Chapter Text
She wouldn’t call her last big adventure a fiasco, but…
Well, it had been close. Apocalyptic, end-of-the-world close. Even if Trinity was gone now, her trip to Peru had worked as a reminder to Lara that she’d come very, very close to dying again. One time too many. After much pondering, she had stuffed all her possessions in a duffel bag and moved into her family's manor, fully embracing the past she’d tried to escape for so long. Winston, ever the professional, had welcomed her with all the courtesy of a majordomo, but the glint in his eyes and the way his wrinkled face stretched as he smiled at her were unmistakable.
“Welcome home, Lady Lara,” he had said.
She still flinched when he called her that, but it happened less often now. It took some getting used to, for both of them. Her mother’s room had become her own, her father’s office had gone through extensive changes, the stifling brown replaced by white paint. Relics and artifacts from her travels adorned the walls now, alongside the books her family had amassed through time. Winston learned to stop pestering her when she insisted on cooking her own food and turning the manor and its gardens into a climbing park, and that wasn’t even counting when she was using century-old oaks for target practice. They resumed their weekly chess games from when she was a kid. He still won.
All in all, Lara had decided to (temporarily) put the brakes on hardcore adventuring, favoring small digs where no secret Order was running after her. Archiving what she had already brought from her previous expeditions was taking most of her time when she was not writing articles and papers about them. It was nice. It felt good to be home, to not be running all the time.
Making true on her promise to be among the living for a while, she had even worked up the courage to finally call Sam. It had taken time, but Lara had set her mind on properly apologizing and salvaging what remained of their friendship. When all her phone calls had gone straight to voicemail, Lara decided to book a ticket to the States and showed up at Sam’s doorstep on a brisk morning, looking just as guilty as she felt to the flabbergasted gaze of her friend.
“I really care, Sam. I’m sorry I didn’t say it enough.”
You matter. You are family, she let the words hang in the air. I don’t want to lose you, too.
Sam had shaken her head, looking to the side as silence stretched between them. When she’d finally looked back, her face was unreadable.
“You sure have a weird-ass way of showing it, Lara,” her eyes were glistening with held back tears.
“I know.”
“Disappearing like that…”
“I know,” she had hunched over herself, looking down at her feet.
“Blowing up my phone after going MIA for years… I tried getting in contact with you. You ignored me.”
“I know,” Sam had always known where to poke her.
There was a long, weary sigh and then more awkward silence.
“So, I hear Jonah has a girlfriend now?” an olive branch.
Lara couldn’t help it, she’d snorted, looking up to see her friend grinning.
“You don’t know half of it.”
They had spoken at length, that day. Lara’s words riddled with apologies, Sam understood the reasons, but it didn’t mean she agreed with them. Yes, her line of work could be dangerous, and risky, Yamatai proved as much. But it didn’t warrant cutting herself off the rest of the world because she was afraid of putting the lives of the people she held dear at risk. Trading loneliness for safety was never a solution. Still, they managed to piece their friendship back, found something that suited the both of them. Lara had a room ready for Sam every time she was in England for work, and the archaeologist never missed an occasion to drop by when digs or seminars sent her to the States.
…
This little masquerade of settling down and going slow went on for two years before the itch came back.
It was nothing at first, little nonsensical crumbs of info here and there. A legendary sword with supernatural abilities, buried somewhere between Greece and Turkey. Rumors of Atlantis (again). A far-fetched theory about immortals. A Zodiac Wheel of Time, a clairvoyant Eye. Lara tried – she really did – to ignore them all, despite the ever-growing itch of new adventures, plunging into the unknown again. Nothing to prove to anyone this time, no frantic chase of the ghost of her father. Just her and a new discovery, one that could possibly change the fate of the world.
Tempting. Very.
