The black galley had been gone for three days, but the broken sword was still on the table in the war room. No one had moved it. No one had suggested moving it. It lay where Hector had placed it, the jagged edge catching the light every time the door opened, a silent reminder of what was coming.
Lysander had spent those three days doing what he always did when he didn't know what to do. He worked. He reviewed the supply numbers. He checked the fire ship production schedules. He walked the walls with Miros, inspecting the patrol rotations, noting the weak points that still hadn't been reinforced. He met with Maea to discuss the settlement's water supply. He met with Doros to adjust the grain rationing. He did everything except the thing he most needed to do, which was to find out how Achilles knew about the sulfur.
