II

"waiting for you,"

ANNABETH

AFTER marching for what felt like hours, she drew the conclusion that she hated the South. Despite the simple fact that Annabeth and Luke had spent close to two years hidden in the dusty streets of Algren, had weathered sandstorms and scorpions and the foreign dangers born of desert that would never reach the mountaintops, the Further South—where Triesso resided—was so much worse.

Her instincts hummed with vengeance within her. You are a wolf, they told her. The wolf is not made for the sea; is not made to cavort with sea snakes and scorpions.

She agreed wholeheartedly.

The prisoners were shoved forward, and Annabeth's teeth sank into her lip when she stepped on a rock, the stone piercing the soles of feet, as if mocking her for her abandonment of her people.

Coward, it taunted. Foolish coward. You are no wolf, you are no owl. You are no Karstagne.

She ignored it as best as she could.

Annabeth couldn't understand the reasoning behind forcing the prisoners out of the cart only to walk barefoot upon paved roads. And she highly doubted that the cause of said reasoning had anything to do with the High Lord of Triesso. She had been involved in enough politics to know that soldiers, especially ones associated with conquest, enjoyed the immense amount of power they had over conquered citizens.

If she were to guess, she'd say that the soldier with the whip was behind all of this. And because of that, she had no way to combat it. Not that fighting back would be a wise choice in the first place.

They were ordered to keep quiet, the only sounds hitting the air being that of their labored breaths under the heat of the strengthening sun. The taunting hope of her existence, Triton's Hold, only grew more significant as they drew closer. But she still managed to find consolation in the fact that the clouds were thickening, draping the landscape in a hazy grey display, and weakening the sun's heat.

The new shades of grey reminded her a bit too much of the tones of silver that Eplonia was known for. The color resembled closely the cliff sides of the Mounts, the high walls of the Torch, the beautiful workings in the temple of the Nine Mothers. Her home, her culture, her pride, and her joy.

But it was lost forever, a dynasty destroyed.

Biting her lip and imperceptibly tugging on the ends of her darkened hair, Annabeth found it a bit emotionally onerous to keep her sorrow from showcasing itself on her face. But she managed.

It didn't take long for the sounds of civilization to reach her ears as they drew closer to the main streets of Eplantis. The sun drew farther and farther away from her; it seemed. Shackles against shackles, chains to chains, the prisoners were led to the cusp of the city streets. Somehow, Annabeth was able to keep the shame from burning into her facial expression as she kept her eyes ahead.

The sadistic soldier cracked his whip, urging them forwards as they patrolled the streets. His harsh words did little to encourage them. But the fear of pain and punishment often tended to be enough encouragement for any sane man, woman, or child. So forward they went.

Triesstine citizens—whether peasant, noble, aged, or young—hardly paid them any mind, but the presence of foreign prisoners lining their city streets was most likely usual sight for them. Contrarily, excitement buzzed in the air as they were paraded through the walks.

After all, High Lord Poseidon had begun his campaign for expansion when Annabeth was still an untried age of eleven years old, nearly eight years prior. Almost a decade had been spent taking over the governments of offshore nations and adding them to the growing number of Triesstine territories. He collected taxes from his new territories all across the world, and now, Algren had been invited into the mix by force.

Algren was the latest conquest and the largest one by far. Triesstine citizens rejoiced. They thanked their gods, Aegeon and Idylla—the Brother and Sister of the seas and tides—for paving their way to success. They reveled in the glory of the Triesstine Empire. They praised the might of the High Lord of the Triesso, and of the blessings of the royal family.

Annabeth forced down her nausea, forced down her contempt.

There hadn't been a war, not with Algren. So, they were not true prisoners. Their presence in Triesso was but a formality, the leadership of Algren's public indication of respect to its new boss, king, Lord. And as much as the thought sickened her, the faux brunette was all too aware of the horrors of politics. All that was truly left to do was hope that High Lord Poseidon was a kind man who didn't concern himself with the affairs of war prisoners, legitimate or otherwise.

But she'd heard the rumors, as they were impossible to escape. In spite of her hopes, Annabeth's senses warned her of the dangers to come. So, in a nearly vague effort to quell those thoughts, she kept her eyes to the front, and registered the scene that lay before her—shackles against shackles, chains to chains.

Annabeth had always known that Triesso differed significantly from Eplonia. It was obvious. Eplonia was blanketed by snow, warmed by fire, surrounded by stone. It was of the North, as far as one could get before crossing the mountain range that shielded their realm from the barbarians of the Further North. Triesso, by contrary, was as far South as one could get before reaching Aegeon's Peninsula and the southern bend of the Estrian Sea. It was soaked in salt, cooled by ice, strengthened by iron. The two countries were wholly opposites.

