Aricles went to put their personal effects in the chest between their beds. Listening to his brother jest with his two new friends, he pulled out his small knife and the piece of wood he’d started carving four days ago. It was a vague feminine figure. He hadn’t seen the carving’s face clearly.

Until today.

He’d started it as an offering for one of the goddesses of his homeland, but now … Bathymaas would be perfect for it. Seeing her regal grace in the wood, he began reworking the piece.

After a few minutes, Monokles came over to watch him. “You make that look easy. How long have you been a carver?”

“Since the summer I first stayed with my grandfather in Ena. It was something he would do every night, after chores were finished. I was four or five, and he’d hold me in his lap and patiently instruct me.”

“I never knew my grandfathers. One was a Greek hero who died in battle when my father was a boy, and the other was a cavalry officer who perished at war while my mother carried me. What of yours? Was he a retired officer?”

Aricles shook his head. “He was a simple farmer, as his father was before him. By nature, Atlanteans are peaceful … with the peculiar exception of my brother, who was corrupted in his youth by a friend who told him too many Greek tales.”

Monokles went rigid. “Is that a swipe at me?”

“Not at all, good Monokles. You have every right to be very proud of your soldier family. As I am of mine who toiled their farms. My insult was directed to my twin, solely. He thinks the rest of his family members are backwoods rubes because we would rather till the soil than make war with our neighbors.”

Those words seemed to puzzle him. “Yet you’re here. Why?”

Aricles shrugged. “Our place is not to question the will of the gods. But rather to do our best to honor them, our ancestors, and ourselves.”

Monokles scowled. “How old are you?”

“Twenty, and you?”

“A decade older, and yet you speak like a sage ancient.”

Galen snorted. “That’s because my brother was born an old man. He came from our mother’s womb spouting wisdom, and with more patience than any mortal man should ever possess. He should have been a priest.”

“Is that true?” Monokles asked. “Would you have preferred priesthood?”

“Probably, but at the time to take vows, I had other obligations.” He’d been in love with Claudia and had planned on marrying her. To pay her father’s bridal price, he’d been working three jobs in addition to his home chores.

But a farmer was the last thing she’d wanted to be tied to.

Now, it was too late to become a priest.

Perhaps it was bitter irony that he’d ended up in the service of a goddess, after all.

*   *   *