Sighing, Styxx rose to his feet and again picked up his damaged hoplon and helm then limped off to change clothes.
Galen met him just outside the dressing room.
Without a word, Styxx handed the veteran soldier his extremely bent blank shield. A hoplon that would remain unpainted until Styxx proved himself worthy of a battle symbol.
At the rate he was going, that would be never.
Sick at the thought of what was waiting for him, Styxx placed his helm on the straw armor mannequin then moved to undress. He wiped another round of blood off his mouth with the back of his hand, before he licked the wound his father had given him.
Galen paused a few feet away. “What did the king say to you?”
“I’m to be whipped for my cowardice.”
To his shock, Galen winced. “I should not have lost my temper with you, Highness.”
Styxx snorted. “My enemies won’t hold back. Why should you?”
Shaking his head, Galen’s gaze fell to Styxx’s arm as Styxx removed his bronze vambraces. “Sweet Hera!”
Styxx looked down to see that his left arm was terribly swollen. It was now even larger than Galen’s massive forearms. The laces from the vambrace had left impressions so deep, bruises had already formed around them.
“Did you re-break it?”
Styxx clenched and unclenched his fist then rotated his wrist and bent his elbow. It hurt, but he had total mobility. “Nay. It’s fine. Just swollen from the fight.”
“It must pain you and yet you act as if it doesn’t. How can you stand it?”
“What can I say, Master Galen? The agony of my crushed testicles distracts my attention.”
To his shock, Galen laughed for the first time since Styxx had met him. “Come, young prince. Let me help you out of your armor.”
Styxx frowned as his trepidation rose. He wasn’t used to people being nice where he was concerned. It actually scared him. “Why are you being kind to me?”
“Guilt, Highness. It’s a potent thing.”
“Why should you have guilt?”
“I have misjudged you, and I don’t do that often.”
Styxx was even more confused than before.
Galen placed his hand on Styxx’s shoulder in the manner of respect and solidarity. Only Acheron had ever touched him thus. “If you were the brat I had thought you to be, my lord, you’d be whining about how unfair it is that you’re to be punished later for my unwarranted attack. But it occurs to me in the last two years that I’ve been training you, you have never once complained nor cried foul about anything I have done to you during practice. Not even when I broke your arm.”
“That was my fault. You told me not to hold my shield that way and I forgot.” Styxx glanced down at his arm, which was four times its usual size. “It’s a lesson I shan’t forget ever again.”
Galen’s gray eyes softened. “As I said, Highness, if you were the royal brat, you wouldn’t think that. You’d still be blaming me for it and calling for my testicles on your gilded platter.” Galen unlaced Styxx’s cuirass and lifted it over his head then placed it on the mannequin for him.
Unsure of what to say to that, Styxx untied his pteruges and handed it to Galen.
His teacher grimaced at the swelling which was even more severe, and the bruising that was more prominent than before. “We should bind your arm.”
Shaking his head, Styxx moved to unlace his greaves. “It would anger my father.”
“How so?” Galen pulled Styxx’s white linen chiton and purple wool chlamys from where Styxx had stored them then placed them on the bench beside his foot.
“He already considers me weak. If we bind it, he’ll think I’m doing it to postpone or lessen the severity of my punishment. Trust me, that won’t go well for me.” Styxx set his greaves and shoes on their shelf then removed his red practice chiton. He folded it and placed it next to them.
Turning, he caught the fierce scowl on Galen’s face as he stared at Styxx’s bare side.
He glanced down to see the red and purple bruises along his ribs and over his chest that were already forming where the older man had kicked him after he’d fallen. And that wasn’t counting his other, faded bruises from things he would rather forget.
Galen lifted his gaze to Styxx’s. “Did I ever tell you about the first time I fought in battle, Highness?”
Styxx quickly washed himself off in the large basin of water. “No, sir.”
Galen took a deep breath as Styxx toweled himself dry then pulled on his chiton and fastened a belt around it. “I was so scared that I soiled my armor. It slickened the stones so that when my commanding officer went to attack the enemy, he slipped and fell on it.”
Aghast, Styxx stared at him. He wanted to laugh, but didn’t dare.
“He was so angry that after battle, he had me given twenty lashes for it.”
Styxx wasn’t sure how to react to that. He was both amused and horrified. And the last thing he wanted to do was offend the man who routinely beat the crap out of him.
Galen handed Styxx his royal chlamys. “What I’m trying to tell you, Highness, is that all men, no matter how well trained or brave, have moments of profound fear. No man should ever be judged for the one and only time he throws his sword down to protect himself when he’s facing a much larger and more ferocious opponent. Rather he should be seen for all the times he doesn’t.”
He inclined his head respectfully to Styxx. “Even though I have retired and swore I’d never war again, I would be honored to ride by your side into battle, young prince, and to fight beneath your banner. Even if we had to fight this day.” His gray gaze intensified. “I no longer see the boy you are, but rather the man you will one day be.… And that man will be fierce indeed.”
That was the kindest thing anyone had ever said to him. “Thank you, Master Galen.”
Striking his fist to his shoulder, Galen saluted him. “Take heart, good prince. One day the king will see in you what I do.”