The pride of the mountains held no similarity with the brashness of the sea, was a saying she had heard throughout her childhood. How her mother and father would often poisonously describe the sea salt that clung to the air, the perpetual dew that slicked over the streets, the cloud-thickened skies... it was all burned into her mind. Irrevocably.

But never could she have considered just how far the disparities went without first witnessing it with her own eyes. And it was overwhelming. The strange smells, the ominous sound of the vengeful ocean at her bruised back, the gray light that ran over each slick grain of dust, the black horses that strutted up and down the lanes, the overbearing pride worsening the festivity in the air as they carried nobles and their families- all of whom were dressed in the famed silken robes that sang of Triesstine wealth... overwhelming.

So overwhelming, that all she could focus on was Triton's Hold. Through the mass of buildings wrought with iron, of black hair, olive brown skin, and sea-reminiscent eyes, the only fixture that offered even the slightest bit of familiarity was the very building that her mother had warned her against for years. Its abalone steeples and marble towers were a sight to behold. The young girl in her that still longed to study architecture appreciated its every curve, her gaze flickering over the pearly gates that gradually swelled as they drew closer.

How... ironic.

The harsh inflection of braided leather coursing through the air snapped at her ear, and before she could comprehend what was happening, Annabeth found herself flinching away with a low cry of surprise. She cringed as a rough hand clamped down on her shoulder, and hot breath brushed against her neck. The rim of her left ear stung, and she knew without looking that it had flushed a furious shade of red.

"I don't know how things are done in Algren," the soldier's voice bled malice and ill-intent. "And I, truthfully, don't care at all." His grip tightened as it moved to the back of her neck. "What I do know is that prisoners such as yourself, are to know their place. Are to keep their heads down."

Annabeth bit the inside of her lip, nearly drawing blood, to keep from fighting back. The soldier pushed her head down, causing her to stumble forward. Shackles against shackles, chains to chains, dragging through the slick dust. Somehow, she kept her balance.

Her face burned crimson as shame's unmistakable presence crept up her throat. The faux brunette kept her gaze trained on the roads beneath her feet. Piper tensed up in front of her. She cursed herself for forgetting her place. She mentally swore upon the realization that it had been the architecture to distract her... as if she were fourteen all over again, caught up in her foolish dreams of the future.

You fool.

She exhaled through her nostrils and kept her joints aligned tightly as she shuffled forward, pressing her chin against her chest as best as she could. Her stance was mocking at best, challenging the soldier, taunting him, asking if it were low enough. But the brute was too dim to realize it. It wasn't for several more minutes before the soldier grunted, satisfied, and left, stalking off to harass another prisoner. Annabeth steeled herself, effectively closing down her senses, as his whip made its presence known once more.

Only this time, the fulsome sound of the weapon piercing skin made itself apparent. And a strangled cry followed it promptly afterward.

She soon found that with her face turned towards the earth, no one would be able to see or judge the sorrow that had fought its way to display across her expression. And no amount of effort would be able to force her emotions to tuck themselves away.

Sunlight had begun to break through the thick wall of clouds in the sky, its heat warming Annabeth to the bone. The back of her neck was soon slick with sweat, and she realized that her Algreni clothing would not make do in Triesso. Algren was hot, yes, but it was dry and sandy. Here, moisture clung to Triesstine air like a newborn would his mother. The fabric that had once shielded her from the dangerous rays of the sun now proved to be an overbearing catalyst for discomfort.

The faux brunette tried her hardest, yet could not refrain from yearning for the loose, skin-baring clothing that draped over the lower-class citizens of the city. A substantial percentage of her being ached to be free from the dirty, travel-worn constraints that could be referred to as clothing. She wanted to be free, more than anything else.

As she shuffled forwards, cheeks burning with shame and ears filled with the sounds of celebration, she realized the validity of that thought. Her attention swiveled upon itself as her conscience rushed in another direction. She wanted to be free. But as soon as that notion fluttered into existence, it faded away as her inbred logic bled through. She was all too aware of the addictive qualities that liberation held. But at what cost would she gain her freedom? Whose price would she be forced to pay?

And who would be forced to pay hers?

Every being that surrounded her was her enemy, whether they were aware of it or not. They all posed a threat to her safety and the safety of the secret that she held guarded within the depths of her heart. Her very presence in Triesso was treasonous itself. Her presence in Eplantis, the bloody capital, shattered one of the oldest treaties that had kept the sea salt-ridden country at bay for generations.

