The air in the back room of the inn was thick with unspoken words. The two men loyal to Athens whom Roxana had gathered stood silently by the door, a mixture of respect and fear in their eyes.
Roxana finally lowered her dagger, but she did not sheathe it. She placed it on the map-covered table, a bronze sentry between herself and Cadmus. It wasn't a surrender; it was a pause. An invitation to negotiate. She made her wager. — An old woman? — Roxana repeated, skeptical. — Describe her.
Cadmus described the wrinkled face, the rags, and finally, the eyes. — They were golden. And they didn't blink. She knew about you. Said you were looking for a ghost.
A chill ran down Roxana's spine. The words were a disturbing echo of her own torments. The poetess within her felt the touch of myth; the survivor smelled a trap. — And she said the local vipers are preparing to strike. — The vipers have already struck — she retorted, touching the cut on her arm. She pulled out the ship's manifest. — I went to the port captain. I forced him to show me this. It's a fake. — She pointed to the name Serylda, her voice faltering for an instant. — I asked about her. He lied. And that night, they sent two men to silence me.
Cadmus looked at the dagger on the table, then at her eyes. He now understood the fury that drove her. It was that of a wolf defending her cub. — The port captain is a pawn — he said, his mind analyzing. — The men who attacked you... they must know I am here. We are in the middle of something bigger.
Roxana ran her hands over her tired face, her mind racing. Outside this room, she could trust no one. The seal of Athens was worth as much as the coins Alcibiades had thrown into the fire. She needed a weapon. And a Spartan wolf had just walked into her den. — The captain lied because he fears someone more powerful — Cadmus reasoned. — We need to know who gives him his orders. — I agree — said one of Roxana's men, a stevedore named Loxias. — But Lycus never leaves the port. He's always surrounded by his watchdogs. — Does he have a weakness? A vice? — Cadmus asked, his voice that of a hunter seeking a trail. — The bathhouse — Loxias answered. — Every night. He takes only two guards. He's vain.
— To wait here is to wait for death — Cadmus said, looking directly at Roxana. — We hunt first. She looked at him, surprised by the conviction in his voice. The plan was dangerous, but it was a plan. It was action. — Alright — she said, finally. Her voice was firm again. She looked at her men, then at Cadmus, taking command. She picked up the dagger from the table and fastened it back to her belt. — But this is done my way. Loxias, you and Alcaeus prepare a merchant's cart and wait in the north alley.
Cadmus took a step forward, his face a silent protest. Roxana met his gaze. — Spartan, you are the strength. I am the strategy.
He nodded, a shadow of respect in his eyes, acknowledging the truth in her words. — Strategy is useless if the strength hesitates — she retorted, her voice both a warning and a promise. — And strength is useless if it strikes blindly.
An understanding passed between them, as clear as the glint of steel. They were different weapons, but they were aimed in the same direction. The air in the room was still heavy, but no longer with suspicion. It was heavy with the silent promise of the violence to come.