Aetos stomps to the exit in a swirl of black cape and red flame, nodding to me as Desma takes the stage for her Dance of a Thousand Colors.
She moves to the melody of a kithara, starting out slowly and building speed until she’s whirling around the stage in a kaleidoscope of color. Her feet barely touch the ground. A rainbow shines from every pore, from every strand of hair and eyelash, illuminating summer’s twilight with an impossibly complex brightness. Her eyes glow with more shades of color than even the Gods have names for. Inconceivably beautiful, Desma is the grand finale, and the crowd worships her.
I’m as spellbound by Desma’s dance as everyone else, and Vasili startles a squeak out of me when he nudges me in the ribs with the blunt end of a knife.
“You should be out there with her, Cat. Make a new act and call it the Fantastical Fisan Twins.”
I whip the knife out of his hand, flip it, and nudge him back. “Twins look alike.”
He looks back and forth between Desma and me. “Short. Long, dark hair. Bright-green eyes. Fisan.”
Okay. He has a point. We’re even the same age—twenty-three.
I sweep a hand down, indicating my curvaceous figure, and then point to Desma’s much straighter frame.
Vasili grins, and his wide mustache spreads out, nearly meeting his bushy eyebrows on either side. “There is that. Desma should eat more.”
I snort. “Or I should eat less.”
“You’re a woman, Cat. That’s how you’re supposed to look.”
I make a face at him. Vasili has treated me like family since the day I showed up—fifteen years old, emaciated and dirty, with blisters all over my feet. “There’s nothing like starving to make a person appreciate food,” I say, my eyes roaming the place where I first saw Selena’s traveling circus in action. Eight years have passed, but this southern Sintan dust heap is still my favorite venue.
Vasili grabs his knife back and twirls the base of the hilt on his palm, spinning it on an imaginary axis.
I watch the whirling blade. “You know I wish I could do that.”
Smiling, he increases the speed until the knife is nothing but a blur.
“Show-off,” I grumble.
He chuckles, backing up so that Desma can make her way through the gate. She keeps moving, swaying rhythmically, and I turn to follow. We all know from experience that she can’t just stop, or the colors will build up inside her, the pressure unbearable. She takes my hands and spins me into her dance, our feet stirring dust into the shimmering air. We pass Cerberus on our way out, and one head pops up, ears twitching.
Desma’s colors skitter over me with tiny teeth, nipping at my skin. Her rainbows jump to me, eager, and I absorb them so fast the magic leaves me breathless and floating.
“You soothe me, Cat.” She guides us along the rough stone wall as we travel down the back side of the amphitheater. “You’re a balm to my soul.”
“I’m a bucket of water to your torch.”
She laughs at my tart response, colors pouring from her throat and sinking into me.
It doesn’t take long for Desma to stop glowing, and her power leaves me energized enough to forget the stifling heat. Rainbows fly from my fingertips, painting the evening shadows with splashes of color. I draw a picture of the Minotaur on the wall and then aim harmless ribbons of magic at friends who pass. Tadd and Alyssa launch into tumbling runs over the burned-out grass to avoid the beams. Zosimo and Yannis take my colorful volley head-on before staggering to the ground with imaginary wounds.
“Cat! You’re a menace!” Aetos booms from behind me.
Laughing, I whirl and hit him with everything I’ve got left. The magic can’t do more than tickle, but he acts like he’s on the glaciers again, pitting himself against the man-eating Mare of Thrace.
His face contorts, turning more menacing with every step. I eye his hulking form and the giant horsehide flapping behind him like dark wings and wish I’d braved the Ice Plains, defeated a monster, and made an offering like that mare’s head to the Gods.
What did I do to deserve my magic, apart from survive?
Aetos wades through the color-thick air and then grabs me, crushing me in a bear hug. “Who’s laughing now?” he rumbles somewhere above my head.
“Too tight.” I gasp, the magic fizzling as my bones shift.
“Sorry.” He lets go, and I breathe again. His eyes, glacial blue like the Ice Plains, narrow when he gets a good look at me. “Zeus! You look like you’re forty.” He taps a finger against my cosmetic-layered nose. “Your face paints are so thick I can hardly see what’s under there.”