Authors: Sherrilyn Kenyon
His sister not so much.
Styxx fingered the brooch that was his sole piece of grown-up adornment.
We must spoil our women, boy. A happy woman makes a happy home. An unhappy one makes us drink.
His stomach aching for the loss, Styxx nodded and unpinned his brooch. He handed it and his coins over to the jeweler, who had his apprentice box the gift.
“She will be thrilled, Highness,” Claudius said.
Master Praxis appeared as thrilled about the purchase as Styxx did.
“Thank you.” Styxx took the hair combs and left.
Master Praxis followed him outside. “Would you like me to walk home with you, Highness?”
“Yes, please. Thank you, Master Praxis.”
And while they walked, his tutor went over the philosophy lesson that had been suspended for the day so that Styxx could attend his other duties.
By the time they reached the palace, his father was waiting for him in the foyer with a glower on his face that wrenched Styxx’s stomach hard. “Where is your valet?”
“I sent him back early.”
“And look at you. Out in public … an embarrassment to me.” His father snatched Styxx’s chlamys where Styxx was holding it in place with his hand. “Where’s your fibula I gave you?”
Styxx exchanged a glance with Master Praxis and begged him with his eyes not to tell his father what he’d done. To know Styxx had bartered with a merchant like some penniless fishmonger would only anger his father more. “It’s lost, Father.”
“Lost!” His father cursed. “Get upstairs and put yourself in order.”
Styxx headed up the steps to find Ryssa smirking in the hallway. He wanted to throw the gift at her.
But the cost for it was too dear.
Styxx ignored her and went to his room where the valet was waiting to snatch him around and “accidentally” pinch and bruise him while he righted Styxx’s attire.
Tsking over the missing brooch, his valet dug the old tin childhood fibula out of Styxx’s wooden chest. The valet had just returned the chlamys to its proper drape when his father joined them.
“Leave us.”
Styxx held his breath in fear of his father’s sharp tone.
“Since you’ve proven yourself so irresponsible, I’m sending
your
birthday gift back to the merchant. There’s no need in giving you anything until you learn to appreciate the cost of things.”
Styxx opened his mouth to protest then caught himself. His father wouldn’t listen. “Yes, Father.”
“Master Praxis is in your study. I suggest you don’t keep him waiting.”
Taking care not to run because only peasants did so, Styxx went to his room down the hall where his tutor sat with a stern glower.
“Why didn’t you tell your father what happened to your fibula, prince?”
Because a lost brooch would cost Styxx a birthday present. A bartered one would mean a harsh beating. “Only peasants barter. He would have been furious had he learned that I went shopping without sufficient coin.”
“That was hardly insufficient, Highness. The cost was extravagant and I’m baffled why you didn’t get her something else.”
Styxx let out a weary breath of frustration as he explained his dilemma to his tutor. “Had my father gone in to buy them—which he would have, given Ryssa’s propensity for extreme nagging—and been told that I passed on them for something less expensive even though Ryssa had clearly and dearly wanted them—which Claudius would tell him he told me—I would have been in a lot more trouble. While my father expects and accepts that Ryssa will have to ask about purchasing jewelry, it’s not acceptable for me to do so. A prince must always be seen as affluent and respectable. This,” he pointed to his cheap fibula, “was the lesser evil.”
His brow furrowed, Master Praxis sighed. “Our lesson today was about Scylla and Charybdis, but I think we shall move on. You are already well versed in being caught between a rock and a hard place, Highness, and having to successfully navigate the treacherous waters that divide them.”
June 21, 9537 BC
Styxx sat in the study with his father and Master Praxis, reviewing his weekly progress, when Ryssa came storming into the room. At first, he feared she was angry. But as she came closer, he saw the bright smile on her face.
“Father! Look what a messenger just brought!” she gushed as she opened her hands to show him the combs Styxx had purchased. “Acheron sent them to me! Is he not the best brother ever?”
Master Praxis gaped as he met Styxx’s gaze.
Subversively, Styxx touched his finger to his lips to implore his tutor not to out him. “They’re beautiful, Ryssa.”
Scoffing at him, she put them in her hair and turned back to their father. “I shall wear them tonight at banquet! And at every banquet from now on. How did he know I wanted them? Are they not gorgeous, Father? I can’t wait for Matisera to see them!” She rushed out of the room to show their mother.
His father glowered at Styxx. “What did
you
get your sister?”
“I didn’t have time, Father. I’m sorry.”
The look on his father’s face promised him the retribution of the Furies. “Then I suggest you find something. Fast! And we will talk about this later.”
Euphemism for a beating to come. “Yes, Father.”
“Go. Get out of my sight.”
Styxx gathered his scrolls as Master Praxis escorted him from the room.
“I am extremely nonplused, Highness.”
Styxx jerked his chin to where Ryssa stood showing off the combs to one of her maids. “Had I given them to her, she wouldn’t be so excited, I promise you. She would have placed them in a box and never worn them again. They mean much more to her coming from my brother.”