He appreciated the words, but he knew better. His father would never see him as anything other than a horrendous mistake. “Again, thank you.”
Galen offered him a tight-lipped smile. “Rest well tonight, Highness. Tomorrow I shall not take mercy on you.”
“I look forward to it,” he said sarcastically.
Galen’s laughter followed him out of the building.
Sighing in sudden dread of his duties to come, Styxx headed up the hill to the palace with his guards trailing in his wake. Since they were such a permanent fixture of his life, most of the time he didn’t even notice them.
Not until their thoughts overrode his, anyway. Gods, how he hated the voices that gave him no quarter.
Without stopping, he entered the palace and went to his room to retrieve his mother’s birthday gift from his chest by the window. He paused as he accidentally uncovered Acheron’s wooden horse. Pain hit him hard as unshed tears choked him.
How he missed his brother. There wasn’t an hour in the day that he didn’t wonder what was happening to Acheron. If he was well and happy.
Trying his best not to think about something he couldn’t change, he wrapped the horse back in its cloth and retrieved the gold bracelet he’d bought for his mother. It’d taken him three months to save up the money for it.
Because his father wanted him to appreciate what it took for their citizens to make a living, Styxx wasn’t given a stipend like other noblemen. Rather, he was required to donate labor to the temple priests and record keepers. And, if he really made his father angry, the stable master who hated him passionately. His father paid him an hourly wage for his work, provided the ones he worked for spoke highly of his labor. That was fine by him, except for when they lied to his father out of petty spite. Since they didn’t know how his father was with him in private, they thought it funny to belittle his efforts with offhand comments such as, He is a pampered prince after all, Majesty. What can you really expect from one such as he? They had no idea that his father
took any report of his “laziness” as a personal criticism and embarrassment. Nor did they know that Styxx, unlike Ryssa, who was given everything she desired, received no other coin from his father. So for every ten hours he worked, he was lucky to be paid for two.
Yes, his father clothed and fed him as befitted his station, but all the charitable funds a prince was expected to give, as well as all gifts for his family and servants, came out of what Styxx earned. Gifts that had to be on par with what a king would give or his father would also view that failure as a personal insult.
We are known by the gifts we give.…
Styxx snorted as he thought of the presents his father had “bestowed” on him, such as the “honor” of attending boring senate meetings and court sessions.
Then I guess you’re a cheap fucking bastard, Father.
But Styxx was never allowed to be so “thoughtful.” Irritated, he touched the bracelet that had the face of Artemis, his mother’s patron goddess from her homeland, stamped in the center. It was dainty and intricately cast. He’d never seen anything prettier.
Maybe this time she would smile at him.
Just don’t throw it in my face like you did last year and have lashes added to what’s already coming to me.
And after this most charming meeting with his maternal host, he had that beating to look forward to.…
Khalash!
Pulling his chlamys down to hide his swollen arm, he headed for her chambers to get it over with.
He knocked on the door and waited for her maid to answer. Per her normal routine, the maid didn’t speak to him—the bitch who’d been attending his mother since his mother was a girl held him responsible for his mother’s ruination and she despised him passionately for it.
With a curled lip, Dristas opened the door wider and allowed him to enter while his guards remained outside.
His mother was pacing in front of the window that looked out onto the back courtyard. She was more agitated than usual.
Men! I hate them all. They’re worthless, faithless pigs who should be slaughtered and gutted. Every one of them! May they all rot in Tartarus for eternity!
Styxx drew up short as her enraged thoughts rang in his head. This was definitely a bad time.
As he started to turn around and leave, his mother caught sight of him.
“What are you doing here? You’re not my Ryssa.”
That was a definite affirmative. Her grand powers of observation never ceased to stun him.
He lifted the small wooden box up so that she could see it. “I was bringing you your birthday gift, Matisera. But I can see it’s a bad time.”
She raked a sneer over him. “Another cheap trinket … Meaningless tribute from a worthless ingrate.”
Not really. The cost had been rather dear. I should have spent the money on the horse I wanted. At least he would have gotten some joy out of that.
And a little affection to boot.
“I’ll leave it here on your table for you.” He set it down, his heart aching for the hatred his mother bore him. “Happy birthday.” Wishing he could make her smile, just once, he turned to leave.
The moment he did, she shrieked in outrage.
Before Styxx could see what was wrong with her, he felt a sharp bite in his right shoulder. All her maids began screaming. Their voices, both in his head and out, were so shrill that he couldn’t understand any of them. As he twisted around, there was another vicious pain in his arm, followed by another and another. Unable to comprehend the source of the sensation, he looked at his tiny mother and saw the bloodied knife in her hand as she pulled it out of his body.
She moved to stab him again.
Styxx caught her wrist and held it with his injured arm. The tip of the knife hovered directly over his heart which was what she’d have stabbed had he not stopped the blow. “Matisera?”
“I’m not your mother, you whoreson!” She snatched her hand out of his weakened grip. Then, cradling the knife in both of her hands, she fell against him, using her full body weight to bury the knife deep in his chest.
Styxx sank to the floor as his guards finally rushed into the room to seize her. Stunned and in shock, he stared up at the ceiling in horror of what had happened.
