Styxx (DH #33) (42 page)

Yet he let no one know it as he quickly wiped it away and mounted.

True to his word, he helped round up her people and escort them to safety. Never in her life had she seen anything like this. A Greek who killed his own men to protect his enemy’s women and children …

It was unheard of, especially from a prince who’d shown no mercy to his enemies over the last few months as he fought them. The one thing everyone knew about Styxx was that he’d been ruthless on the battlefield. His army alone, remained undefeated by the Atlanteans. Utilizing new tactics that were radically different from the rest of the Greek forces, Styxx had waged a malicious and successful campaign against her people.

And while he was showing mercy to the people right now, she knew once they were gone he’d order the abandoned homes searched for supplies and then burned to the ground. It was another thing he was known for.

Even more curious about him than before, she paused by the side of his horse. Still in the guise of the girl he’d saved, she looked up to watch the prince as he oversaw the removal of her people.

He held himself with the same rigid arrogant stance that had irritated her the first time she’d seen him in Halicarnassus.

Or was it arrogance? Now that she was closer, she saw the torment and pain inside those blue eyes. The wary resignation and exhaustion that made him seem much older. And more vulnerable.

“Highness?”

His emotions evaporated into an expression of stoicism as he looked down at her. “Yes?”

She placed her hand to his black and bronze greave and noted where exactly in his side he was wounded. “Thank you for your aid.”

He inclined his head respectfully to her.

Boldly, she lifted her hand to brush the hard calf muscle that bulged between the laces of his greave. “For your kindness, I’d like to offer you my services.”

He nudged his horse away from her. “While I appreciate your offer and am truly flattered, I must decline.”

Confused, she started away.

“Elea?” he called out.

Amazed that he remembered the girl’s name from when her mother had used it almost an hour ago, she paused to look back at him. “Highness?”

“Don’t let anyone, especially yourself, barter your body for any purpose. The temporary and immediate benefits are not worth the eternal cost to your soul.” Leaning forward, he gently tossed an expensive brooch at her.

She caught it in her hand and saw that it bore the same phoenix emblem as his shield. It was the badge of his Stygian Omada.

Without another word, he wheeled his horse about so that he could personally carry an infirmed woman and her small granddaughter to the walled city, farther inland.

Stunned by his unexpected wisdom and kind charity, she went to join them in their trek to safety. A part of her still waited for it to be a trick of some sort.

As they walked, she scanned his men, looking for her Hector. But these were all cavalry. There wasn’t a foot soldier among them. Another unexpected honor to her people that he used noblemen and his best-trained soldiers—not peasants—to protect them.

And as she watched him, something about the prince reminded her of her love, but Hector wouldn’t be wounded. Not if he wore her charm, and he’d had it on the last time she saw him. There was no reason to think he’d remove it. Plus, the prince appeared a bit older than Hector. Definitely more stern and sure of himself. Hector was bashful and reserved. He would never rush into a fight so recklessly.

No, Styxx was not the man who set her on fire.

But now she finally understood why Athena had chosen this prince as her pet. He was honorable when others weren’t. And he treated everyone around him with respect … as if they mattered.

Even his enemies.

Still, this good deed changed nothing. They were at war and she would eventually destroy him for daring to come to her shores and kill her soldiers. His compassion today had won him a small reprieve while she saw to their followers.

Tomorrow, however, she would be after him with everything she had.

Entering the city walls, she watched as Styxx gently carried the old woman into Agapa’s temple, which had been set up to receive those left homeless by these invaders. He turned her care over to a young priest, but not before he said something that made the old woman smile and kindly lifted her granddaughter up to sit next to her.

Honestly, it surprised her that none of the Atlanteans attacked his soldiers. It would be an easy way to end the war now.

But her people weren’t as treacherous as the Greeks. They never had been. Instead, they honored Styxx and his men’s decent intentions and allowed them to deposit the villagers then leave without incident.

Come morning, though, they would be at war again.

With that thought foremost in her mind, she left the girl’s body and went to find her great-grandfather at his temple just down the street from here.

