The galley limped into Troy's harbour two days after the pirate attack, its hull scarred, its crew battered. Lysander was at the rail, one arm wrapped around his injured ribs, his face grey with exhaustion. Arsini was the first to reach him as he stumbled onto the dock.
"You're hurt," she said.
"Cracked ribs. I'll live."
"What happened."
"Pirates. An ambush. We lost three men." He looked at her, and something in his eyes made her go still. "The pirates knew our route. They knew where to find us."
Her face went pale. "Someone told them."
"Yes. Someone in Troy. Someone who knew about the mission." He straightened, gritting his teeth against the pain. "I need to speak to Fylon. Now."
