Styxx (DH #33)

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

Styxx handed him the scroll. “It’s unanimous from all the kings. They want us back in Greece. Effective immediately. We are to abandon all future campaigns. Should we continue on, they will charge us with treason.”

  Galen stayed behind and sputtered indignantly while Styxx went to relay their new orders to his commanders.

  He still couldn’t believe it, but since all the Greek kings were in on the decision for a cease-fire, he had no choice. If he continued on, they would see his entire army slaughtered.

  And his men weren’t any happier about the news than either he or Galen.

  Their one resounding complaint was as unanimous as the kings’ decision to stop … It’s not fair that we’re being penalized because the rest of the Greek forces are incompetent losers.

  Styxx agreed with his men, but he couldn’t say that out loud. “We are soldiers and we obey our orders.”

  Even when they stank to the highest point of Mount Olympus.

  “But at least you’ll all go home to your families now,” Styxx offered as consolation.

  That sent a cheer through their morose ranks. And in truth, Styxx couldn’t wait to get back to Bethany. It’d been almost two years since he had last felt her hand on his face. Seen her sweet golden-green eyes as she welcomed him to her side.

  Hopefully, she hadn’t found another to love during his long absence.

  As he returned to his tent, he felt the sun mark on his back heat up until it burned. Styxx froze.

  Was Apollo here? Or another demon, perhaps? Why else would the mark do that? Glancing about, he pushed aside his fear. They were going home. Why attack them now?

  But then why did the gods do anything they did?

  “I hate you bastards,” he snarled under his breath to the gods. “All you’ve ever done is screw up my life. I wish every one of you was gone.”

  And Styxx hoped that he never had to see another god in the flesh as long as he lived.

  August 31, 9530 BC

  Galen reined his horse and smiled. “Smell that delicious olive-scented air, my lord … we’re back in Greece.”

  Styxx snorted at Galen’s uncharacteristic enthusiasm. “I think battle might have addled your brains. It smells no different to me.”

  “Of course it does!”

  Styxx scoffed, “I could be wrong, but I really don’t think the wind stops at our borders.”

  Galen tsked at him. “Such patriotism from an esteemed war hero. You should be ashamed.”

  Shaking his head, Styxx swept his gaze over the soldiers who’d fought well and brought honor to all of them and their various city-states. But even so, there was a darkness inside him that hadn’t been there before. Battle had changed him. As bad as Estes had been, and the atrocities his twisted uncle had committed, Styxx had seen a far worse side of humanity that made him wonder why he fought at all. What was there about mankind worth saving?

  You don’t fight for them. You fight for Beth and her life, alone.

  “Highness?”

  He glanced over as Gaius rode up on his opposite side. “Yes?”

  “There’s a hostel not far from here. We were wondering if we could make camp near it tonight?”

  “We?” Styxx glanced back at his army.

  Gaius gave him a lecherous grin. “There are women there, Highness, and it’s been a while for some of us.”

  Styxx exchanged an amused stare with Galen. “If it’s what all of you wish. Who am I to deny you?”

  Gaius shouted in happiness before he went to tell the others.

  Galen sighed. “To be that young again.”

  “You’re not that old.”

  “Old enough…” Galen nudged his horse forward. “So, Highness, are we dicing in your tent tonight while the others frolic with their women?”

  Styxx lifted his brow at the presumptuous question. “How do you know I won’t be joining the men?”

  Galen snorted at his challenge. “Because I know the look of a man who wants to go home to a particular woman, and no other will do. Not even when it’s been the better part of two years for him.”

  Styxx suppressed a smile over the fact that Galen knew him better than anyone. A part of him hated being so transparent, but another was glad to know that at least one person saw him for who he was and not for what they assumed him to be. “Dice it is then.”

  Galen laughed. “I look forward to finally beating you at something again.”