The Atlanteans were invoking his name and making sacrifices. Not that they needed to. Misos would have been with them regardless.

Unseen by their people, her great-grandfather arched his brow at her approach. “What news do you have?”

“The Greek prince is wounded in his left side, three ribs down. He will barely be able to hold his hoplon with that arm.”

“Good work. We will see him dead on the morrow, and send his putrid Greeks home with their tails tucked between their legs.”

May 24, 9531 BC

It was just after midnight and, as usual, Styxx couldn’t sleep. As a boy, the voices in his head had kept him from rest. Now it was his conscience and recent memories that beat him so brutally. He hated everything war forced him to do to protect his men and his people.

Everything.

He cradled his aching head in his hands, wishing he were with his Bethany. The thought of her sweet touch and scent brought a rare smile to his lips as he wondered how she fared. If she’d found the letter he’d had delivered to their meeting spot. And if she was being cradled by Morpheus in her dreams tonight.

“Highness?”

He opened his eyes to see Galen entering his tent. “Yes?”

“I just received word that the Thracians are angry, but complying for now.”

Styxx sighed heavily. “Tell me the truth. What rankles them most, Master Galen? The fact they can’t rape any woman they find, or the fact that a child calls their orders?”

Galen snorted. “I see no child in our veteran ranks.”

Styxx saluted him sarcastically with his kylix. “Both of us know I have no business leading men into battle. The Thracians were right today. I don’t have enough experience for this.”

Scoffing, Galen sat down in the chair beside Styxx, and retook the wine he’d been drinking earlier. “No other commander could have gotten us this far with as few casualties as we’ve had. Look at your history, my lord. Name me the only man who has ever made it to Atlantean soil with an invading army from
any
foreign land?” Galen paused. “There’s only one. Styxx of the House of Aricles. Prince of Didymos.”

Maybe, but he was tired of the blood and sickened by watching men, young and old, hacked to pieces, and for what? Power? Money? Glory?

What good was it when you only needed a single obolos to pay Charon for the final crossing?

Every decision he made, good or bad, ended with someone being slaughtered. With someone calling out for a mother, wife, or one of the gods … With them burning someone’s home and possessions until nothing but ashes remained. A lifetime of memories and savings to build, a few minutes of war to destroy.

Styxx raked a hand over his eyes, trying to banish the images that wouldn’t leave him in peace any more than the voices would. He would give anything to have a handful of minutes with Bethany so that she could kiss away his nightmares, and give him something beautiful to look at.

Something beautiful to hold on to.

Galen leaned forward. “How’s your side, my lord?”

“Like my head. Throbbing.”

The old man’s gaze fell to Styxx’s hand on his cup. “You’re still not wearing a signet ring?”

Styxx glanced down at his bare fingers and shrugged. “To what purpose? If I fall, I’m not worth the price of a ransom. Why should I go home when the other soldiers fighting under my banner would be put to sword or market by our enemies? Better I should join them in death or slavery than live on in peace, knowing I failed to keep them safe.” He poured more wine for himself and then handed the pitcher over to Galen, who declined drinking any more of it.

Sighing, Styxx toyed with Galen’s flute the old man had been playing earlier. “Tell me, Galen, how do you sleep at night? I’ve seen nothing compared to the battles I know you’ve fought and led. Please tell me how to make peace with my conscience.”

The old man’s breath left him in a ragged rush. “It’s hard, my lord. I won’t lie. And I walked away from this way too late.”

“How so?”

Galen reached for the dish of olives on Styxx’s desk and took a handful. “My father was a simple farmer with a tiny farm. I hated working it in ways you can’t imagine. Every day, I swore I was going to get away from the pig shit and plow no matter what I had to do, or who I had to kill. And then one day, I saw an army coming through our back field. The sun glinted off their armor and they looked like proud gods. Before I could stop myself, I ran to them and joined their ranks. But nothing, not even our fall slaughters or a butcher’s hall, had prepared me for the true horrors and cold brutality of a soldier’s life.”

