“Seems an awfully big risk to take for not knowing,” the captain said.
“She’s worth it,” Thanos assured him.
“She must be something special to be better than Lady Stephania,” the smuggler said with a leer that made Thanos want to punch him.
“That’s my wife you’re talking about,” Thanos said, and even he recognized the obvious problem with that. He couldn’t defend her when he was the one who had left her behind, and when she’d been the one to order his death. She probably deserved everything anyone said about her.
Now, if only he could convince himself of that. If only his thoughts of Ceres didn’t continue to be punctuated by thoughts of Stephania, as she’d been with him at the castle feasts, as she’d been in quiet moments, as she’d looked on the morning after their wedding night…
“Are you sure you can get me onto the Isle of Prisoners safely?” Thanos asked. He’d never been there, but the whole island was meant to be a well-guarded fortress of a place, inescapable for those who were brought there.
“Oh, that’s easy enough,” the captain assured him. “We go by there sometimes. The guards sell some of the prisoners they’ve broken as slaves. String them up on poles on the shore for us to see as we get close.”
Thanos had long since decided that he hated this man. He hid it, though, because right then the smuggler was the only chance he had to get to the island and find Ceres.
“I don’t exactly want to run into the guards,” he pointed out.
The other man shrugged. “That’s easy enough. We get close, drop you in a small boat, and keep going like it’s a normal visit. Then we’ll wait off the coast for you. Not long, mind you. Wait too long, and they might think we’re doing something suspicious.”
Thanos had no doubt that the smuggler would abandon him given any threat to his ship. Only the prospect of profit had brought him this far. A man like this wouldn’t understand love. For him, it was probably something you hired on the docks by the hour. But he’d gotten Thanos this far. That was what mattered.
“You realize that even if you find this woman on the Isle of Prisoners,” the captain said, “she might not be the way you remember.”
“Ceres will always be Ceres,” Thanos insisted.
He heard the other man snort. “Easy enough to say, but you don’t know the things they do there. Some of the ones they sell us as slaves, there’s barely enough of them left to do anything for themselves unless we tell them.”
“And I’m sure you’re happy to,” Thanos snapped back.
“Don’t like me much, do you?” the captain asked.
Thanos ignored the question, staring out to sea. They both knew the answer, and right then, he had better things to think about. He had to find a way to locate Ceres, whatever that —
“Is that land?” he asked, pointing.
It was no more than a dot on the horizon at first, but even like that, it looked bleak, surrounded by clouds and with roiling waves. As it grew closer, Thanos could feel a sense of brooding dread growing in him.
The island rose up in a series of gray granite spikes like the teeth of some great beast. A bastion sat on the topmost point of the island, a lighthouse above it burning constantly, as if to warn away all who might come there. Thanos could see trees on one side of the island, but most of it seemed to be bare.
As they came closer still, he could see windows that seemed to be carved straight into the rock of the island, as if the whole place had been hollowed out to make the prison bigger. He saw shale beaches too, with bleached white bones sticking out against them. Thanos heard shrieks, and he paled at the realization that he couldn’t tell if they were sea birds or people.
Thanos slid his small boat up the shale of the beach, wincing with disgust at the sight of manacles set there below the tide line. His imagination told him immediately what they were for: torturing or executing prisoners using the incoming waves. A set of abandoned bones on the shore told their own story.
The captain of the smuggling boat turned to him and smiled.
“Welcome to the Isle of Prisoners.”
CHAPTER TWO
To Stephania, the world felt bleak without Thanos there. It felt cold, despite the warmth of the sun. Empty, despite the bustle of people around the castle. She stared out over the city, and she could have happily burned it all down, because none of it meant anything. All she could do was sit by the windows of her rooms, feeling as though someone had ripped out her heart.
Maybe someone still would. She’d risked everything for Thanos, after all. What was the precise penalty for assisting a traitor? Stephania knew the answer to that, because it was the same as everything else in the Empire: whatever the king decided. She had little doubt that he would want her death for this.
One of her handmaids offered her a soothing herbal tonic. Stephania ignored it, even when the girl set it down on a small stone table beside her.
“My lady,” the girl said. “Some of the others… they’re wondering… shouldn’t we be making preparations to leave the city?”
“To leave the city,” Stephania said. She could hear how flat and stupid her own voice sounded.
“It’s just… aren’t we in danger? With everything that’s happened, and all you had us do… to help Thanos.”
“Thanos!” The name shocked her out of her stupor for a moment, and anger followed in its wake. Stephania picked up the herbal concoction. “Don’t you dare mention his name, you stupid girl! Get out. Get out!”
Stephania threw the cup with its steaming brew. Her handmaid ducked, which was irritating in itself, but the sound of the cup shattering more than made up for it. Brown liquid spilled down the wall. Stephania ignored it.
“No one is to disturb me!” she yelled after the girl. “Or I’ll have your skin for it.”
Stephania needed to be alone with her thoughts, even if they were such dark thoughts that a part of her wanted to throw herself from the balcony of the rooms just to end it all. Thanos was gone. All she’d done, all she’d worked for, and Thanos was gone. She’d never believed in love before him; she’d been convinced it was a weakness that only opened you up to pain, but with him it had seemed worth the risk. Now, it turned out that she’d been right. Love only made it easier for the world to hurt you.
Stephania heard the sound of the door opening, and she whirled again, looking for something else to throw.
“I said I wasn’t to be disturbed!” she snapped, before she saw who it was.
“That’s hardly very grateful,” Lucious said as he walked in, “when I had you escorted back here so carefully to ensure your safety.”
Lucious was dressed like some storybook prince, in white velvet worked with gold designs and gemstones. He had his dagger at his belt, but he’d removed his golden armor and his sword. Even his hair looked freshly cleaned, free of any taint of the city. He looked, to Stephania, more like a man ready to sing songs beneath her window than one organizing the defense of the city.
“Escorted,” Stephania said with a tight smile. “That’s one word for it.”
“I ensured you traveled safely through the war-torn streets of our city,” Lucious said, “my men seeing that you didn’t fall prey to rebels, or find yourself kidnapped by that murderous husband of yours. Did you know he’d escaped?”
Stephania frowned. What game was Lucious playing?
“Of course I know,” Stephania snapped back. She stood, because she didn’t like Lucious looming over her. “I was