Shackles to shackles, chains against chains, the prisoners were driven to a halt to allow a channel of stallions the shade of pitch to pass through. As the young woman stood still as death, her soles burning against the slick stones of the road, the emotion that had solidified to a lump within her stomach swelled to the size of a large apple.

If she were to be discovered... any chances she'd have at reclaiming what was rightfully hers would be revoked. And that would mean the end of a dynasty, the end of her House. It would mean the end of a proud lineage that had refused to die out when it had been so near extinction only four years prior. It would mean the beginning of a new age... with a conniving Traitor on the throne.

The prisoners were shoved forwards. Hatred smoldered in her clenched fists. She wouldn't allow it.

And, more truthfully, she absolutely couldn't. She had made promises, the promises that would forever haunt her, but were still worth being kept.

The next hour was spent with Annabeth in complete oblivion regarding her surroundings. Her neck ached from its forcibly submissive state. But her thoughts consumed her, and so she didn't notice that the sounds of celebration had begun to lessen or that they were nearing the upper-tier sectors of the city. It wasn't until she was jolted to a complete stop, narrowly missing an embarrassing stumble against Piper's shoulder, that she realized that they had left the urbanized streets behind.

Of course, she could only come to that conclusion from what she could see from her lowered head's position. But she was able to make note that her feet were no longer pressed into rough cobblestones, but instead slid against smooth and seemingly polished rock.

She then noticed that the nearly palpable tension in the air had sterilized. Around her, none of the prisoners even released a single breath as they all waited for further instruction. To move was to call attention to oneself. And under pain of that barbed whip, no one wished for that to occur.

So Annabeth strained her ears to attentively listen to what was taking place. By the sound of it, the lead soldier was standing a few feet ahead of her in line. She wasn't able to determine the exact words of his lowered-toned conversation, but she managed to make out slivers of dialogue regarding the prisoners.

They waited patiently. Patiently and fearfully.

The sun dipped back behind the thick clouds before making its reappearance. This process repeated several times, but the faux brunette quickly realized that it was not a valid measure of time. The abrupt sound of harsh footsteps alighted her eardrums. She fought back the curiosity climbing in her chest and pressed her chin against her sternum with more force. Doors seemingly crashed open, and a feminine voice spread over the scene.

"Is this honestly the best that you could do?" Her tone was laden with disgust as she drew near the prisoners. The words she spoke raised goosebumps along Annabeth's skin.

The soldier's response was nearly instantaneous. "Please do not blame me for the shortcomings of Algren, milady. I just do as I'm told. High Lord Poseidon is expecting-"

She cut his message short. "I know what the High Lord is expecting, soldier. And this..." she trailed off, seemingly searching for the appropriate word to describe the band of prisoners standing before her. "This... lot simply does not meet the criteria. Take them back to the mangy dust pit of a country they came from. They have no place among Triesstine royalty. Their mere presence is disgraceful."

"I beg your pardon, milady. But I only take orders from the High Lord and the Heir Apparent-"

Her words interjected his sentence again. "—I believe I can speak for the currently unavailable Darksnake when I say—"

He continued without missing a beat, undoubtedly further angering the woman. Annabeth couldn't decide between who of the two of them was more worthy of her hatred. "—Until the current Omega of Triesso himself tells me that these prisoners are unfit, they will be registered and accounted for in Triesstine court."

Silence.

By the small sounds of clipped exhales that reached Annabeth's ears, she guessed that the woman fumed in aggravation at the realization that the soldier had won the dispute. After all, she could not combat the wishes of the High Lord, nor his only son. To do so would be treasonous and stupid, rumors be damned.

"Now," the soldier's voice gained a bit of an arrogant edge—one that was clear enough to decipher but transparent enough to remain non-incriminating—as he pressed on. "My men are more than willing to aid you in the installment of these prisoners. Do you accept, milady?"

Her tone was strained and bitter. "It appears that I do not have much of a choice, hm?" Then, a pregnant pause as she remained silent, most likely time spent staring at the women in disgust. "Just... remove them from my sight. I'll see to it that they have a proper meal and a proper bath. Perhaps... it's the effects of travel that gives them such a homely appearance."

"Of course, milady. And... perhaps." The last bit came off as ridiculously egregious in light of his apparent prejudices. Annabeth resolved her annoyance at this issue by clenching her fists a little bit tighter.