He swallowed. “Still, to me, it was far preferable to that little farm I’d despised. The fame and glory, and in particular, the riches and women, kept me distracted for a long time. And then one day, as my army was traveling through another backwoods field, I saw the most beautiful woman the gods had ever created. Her winsome smile dazzled me even more than that armor had when I was a boy, and so I stopped, right then and there, to talk to her.”

Galen paused to savor his wife’s memory. “She gave me two fine sons and two beautiful daughters. And while I was at war, she buried our youngest daughter who was stricken with a fever, and our son who fell from a tree and broke his neck. I still, and always will, hate myself for leaving her alone to deal with that in my absence.” Unshed tears glistened in his old gray eyes. “My oldest son followed me into war and I was so proud.” His voice cracked with the weight of his paternal love. “My Philip was a lion on the field. Tall, strong, respectful, and glorious. I would look at him and thank the gods for their benevolence in giving me such a magnificent child. Who was I to deserve such given how many sons I’d taken from their fathers?”

Swallowing hard, he swiped at his eyes and cleared his throat. “And then the day all fathers fear came. I can still see him as I slipped and fell in battle. I lay there thinking it was my time to have my thread cut by mighty Atropos’s shears. Crying out, Philip ran toward me to save my life. And just as he reached me, his head was sent flying by the single stroke of an enemy’s axe.” His eyes burning with rage, he wiped his hand across his mouth. “I pray to the gods, young prince, that you never know the horror of picking through bodies, trying to find a part of the only thing in this world you truly took pride in. There is no greater nightmare and it’s one that continues to stalk me even when I’m awake.”

With an unfathomable strength, Galen took a deep breath and calmed his emotions. “After my Philip was gone from a battle we shouldn’t have been in, I broke my xiphos in half and swore I’d never bend to the call of Ares again. I was done with him and Athena both. So I retired to that farm I’d hated so much as a boy and spent the best years of my life with my sweet Thia. I watched our last child grow into the most beautiful of women and wished I had more to give to my precious Antigone and her children. Then one day, another soldier came to my door and told me that the king wanted me to tutor his brat for war. I laughed in his face. But not at the mighty coin he offered.”

Lifting his cup in salute, Galen grinned. “How could I pass on that? Plus, it gave me the opportunity to knock around the spoiled son of the man who had ordered me into the unnecessary battle that had taken my boy’s life.”

Styxx snorted as he drank his wine. “I commend you on your prowess, Master Tutor. Whenever the weather turns cold, I can still feel some of your finer lessons in my bones, and in particular, my wrist.”

Galen pinned a malevolent glare on him. “The moment I first laid eyes on you, Highness, I hated you passionately. There you stood, barely reaching my waist, in child-sized armor far finer than any I’d ever worn to battle for the sake of your father or that my Philip had worn when he was slaughtered in service to a king who couldn’t care less about his life or death. You held your head high with a commanding arrogance that offended me to the core of my soul. And I wanted to put my fist through your pretty, pampered face.”

“As I recall, you did. And then you kicked me in the ass and sent me sprawling, pampered face first, into a pile of horseshit.”

Galen chuckled at the memory. “And you said not a word about it to anyone. You got up, took your training sword, and faced me as if you’d landed in a bed of poppies. All the while, shit dripped off you.”

“I stupidly thought you liked me and feared what you’d do if you didn’t.”

Galen shook his head. “I know you better than that, boy. But it took me awhile before I could let go my hatred and see that what I’d mistaken for disdainful arrogance was afflicted defiance that was trying to stand strong against all those determined to watch you burn and to do the right thing for others, even when it cost you dearly. It was that boy, who even then had the heart of a man, who taught me to respect a crown I’d grown to despise. A crown I’d sworn to never again defend. Forgive me for the treason, young prince, but I still hate your father and I always will. He cares nothing and thinks nothing of those who fight for him. But you … it is and will always be my honor to stand with you against any foe. In battle, you don’t hang back and order others to die for you. You lead us in, and I’ve seen you, time and again, throw yourself against much larger and stronger opponents to protect your men. I’ve seen you carry wounded soldiers, low and high, to safety with no regard for your own well-being, even today when you’re badly wounded yourself.”