Kalliope stood before the silver statue of Mēnē, watching as moonlight poured through the temple's open roof and made the goddess's surface glow with an otherworldly sheen. The statue seemed almost alive in moments like these.

  Smoke curled from the shadows behind her, gathering into the shape of a woman. When the smoke settled, Sister Nephele stood with her head bowed. "High Priestess."

  Kalliope didn’t turn. “Nephele.”

  “We have confirmation,” the Sister said. “Your daughter is alive.”

  Kalliope felt a small measure of tension leave her shoulders, though her expression remained unchanged. "Her location?"

  "Unknown. We've tracked rumors and whispers, but she moves quickly and stays hidden. We simply… cannot find her.”

  “Good,” Kalliope said. “If we cannot find her, they likely cannot either.”

  Nephele stepped closer. “There are reports she has already clashed with locals. Five dead so far. And… it seems she has slain something they call the Swamp Devil. According to local legends, the beast had considerable power.”

  Kalliope turned to face her fully, though her expression betrayed nothing. Internally, pride swelled in her chest. Five kills. A mythical demon dead. Her daughter was adapting. Getting stronger. Exactly what she needed.

  Good. The world is cruel. Only strength matters. If she wishes to survive, she must grow.

  Perhaps this exile would finally force Hecate to take things seriously. The Graecian city-states warred endlessly with one another, and foreign invaders arrived whenever they sensed weakness. The invaders who arrived every few years would never spare someone who treated danger like a joke. Hecate needed to understand this. Needed to stop treating everything like a game.

  She had faith that Mēnē would guide Hecate. That the goddess would see her daughter through whatever trials awaited her in that damned country. And despite Hecate's tendency to act the fool, to joke and deflect, she was not stupid. When pushed, when cornered, she adapted. She survived.

  She would survive this too.

  "Has Menekrates sent more assassins?" Kalliope asked.

  "It appears not."

  Kalliope considered this. Either he had given up after Hecate dispatched his assassin so easily, or he had decided it would be cleaner to let Silesia handle it. Let the Church do his dirty work.

  In a way, his underestimation of her had been a gift. Sending that assassin had granted Hecate another kill, to level up when it mattered most. The difference between level two and level three was far greater than the difference between ninety-nine and one hundred. Menekrates had inadvertently made her stronger. Foolish man.

  "There is something else," Nephele said carefully. "Menekrates has sent word of Hecate's arrival to the King of Silesia."

  It was expected, yet Kalliope's jaw tightened slightly. She said nothing.

  She should have killed him when he stood in her home. That had been the moment. But Menekrates was backed by Keraion, king of all gods. He was one of the most accomplished warriors in Asteria, and beneath the vanity and enormous ego he was a monster on the battlefield. And he was the Archon. If she had struck him down, every Order in the city would have burned the Sisters of Mēnē to ashes, maybe even the entire Order. They would have executed Hecate, Kleon, and everyone in this temple.

  Mēnē was powerful, but she was still just a minor goddess. The Order of Keraion could crush them in open war. If all Orders united, the Sisters would fall in seconds.

  That was why Kalliope had to be smart. Had to plan. Had to strike from the shadows, where her Order excelled. She would prepare. She would scheme. And when Hecate returned, Kalliope would grant her the revenge she deserved.

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  Nephele continued. "He claims Hecate escaped Graecia. He didn’t mention she was exiled. He has told the Silesians she is a murderer who killed everyone who tried to stop her and fled into their country." She paused. "She has killed four members of the Silesian Church, and they have placed a bounty on her head. They intend to make an example out of her.”

  Kalliope’s eyes narrowed. “How much?”

  “One million gold."

  Rage boiled up inside her, but her expression remained perfectly neutral. One million gold. Half of Silesia would be hunting her.

  He thought she wouldn’t learn of this? Or perhaps he knew she could do nothing now. Maybe she couldn’t touch Menekrates yet, but she could touch the things he cared about. His sons. His influence. His future. It would be difficult, of course. His ambition had made many people rich. He had made Asteria wealthier and stronger than it had ever been.

