JEZZA DIDN'T KNOW HOW LONG she stayed there like that, the world tilting on its axis, bile and fear rising like a tidal wave in her throat. She wanted to become separate from her body, a slivering wraith that would close its cold fingers around Calix's throat. Her mother had taught her never to wish death upon someone, but she'd never met someone more deserving of Thanatos' scythe. If that made her a sinner in the gods' eyes, then so be it. 

Calix was already sinful enough for both of them. 

Half an eternity must have passed before she could stand on her feet again, and it was then that Jezza realized she'd spilled her basket of olives. The metal collar around her throat rattled as she bent to pick them up, and like a curse, an omen of worse things to come, she heard heavy footsteps coming in her direction. She froze, waiting for the shadow of one of the master's whips to descend over her head and split open the flesh of her hands, but nothing came. 

Jezza froze, the breath caught in her throat, and looked up. It was her father who stood above her, golden hair gleaming as bright as the cobs of corn that lay in the fields to his right. His face was neither young nor old, kind nor cruel. He simply was, like the titan god of time, Kronos, and Jezza had never known anything else. 

"Jezebel," Eritreus said, his voice like granite scraping against limestone, "your mother's calling for you."  

"My mother?" Jezza growled, climbing to her feet, the fruit long forgotten. "You mean the one whose tongue you had ripped out?" 

"Those were Calix's orders, not mine."

"This is your house!" 

"And she is my slave!" Her father's chest was heaving up and down, his face the same shade of red as Calix's chiton. "To do with what I will."

"Is that what you told her when you forced yourself on her?"  

Eritreus backhanded her across the face, his knuckles digging into her flesh. Her teeth closed on her lower lip, blood spurting from the wound, but Jezza refused to fall, and straightened, holding the left side of her face. 

"Careful, girl. Bastard or not, I won't suffer your disrespect."

Jezza's blue eyes, identical to his, gleamed with holy fire. "What do you know of suffering?" 

Her father jerked away as if burned. He turned away, a faint breeze ruffling the many folds of the sapphire dyed chiton that was half draped over one of his shoulders. "She's down by the Eurotas. You know where." 

"Won't the masters stop me?" 

"No," he said, the first flicker of guilt crossing his face, "they won't." 

This was her father's power as a general in the King's armies : the ability to command men and women alike. The truth was that he could have stopped Calix from extracting his cruel punishment on her mother if he wanted to, but he didn't. He knew that everything he had came from his brother Damen, his title, his rank, his house. If he were to fall out of favour with the King, we would lose all of these things. 

So he would always let Calix have his way, no matter the cost. For Calix was an extension of the king's rule, as his only legitimate heir. Jezza wondered what would happen if he truly were to die like she wished he would. Chaos, famine and bloodshed would surely ensue. 

She doubted that Athens and Thebes would stand by when an opportunity to overthrow the great city-state of Sparta presented itself. All of them, the slaves that worked Eritreus' fields, would become mere pawns in yet another game, except this time they didn't know who the winner would be. 

She left her father without another word. If she was smart, she would have never said anything against him in the first place. But although she was a slave, she had something many of the others lacked -- pride, though both Elia and her mother agreed this would be her downfall. Jezza wasn't meant for a life of servitude - - she had the blood of Egyptian kings running in her veins, this much she was sure of. 

Her life wouldn't be wasted here, at the hands of Calix, King Damen, or her father. Destiny awaited her elsewhere, the only question was when it would come. 

The path leading down from the alvì twisted and bent with every step she took, dust covering her feet in a layer of filth. Jezza had seen the fine dresses the high born Greek ladies wore in the agora, the spun silk and spider web lace that hung off their fine, slender limbs. And the sandals, she craved those sandals, even more, the buttery leather soles, the gently supported heel. All her body knew was harsh sun and calluses - - she must have looked half-mad to them, barefoot and collared. 

The muscles only made it worse. She was lean and thick at once, cursed with small breasts, wide hips and thick thighs that lead down to slim calves that had coiled strength lying just beneath the surface. Apa, one of the male slaves, had once said she looked like a man. It was for the best, she supposed. Men weren't likely to be taken, stolen, raped. 

Men, no matter their status or class, were always safe. 

She spotted her mother down by the Eurotas, where her father said she would be, just beyond the thick cover of trees that shrouded the river from view. The Eurotas led back to the Aegean and was a clear, painful blue, the colour of her father's eyes. 

Her mother sat with her feet tucked beneath her, but she wasn't alone. A blonde-haired girl leaned her head against the older woman's shoulder - - it was Elia, the prettiest among all of Eritreus ' slaves. Most days, she was kept inside the house where the men could ogle her without barrier, but she often snuck out to help Jezza with her chores and was never punished for it, lest her perfect golden skin was ruined. 

There was a rumour going around that Lord Andromedus, one of her father's high ranking lieutenants, meant to marry her and keep her for his own. Jezza could see it already: Eliza's golden curls crowned with a laurel wreath, her wedding gown a splendid confection of ivory and white. 

Perhaps beauty wasn't such a curse, after all, she thought as she came to a stop behind them. Perhaps it could be used to your advantage if you were cunning enough, bold enough, light enough. 

Spartan men and warriors alike had long since dubbed poison a woman's weapon. They weren't wrong, of course. What they didn't realize, and Jezza knew as she stood there, the ghost of Calix's kiss still on her lips, the promise of Amun Ra glinting off the water, was that it didn't have to come from a bottle.

Poison was a woman's weapon because it lived on their tongues.

Author's Note : 

Thank you so much for reading the latest chapter of Fury's Kiss! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter since it allowed me to get to know Jezza as a character better, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as well. If you did like this chapter, please consider giving it a vote or leaving a comment, any and all feedback is always greatly appreciated and I always reply to comments.

Until Wednesday! 

(P. S : Would you guys like it if I started doing double updates, so two chapters on Wednesdays, or something like that?)