’t pledged himself to Adrienne.”

“To Astarte, you mean.” There’s a teasing lilt in Kinusi’s voice. I narrow my eyes at him.

Though I have seen proof that Adrienne is Astarte made flesh, though I have seen her face Poteiden himself, it is difficult to think of her as anything but Adrienne. The somewhat annoying, spoiled creature who managed to claw her way into my affections.

“In any event, his trades don’t belong to you.”

I scoff. “I don’t want Asterion’s trades.”

Kinusi waves a dismissive hand. “Of course you don’t. But you stole his ships. You stole his men. That’s no small thing, Britomartis of Thera.”

I cast my gaze back to the Theran women scattered about the deck, then to the four other ships flanking this one. The decks are teeming with women, their faces bright and smiles wide as they watch the incoming shore. Many of them are my acolytes, women who have trained under me at Potina’s temple since girlhood, but others belong to Astarte, to Diktynna, even to Melissus and Eluthai.

One hundred women, or nearly that many, all armed and battle hardened. A force like this, it could be enough to bring Xenodice to her knees, even if the other minases don’t come.

“I did not take these ships to keep them, old Kinusi.” I keep my tone light, and try to ignore the bitter pang of longing that rises up at the thought of giving these ships back to Asterion. Of returning to my temple and my incense and the unburied dead. “And you know as well as I do that his men chose to make this sailing. They are free men.”

“They are homesick men hungry for the company of women,” Kinusi huffs. “You offered them a journey home surrounded by beautiful Therans. What did you think they would say?”

I bite back a smile at his words and shake my head. There is no denying that the sounds of lovemaking have echoed out across the waves most nights, but we both know that isn’t why they agreed to make this journey.

“This is close enough,” Kinusi tells me, leaning to point over the rail. “See how close the pebbles are below? Any further in and you risk getting trapped when the tide goes out.”

I nod, then turn back to the ship. “Drop anchor,” I call out, my voice booming like Kinusi taught me. Speak from the chest, he had told me, not from the throat. You are at sea, not in the temple any more, priestess.

“An-chor,” the men reply, a sing-song chant that echoes across the deck and across the waves to the neighboring ships. “An-chor,” the men on the ships reply—and some of the women too, their voices a lilting melody.

I smile at the sound, at the feel of the anchor stone hitting the bottom of the sea, and the soft tug of the boat beneath my feet. I soften my knees and spread my toes against the decking, and note when the movement of the ship has become a rhythmic bobbing that indicates the stone has struck true.

“Perfect,” I murmur, resting one hand behind me on the ship’s rail. It’s smooth and worn, familiar as the hilt of my blade or the body of a lover.

My ship , a dark, secret part of me whispers, but I shake my head. It is not mine. I am the second daughter of the Minas Thera. I am a priestess, not a navigator. My blood belongs to Potina, not Poteiden.

And no amount of wishing can change that.