Chapter 3 The Heartbeat That Lied

• Athena insisted I recover in her house.
• "Your rooms are ready," she said when we reached the marble courtyard the next morning.
• They were not.
• My old windows stood open above the olive garden, their curtains replaced with Melantha's favorite pink silk. Her sandals lined the hall. A painted portrait of her and Athena hung where my childhood shield had once been.
• Doron, the household steward, bowed until his gray beard touched his chest. "Lady Melantha needed the sunlight, my lady. We prepared the guest room for you."
• Melantha rested both hands on her belly. "The healer said the baby should have warmth. You understand, don't you?"
• "Perfectly."
• I walked past them and down to the storage rooms. Dust covered the chests holding my old clothes, my scrolls, and the laurel crowns I had won in contests across Greece. The crown Athena placed on my head after my first victory had been snapped in half.
• I lifted the broken leaves. "Who did this?"
• Melantha followed me downstairs alone. The sweetness left her face the moment Doron's footsteps faded.
• "A servant, perhaps." She leaned against my chest of clothes. "Does it matter? You were gone. Dead in every way that counted."
• "Yet you needed my crown."
• "I needed your place." Her gaze moved over my thin body with satisfaction. "Athena tells me things now. Orion sleeps beside me. Even your little villages send their thanks to my name because I continued your work."
• "You mean you signed your name to mine."
• She smiled. "A name belongs to the woman awake enough to use it."
• In my first life, rage had made me reckless. This time, I noticed the open door and Doron's shadow on the stairs.
• I stepped closer and spoke loudly. "Give back what you stole, Melantha."
• She grabbed my wrist and slapped her own face with my hand.
• Then she screamed.
• Orion came down the steps in a burst of gold. He shoved me away from her. My back struck a pillar, pain flashing through the side where the assassin's blade had entered.
• "You hit a pregnant woman?" he demanded.
• Doron opened his mouth, but Athena appeared behind him. Her disappointed stare cut deeper than Orion's grip.
• "Callista," she said, "I expected discipline from my daughter."
• Melantha stumbled toward Orion. As he caught her, she twisted and threw herself down three shallow steps.
• Her cry echoed through the room.
• Orion dropped beside her. "The baby!"
• I did not move. "She fell on purpose."
• "Of course you would say that." He lifted Melantha into his arms, his face twisted with fear. "If my child is harmed, I will never forgive you."
• The old pain came, but it found no place to stay. "You never forgave me for surviving. What else can you take?"
• Athena flinched.
• The doors flew open, and a woman in green healer's robes hurried in. Eileithyia, goddess of childbirth, was smaller than I expected, with clever brown eyes and sleeves rolled above her elbows.
• "Put her down," she ordered Orion. "Panic is useless."
• She pressed a glowing hand to Melantha's stomach. Everyone held their breath.
• A faint beat filled the room.
• Orion sagged with relief. Melantha began to cry.
• Eileithyia did not smile. She moved her hand, and the beat followed a moment too late.
• Her eyes sharpened.
• "Strange," she murmured.
• Melantha caught her wrist. "Is my baby safe?"
• "For now." Eileithyia looked directly at me. "But I want to examine you again without an audience."
• Orion carried Melantha upstairs. Athena went with them, pausing only to tell me I would apologize when Melantha woke.
• I stood alone among the pieces of my life until Doron cleared his throat.
• "My lady," he said, "I saw what she did."
• My eyes burned. One witness should not have mattered so much, but after years of being called a liar, his simple words nearly broke me.
• "Thank you."
• He opened his palm. A tiny crystal lay there, glowing blue. "Hermes left this by the outer gate. It remembers what it sees."
• The crystal showed Melantha gripping my wrist and striking herself. It showed her turning before the stairs, checking who was watching, and jumping.
• I laughed once, without humor. "Send it to Iris. Ask her to show it at tonight's gathering."
• "Athena will be angry."
• "Athena is already angry whenever I refuse to lose quietly."
• At dusk, Eileithyia returned. She locked the guest-room door and set a bowl of water beside Melantha's discarded shawl. When she whispered a prayer, a golden rhythm pulsed through the cloth.
• "That is the heartbeat everyone heard," she said.
• "Then the child is real?"
• "A real child's beat changes when the mother is frightened. This one repeats perfectly." Eileithyia's mouth tightened. "It is magic. Clever magic, but magic."
• Hope and horror moved through me together. "She is not pregnant."
• "I did not say that." The goddess touched the water. A second, weaker rhythm flickered and disappeared. "Something is inside her. It is simply not behaving like a child."
• A knock sounded.
• Orion's voice came through the door. "Callista, open this. We need to discuss your apology."
• Eileithyia swept the bowl beneath the bed.
• "Say nothing about this yet," she warned. "A false rhythm can be made by many kinds of simple magic. If Melantha knows we noticed, she may remove whatever is causing it before I learn the truth."
• "Why help me?"
• Eileithyia's expression softened. "Because I was there when you lost your first child. You were freezing, bleeding, and still asking whether Orion and Melantha were warm enough. Anyone who calls you careless with a baby is either a fool or a liar. I have little patience for either."
• The words reached the grief I kept locked behind my ribs. I pressed my palm there until I could breathe again.
• I opened the door.
• Behind Orion stood Melantha, pale and victorious, one hand over the false beat beneath her gown.
• I smiled at them both.
• "Good," I said. "I have something to show you."