Lúnasa was growing fast by the time Augusta and Eithne had left the tower. So quickly that Eithne had to reluctantly let go of her and give her to Augusta, who was used to carry big heavy things from her years spent training as a Roman centurion.

  They were walking now. Silently. Only interspersed with Lúnasa’s brief gargles and mumbles of sighs and tangled up vowels. She wasn’t speaking yet. Neither were Augusta and Eithne, who it still didn’t quite struck them that they were now mothers.

  Mothers. It still hadn’t been drilled into Augusta’s head yet. She was a mother at eighteen, alongside her partner Eithne, who Jupiter knows was how many centuries older than her. It hadn’t crossed her mind then, but perhaps it was always meant to be.

  Sometimes Augusta would hear Lúnasa cry out and she hoped it would be her first words, but instead all it was was the growing pains of teething and a grasp for milk. She sighed, trailing the fabric down and letting her daughter suckle.

  She wasn’t sure if she was following the right steps into motherhood or not. Could she even follow the path that had worked for her mother? The one who’s face kept digging into Augusta’s head when she lingered in the guilt of leaving her behind.

  Come home with this shield, or your father will be upon it.

  Would he really? What excuse would he spin when he returned? Our daughter was lost among the mountains, and we couldn’t find any sign of her and a few other legionnaires. We did find these Hibernian settlements on top of the mountain though, devoid of life. Maybe our daughter and the rest of the turncoats thought it was be best to travel with a group of Hibernian people from now on.

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  Augusta shook her head. That wasn’t how it worked. Her father had already forgotten about and the rest of the problems she’d caused for him along the way.

  It didn’t work like that.

  “Where are we going?” Augusta finally asked. She wasn’t sure how humans hours translated to the Hibernian underworld, but she felt they’d been moving for more than hour. She’d spent longer treks in the barracks, but holding Lúnasa made her bones shake and rattle. Anywhere, a Fomorian could come out and snatch her.

  “To Teach Donn,” Eithne said.

  “Teach Donn?” Augusta asked.

  “Donn’s house,” Eithne explained, “that’s what teach means in Hibernian.”

  Sometimes a Hibernian word would slip through the cracks and Augusta was left scratching her head. It was not perfect. No place was, or Otherworld in this case, but Augusta felt this might’ve been the closest thing to paradise.

  It was the closet thing she’d ever had to paradise. Even when it had been drenched in darkness, most of which dissipated as they moved along, Augusta sensed it hadn’t nearly been as dark as the world she’d left.

  “Who is Donn?” she asked, quickly trying to forget all about the world she’d come from. The name reminded her of Dis Pater - a dreadful darkness that came rattling out of her teeth when she said it. Donn. Dis Pater. Maybe he was the resident dreadful lord of the Otherworld, much like how Dis Pater

  Otherworld. Underworld. All the names and the places were getting mixed up in Augusta’s head now. Syncing between pantheons was a horrible mess to figure out.

  “He’s…” Eithne stammered over her words, “a friend. A good one.”