His mother had stabbed him.
Repeatedly.
The knife was still buried in his flesh … all the way to the hilt. Biting his lip, he reached for it and jerked it out. Warm blood soaked his clothes as he waited to finally die. A sharp buzzing in his ears drowned out the sound of all the voices in his head, filling him with an unexpected sense of peace.
“Styxx?”
He heard his uncle’s voice from far away. But he had no desire to go back to the hell he lived in. Instead, he closed his eyes and waited for Hermes to take him to Charon so that the ancient god could ferry him to his final resting place.
June 21, 9535 BC
Styxx rubbed at his brow as boredom threatened to kill him while his father conferred with the musicians over what would be played during his sister’s coming-of-age banquet later tonight.
In spite of what Ryssa thought, she was by far their father’s favorite. Even though his birthday was in two days, all preparations for his had been postponed in favor of hers. His father had even taken him aside three months ago to tell him as much.
You understand, boy. She reaches her full majority and it’s not that important for you this year.
Truthfully, he didn’t want any kind of celebration, ever again. Birthdays had never boded well for him, anyway. Neither his nor anyone else’s.
At best all they did was remind him that he shared his birthday with a brother he was forbidden to see. And it wasn’t like he had any friends to invite. Only users trying to curry favor with his father or with him.
Even if he had the delusion that someone might actually like him as a person, his ability to hear other people’s thoughts quickly squelched that idiocy.
Princes had no friends.
Although, here lately, he had plenty of girls, and even full-grown women, from all social classes, who made numerous advances toward him. But they didn’t care about him either. Rather they wanted to hold the bragging rights of being his first lover. Or better yet, become the mother to one of his bastard children so that he’d have to support them for their rest of their lives. He could barely move without one of them cornering him and stripping off her clothes or trying to fondle him, and while most men would welcome it, the fact that he heard their thoughts made him steer clear of their heartless traps. It was a total lust-kill when you knew beyond a doubt that the woman couldn’t stand you, and that she’d be talking about you as soon as it was over, and not in a favorable way.
He’d rather die virgin than suffer any more ridicule for his ineptitude.
“Father!”
Styxx cringed at Ryssa’s angry shriek as she ran into the room, holding one of her elaborate himations in her arms. Whatever it is that ails her, please don’t let it be directed at me. Ryssa blamed him for everything—including his mother’s brutal attack on him last year.
She wouldn’t have stabbed you had you not deserved it! My mother is a gentle woman who wouldn’t harm a soul. I know you, Styxx. You had to have said something awful to her to provoke it! She would never have attacked you otherwise. Admit it, you threatened or insulted her, didn’t you?
Zeus help him, but if it rained tonight during her banquet, somehow that, too, would be his fault.
His father stepped away from the musicians to greet her.
“Look!” She shoved the garment at him. “They’ve crushed the embroidery on my himation! What am I to do?”
Go naked, dear sister. Oh wait … better yet, wear one of your two million other gowns. Not like she didn’t have a dozen chests bulging with them.
Their father cupped her cheek in his hand. The tender look on his face was enough to made Styxx’s lip curl. If he dared to complain over something so trivial, he’d be publicly embarrassed at best, beaten at wor
st.
“Don’t fret. They can fix it, kitten.”
“No, Father. It’s ruined.” Huge tears fell down her cheeks. No wonder his father despised them. “I just won’t attend. I can’t. They’ll all laugh at me.” She narrowed her icy blue eyes on Styxx, who stiffened as his gut clenched.
Here it comes.…
“You distracted my maid, didn’t you?”
He had to struggle to keep the venom from his voice. “No.”
“You’re lying! I’ve seen the way you watch her. It’s revolting.”
“I don’t watch your maid, Ryssa. I don’t even know which one was responsible for your dress.”
“Then you don’t know if you’ve distracted her or not, do you? Do you!”
Styxx would throw his head back in exasperation, but he didn’t want his father jumping all over him for disregarding her pain. Besides, Ryssa’s hysterical tantrum was enough for anyone to deal with.
“You’ve probably destroyed my sandals, too. You’d love for all of them to laugh at me tonight, admit it.” She stomped her foot at him.
“I don’t want anyone to laugh at you, lamb-head. I just don’t care.” Styxx turned to walk away.
But Ryssa wouldn’t let it go. She grabbed his arm and jerked him around to face her. “Why can’t you ever learn to be happy for someone else? Huh?”
Honestly, I’d be thrilled if I could just learn to be happy for myself. “Unlike you, Ryssa, I don’t waste my time worrying about other people.”
“Exactly my point. You’re so selfish and cold, it’s disgusting.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said, but she was already gone. He started to fling his hands out in an obscene gesture then caught his father’s angry glare and disturbing thoughts over the fact Styxx wasn’t giving his sister due respect.
Instead, Styxx held his hands up in helpless surrender while Ryssa cornered their father with her complaints against her brother who could do nothing to please her.
Except die.
“You see, Father! You see how he treats people with such blatant disregard of their feelings? How can someone so cold and heartless be king? Zeus help us all with him on your throne.”
Styxx (DH #33) Page 7