The last straw came in the form of a seemingly innocuous e-mail sent by one of her former professors at UCL. A specialist of Ancient Greece with a fondness for the Olympic Games. He was cross-referencing all the winners ever since the Games’ creation and had come across an interesting tidbit: while Sparta’s champions had traditionally won the games, they had once sent a mercenary to compete on their behalf, which, for a nation that prided itself on raising warriors, was highly unusual. There had been no name, except for a vague description: An eagle-bearing misthios.
Lara frowned at her screen. “Eagle Bearer,” she muttered.
Somehow, it kept popping up in her research. With a bit of digging, she found that there were many tales of a certain mighty mercenary that had roamed Greece and the Aegean Sea two thousand four hundred and fifty years ago. Some say that, like Theseus, he had defeated the legendary Minotaur under Knossos’s Palace, survived Medusa’s lethal gaze, even outwitted the Sphinx, and rode a flaming horse straight from the Underworld. All of that while lending his services to Sparta and Athens alike during the Peloponnesian War.
Lara smiled. Mighty indeed, a demigod among men. The Greeks certainly liked their hyperbole. “Bollocks,” she said out loud.
Winston cleared his throat, bowing his head slightly when she looked up. “Your lunch is ready, Lady Lara.”
She gave him an apologetic smile, rolling away from the desk to stand up and stretch. “Thank you, Winston,” sometimes, it was hard to forget she wasn’t alone anymore. Oh, he would never say anything out loud; Winston was all about that implicit scolding. Even at twenty-six, he still managed to make her feel like an eight-year-old with one disapproving look.
They walked silently to the kitchens; Lara’s thoughts kept circling back to that e-mail. The offer was too good to be true: a fully funded expedition to find the tomb of this demigod mercenary who was said to have wielded the legendary sword she’d read about earlier. Her professor had been ecstatic, offering her a spot in his team. There would be much to do there: dig, reference, and date everything – provided they found the burial site to begin with.
There was a catch, there had to be. The frown on her face was present long after lunch, when she trained, and even when she slept.
“Here you go,” the waitress leaned over with a smile. “Straight out of the oven, so be careful not to burn your tongue!”
Her chirpiness was infectious, Kassandra found herself smiling. “That would be unfortunate, indeed,” she winked.
They shared a look, a pink hue coloring the waitress’ cheeks when the words registered. “Aren’t you the charmer,” she swatted Kassandra’s shoulder with her hand.
“I do try my best,” no matter how long she had lived, or where she had traveled, the woman had never been able to get rid of her accent. It always had its little effect.
The middle-aged waitress poked her playfully again, “Oh, hush. Don’t let my husband hear you,” before giggling. “I’ll go get your water. Do you want more bread?”
Kassandra nodded. “Thank you.”
This establishment was the only one she had found in England that served a semi-decent moussaka. Their homemade bread dipped in olive oil was to die for, although she rarely indulged. It hit a little too close to home.
The waitress came back quickly with water and more bread before leaving her alone again. Of all the changes she’d seen throughout her years, few things had evolved as drastically as food. Kassandra had hated cooking back then; nothing but a waste of precious time she could have spent tracking down her mother, Alexios, Cultists, or completing contracts instead. It had taken more than a thousand years of overcooked dishes for her to even entertain the idea of learning elaborate recipes that involved more than grilled (carbonized, really) meat with dried fruits. The Renaissance had been a good time to start.
It had turned into a hobby over time, to ward boredom when there were no Assassins or Templars (as the Cult liked to call themselves nowadays) to kill, no ancient artifact to steal from their greedy hands or to destroy, and no war to fight. Those were usually short reprieves, far in-between that left her alone with thoughts and memories of bygone times.
So, cooking was good. It prevented her from going stir-crazy, provided her with something else to do with her hands, something that didn't involve killing people.
Kassandra was still in the mercenary business. It was certainly different now - wars weren’t fought on fields drenched in the blood of dead soldiers anymore - but it still paid, and it provided the perfect cover for her actual mission.
Keeper of the Staff.
There was always someone looking to off an undercover Templar or an Assassin, after all. If she could make money out of it, then why refuse?