You're here for a reason, she reminded herself with a bite of her tongue. A Karstagne, who's here for a reason.

They were then dragged forwards. The woman stalked off, murmuring in indignation of the steady decline of Triesstine tradition and her wishes to return to the Isles. Annabeth made sure her head was as low as possible when she passed the soldier with the whip. But for some reason, she was the object of his attention as he pulled her from the line, his fingers pressing into her shoulder in a hostile manner.

His words were animus as he forced her face upwards, and she found herself peering into his glare. Dark brown hair cropped short, tanned skin, and a murky pair of green irises scanned her form with transparent aversion. Without a doubt, he was purely Triesstine. "A word of advice to you before you enter the palace," his voice was gruff. His hand squeezed her shoulder just a bit tighter. "Milady does not care for impertinence or headstrong aliens." A harsh smirk spread over his expression before he released her, shoving her back in line. "But a dirty Algreni like you will figure that out soon enough."

He disappeared from her peripheral vision with a crack of his whip. Annabeth found herself trapped between shuffling bodies as her heart slammed against her rib cage. Why had he singled her out? Was he able to see through her facade? Did he already know who she was, who she was pretending to be?

Obscurity enclosed her whole as she ghosted through the doors, entering Triton's Hold. The scent of saltwater almost vanished, and in its place came the aroma of beaten iron and burning incense. That, coupled alongside the malodor of the prisoners pressing against her, caused nausea to simmer in the abyss of her stomach. The walls were lined with Triesstine guards, some of whom that she realized could have had power trips, so she pressed her chin to her sternum once more and followed the rest of the prisoners to their destination.

It didn't take long for her vision to get accustomed to the newfound darkness. The prisoners fell into a steady rhythm amongst each other. And so, they stumbled silently through the halls, bypassing servants and other lower-tier citizens that had earned a job amongst royalty. The shades of their skin-baring robes ranged from light cyan to clouded navy.

Minutes passed and still, her previous questions did not subside, refusing to quell despite her efforts. All Annabeth could do was stare at the smooth floors beneath her bare feet and keep her head down.

Before long, the prisoners were led into a room that echoed. They filed into the large chamber, their presence swelling as they filled the space. She inconspicuously lifted her chin, eyeing her surroundings with suspicion lacing all of her movements. A few soldiers entered the room after them and barred the door. Ice churned in the pits of her gut when the unmistakable sound of a lock falling into place spread through the chilling emptiness.

Silence hung in the air, its presence coiling across the chilled skin of each prisoner. No one wished to make the first move. Unspoken questions filled the space. Were they allowed to lift their heads? Were they allowed to move; to speak?

Annabeth already understood the implications of shifting positions first. It'd be the most unwise choice. But still, her limbs ached to be free, to be mobile. She had been cooped up in that cursed prison cart for too long. She had been forced into submission for too long. Her fighting nature struggled towards liberation, and it was truly a battle to keep her desires at bay.

It wasn't until she lifted her head again several minutes later that she noticed that the prisoners had begun to move. They did so slowly, in ways that were nearly untraceable, but they were certainly moving. Hazel and Piper were assuredly gravitating their way towards her. She cut her gaze to the pair of soldiers positioned at the doors, both of them with stoicism riddling their stances. And yet, their eyes were closed.

The faux brunette interpreted that as her chance. Mirroring the actions of the women surrounding her, she kept her focus glazed on the guards as she steadily moved towards the familiar prisoners.

It was only a subtle act of rebellion in the heart of the leviathan's pit, but she had to be sure to maintain her pride. Triesso may have succeeded in forcing her into submission, but she was a young wolf of the mountains, born of fire, forged of stone, blest by Mother Winter herself.

She could not remain bowed for too long.

Ω

"I would do anything for a cactus pear right now." Piper huffed as she stretched out over Hazel's crossed legs, exhaling softly.

Annabeth grunted but didn't respond right away. She closed her eyes and pressed her spine further into the ironstone wall behind her. The sound of Hazel's airy chuckle cradled around her ears, eliciting an answer from her. "I believe Triesso is a bit fresh out of cactus pears, Piper. Unfortunately."

Piper didn't allow that to deter her, however. She unheedingly justified her desires. "And I refuse to believe that, Asteria. Honestly. Algren belongs to the High Lord now. Virtually, of course. But I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that the man has already begun importing cactus pears for him and the nobility. After all, if I were the ruler of the world, I would most definitely take advantage of cactus pears. Any sane man would, they're a delicacy."