  * * *

  Hours later, Styxx sat in his tent thinking of his beautiful Bethany while his men were divided between camp and the town where the hostel was located. The sounds of revelry were loud and cacophonous. They mixed with the voices in his head until he could barely think straight. There were just too many of them.

  Alone, he rolled the dice on his desk, waiting for Galen to join him. He’d taken Bethany’s necklace off and left it within hand’s reach. Smiling, he picked it up and rubbed his thumb over the bow-and-arrow mark that was stamped into a small silver disk. Many women her age were devotees of the goddess Artemis who was said to be a fierce protector of women and children. And he prayed that the goddess would always protect his beloved from all harm.

  Bethany was the sole reason he wanted to go home and she was all he looked forward to. “Soon, my love. And this time, I will hold on to you forever.” Closing his eyes, he conjured the sight of her beautiful face. His body hardened instantly as he imagined her dancing for him again.

  Of her holding him close while he made love to her with all the need he’d kept under fierce restraint for the last two years.

  There was a sudden knock.

  Wishing he could stay in his dreams with her for awhile longer, Styxx laid her necklace down and reached for his wine. “Enter.”

  An Athenian soldier he’d never seen before came inside, leading a small group of similarly dressed men. “Prince Styxx?”

  “Yes?”

  “We heard you were arriving any day now, and wanted to welcome your army home.”

  “Thank you.” Styxx cocked his head as he realized that the sounds outside had grown much quieter.

  A bad feeling went through him as he glanced over to his weapons and armor on the other side of the tent, near his pallet. In that instant, it dawned on him that one of his dekarmatoli should have escorted these men into his tent and hadn’t.

  Styxx narrowed his gaze on them. “So what can I do for you?”

  “In short, Highness … you can die.” The leader leapt forward.

  Styxx rolled from the chair. He punched the first soldier hard in the solar plexus, knocking him back. As he twisted past the second one, the third one slid a dagger into his side before he could outmaneuver him. Styxx hissed in pain then kicked him back. But it was too late. The first one had recovered and stabbed him in the back.

  His ears buzzed from their hatred and his pain. Styxx sank to the ground while they rained stabs down on him. Warm blood rushed over his skin until it coated him.

  Their leader kicked him over onto his back and raked his bloody body with a contemptuous sneer. “A homecoming present, prince, from the commanders who weren’t victorious in the war.” The soldier used his dagger to pin Styxx’s sword hand to the ground.

  Laughing, they left him there to die.

  His breathing labored, Styxx stared at the Thracian dagger buried in his palm and choked on his own blood. After everything he and his men had been through, after all the attacks and battles they’d survived against enemies, it was their own allies who annihilated them on their home shores.

  And not for glory or for family.

  For petty fucking jealousy.

  September 3, 9530 BC

  “Careful, Highness, drink slowly.”

  Styxx groaned as someone lifted his head and gently poured water into his mouth. Then that person laid his head back so that he could see Galen’s concerned, grizzled face. Of course Galen was the one tending him. Who else would bother?

  His old tutor had a deep cut down his left cheek, but otherwis
e appeared whole.

  Styxx squinted against the pain and brightness of the light coming in through heavy drapes. “The men?”

  “About half survived.”

  Half?

  Half …

  He winced at the mental pain of their loss. That news cut him far worse than the daggers the cowards had used on him. “Did you get the ones responsible?”

  “Not enough of them. I did manage to capture one of the men who attacked you. I bled him dry and got some information from his traitorous tongue.”

  “And?”

  “They were mercenaries. The coins used to pay them were from all the Greek city-states, including Didymos. You were their primary target. Our men were only a bonus.” Galen pressed something into his uninjured hand then withdrew.

  “Continue,” Galen shouted.

  Styxx’s bed was lifted and moved forward. Galen had placed him inside a litter to be carried home. Grimacing in pain, he opened his hand to find Bethany’s necklace in his palm. Thank the gods, Galen had saved it. Leave it to his mentor to know it would be important to him.