Kassandra blew on the fork, giving the still-hot food a careful swipe of her tongue to test the temperature. Perfect, she smiled before digging in.
As tasty as it was, her lunch did not alleviate her mood. England’s weather never failed to make her sour - yet another reason why she avoided the country whenever possible. Trading the Arctic winds of Vladivostok for rainy, misty London was just the cherry on top of her already bad luck. Kassandra was going to make sure her next job would be somewhere warm. With a beach, maybe.
Beaches were nice.
Split’s beaches were very nice. Or maybe Cape Town? Her last trip to South Africa had been in 1993 – things had certainly changed in the twenty-plus years since.
The Philippines could also be an op—
Her phone’s buzzing drew her out of her musing. Kassandra grabbed it with a sigh.
Through the window. Three o’clock.
“Right on cue,” Kassandra muttered to herself, looking at a woman with a short bob of hair exited a building. She saw her look up, frown at the sky before making a run for it to the car parked nearby.
Her phone buzzed again.
142 Abingdon Road. Surrey.
Kassandra grimaced. That was one hour away at best and with no traffic. In this rain, it would take longer. She hated cars; they were stifling and felt confined. Her phone buzzed.
What’s with the long face?
That jolted her, she quickly scanned the restaurant, observing the patrons and staff closely. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, they were all eating or talking. No nearby computers, none glued to a screen. She bit her lip, frowning a little.
Where are you, she hit sent.
The answer was quick: Close ;)
She had met a lot of frustrating people over the years but this one was a particular brand of annoying. The one who knew exactly how irritating they were. Kassandra took a long, steadying breath, her fist opening and closing several times.
Look up.
When she lifted her head, Kassandra came face to face with the red dot of a surveillance camera blinking back at her. Figures, she thought.
People like Nix were most efficient in the shadows, unsuspected. They could be halfway across the world, sipping a cocktail by a pool for all she knew. Or they could be a thirty-something year old man living with a mother blissfully unaware of her son’s shady activities.
Kassandra had amassed a small but capable network of contacts over time; hackers, mercenaries, killers for hire, black market sellers, informants… They weren’t friends, but they could be valuable assets for the right price. Nix was the only one whom she was in semi-permanent contact with, yet had never met; Kassandra’s (very expensive) eyes through every hackable network. Still, they didn’t hold a candle next to Ikaros. Nobody would ever replace him. Nix was just the next best thing.
She squinted at the camera, unimpressed.
Payment? her phone buzzed again.
Seriously?
For what? Using Google? she typed back with a scoff. You will get it once the job is done.
Hell, even she could have done it. What was it with the crooks of this century? Greedy vultures. Her phone remained silent. The image of a short, pudgy man sulking in his mother’s basement was oddly satisfying.
Kassandra sighed deeply and stood up to leave the restaurant. She was not going to strike until nightfall, but she wanted to have a look at the location. The drive there took longer than expected, the woman kept bobbing her leg up and down in the taxi, looking every bit as frustrated as she felt while the driver feigned not to notice. It was all she could do not to bolt out of the car as soon as they arrived.
“Fancy…” she stared at the Manor standing a little further away from the main road. Trees surrounded the property, the walls were high, flanked with threatening metal spikes. She couldn’t see the entrance of the Manor just yet, but there was a tall, ostensibly large black gateway with a hideous C emblazoned. That one she couldn’t have missed, even if she tried.
It seemed the Crofts were of old money, and they sure liked to flaunt it. Kassandra tutted, walking around the property from a safe distance. She hadn’t been in England when they’d first risen to political power and joined the House of Lords at the beginning of the eighteenth century, there had been much to do in Spain and then in the Middle East. Wars brewed everywhere, when it wasn’t torrential rains and harsh winters killing people by the thousands.
Kassandra had done everything she could, to no avail. She had stayed away from the northern part of America, a mistake that took centuries to correct. The war between Templars and Assassins had been fierce, laced with personal vengeance. She had overlooked Connor’s quest for retribution at the time and had missed one of the apples of Eden as a consequence. The delicate scale she had been fighting to keep had almost tipped. The Assassins had come close to being extinct because of her oversight, and she would not risk that again.