Hazel's chuckle gained a higher volume. But the faux brunette kept her mouth closed this time, not responding at all.

It had taken a half-hour, but when the prisoners realized that the guards did not care if they conversed or not, Piper had led Annabeth and Hazel to one of the corners of the room. That is where they laid cradled against each other, studying the other prisoners, and slowly dipping in and out of conversation with each other. The familiar hum that had filled the air of the prison cart had returned to the space of the holding room. Murmured bits of dialogue fluttered past their ears here and there.

And now, Annabeth was clenching her teeth and driving the contempt that roared within her back to the depths of her heart. The pride of Eplonia that had been instilled in her since birth yearned to make clear that the High Lord was not the ruler of the world. But wisdom reminded her that Asteria did not care for such things, and logic reminded her that the High Lord of Triesso governed over nearly half of the civilized world. The King of Five Kingdoms, people dared call him. Piper's description of the man, although exaggerated, was not wholly misplaced.

In light of this, Annabeth forced herself to settle for grinding her teeth against each other and ordering her emotions into check.

But all conversation was driven to a halt anyways as the sound of the doors slamming open filled the space. Her vision tunneled and her attention fell to a woman with a twisted expression who was surrounded by a half dozen soldiers. The two guards that had been stationed at the entrance inclined their heads toward her.

Before the faux brunette pressed her chin to her sternum again, she caught a glimpse of sleek black hair and cruel dark eyes. The woman's skin wasn't pale, but it was definitely several shades lighter than the average Triesstine citizen. The answer as to how a foreigner had gained such rank amongst the nobility fled from Annabeth. Around her, all the prisoners hastily lowered their heads and stilled their breaths.

"Separate them by age and line them up," the woman spoke first, addressing the soldiers who flanked her.

"Yes, milady." They responded with urgency and in unison.

"And do so quickly." Her words dripped with arrogance. "My stomach doesn't sit well at the scent of Algreni scum."

Annabeth couldn't fight the pits of her gut from churning as fear rippled through the room. Young women around her were yanked from the floors and shoved into lines. Hazel released a small squeak as she was dragged away from Piper and Annabeth. The faux brunette herself made the mistake of glancing up and quickly registered the unadulterated terror that swirled in the younger girl's ichor irises.

The reality of the situation made its reappearance with full force. No matter the conditions of technicalities, they were viewed as prisoners of war. They would be treated as prisoners of war.

She was hauled off soon afterward. The soldier gripped her upper arm, snarling at her to get up. His calloused fingers dug into the skin of her bicep, threatening to break through flesh and undoubtedly promising a bruise. Annabeth clamped down on her tongue to the point of drawing blood in order to refrain from fighting back. She allowed herself to be shoved into a line at the opposite end of the room, far away from Hazel and Piper, and close to young women whose facial features seemingly held the same degree of age as her own.

'Milady' stalked up and down the lanes between the lines. Her steps were calm and graceful, contradictory to her entrance, as she glanced over every prisoner. After she was seemingly satisfied, she returned to the doors and spoke into the tense quietness. "The youngest girls," she addressed the soldiers again. "Take them to the bathhouse. Aids are already there with fresh clothing. They have ten minutes."

A solid salute echoed through the chamber and then the youngest of the prisoners were pulled out into the halls and began the march to the bathhouse.

Annabeth's skin clammed. No one dared to breathe a single syllable as the woman resumed inspection. The air was punctured with a haughty question directed towards one of the prisoners, asking where this bruise or this cut had come from. The faux brunette's breath nearly hitched when the black-haired woman came to a stop behind her, hovering over her shoulder, but she somehow managed to keep her exhales steady. She kept her gaze trained on the floor, praying that 'Milady' would register her facade of submission as truth.

The woman released a lengthy exhale, clearly enjoying the discomfort that she brewed in the chained prisoners. Seconds passed and she continued on to the next. Annabeth let loose a tense breath.

The young girls returned from the bathhouse not long after that. Their hair had darkened from wetness, water dripping onto the skin that their new sets of clothing exposed. The next line of prisoners were carted off to the bathhouse. 'Milady' began further inspecting the returning girls, checking their teeth and insulting the state of their hair.

This process went on for what felt like hours, but even so, it wasn't long before it was her group's turn to bathe. Annabeth steeled herself and began the walk towards the bathhouse.

She could have never truly been able to prepare herself for the sheer humidity that enveloped her upon arrival. The scent of saltwater clung to each wisp of moisture thickened air, assaulting her nostrils as the soldiers shoved the prisoners into the room.