  He held it to his heart and closed his eyes then thought of his men who’d been ambushed and killed. Anger consumed him that he’d let his guard lax. Why had he not been more vigilant? Armed? Why had he given them freedom to wench?

  Because they’d finally made it home where they were supposed to be safe. These were the people they’d all fought and bled to protect.

  Grief and agony shoved his anger aside. No one could be trusted. His uncle and father should have taught him that.

  His own mother.

  Would Bethany one day turn on him, too? The thought kicked him hard, but he refused to let these beasts destroy his faith in the only woman he’d ever loved.

  Styxx rapped on the frame of his litter. After a few seconds, the men outside set it down.

  In spite of the pain, he sat up. As he started to rise, Galen appeared by his side.

  Galen scowled at him. “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t deserve to be carried.”

  “Highness—”

  “I lapsed my guard and my men died for it. I will not lie here and be coddled when I should have died with them.”

  “Styxx!” Galen snapped, but Styxx refused to listen as he pushed himself to his feet and did his best not to stumble as he left the litter.

  “My horse!” Styxx shouted.

  Galen pulled him into his arms and held him close. “I know the pain you carry, αγαπημέvoς μoυ γιός,” he whispered in Styxx’s ear. My beloved son …

  That single endearment choked Styxx and brought tears to his eyes. It was the first time in his life anyone had referred to him as such.

  “I’ve carried it myself,” Galen continued, “but dying now will not bring them back.”

  I’m not going to die. He knew that with bitter certainty. And he would not be carried on the backs of men who were injured and grieving themselves.

  A young shield-bearer brought Troian to him and held the horse by his side.

  Styxx embraced Galen like a father then withdrew. “My men deserve better.” After thanking the boy who’d brought him his horse, he ignored the shocked looks on the faces of his litter-bearers and soldiers as he slowly pulled himself up into the saddle unassisted.

  Ignoring the pain, he kicked his horse and rode to the front of his troops then wheeled around to face them. One by one, he swept his gaze over the grim expressions of men who should have been returning in high spirits. And as he scanned them, he noted that Gaius wasn’t among the survivors.

  His gut clenched tight.

  He wanted to say something, but words failed him just as he’d failed to keep his people safe.

  All of a sudden, his men began chanting his name and cheering for him then as a single unit, they went down on one knee.

  Styxx couldn’t understand it. He definitely didn’t deserve this honor after they’d been slaughtered on home soil.

  “Good men,” he said, his throat tight. “I vowed to all of you when we left Didymos that I would never forget the sacrifice I was asking each of you to make. That I would never be capricious or careless with your safety, and I failed all of you. For that, I beg your forgiveness.”

  Tersus, one of his advisors, kicked his horse forward. “Highness, you didn’t fail us. We were drunk on victory when we were attacked. You were the only sober man among us. It was our duty to protect our future king. Your father will have us whipped for our dereliction that almost got you killed.”

  “No one will be punished for what happened,” Styxx assured him. “You have my word on that. All of you have suffered enough.” He bowed to his men. “Now let’s go home to our families and pray we never have to raise our swords again.”

  September 3, 9530 BC

  Exhausted and aching, Styxx lay on his pallet in his tent. The physician had just finished checking his bandages and left him to rest for the night. But he couldn’t relax or sleep. Over and over, images of being attacked, of battle, and a thousand other things he didn’t want to remember tortured him.

  He couldn’t breathe. A part of him wanted to run like a madman, screaming out into the night. But how would that look to the men who’d trusted him with their lives?

  Shaking and scrambled, he pushed himself up and stumbled toward his desk. He poured wine into his cup and downed it all in one gulp then reached for more.

  Outside, he heard his men’s anger. They blamed the kings for this attack. Had they not been called back so soon, they would be celebrating a victory in Atlantis tonight, not suffering defeat at home.

  From their own people.

  And still none of them knew why they’d been summoned back.…

  Unless it was to be slaughtered.