Which explained why she was standing in the rain, staring at Croft Manor. A rich family with a foot in politics was perfect fodder for the Templars. Kassandra knew they had been approached a couple of centuries ago. There had only been silence since then, they’d just been a blip on her radar for the briefest time. But the latest heir’s recent discoveries and tendency to magically turn up where ancient artifacts (Isu or not) were last seen was teetering on bothersome.
What tipped it was when Lara Croft began sniffing around her past. It was obvious to Kassandra that she had no idea what she was looking for; her research was scattered, little bits here and there, the Olympic Games – damn that dumb idiot of Testikles, who even trips on their own feet like that? – things that were too far-fetched to be true (even if they were). Lara wouldn’t be able to link her back to them, Kassandra had made sure of that.
Then again… the archeologist had a knack for uncovering long-lost islands and cities, maybe that extended to long-lost mercenaries with unnatural lifespans as well?
“Hopefully not,” she said out loud, approaching the property as her phone buzzed with another of Nix’s messages:
No surveillance camera within or out of the Mansion. I’m blind. She’s working on her computer right now.
A picture was attached to the text, a webcam photo of a young woman staring intently at her screen while biting her lip.
“She’s pretty,” Kassandra blurted, realizing too late what she had said out loud. The answer was prompt.
Thought so too. Your type?
An obnoxious emoji sticking its tongue out accompanied the text. She grunted at her phone when it buzzed again.
UCL Archery Club member, former gymnast with bouldering as a hobby. Her fingers made of steel AND she’s flexible.
“Stop it,” she said, knowing full well Nix was listening through the microphone of her device.
Another text filled with winking faces and emojis that left no room for misunderstanding answered her.
“I swear, Nix. I will find you, and I will send you to the Underworld if you keep this up. I don’t care how much time it takes,” she had plenty of it.
Kassandra didn’t need a complete stranger to try and play matchmaker, that would be the pinnacle of pathetic. Her tongue had slipped. Yes, the woman was pretty, but she was also on her shit-list. Her phone stayed silent for the remaining of her little reconnaissance mission. She approached the Manor slowly, making sure to crouch low and use the trees as cover. Once close enough, Kassandra scanned the walls, looking for a breach of some kind. It took an hour of walking around, but she finally found a wobbly spike that would give in with the right amount of strength.
The necklace around her neck pulsed as the Staff appeared in her hand. Kassandra used the end of it as a wedge against the spike, putting all her weight on the weapon. She heard a crack before the spike gave in, falling forward at her feet. The Staff pulsed again, taking its place back around her neck.
Entrance and escape route A.
Of course, she could always use its ability to blink in and out of the Manor undetected (escape route Z), but the woman had learned the hard way to keep its magical uses to the bare minimum. There was no need for another witch hunt, especially in this day and age.
Her scouting took most of the afternoon, with the building’s blueprints Nix had sent a couple of days ago, Kassandra had a good overview of the Manor and how to execute her plan. All she needed now was to wait.
She walked back to the abandoned hunting lodge she had passed by earlier and broke the rusted padlock. It was dusty, but it would shelter her from the downpour. There was an old table, barely standing on its legs, a forgotten knife and some dirty cloths. Kassandra sighed and removed her coat. She sat cross-legged on it and closed her eyes to meditate.
It was going to be a long night.
-0-
“Beast Slayer! I’m glad to see you.”
“Daphnae,” Kassandra crossed her arms, looking equally amused, happy and a little smug at the woman’s earnestness. “I didn’t think you would be.”
“The path I set you on is fraught with danger. You could have been killed,” her voice dropped a little. “…or given up.”
It was a challenge, and Kassandra never backed away from a challenge. She grinned. “No danger could have kept me from seeing you again.”
Daphnae’s eyebrow went up, the reply died on her lips when she took a closer look at the misthios in front of her. Kassandra was favoring her left leg. “You are hurt,” she said with a frown.