A hand grasped at her clothing, and the faux brunette nearly shed her skin from the suddenness of it. She flinched away, a scowl pulling on the corners of her lips, and spun around to meet the gaze of the perpetrator. A young woman, barely older than herself, stared back at her through dark blue eyes accompanied by an arched eyebrow. Her jet-black hair was tied away from her face in a simple plait. "Do you plan on bathing in dirty clothes?" Her Triesstine accent was thick, almost rendering the brief message undecipherable.

Annabeth swallowed her pride and turned. The woman resumed to her task of swiftly tugging off her clothing. Grip. Pull. Tear. Despite the warmth of the bathhouse, her skin prickled against the air and she fought down a shiver.

There was an unaddressed tension in the air. An unspoken vow had passed between the chained young women. Not a single gaze strayed from the floor. The only sight that met Annabeth's eyes were that of her own bare feet. And judging by the slivers of what she could see through her peripheral vision, the other prisoners did the same. Although she had been raised by servants and thus had been bare in front of eyes that were not her own countless times beforehand, she was grateful.

They were urged into a large tub filled with warm water. Annabeth tried not to think of the plethora of bodies that had already bathed and rinsed in it, opting to close her eyes instead of staring at the opaque water she sat in. The Triesstine woman that had undressed her made quick work of rubbing base cleansing soaps into her skin and detangling her hair.

She could only pray that the hair dye she had stolen in Algren did not wash out.

No sharp, indignant outcries came, though. She was not bound and gagged, nor was she dragged off to the throne room to be exposed for her crimes. Instead, her hair was tied back from her face and twisted into a plait. Relief flooded through her as she was pulled from the tub and scrubbed down with a fresh cloth. Her secret was safe. Then, the woman handed her a small stack of clothes and ordered her to dress.

Annabeth yearned for the brisk winds and chilly fog of the Eplave Mountains as she tugged on the sparse fabric, feeling more exposed than ever upon the realization that the navy-shaded top that draped over one shoulder barely reached her navel. After all, it was the harsh humidity and warmth of Triesso that called for such clothing. But she was grateful for the length of the skirt, and even more so for the slit that allowed mobility.

The prisoners were then herded back to the holding chambers with the same manner as criminalized cattle, with brutal shoves and tight grips and harsh words. And although every fiber of her being told her to hold her head high and proud as a daughter of Houses Minerva and Karstagne should, she forced herself to keep her head down and heed the wisdom that she had been raised with.

The mountains cannot bow to the sea, she repeated her mother's words to herself. They cannot. You will not.

And it was that mantra alone that saw her through the coarse inspections from 'Milady,' that saw her through the prejudice-based cruelty from the soldiers, that saw her through to the relaxation that she had been craving since Algren first surrendered to the House of Neptune.

Ω

"Your Highness, you should be asleep!"

Annabeth turned slowly, a small frown already beginning to make itself evident across her facial expression. The eleven-year-old regarded the head maid that stood at the entrance of her bedchambers. Her gaze flickered from the older woman's clasped hands to the concerned visage that dwelled in her dark grey eyes. "But Luke and Malcolm haven't yet returned," was her simple excuse, as if it solved everything.

The way she viewed it, it wouldn't make sense to be forced to sleep when her older brothers were still running through the dark woods behind the Torch. She could almost hear their shouts of glee as they darted between the soaring trees, their footprints littering the sterling snow, disappearing into the dense vapor that bathed their nook in the Eplave Mountains. She almost clenched her fists at the thought, despising the fact that she had been left out yet again.

No... she would wait for them to return.

The young girl shifted her attention back to the dappled sky, brushing her silver-blonde hair from her face as she studied the constellations displayed across the post-eventide arches. Until her older brothers were heading back to their beds, she would stare at the stars—no matter how long it took. There was no room for wisdom in frustration. No room for it in stubborness, either.

But the eleven-year-old had yet to decide which would be her excuse.

"Hestia..." She called for the woman over her shoulder, glancing behind for a split moment before resuming focus on the night sky.

"Yes, Your Highness?" Her response sounded much, much closer. Annabeth found comfort in that.

She looked to Hestia with a warm smile pulling on her lips despite the slight anger that swam around the pupils of her silver eyes. "Do you think it's fair that they are allowed to be out in the Peak Wood at this hour while I am forced to remain in here and watch the stars?"

Hestia bowed her head, but they were both well aware of the grin that was fighting its way across her lips. "It's not my place to say, Your Highness. But if I may point out..." She trailed off, debating if she were comfortable with what she would say next.

