was sorry for that. He had been a sunny and friendly person, and the new blacksmith was sour and silent. I wondered how my mother felt about her error, especially when she saw Ision's wife at work in our laundry.
We resumed walking. We were near the palace now, and dawn was coming, a paler shade of night over the tops of the tall cypress trees that lined the road. The moon followed us, lighting our path. I calculated silently: I was fifteen, my brother three years older. My mother had become She-Who-Is-Goddess at fourteen. So she was now ... what? Thirty-three or thirty-four, at least. I had heard of women who had successful pregnancies and deliveries at that age, but it was rare. Goddess knows what she's doing, I reminded myself, but I couldn't quench the little flame of fear that tingled in my belly as the sun's edge poked over the top of the palace above us.
It should have been nearly silent, the only sound that of the guards extinguishing the torches that lit the outer walls. But instead there arose the noise of hurrying feet, shouts, the clatter of weapons. My mouth dried until my tongue stuck to its roof. I had never known the palace to be attacked, but late at night, when they thought I was asleep, the women told tales of long-ago raids. We were so strong now, though, that nobody dared. Or so I had always thought.
We ran toward the palace and then stopped, panting, in the shadow of the enormous tree that marked the end of the road. No armed soldiers were running in or out through the wide gate. And now I could hear that the shouts were intermingled with a familiar bellowing that echoed off the cold stone walls. I said, "Asterion!" and my mother, her voice tumbling over mine, exclaimed, "Your brother!" I scrambled across the big roots, tripped and nearly fell in the semidarkness, and ran toward the gate.
The Minos met us there, barefoot and with his hair disheveled. "Thank Goddess you've returned!" His voice shook as he clutched his cloak. "He has a girl with him and won't let her go."
"What girl?" my mother asked as we hurried together toward my brother's quarters.
"A girl from Athens." I had heard the women whispering that yet another wife for the Minos was among the Athenian tribute. It must be the girl I had seen comforting the little boy down in the harbor. She was pretty, with fine bones and soft-looking brown hair. Asterion liked pretty things, and when Asterion liked something, he sometimes tried to take it apart. I gulped as I imagined what he might do to the delicate girl. My mother, then the Minos, and then I ran down the narrow stairs into the maze of storerooms and corridors under the palace.
The small space outside my brother's chambers was filled with a dozen soldiers, some of them holding blazing torches. Idiots! Hadn't they learned? Some were jabbing their spears through the door, while others shouted and shook their fists. The light from the torches made Asterion's shadow, already distorted, stretch and bob and dance across the wall behind him.
I squeezed between my mother and the Minos, then made my way through the crowd. When I shoved one of the armed men aside, he turned as if to strike me but quickly lowered his eyes at the sight of She-Who-Will-Be-Goddess. Another man noticed me, and then another, and one by one they fell silent.
"Asterion!" I called. He caught sight of me and stretched out one hand in my direction, moaning. His other hand grasped the Athenian maiden's slender wrist. Although she was ashen, no blood was visible. She was even taller than she had appeared from my hiding place above the harbor, although my brother towered over her.
"Go upstairs!" I commanded the soldiers. They hesitated, and a few started to protest. I cut them short. "And take those torches with you! Don't you know he's afraid of fire? Leave me a small lantern." They obeyed. The Minos followed them and then my mother, who shot me a glance that said, "Be careful."
When the small antechamber was empty, I sat down on the floor. "They're gone, brother." He moaned again, and the sound broke my heart. He threw his free arm over his head and roared at the ceiling. I forced myself to sit quietly and wait until his wits, such as they were, returned to him.