She’d been fiddling nervously with her own coat, which was a lighter shade of blue than the navy number I’d borrowed from an acolyte. It had a matching woolen ruffle around the high collar, which added to the overall joy of wearing these awful dresses, and little bows on the pockets that made her look even younger than she was. But there’d been no help for it.

Unisex clothing wasn’t a thing a century ago.

But nervous or not, Rhea was fearless when it came to defending those she cared about. “She was shifting four people over a gap of more than three hundred years,” she told Gertie staunchly. “Most Pythias couldn’t even complete a jump like that.”

“And neither did she,” Gertie pointed out, but she looked pleased. She liked to see an heir defending her Pythia. I was a sorry sort, but Rhea had garnered more than one approving glance over the recent months, which was probably responsible for the animosity Agnes kept displaying.

She didn’t like competition, even from visitors.

Which may have been why she decided to get nasty now.

“She shouldn’t have attempted a jump she couldn’t complete,” she said, her blue eyes scornful. As if I wasn’t standing right there.

“I didn’t,” I said shortly.

But Agnes wasn’t satisfied. “No one makes a jump like that unassisted. I couldn’t do it; I doubt even Lady Herophile could,” she added, using Gertie’s reign title. “And you said you didn’t have any acolytes with you to boost your strength. Are you still taking drugs or—”

“I’m not taking anything!”

“Like anyone believes that.” The scorn was palpable now.

“I don’t give a damn what you believe. It’s the truth.”

And it was—unfortunately. The Tears of Apollo, a potion designed to boost a Pythia’s power, was what Hilde had asked Rhea to get from her room. It was kept there specifically so I couldn’t get my hands on it, which was why it hadn’t arrived in time to do any good. It was a sore spot between Hilde and I, because I wasn’t using, damn it!

Although, in fairness to her, that was a new occurrence. I’d been mainlining the stuff for a while, since it made an impossible job seem—for a short time—almost easy. But wonderful though it felt in the moment, it had some very bad side effects, forcing me to go cold turkey. It was also more than a little addictive, something I’d only found out about after said turkey grew to five hundred pounds and sat on my chest.