Annabeth tugged on the ends of her hair. "What is it?"

Warmth spread over the older woman's face. "As rumors grow of Triesso's expansion, the princes spend their days studying politics and training to become kings, while you... frolic in the Peak Wood and vanish into the library."

The eleven-year-old huffed. "That's... true." A tight frown pulled on her lips as she gazed longingly towards the Peak Wood. "I guess I don't have much to complain about, then."

The head maid seemingly agreed, nodding slowly, and murmuring out quiet praise to the Eighth Muse—Mother Vara.

Annabeth sat at the window ledge for a long time. She didn't bother to count the minutes or the hours, but she tallied a total of eighteen shooting stars that flew through her line of vision across the silver-checkered sky. However, she clearly spent enough time cradled beside her window to fall asleep.

The young girl peeled her eyes open blearily after the abrupt sensation of being shaken awake. She muttered out a slurred "Who is it?" into the turbid murkiness of her bedchamber. A snarky chuckle aroused her attention as she rubbed her smooth eyelids, scowling slightly.

"Hestia told me you waited up for us. How tragic that you failed." The familiar voice gave way to a round of sparse laughter as Annabeth huffed.

The eleven-year-old stopped rubbing her eyes and pushed herself off the ground. She stood to offer a stricter glare at her eldest brother. "It's not my fault that you and Mal took centuries."

Luke shrugged with a flair of manufactured nonchalance, but even she could see the shine in his crystal blue irises. The boy leaned against the ivory-shaded wall of her bedchambers and dragged a finger down her silk curtains, regarding her with little less sarcasm staining his words. "All you had to do was sit there and stare at the sky, Little Silver." A toothy grin broke through. "How utterly pitiful that-"

"Oh, leave her be already, Luke. You're turning her ears red." A second voice, this one sterner yet kinder, cut the sixteen-year-old's message short.

Annabeth turned completely from her eldest brother and the frosted window at her side to take consideration of the fact that there was another presence in the room. She scowled deeply upon recognition of Malcolm's wavy red-gold hair that shone underneath the glimmer of moonlight and reached up to skim her fingers along the edge of her ear, feeling the heat. "You're not much better, either."

Her excuse was lame and they were all aware of it.

Malcolm chuckled and stood from his position on her bed, pushing off from the sheets and ambling over to the pair of them. His grey eyes seemingly grew brighter as he drew closer. "That may be true," his smile was infectious. "But at least I'm nicer about it."

Luke scoffed. "Poison is poison, no matter how prettily you package it."

Annabeth chided, saying that his statement resembled a bit too close to that of their mother, as the younger of the two boys, fourteen-years-old, demanded in faux indignation to know if he could truly be classified as a poison.

"I mean, really," Malcolm continued. His tone bordered on exasperation. "I'm the nicest one of us three. How is it that I'm the poison? Luke is arrogant and Annabeth is mean."

Both Annabeth and Luke opened their mouths in protest-

Ω

Interruption.

A harsh tug on the slit of her skirt tore the newfound prisoner from the comforts of light slumber. Annabeth jolted awake with a vehement grimace, disorientation puncturing her movements. Nearly mirroring the actions of her younger self, she blearily surveyed the blurred figures her vision presented. Seconds were spent studying her surroundings until one by one, her senses filtered back in and she was able to at least recognize the girl in front of her.

Hazel's auric irises heralded fear as she swallowed and leaned back, determined to give the older girl her space.

Annabeth felt herself frown at this. "Hazel... what's wrong? Why did you wake me?" She disliked the presage that her post-traveling companion's apprehension expression gave her. She loosely trusted Hazel. In the days they had spent together, she had seen that the younger girl appeared to have a level head fixed atop her shoulders. And she never had woken Annabeth up without good reason. With the last notion still present in mind, the faux brunette scanned the holding chambers for any imminent threats. Her frown deepened and her gaze flickered back to Hazel. Her silence spoke volumes.

Hazel chewed on her lower lip, her uneasiness evidently swelling at Annabeth's lack of further interrogation.

The sight of that provoked an arched eyebrow. Annabeth turned away to look for a presence that she had just noticed was missing. Her brows furrowed as she scanned the room once more, albeit not as in-depth as she was capable of doing. "Where's Piper?" Her question floated into the air and disappeared into the low hum of conversation around her.

"That..." Hazel's sigh drew Annabeth's attention back towards her. The young girl fiddled with the hem of her skirt. "That's why I woke you up."

The faux brunette cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowing. "Is... is she missing?" The suspicious sweeping glance that followed was involuntary.