  "One million gold," Kalliope repeated softly.

  She thought of Meophistopheles. She had sent him to protect Hecate. Was he enough? Had she made a mistake? Perhaps she should have told Hecate to flee to Moravia instead, as soon as the escorts had gone. It would have been safer.

  No.

  Hecate wouldn't have listened. And Silesia, for all its dangers, was the fastest path to power. The Church's purge squads would make her stronger. The constant threat would sharpen her. She would adapt or she would die, and Kalliope had to believe it would be the former.

  She had to trust in Mēnē. Trust in Meophistopheles. Trust in Hecate.

  "Should we send additional Sisters to watch over her?" Nephele asked.

  “We cannot spare them,” Kalliope said. “Menekrates’s hunger for expansion grows by the day. He will strike at Megara soon, and when he calls upon us we must appear loyal. If we refuse, he will turn on us directly.”

  Nephele nodded slowly. "And while he looks outward..."

  "We look inward."

  Kalliope allowed herself the smallest of smiles. "Have there been any developments with his sons?"

  "Most of them have no exploitable weaknesses. No vices, no scandals. They are strong and disciplined. All except Menon."

  "Go on."

  "He has fallen in love with Sister Cilissa. He speaks of marriage. Of her converting to the Order of Keraion and bearing his children."

  Kalliope nodded once. “Good. Tell Cilissa to wait for an opportunity. When one presents itself, she is to end him. Make it look like an accident. Something undignified.”

  Nephele bowed. "It will be done, High Priestess."

  "One son at a time," Kalliope said, turning back to the statue of Mēnē. "We will take everything from him. His legacy. His power. His pride… and then Hecate can take his life."

  “Yes, High Priestess.”

  “Dismissed.”

  Nephele bowed again, then turned into smoke and vanished.

  Kalliope stood alone in the temple and sighed. One million gold.

  Menekrates had built his power carefully over decades. He had begun as a simple warrior, blessed by Keraion, and climbed through sheer will and ruthlessness to become Archon. He had expanded Asteria's territory threefold, conquering neighboring city-states. He had made the wealthy wealthier and himself indispensable.

  And his sons were following in his footsteps. All three of them rising through the ranks, building their own power bases, their own networks of influence.

  She had to stop them before they too became untouchable. At least soon there would only be two, if Cilissa was successful. One weakness. That was all she needed.

  She thought about the political landscape. The Order of Keraion was the most powerful in the city. Thousands of warriors, all loyal to him. All blessed by the king of gods himself. They trained from childhood to be perfect soldiers—disciplined, obedient, and deadly.

  The other major Orders couldn't challenge them even if they wanted to. The Order of Oletheon held warriors, yes, but they lacked the discipline that made Keraion so feared.

  The Order of Ambelios controlled the craftsmen and smiths—useful for building weapons, but not for using them.

  And while the Order of Oinoros might be largest by number, they were too busy drinking themselves senseless to organize anything that resembled resistance. The other Orders didn’t even come close.

  The Order of Pyrion might stand beside her when the time came. But like Mēnē, Pyrion was just one of the minor gods.

  And the Order of Mēnē? They were small, but they had the shadows, the secrets, the things people whispered in the dark and denied in the light.

  Menekrates likely thought them harmless—why else would he have dared step into her home the way he had? A minor goddess, a minor Order. Useful for gathering whispers, perhaps, but no real threat.

  He will learn otherwise.

  She thought of Hecate again. Wondered where she was sleeping tonight. If she was warm. If she was safe. If she was afraid.

  No. Hecate didn't do fear. She did recklessness. She did overconfidence. But fear? She buried it beneath jokes and bravado.

  The thought made her smile.

  Hecate would survive, and she would return, strong enough to burn the corruption from Asteria. And until that day came, Kalliope would prepare.

  She would collect every secret. Every fear. Every weakness. And when the moment came, she would use them all.

  Menekrates thought he was untouchable.

  He was wrong.

  Kalliope placed her palm against the cool silver of Mēnē's statue. "Guide her," she whispered. "Keep her safe. And when the time comes... grant us vengeance."

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