Hag Mom grabbed for her.
Ryanne ducked. She was good at ducking.
The village was small. She ran out of it before her breathing caught up. The seawall came at her shins and she sat before she went over.
The stone held. Warm and solid and not going anywhere.
She looked East. The dawn sun warmed her face.
Her mother's voice found her anyway.
"I, Melanippe of Themiscyra, charge Penthesilea with murder, theft, and abandonment."
She could have heard it from the boats.
Her mother kept talking. Ryanne stopped listening. She'd heard it before.
Her mother drew. The stance was formal. Old Amazon. She cut the air twice and it cracked.
Hag Mom leaned on her spear.
Her mother charged.
Hag Mom moved her foot.
Her mother went into the old man's hole. Democritus scrambled clear just in time.
Hag Mom knelt beside her.
From the wall, it looked like helping.
It wasn't.
Melanippe's mouth was open. Something brown was stuck to her face.
The girdle of the Queen of Themiscyra.
Penthesilea peeled it off.
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"Bad girl."
Melanippe wasn't listening. Her eyes hadn't left the girdle.
Penthesilea flipped her over her knee. She'd done this before.
Belt. Ass. Hopefully the lesson would stick this time. Belt. Ass.
Melanippe didn't fight it. Didn't even flinch. Still somewhere between the sand and thirty years of looking.
"Much better."
Penthesilea left the girdle in the sand next to her sister and went back to the village.
"I was keeping it safe for her," Democritus said. He was brushing sand off his knees.
Melanippe put it on.
Ryanne was still on the wall.
Might as well run away. She closed her eyes, holding it back.
Someone sat next to her.
She waited.
"You're skinny."
Ryanne peeked.
The woman was tanned and sharp, with a blade on her hip that wasn't for show. She was unwrapping bread. She tore it and held half out.
Ryanne took it.
They ate. The woman watched the harbor the way her mother watched coastlines.
She collected what was left and stood.
"That was for someone else."
She walked toward the village.
Ryanne followed her.
Wall. Post. Cart. Wall again.
Ryanne stayed low. Quick when the street bent. Still when it didn’t.
Ninja.
Anaktoria reached the gate.
Turned her head just enough.
Smirk.
Then she went through.
Ryanne followed.
Down into the cool, where the smell changed first. Bread. Herbs. Smoke. Something musky underneath.
Anaktoria pushed the door open with her shoulder.
Ryanne slipped in behind her.
One woman in bed with one man. Another woman on a pallet with her ankle. Anaktoria putting the bread down.
The woman on the pallet blinked at Ryanne through a goofy, drug-soft grin.
“Beach girl.”
Ryanne stared at her.
The grin vanished.
Horror.
“No,” the woman said.
Anaktoria looked over.
The woman pushed up on her elbows, eyes wide now, words trying to outrun each other. “Beware the morning when-”
The outer door opened.
Penthesilea came in with a spear.
Saw Ryanne.
Saw Anaktoria.
Saw enough.
“Why,” she said, “is that child in my hole.”
Nobody answered fast enough.
Ryanne lifted a hand at Anaktoria. “I followed her.”
Penthesilea looked at Anaktoria.
Anaktoria shrugged.
The woman on the pallet made a desperate little cut-off noise. “Oh, fuck.”
Penthesilea hefted her spear.
Above them, boots hit stone.
The man in the bed came awake hard. The woman beside him did too. Anaktoria was already moving.
The boots stopped at the gate.
Ryanne knew the voice before it came.
“Ryanne!”
Her mother.
Loud. Sharp. Furious.
Other voices with her.
Troops.
The woman on the pallet dropped her face into the blanket. “There it is.”
Anaktoria smiled wider.
Ryanne stood in the middle of the room with the gate above and her mother outside and nowhere left to follow.
Penthesilea started for the steps.
Anaktoria went with her.
From above, Melanippe shouted, “Bring her out!”
Beerheim listened.