  Surely not. But as Galen would say, wars were nothing more than old men bragging about their own withered prowess while sending their sons out to die in their stead. And while there were many political ideas worth killing for, none were worth dying over.

  Although Styxx no longer agreed with the latter.

  Pissed and disgusted, he glared at his injured sword hand as the images of the men he’d killed in battle tore through him.

  No, he definitely didn’t agree with Galen. There were political causes he would die for, but never again would he kill for one. Nor would he ask anyone else to do so. Life was too precious for that.

  He would only raise a sword to protect Bethany and Galen. No one else. And definitely nothing else.

  “Why so sad, young prince? You’re heading home. You should be thrilled.”

  Styxx went cold at the voice he hated most of all. His breathing intensified even more as he looked up to find Apollo on the other side of his desk. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to welcome home the victorious Didymosian prince. Is that not what I’m supposed to do?”

  Styxx hissed as the mark on his back heated up and burned his skin. He shot to his feet only to have Apollo materialize right in front of him. The god reached to touch his face.

  He stepped back, out of reach.

  “Don’t be like that, prince.”

  For a moment, Styxx considered calling out for his guards, but there was no telling what Apollo might do to them. Two of the ten had already been slaughtered on home soil. The rest had barely survived.

  He wouldn’t sacrifice another of his men.

  “I want you to leave me alone.”

  Apollo laughed. “That’s not going to happen. See … you’re headed home now because your father and the other Greek kings intend to offer up your sister as a virgin sacrifice to me.”

  Granted, his head was swimming from pain and drink, but surely he’d misunderstood what Apollo just said. “What?”

  Smirking, the god nodded. “It’s true. They want the war with Atlantis to stop and to have their lands left alone. To keep me happy and to assure my continued benevolence for Greece over Atlantis, Ryssa is to be my sanctified mistress.”

  Gr
eat. He’d laugh if it wasn’t so damned horrifying. He’d killed his uncle to save his sister from rape, only to have his father whore her to the one creature he hated most.

  Why did I bother?

  Apollo vanished then reappeared right behind Styxx. Wrapping his arms around his waist, he pulled Styxx back against him and leaned down to inhale the scent of Styxx’s hair.

  Cringing with repugnance, Styxx tried to pull free, but Apollo held him fast. “Just so you know, Ryssa’s not the one I really want.” His teeth elongated as he nuzzled Styxx’s neck. “I hunger for someone much more robust and filling.”

  “Release me!”

  Apollo dragged his fangs over Styxx’s jugular and applied just enough pressure to hurt, but not break the skin. “You will give me what I want, prince,” he whispered. “I’ve seen how much your men mean to you, especially that old one who coddles you. So be honest with me and yourself. What do you value more? Your own precious ass or theirs?”

  In spite of the horrendous pain it caused, Styxx struggled even harder against him. “I will not whore for you! I’ve heard too many tales about what happens to your cast-offs.”

  Apollo laughed as he ran his hand over the place on Styxx’s back where he’d burned his mark into Styxx’s skin and to the wound where one of his attackers had buried a dagger in the center of that hated sun symbol. “That’s nothing compared to what happens to the ones who deny me. Remember what I told you when you were in the Dionysion? Sooner or later, all people will whore for something. If you don’t accept me, I will see the rest of your army destroyed by your enemies who still trail you, seeking to finish the job they started … your precious kingdom broken into dust, that old man you love slaughtered, and your sister trained and sold as a tsoulus at market.”

  The Olympian dropped his hand down to where Styxx was branded as a tsoulus and pressed his fingers against the mark, letting Styxx know that he’d seen the brand the last time they were together.

  “And once I have destroyed all their lives, I will take you to Olympus and make you serve us all alongside Prince Ganymede. So your basic choice is you whore for me alone, anytime and anyplace I desire you, and no one knows about us, or you bend over for every god on Olympus and spend eternity listening to Greek scribes regale your fate as a cautionary tale for others for thousands of years to come.”