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few short hours of sleep she could afford, and both should be making their way to the same destination.
    She arrived in the War Room to find a tall slender man waiting. He was standing by one of the main windows thatlooked out over the courtyard, and at the sound of her step he immediately turned and bowed. He looked as though he was made out of the toughest salt-cured leather, but he moved with the grace of a dancer.
    “Ma’am,” he said in formal greeting.
    “Herakles,” Basilea Artemis answered shortly. “Your report?”
    “Fifty Vampires killed. Our forces suffered twelve fatalities and twenty injuries. Five serious. The main West Tower successfully defended.”
    The Basilea nodded. “Your own condition?”
    “Well enough. A little tired perhaps, but otherwise fine.”
    She nodded again then opened her arms and waited. The tall man stepped forward, embraced and kissed her. “Have you any word of our daughter?” Artemis asked.
    “She’s well,” Herakles answered, stepping back. “The attack on the southern gate was fierce; she requested a unit of reinforcements which I supplied and the enemy were beaten off with heavy losses. She should be here soon.”
    “Good, sit down. We’ll start supper while we wait.”
    The Consort of the Basilea nodded. “Fighting Vampires is hungry work.”
    The cold face of Artemis softened as she allowed herself an affectionate smile and looked over Herakles’ lean and tough frame. “You always eat well after battle. It’s a pity you stint yourself the rest of the time.”
    Herakles allowed himself a smile in return. “I’ll call the chamberlain, shall I?”
    Artemis nodded. They’d recently taken to having their meals in the War Room; as most of their time away from the battlefield was used to discuss tactics for the fighting thatwould follow, it seemed logical to eat while planning.
    After the servant had gone they sat side by side and waited in comfortable silence. The Basilea absently reached over and took her Consort’s hand, the stern mask of her face hiding the workings of her agile mind as she thought through the events of the day. But then quick, light footsteps began to echo down the corridor, and Artemis and Herakles looked up just as a young woman stepped through the open door.
    “Mama, Papa,” she said in greeting, her face as stern as her mother’s.
    “Dinner won’t be long,” Herakles said without preamble and grinned. “I’ve built up quite an appetite.”
    “Me too,” the young woman replied. “Fighting’s hungry work.”
    Her father grinned. “Just like your old dad.”
    “Sit down, Athena,” the Basilea said, “and give your report.”
    She walked over to join her parents and sat on the proffered chair. “The southern gate successfully defended. But with heavy losses, I’m afraid. Dad – Commander Herakles – sent reinforcements and the Vampires were driven off.” She grinned, her young face softening so that she looked like a much prettier version of her father. “They lost far more than we did. Hah! That wing commander won’t be leading any more attacks ever again.”
    Her mother patted her hand. “Good. Ah, here’s dinner. Athena, you can’t eat in your helmet and gauntlets, take them off.”
    The meal was laid out before them with little ceremony. War reduced etiquette to the barest minimum, and they all began eating before the servants had even withdrawn. “I’vebeen to see Saphia,” Athena said. “That’s why I was late.”
    “How is she?” her mother asked.
    “Impatient to get better, of course. But it’ll be a while before she can ride with the Sacred Regiment again. Her arm’s mending well enough, but it was such a bad break it could be weeks before she’ll be able to draw a bow.”
    “The regiment misses her,” said Artemis. As Basilea, she was the commander of the mounted archers who’d dedicated their lives to the service of the Mother Goddess. “No one shoots like her, or rides like her. On the