Athenian Steel (Book I of the The Hellennium) by P. K. Lentz

days ago—so you
know that.  You and I will follow her, await extraction and
return to Sprial.  I trust Magdalen will not forgive you a
second time.”  She lifted a snowy brow.  “I may suggest a
few punishments.”
     Thalassia's demeanor remained
outwardly calm, but Demosthenes knew it for what it was: the sort
of calm that one adopts when cornered by a salivating wolf.
    “You know nothing, Eden,” Thalassia said.
 “Go.  Follow Lyka.  Sleep and wait for rescue.
 I will never trouble you again.  I'm sorry for stranding
you here.  If there had been any other way—”
    Eden scoffed and lifted a long, pale finger.
 “There is one small problem with your suggestion... and that
is that  you serve the Worm !”
    She smiled, reining in the simmering anger
she had briefly allowed to surface.  These two women were more
alike than they would ever admit, Demosthenes silently concluded.
 He had caught a glimpse of Thalassia's temper, could still
feel its mark on his neck.
    “I serve Magdalen,” Thalassia asserted.
    “Bullshit!” the other screamed.  She
set eyes once more on Demosthenes and asked, “Has Geneva told you
what she is called by her own people, women and men who were once
her friends but now are loathe to speak her name?  It is the
name I have been calling her by.  Let me see if it
translates...”  Eden smiled a spiteful smile.
 “ Wormwhore .  Yes, I think that serves.”
    “I do not serve him,” Thalassia asserted
plainly.  “I hate him more than you do.  Now get out of
our way.”
    Unsurprisingly, as with the previous two
iterations of Thalassia's request, Eden showed no sign of
complying.  “What say you, Athenian?” she asked next of
Demosthenes with a smirk.  “Surely you know respect for such
things as law and loyalty. What do you think must happen?”
    Suddenly, Demosthenes found himself the
object of both women's attention.  He could see in Thalassia's
pale eyes, in the mouth drawn into a tight line, that she dearly
hoped he would take her side.  If one of the two women
repelled him more than the other, it was doubtless Eden, yet...
more than that, he wished to see them both ushered out of his life
by the swiftest possible means.  In just this one morning, the
hard-fought victory which he had every right to savor had been all
but soured.
    “I think...” he began, and cleared his
throat.  He addressed Thalassia without looking directly at
her.  “I think that... perhaps it might be best if you went
with her.”
    Eden grinned.  “A credit to his city,”
she said.  “Come, Whore.  For the moment, I am still
willing to let you walk.  But if I must cut you to pieces and
carry you away in a bloody sack instead, so be it.”
    While Demosthenes' mouth hung agape in
uncertainty as to whether this threat might be a literal one, he
caught a sidelong glance from Thalassia in which she made
abundantly clear the depth of her disappointment in him.
 Then, suddenly, moving as quickly as he had seen her do one
time before, she was upon her enemy.
    Eden foresaw the attack and had time to draw
one of her two swords, but only just.  Thalassia avoided its
first swing. The table knife flashed in the palm of Thalassia's
raised right hand, on course for Eden's face, but Eden's free hand
shot up and blocked it while she brought her own blade back for a
second swing.  Thalassia twisted, and the blade missed her
head by a hair's breadth—and then the wrist of Eden's sword arm was
locked in Thalassia's iron grip, the same grip that still felt
fresh on the skin of Demosthenes' neck.  The two took to
grappling, each trying yet unable to drive her blade into her
opponent's flesh.  They whirled together in a swift, deadly
dance of whipping dark and golden locks, of gray cloak and pale
orange dress.
    The dance ended as few others did, with one
of the partners, Eden, slamming her forehead into the other's nose,
a headbutt which left her forehead streaked with Thalassia's blood.
 She