The grin didn’t move, Kassandra waved her off. “Just a little graze, the lion put up a good fight,” so good in fact, that a part of its claw was still lodged deep into her thigh.
She had attempted to remove it to no avail. Barnabas had tried too, once she limped her way back to the Adrestia, looking worse for wear but elated at the outcome, the pelt proudly draped over her shoulders. He had managed to dislodge a good chunk of the claw, after getting her drunk enough on wine to numb the pain, and on the verge of passing out. It hadn’t prevented his patient from cursing him to Tartaros and back during the procedure.
Daphnae searched her eyes, “The Nemean Lion? You killed it?”
Kassandra nodded proudly. She reached around her back to present the pelt, the movement making her grimace and wince. “A magnificent beast,” one she had actually felt bad for killing. Unlike the poison riddled boar of last time. That vile creature deserved death and nothing else. It had taken her days to get rid of its stench.
Daphnae completely disregarded the pelt, the frown on her face deepening as she approached her. “Show me your leg,” she demanded, in a half-crouch.
Kassandra blinked at her, taken aback for a second. A sly smile appeared on her face. “My my. Already?”
The huntress looked up. Unlike Kassandra’s, her eyes held no mirth. “Show me,” she repeated.
It was the same tone Daphnae used to lead her sisters, the one that left no room for protest. Kassandra clicked her tongue and sighed dramatically.
“It’s nothing,” she removed her belt, letting it fall on the grass with a clink, before lifting the ends of her chiton to reveal a toned, bandaged thigh with a dark-red dot in the middle. “See? Nothing. I’m fine.”
Daphnae didn’t even answer, observing the wounded leg with attention before poking at it with two fingers. Kassandra hissed in surprise, losing her balance and falling forward before Daphnae caught her. “Nothing, indeed,” she said with a disapproving look.
The other woman recovered quickly and gave her that infuriating smile again. “You just wanted to get your hands on me, didn’t you?”
Daphnae puffed out a barely contained snort. “Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself, Beast Slayer?” she was staring at her lips. Two could play this game.
“I will take that as a yes,” Kassandra noticed her eyes straying and beamed.
She decided to stop entertaining her, Daphnae knew it was a way to steer her away from the matter at hand. “Come on,” she helped her up and led the woman to her camp, near the temple. “Let me have a look at this wound.”
“Okay so: turquoise water, hot people and an old dusty tomb?” Sam paced around the kitchen, munching on a carrot snack. “And you’re saying no? Sweetie, are you insane?” her arms flailed around as she spoke.
Lara bit her lip. “That’s the short version, yes,” she saw as much as she heard her friend sigh. “Sam, I just don’t feel it. There’s something there that I can’t figure out.”
The other woman stopped pacing, leaning over the table to look straight at her. “You’re overthinking this, Lara. That’s what. Trust your instincts.”
She shrugged and looked away, “I am trusting them,” before refocusing her attention on Sam. “Abstergo has no business funding an expedition like this,” it just did not make sense.
“Again?” she rolled her eyes. “Why do you care? They make movies and video games, for God’s sake. Maybe they are fishing for new ideas? I don’t know, like VR Tomb Raiding Simulator?”
“That’s not funny, Sam.”
“Bitch, please. You just smiled.”
They shared a look before Lara chuckled. “Right,” her face turned grave again. “But why would they look for a forgotten mercenary?”
“Didn’t you say he won the Olympics?” Sam picked another carrot to munch on. Late night cravings were a bitch.
“That’s what Professor Moss found, yes,” her own research correlated with his information.
“And he’s buried with a magic sword?”
“The sword of Damokles, yes,” she grimaced, the idea was utterly ridiculous. Damokles sword was a figure of speech, a moral, cautionary tale, not an actual weapon. “Maybe. As for it being magical, it’s a possibility.”
They both shuddered. Ever since Yamatai, Sam had a hard time with everything remotely supernatural and Lara tried her best not to expose her to it. Himiko’s presence was still too fresh on their minds.
