Six paces in front of the flame, at the temple’s perfect center, the Ark of Revelation shone brightly, the gold shimmering under the sun’s rays. Ornate and decorated with imprinted designs, it had a flat lid that was small compared to the chest. Strange, sharply angled symbols were arranged along the front, underneath lines of cursive text in a language Dion had never seen before.

Even though strong purpose had brought him here, he stopped in awe.

But he shook himself and intentionally tore his eyes away from the golden chest. He looked instead at the solitary man who knelt in front of the ark, his hands clasped together and his lips moving soundlessly as he prayed.

It was unthinkable to disturb First Consul Aristocles at prayer, but some things could not wait. Amos of the city guard had told Dion that Aristocles was so grief-stricken he was spending nearly all his time at the temple, praying to the gods and pacing, gazing out to sea in the direction his daughter had been taken.

Dion licked his lips and spoke. ‘First Consul.’

Aristocles looked up in surprise. He appeared to have aged dramatically, though little time had passed since their last meeting. The white hair framing his bald crown was lank and the skin around his eyes was shadowed and sunken; he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He slowly clambered to his feet and turned to face Dion.

Dion walked forward to meet him, taking in the older man’s grubby tunic and coming to the conclusion that Aristocles hadn’t washed or changed his clothes since his daughter’s capture. ‘I’ve heard the news, and I wish to express my sympathy.’

‘Dion,’ Aristocles said listlessly, gazing at him with reddened eyes. ‘What brings you here? What is so urgent as to disturb me at prayer?’

‘My father sent me to learn more about the newcomers. He fears that more ships will come in the wake of this visit. I was to ascertain their intentions.’

Aristocles gave a sardonic laugh.

Dion continued: ‘I believe my task is even more important now. Their intentions are clear. The Ileans are undoubtedly hostile. The fates of our two nations may hang in the balance. Yet, huddled in the mountains as we are, Xanthos is in the dark.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Aristocles said wearily. ‘But my problems are nonetheless greater than yours.’

‘Have you sent a rescue party yet?’

‘I cannot.’ Aristocles shook his head. ‘The consuls fear any act that may lead to outright war.’

Dion was puzzled. ‘Hasn’t that already happened?’

‘No,’ Aristocles said. ‘This could still be brushed off as a mistake, with both parties pretending misunderstanding, and any wounds soothed with silver and gold.’

Dion opened his mouth, then closed it. ‘So what are you saying? What will happen to your daughter?’