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They meet in a burning warehouse in Korinth.
She is wary of him and his intentions, but Kassandra’s willing to use him as an ally against the Monger’s men. In the middle of the melee, just for a moment she thinks he’s turned on her, but realizes his feint and lunge is meant for the attacker behind her, protecting her blind side. Later, she avoids thinking about the automatic way she leapt over him to return the favor and how the familiar feeling of betrayal settling in her gut was swiftly replaced by relief and something close to contentment settling into her bones.
Kassandra brings up Mount Taygetos in order to take measure of Brasidas. She wants to know what he information he might have about her family; she stubbornly ignores the unfamiliar pull towards a kindred spirit, towards this unknown Spartan.
His reaction surprises her.
There is wonder, surprise, and no small amount of awe in his voice. He looks at her like a goddess striding out of myth and she has to turn away from him because having all of that single-minded focus she’d seen earlier in battle settle on her leaves Kassandra feeling oddly exposed.
She largely keeps her eyes fixed on the harbor and gently probes at Brasidas’ knowledge of her mother, changing the subject. When she’s clearly exhausted everything he might tell her, Kassandra turns to him.
“There’s no going back now.”
“The displaced can always find their way home. The gods have just decided you must fight for it.”
She cannot help the laughter that bubbles up from inside her. He does not know what she’s already given or what this quest to reunite her family will likely cost her. “They couldn’t make it any easier?”
“Chin up, Spartan. Easy doesn’t exist.”
A warmth settles in Kassandra’s chest at his words of encouragement.
When Brasidas says, “As happy as I am to see you, the kings won’t be,” a traitorous part of Kassandra flutters. There is still so much she has to do, she can’t let herself have this infatuation, this love her defiant heart whispers.
Standing in front of her parents’ house, where they lived and raised her and Alexios before everything went wrong, Kassandra wonders if she could have that life. Could she marry Brasidas, bear his children, raise them to be good Spartans—can she make a family, a home with him?
She shakes her head to clear away the idle thoughts and focuses again on what Brasidas and Myrrine are saying. There is too much at stake to spend time lost in fantasies.
Besides, what does she know of love?
“I never did thank you.”
Kassandra and Myrrine have been restored as Spartan citizens and their home is theirs once more. Brasidas' one man welcome party is appreciated and Kassandra tries not to think of how well he looks standing in her home.
Brasidas turns to fully face Kassandra, his brow quirked. “For what?”
Kassandra rubs at the back of her neck—a habit she never quite managed to break when she was admitting something. “You were right about killing the Monger quietly. Because of that, Lagos felt he could trust my word when I said we wouldn’t kill him. Without that, I doubt he would have given me the proof of Pausanias’ treachery.” Kassandra lays a deliberate hand on his arm and leans in, slowly, and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. His beard is rough against her face and if Kassandra let herself think about it, she would use that information to fuel her imagination in the nights to come. “So. Thank you, Brasidas,” she says quietly, her eyes lifting to meet his.
Kassandra has not seen Brasidas speechless before and thoroughly enjoys the moment.
He coughs into his fist, clearing his throat, and turns suddenly away. She has never been much of a gambler, but she would wager no small amount of drachmae that she saw two spots of color on his cheeks before he managed to hide them.
Brasidas is still facing away from her as he says, “Yes. Well. You should take my advice more often.”
Kassandra laughs at his posturing and he throws one last grin over his shoulder before heading out into the cool night air.
The air is thick with smoke in Pylos. Kassandra can barely see ten paces ahead, but she moves forward, leaving the Athenian dead littered in her wake, until she catches sight of someone who can only be Brasidas.
By Ares, he cuts a fine figure on the battlefield.
He swings his spear and takes down opponents with determined, focused precision, and looks like the ultimate Spartan warrior—and still, Deimos takes him down in two moves.
Fury rips through Kassandra.
“Deimos! This fight is between you and me!” Kassandra yells, her lungs thick with the smoke and her chest tight at the sight of Brasidas sprawled, face down, in the muck of the battlefield.
Before the battle, she wondered what it would be like to face Deimos across a battlefield. Whether she would waver given her promise to Myrrine and choose not to fight.
Faced with the reality, she does not hesitate.
They part on a battlefield in Amphipolis.
There is chaos all around her and distantly Kassandra knows the noise must be deafening, but she sees Deimos engage Brasidas and all she can hear is the blood rushing through her ears. It feels like her legs are in quicksand and the world around her has slowed down to the single point of them in the distance. Try as she might to reach them in time, Kassandra can only watch as Deimos steadily overpowers Brasidas, using his own spear to deal the final blow in mockery of the Spartan soldier.
She might kill her brother, fuck anything she promised, but then Kleon shoots Deimos in the back and it’s as if the world speeds up again, but faster now to make up the lost time. She chooses to chase Kleon, because what else can she do, but it means leaving both her brother and Brasidas where they lie.
When she returns, Deimos’ body is nowhere to be found, but Brasidas’ body is still where he fell. Kassandra falls to her knees, unashamed to weep for the possibility of the life they will never share.