“It’s the stuff of legend, Lara. I mean, think about it: Oiled dude with legendary sword defeats a Cyclops. Blockbuster,” she made a little ta-da. “New franchise, chunks movie after movie and makes billions worldwide. Iron-Man who?”
Lara smiled; Sam’s imagination could run wild sometimes. Wilder than her own. “It doesn’t explain why they would need to look for it if they can come up with this on their own.”
“Five words,” the other woman tilted her head, counting on her fingers as she said, “Based on a true story. That’s an assured jackpot, sweetie.”
That… kind of made sense, Lara could not argue. Sam was the expert in this domain. To her, it still sounded like a colossal waste of money, and there was still something else gawking at her like an irritating headache she couldn’t get rid of but…
Urgh.
Lara shook her head. “It doesn’t matter either way, I already…” a gush of cold air made her stop and snap her head around to look at the door. It was slightly ajar.
Sam frowned. “Already what?” she prompted when her friend did not seem inclined to continue. Lara gestured for her to keep quiet.
Her gaze was fixated on the door. They did leave it open that’s true, but she had could have sworn she had felt someone staring at them just now. “Winston?” she called.
The old man was at the door less than a minute later. “Yes, Lady Lara?” he looked as sharp as ever, albeit a bit tired. Had he been awake all along in case they needed anything? Talk about dedication.
She sighed in relief. Her senses were in overdrive sometimes, a side effect of people trying to kill you at every corner. It was hard to turn off, even in a safe environment. “Nothing, I apologize,” she paused. “You should go to bed, Winston. We will take care of the dishes.”
The fact that he did not even try to argue and simply bowed was telling. “Goodnight, Lady Lara. Miss Nishimura.”
“It’s Sam!” she corrected. “I told you to call me Sam.”
Winston cleared his throat and left silently. He would do none of it, they all knew. She could scream at him to use her name until she was blue in the face, and he would still call her Miss Nishimura. Professional to the core.
Kassandra let her head fall on the wall behind her.
That was close.
Too close for comfort, she had underestimated Lara’s instincts. The woman hadn’t heard her, but she had felt her presence. Thankfully, the butler was also nearby and distracted her enough for Kassandra to flee to the next room. She looked around, trying to get her bearings. It was cold and slightly humid; glass bottles were glinting under the moonlight. By the look of it, she had ended up in the cellar. The woman grabbed a bottle, squinting at the label. A Pétrus of 1982, criminally expensive and vile.
“Horse piss,” she grimaced before putting it back.
Her plan had been simple: wait until nightfall, sneak in, gather all the information Lara had, purge her computer and off her silently then sneak out. She was on her way upstairs to the office when she heard talking in the kitchens. Kassandra couldn’t help herself; she had eavesdropped.
Abstergo was behind the expedition, she knew that already. It was the reason that had led her here in the first place. What she hadn’t expected though, was Lara to be on the defensive. Kassandra’s head was swimming with questions, she had assumed her to be a Templar, or at least close enough to the Order, but her reaction was telling the complete opposite.
So, an Assassin, then?
It could be, but they weren’t in the habit of exhibiting their findings. Regardless, if that was the case, it meant Kassandra wouldn’t have to kill her, for now at least. Sabotage her research – remotely, with Nix’s help – enough to throw the archeologist off her scent would perhaps suffice.
Kassandra needed to make sure of Lara’s affiliations before she made a decision. She crouched low, almost crawling to the other exit door that she opened slowly. She climbed the stairs and veered to the left, towards the study. The computer blinked to life as soon as she closed the door.
Nix was already working their magic when Kassandra approached, remotely taking control of the computer. She opened the Note Pad to type, it was less risky than talking:
Any links with Shaun Hastings or Rebecca Crane?
Nix’s answer took a little bit of time. Nope. Well, they’re either both British and/or into sports.
Change of plans, don’t purge anything. I want access to her research, computer and phone at all times. Send me everything that you have now.