"No, Asteria. She's in here. She's- it's just..." The younger girl swallowed and shook her head. "I shouldn't have woken you. This isn't your problem to look after, I'm sorry."

Annabeth recognized a cry for help when she saw one. Hazel began to prepare herself to stand, but the faux brunette stopped her. "Wait."

Golden eyes swam with slight surprise and confusion as she reacquainted herself with her previous position on the floor. So Annabeth paused, studying her carefully, and decided that she would wait until Hazel was ready to delve further into the pressing problem apparently at hand.

After a few moments, the dark-skinned girl motioned towards the center of the chamber. The faux brunette followed her direction and felt her eyes widen at the sight of Piper baring her teeth at another prisoner. From the sight of the angry cuts along the sides of the other girl, she guessed that she was the one the soldier had stricken out on the street earlier. She watched as the familiar Algreni girl took a step towards the injured one, fists clenching and glare strengthening tenfold.

Annabeth turned back to Hazel, slight confusion lacing her expression. "What happened?" Then, she added as an afterthought, "Specifically, if you are able."

Her irises disappeared from view as her eyes fluttered closed. Then, after opening them, Hazel shook her head. "Piper was just... being herself. The other girl didn't like it, I guess. She... she got offended, which is justifiable, really. Piper isn't the most... diplomatic person."

"And now they're about to fight?" Ice prickled Annabeth's skin. Those fools. Were they trying to get them all whipped? The older girl turned to search for the foreboding presence of the Triesstine soldiers. "Where are the guards? How are they not seeing this?"

Hazel swallowed. "They left the room a little while after you fell asleep. But Asteria," she outstretched her hand, causing Annabeth's gaze to fall to it. The younger of the pair grimaced and pulled away. "I woke you because you seem like one to mediate things... I've yet to see you angry. I just thought-"

"-That I'd be able to alleviate the obvious tension between them?" Annabeth finished the thought for her, disliking the notion as soon as she breathed it into existence. To do so would be calling attention to herself, which was one of the last things she wanted. And after the recurring unpleasantry of the soldier with the whip, she felt the need to stay low even stronger than she had originally planned.

"I know it will be too much to ask of you, but you are the only other person in this room who has any semblance of caring for her. I tried, but they wouldn't listen to me-"

The sound of a sickening snap cut Hazel's ramblings short, eliciting a horrified squeal from her lips. Annabeth craned her neck, recognizing the noise for what it was. Sure enough, Piper was standing triumphantly over the injured girl who was bent over the floor, crimson blood streaming from her nose and staining the ironstone floors. The room was drowned in silence as the rest of the prisoners watched the interaction with apprehension.

The following movements occurred at a rapid speed near untraceable. A swift uppercut to the jaw was followed by Piper's shocked screech in response. She tumbled backward, cradling her chin as the injured prisoner stood with savage momentum and sent a skilled kick to her sides. Piper rose from the floor with anger rolling from her limbs as she reached out to grip her assaulter's throat. But the young women surrounding the pair held them back, separating them just as the doors were slammed open and the guards poured into the room.

Piper spat rabid threats at the injured girl from her position in a soldier's grasp, her acrimony rousing goosebumps along Annabeth's skin. The target of her menacing words countered with glares and growls of the same fashion. Piper then turned her fury on the young man who gripped her, tossing her head over her shoulder to glare at him. The Triesstine soldier remained unhindered... until a harsh scream split the air in two, rippling through the echoes of the holding chamber and driving conviction into every present beating heart. "Release me!"

For reasons unknown, he obeyed her command, removing his fingers from her skin. Piper stumbled forward. Surprised but undeterred from a plan that she clearly had, the Algreni girl angled her body towards the open entrance and launched herself through it, slipping between armed guards and disappearing into the dark halls of Triton's Hold.

There were shouts of scorn and disturbance as the guards hurried after her, but judging from the evident groans that followed soon afterward, Piper was already gone.

A cold hand gripped Annabeth's wrist, and she met Hazel's wild eyes. There was no need for words to be spoken between them. With a sigh, the faux brunette offered her a grim nod. "Don't worry," she murmured. "I'll go after her."

The younger of the pair nodded deeply, unable to fully demonstrate her thanks.

Annabeth then turned a cautious glance to the entrance of the room, which was beginning to teem with soldiers at the news that one of the Algreni prisoners had escaped. Her attention flickered to Hazel once more before refocusing on the macabre obscurity that lay ahead of the doors. "I just need you to distract the soldiers."