Page 2

Chapter One

Hebe

W hen I was a child, I dreamed of dying nobly on the battlefield. Even when I grew into womanhood and discovered that wasn’t to be my fate, I could never have imagined how I would actually perish.

Sacrificed to the gods on an altar.

At least this way, it will still be for the good of my people, as noble as if I were struck down on the battlefield. And being slain by friends rather than foes is preferable, right? To die surrounded by loved ones?

Well, most of the village remains at the base of the hill. Only a select few are accompanying me to the altar at the summit.

I glance back at my entourage, comprised of the two strongest warriors and all the elders of the village. Each wears a somber expression except the warrior holding the rope secured to my right wrist. He looks ill. As the son of my mother’s sister, Puraltas is my closest kin and the most vocal opponent of this sacrifice.

But his wife and daughter are his first priority. With the harvest failing, if we do not find favor with at least one god, the entire village will perish. The elders have all agreed that it is better to lose one than all.

As for me, I would rather a meaningful death over a slow starvation. A maiden is the price for fertility, and I am the eldest of the unwed women.

My gaze falls to the brown gown I’m wearing, crafted from the softest hides with the most colorful embroidery. If this were my gamos I was marching toward, I would not have been given such a fine garment since my father left me no inheritance. But it is essential that I look my best when I am presented to Dionysus.

It is an honor to be considered the best. All it took was a ritualistic bath, a gown fit for the wanax’s daughter, and having no dowry with which to tempt one of my clansmen to seek my hand.

Now I am spared the shame of spinsterhood, which was all that awaited me. I should be honored by this new fate. I am honored.

But I’m also terrified.

Still, I keep my chin held high and refuse to tremble lest my cousin see. Puraltas, at least, shall miss me, and I do not wish to add to his sorrow.

After what seems like both an eternity and a moment, I stand on the hill that overlooks our humble village. Huts are huddled together, surrounded by withered crops and pens containing half-starved cattle.

In the distance, I can see Mount Olympus reaching toward the heavens. It is the home of the gods, who have abandoned us. Now catching their attention is our only hope.

My gaze falls on the altar that I’ve avoided looking at for as long as possible. It is the lone stone structure in the village, built like a table and large enough to lay a cow on for sacrifice.

Or, in this case, a maiden.

I turn slowly to face the elders as the warriors move with me. There is quite an audience below, as most of the clan have gathered below to watch. But they dare not step on the hill while it is made sacred with my blood.

“Hebe, daughter of Arisbas.”

Startling, I turn to the High Priest, who seems to have appeared out of nowhere.

The High Priest who had presided over us since before I was born departed for the Asphodel Fields last harvest. His son studies me as he clutches the sacred wooden staff he inherited though he is still young enough not to need it.

“Are you prepared to honor your people before the gods?” he asks as Helios paints the sky with vibrant colors for my final sunset.

I will not be alive when the sun rises again.

My chest feels tight as my heart pounds. “Yes.”

The High Priest flicks his fingers, and two acolytes step out from behind him, each bearing a clay pitcher filled with wine.

The women step toward me, their steps perfectly matched.

I kneel in preparation and the ropes strain from my movement.

The acolytes come to stand beside the warriors. I barely have a chance to close my eyes before I am doused with wine. I feel it drowning my intricate updo, sticking to my skin, and plastering my ceremonial dress to my body.

“Rise, Bride of Dionysus.”

My legs are shaking, but I still force them underneath me and push myself to my feet despite my sodden garments.

I wipe the wine from my eyes and force them open again.

The High Priest has looked past me, apparently finished speaking to me for the rest of my life. His focus is instead on my cousin. “Prepare the sacrifice and set her up on the altar.”

Both Puraltas and the other warrior walk around me with the rope, further binding my arms to my sides. Then they squeeze my legs together so tightly I lose my balance.

I topple backward before Puraltas grabs hold of my shoulders, just barely keeping me from hitting the altar. The other warrior grasps my legs, and then they lift me into the air.

A moment later, I am stretched out across the stone altar.

Forcing my lips closed, I refrain from screaming and adding shame to my terror.

Puraltas’ gaze catches mine one last time before he forces himself to look away. He looks as ashamed as I would feel if I let my scream escape.

Then his face is replaced by the High Priest staring down at me, his dark gaze as devoid of emotion as it is sharp. “This is the last moment of the bride in the home of her father’s kin. Now she shall forever belong to her husband.”

With that grim announcement, he lifts his staff. Except, it is no longer just a staff. An ax has been attached to it, and the High Priest positions it over my bound body.

Beyond him, the people chant. “This is the last moment of a bride in the home of her father’s kin. Now she shall forever belong to her husband.”

A cold smile stretches across the High Priest’s face. “If anyone knows why this maiden, daughter of Arisbas , is not a fit sacrifice, speak now or forever refrain utterance.” He braces himself for the swing.

I close my eyes.

Then one clear voice rises over the chanting. “Halt!”