Okie dokie. It will cost you, though. :D
Kassandra rolled her eyes because of course. She checked Lara’s e-mails and opened the last one:
To: Sebastian Moss (Ph.D.)
From: Lara Croft
RE:RE:RE: The Eagle Bearer
Dear Professor,
Thank you for your consideration. The offer to join your expedition in Greece is indeed tempting. Sadly, I have other commitments that will keep me in the UK for the next couple of months. You will find everything I have gathered related to the Eagle Bearer (did you manage to find his name?) attached to this e-mail.
I will keep an eye out for new information. Please keep me updated on the advancement of your team.
Best regards,
Lara Croft
Kassandra went over the whole conversation quickly. It was filled with crumbs of information and theories that seemed to fit together. Lara had managed to track the mercenary’s place of birth to Sparta – which explained the Olympic Games – but aside from that and a vague location of a possible burial site near Santorini, they did not have much.
She sighed in relief. They were still far from uncovering the truth. Lara was resourceful, she would give her that. Kassandra might have been worried had she decided to join the archeology team. Without her, they would be running in circles.
She stood up, frowning at the half empty mug that read ‘Sisters of Artemis’ underneath an intricate drawing of a woman holding a bow. Kassandra smiled wryly; the Gods sure liked to taunt her.
Abstergo had tried to recruit Lara and she declined their offer. There was still no reason as to why, except for her hunch. So, she wasn’t a Templar. No known relation with any Assassins that Kassandra knew.
“A free electron,” she whispered. The most dangerous kind.
She had to wait, then. Because of her line of work, Lara’s death could tip the balance, even if she had no knowledge of the fight between the Order and the Brotherhood. Maybe the Assassins would try to get in touch, win where Abstergo had failed. Kassandra would have to keep a close eye on this.
All done, the words appeared on screen, drawing her out of her musing.
Good, she typed back. Expect payment plus extra in twenty-four hours tops.
Windows closed as the computer turned itself off like nothing happened. Kassandra turned around, ready to leave when she came face to face with an artifact. The Atlas of Kitezh, the map leading to the Divine Source of Immortality. The Staff of Hermes Trismegistus had been dipped in it, or so Aletheia had told her. One of the Isu had been tasked with keeping the Atlas and the Source’s location a secret.
He had quite obviously failed if the artifact was here and left unsupervised.
Maláka !
Kassandra took a breath to steady herself. The map in itself was useless. There was no way to crack it without being at the right place at the right time. It was just a piece of junk with intricate shapes now.
But having it on display like this was still stupid. She shook her head in disbelief, making her way out of the Manor slowly. The two other women were still talking in the kitchens, Kassandra bypassed it and left through a service door that opened out to the gardens.
It was easier to breathe once she was out of the property. She walked back to the hunting lodge, the rain had stopped a couple of hours ago, but the grass was still wet and the ground muddy. She would call a taxi tomorrow morning, less suspicious that way. In the meantime, Kassandra would hide there to catch a few hours of sleep.
-0-
The sun was offering its first orange and golden rays, Helios’s chariot was barely piercing through the night. The breeze was brisk, tinged with salt and the smell of sand. The whoosh of the waves was lulling her back to sleep.
Just five more minutes.
The person lying next to her had other plans, though. She felt Kyra run her fingers over her back, retracing a small scar across her shoulder blade. The same one she had kissed a couple of hours earlier. Kassandra’s body awoke, muscles tensing slightly where the other woman touched.
“You’re up,” Kyra wrapped her arm around her waist to draw their body closer. “Misthios…” she nibbled at her exposed shoulder.
Kassandra hummed. “Maybe,” voice still laced with sleep. She turned her head to face the other woman, a cheeky smirk on her lips. “It depends on what you have in mind.”
Kyra was already looking at her through half-lidded eyes. She kept nibbling at her shoulder, licking slowly up her neck. “Many things, misthios,” she kissed her collarbone before blowing on it. Kassandra shivered.
“Many things...”