“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. Too stupidly, and too late. I quickly tuck my remaining knife into its sheath, not wanting to see the glint of those golden blades ever again. The leafy canopy paints Isidora and Nikoleta’s torn faces with shadow and light, and I brace myself for their hatred. Tears spring to my eyes, sudden and painful. I have made a ruin of us all.
Isidora reaches out and grabs my shaking hands. “Kahina,” she says gently. “Why did you do that?” Just barely, I think I can sense a strained confusion, a persistent desire to understand an impossible truth. My throat closes up. Why did I do that? I glance helplessly over the top of the brush, and Nikoleta sharply follows my gaze. We both stare at Atalanta, who stands apart from the victorious clan of men circling the monster’s corpse.
“Lady Artemis . . .” Nikoleta coughs. I look to her, and watch as her gaze shifts from the golden-haired girl to me. Something odd glints in her eyes.
“. . . Will kill us?” Isidora offers. Nikoleta swats her friend’s shoulder—but she doesn’t argue. Panic swells up again. I stare at the hands that betrayed me, dark as the thick dust beneath us. They won’t stop shaking, even though Isidora grips them hard. Nikoleta avoids my gaze with surprising efficiency, given our close proximity. She focuses on the broken beast in the clearing ahead, her dark eyes peeling over the scene again and again. Atalanta’s braid has fallen out just slightly, a thin strand brushing against her tanned cheek. She looks shocked—a fraction of how I feel, but she holds my knife so casually that even I start to believe it’s hers. We’re too far to discern their words, but I watch her face morph into something cold. Calculated. With no trace of fear in her eyes, she faces the men surrounding her. I can’t make out the words she speaks, and I don’t need to. She’s taken credit for my strike.
But the jeering lilt of one of the men’s voices makes me freeze. I’m in enough trouble already, but I dare to stare over the brush. I squint hard, and for an instant, I forget that I’ve just risked my own livelihood to save the life of a lying thief. I forget that Atalanta just ruined me, because now I can discern the men, and I wish I couldn’t. It’s been years, but it’s him. My cousin—my kidnapper, I correct myself—stands with his arms crossed, staring at Atalanta with obvious resentment.
I let Isidora’s hands fall as bitterness blooms from my core. Terror follows just as fast, and I duck back down. I stare at the two huntresses crouching beside me, the dirt already browning our white tunics. This is the first time I’ve seen any huntress with fear in her eyes. Behind them, Atalanta’s shoulders are tossed back, her lips twisted in a haughty sneer. Hippomenes tilts his head, and the memory of his sickening green eyes rushes back. My stomach pits.
I shouldn’t have saved Atalanta. I shouldn’t have done this mission at all.
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