Chapter 5 My Mother's Mark

• By dawn, I had thought of a dozen reasons the knife could bear Athena’s seal.
• Her owl appeared on temple weapons, household orders, gifts to allies. A mark could be copied. A blade could be stolen.
• I repeated each explanation while the house slept.
• None explained why someone had kept the knife hidden for three years.
• Lysander found me at the window, the weapon still wrapped in cloth. He had changed out of his traveling cloak. For a moment, I watched him push his sleeves back, reluctant to return to the question waiting on the table.
• “We can leave,” he said. “The crossing is open. You can recover in the Underworld while we investigate.”
• “If I go, she’ll tell everyone I ran because I was guilty.”
• “Let her talk.”
• “I need to ask her myself.”
• He studied me, then nodded. “Then I’ll be there.”
• I touched the black ribbon around my wrist. “Thank you.”
• He covered my hand briefly with his own. “You don’t have to thank me every time I stay.”
• ——
• Athena summoned us to dinner that evening.
• Before accepting, I sent Iris a request. The goddess carried messages between distant places; she had delivered many of my grants to the villages. If anyone could follow the records Melantha had altered, it was her.
• Then I set out the broken laurel crown beside the knife.
• I wanted answers about both.
• Athena’s table was set for seven: my mother, Orion, Melantha, Paean, Lysander, Hestia, and me. Hestia, goddess of the hearth, watched the servants in silence as they lit the lamps.
• Melantha was wearing my pendant again.
• Athena waited until we were seated. “This feud ends tonight. Callista, you will apologize for threatening Melantha’s place in this family. Melantha, you will apologize for the deception in the courtyard. Orion’s wedding will wait until everyone has had time to think.”
• “What wedding?” I asked. “I ended the betrothal.”
• Orion leaned forward. “Please. We can discuss this privately.”
• “You are discussing it privately. You simply don’t like my answer.”
• Melantha dabbed at her eyes. “I never wanted your life.”
• “Then give back the work you put your name on.”
• She looked down at the pendant before she caught herself.
• “The schools,” I continued. “The grain. The homes we rebuilt. You let those people thank you for things I paid for and promises I kept.”
• “I kept your memory alive.”
• “With your name carved over mine?”
• The doors opened.
• Iris entered carrying ledgers and a shallow silver basin. Colors moved through her dress as she crossed the hall, but her expression was grave.
• “The village clerks kept the originals,” she said. “They were afraid to send them while the grain was being withheld.”
• She laid the ledgers before Athena. My seal marked each donation. Beside them, Iris placed copies of the public dedications, all changed to Melantha’s name.
• The basin filled with the memories she had collected from the villagers who agreed to give them.
• We watched Melantha accept praise for schools I had funded and healers I had paid. We heard her tell a storekeeper that no grain would be released until the villagers carved her face above the school door.
• Orion turned toward her. “You said you continued Callista’s work.”
• “I did.” Melantha’s voice rose. “I was there. I spoke to those people. Does it matter whose name they thanked?”
• “It matters that they were hungry,” I said. “You made them buy food with praise.”
• “You wake after three years and expect everything back. Orion loves me. Athena trusts me. Why can’t you let me have one thing?”
• I rested my hand on the broken crown beside my plate.
• “Because you keep choosing things that belong to someone else.”
• Hestia struck the table with her palm. Every lamp flame rose.
• “Those villagers came under this household’s protection,” she said to Athena. “Your authority was used to starve them. Hear what your daughter is telling you.”
• My mother looked down at the ledgers.
• I waited for her to say my name. For her to ask what else had happened while she looked away.
• Lysander set the wrapped knife on the table.
• “There’s more.”
• Orion recognized the blade before the cloth fell clear. His cup slipped from his hand.
• “That disappeared after the attack.”
• “My guards recovered it last night.” Lysander turned the hilt toward Athena. “Can you explain the mark?”
• Every face turned toward my mother.
• Melantha leaned forward. “Callista, surely you don’t think she ordered it.”
• “I want her to answer.”
• Athena rose. “A seal can be copied.”
• “Then tell us how to test it,” Lysander said.
• She looked at the knife without touching it.
• I could hear my own breathing. “Did you know about the attack?”
• “I did not order you harmed.”
• It should have comforted me. Instead, I heard the care with which she had chosen the words.
• “That isn’t what I asked.”
• Paean pushed back his chair. He had barely touched his food. Now he looked too ill to stand.
• “Lady Athena, forgive me. I can’t keep doing this.”
• “Paean.”
• The warning in her voice silenced everyone else.
• He looked at me.
• “On the day of the attack, before they brought you to my healing house, I received an order bearing her seal.”
• I knew what he would say before he finished. My fingers tightened on the table.
• “It told me not to wake you until the danger had passed.”
• The room seemed to draw away from me.
• I had imagined my mother demanding medicines, questioning healers, searching for a cure. Had she been waiting for something else?
• Athena’s face had gone rigid. “You don’t understand the order.”
• “Then explain it.”
• She looked at Melantha.
• Only once. Long enough for me to see that they shared something I had never been told.
• I stood too quickly. Lysander caught my elbow and steadied me. When I could stand on my own, he let go.
• “You let me believe no one could wake me.”
• Athena reached across the table. “Callista, listen to me.”
• “I am listening. You’re the one who won’t answer.”
• Thunder rolled outside, though the evening sky had been clear. Zeus had heard the accusation. Soon the rest of Olympus would know it too.
• Melantha began to cry. No one moved toward her.
• I picked up the knife. The owl in the hilt was identical to the one on my mother’s ring.
• “You had three years,” I said. “Until you tell me what you did with them, you don’t get to call me your daughter.”
• “The danger hasn’t passed,” Athena said.
• I stopped with my hand on the door.
• “What danger?”
• Her gaze fell to the knife in my hand.
• “Whoever changed that blade wanted you to wake exactly when you did.”