“But you paid dearly for them, and not just in coin.…” His tutor’s gaze dropped to Styxx’s side where his chlamys had fallen away and exposed his bruised skin.
Styxx jerked it back into place before anyone else saw it. “Gifts are for the delight of the recipient, not the giver, Master Praxis. And if I have to pay such a dear cost, I’d rather see her enjoy her combs than not.”
“You’re a good boy, Highness. And I hope her gift to you is half so noble.”
Styxx bit back a derisive snort. Ryssa had already given him his present … a scalding lecture on why he wasn’t worthy of one this year.
But that was fine by him. Unlike his sister, he placed no value on objects that, sooner or later, would be taken away or destroyed as punishment.
August 30, 9536 BC
One year later
“Get up, you worthless
suagroi
!”
Styxx saw red at the insult that accused him of molesting pigs. Pushing himself up from the ground where he’d been violently thrown, he glared at Galen, his
hoplomachos—
fighting instructor. He lifted his blank, bowl-shaped shield and wooden sword, and readied himself for their next round of Stomp the Prince into Oblivion. “
Suagroi
? Sorry, Master Galen, but your wife’s far too old for me.”
That got the desired reaction. Galen went crazy on him as he attacked.
Fast and furious, raining down lethal blow after lethal blow, Galen rendered Styxx’s xiphos blocks useless as the older man shattered the inch thick wood backing and bent the metal part of Styxx’s hoplon around his arm with strikes that would fell a thick tree. Something that said it all about Galen’s legendary strength. It was all Styxx could do not to die. He finally gave up and dropped his xiphos, which wasn’t helping him hold his ground even a little then used both of his arms to angle the shield to keep from being murdered by the ancient soldier who was more than a foot taller and six times his weight. For that matter, one of Galen’s beefy arms was the same diameter as Styxx’s waist.
So much for his hoplon being more of a weapon than a source of protection.…
His weakened left arm that was still healing from when Galen had broken it during practice several months back ached and threatened to give way under the vicious assault.
Bellowing in rage, Galen kicked him so fiercely it lifted him from his feet and slammed him to the ground, flat on his back. Styxx hit the dirt so hard, his breath left his lungs with such force that it felt as if both lungs had collapsed.
Stunned from the pain, Styxx stared up at his trainer through the cheek guards of his bronze helm. Galen painfully wrenched the hoplon from his arm and threw it aside then started kicking him mercilessly in the ribs with all his stout strength.
His arms were so numb and battered from the earlier blows, Styxx couldn’t even begin to protect himself from the kicks.
“Is that your answer, boy, when you’re attacked? Drop your xiphos and then cower behind your hoplon like a cornered mouse? What do you think an enemy would do to you in battle?”
If I’m lucky, kill me
.
“Tell me, where’s your smart mouth now?”
It wasn’t his mouth that was damaged. Rather he had yet to draw enough air into his lungs to speak.
“Enough!”
Galen delivered one last stomp to Styxx’s groin before he heeded the king’s shout.
Cupping himself, Styxx saw stars as bile rose in his throat. Damn, that hurt. The old man kicked like a stampeding rhinoceros.
His
hoplomachos
bowed low to his father while Styxx writhed in absolute misery. “Majesty. To what do I owe this honor?”
“I wanted to check my son’s progress, such as it isn’t.… Now leave us.”
With a vicious glare at Styxx that promised him retribution for making him look incompetent before the king, Galen inclined his head then made a hasty retreat.
Still coughing and wheezing, Styxx rolled over and forced himself to his feet. He let go of his groin and straightened even though all he wanted to do was lie down until he could breathe again.
His father’s revulsion and disdain hit him even harder than Galen’s last kick. Styxx spat the blood from his loosened teeth to the ground.
“What was that I just saw?” his father growled.
Me getting my ass kicked by your retired polemarchos.
Was the man blind? There was a reason why Galen had once led the entire Didymosian army. Stronger than Atlas, the old buzzard had never been defeated by anyone.
And definitely not by a skinny boy.
His father struck his cuirass so hard, it forced Styxx to take a step back. “You threw down your xiphos?”
“I was trying to protect myself,” Styxx explained.
His father jerked the helm from Styxx’s head and threw it on the ground in disgust. He hit him in the chest again. “You’re not worthy of armor this fine. You disgrace it.” His blue eyes blazed with fury an instant before he backhanded Styxx so hard his head snapped back. “Coward!”
Facing him without fear, Styxx licked at the blood on his lips then wiped it away with the back of his hand. “I’m just a boy, Father. Not a grown soldier.”
Only ten-and-two … Galen wore sandals that were older.
His father grabbed his hair and jerked him forward. “You have shamed me with your effeminate fear,” he shouted in Styxx’s ear. “I thought I was raising a king and not a queen. I should make you fight in one of your sister’s peploses and earbobs.” He shoved him away, toward the direction of the dressing rooms. “Change your clothes, go to your mother and placate her then you are to be whipped for your cowardice and insolence. Understood?”
Styxx gave him the most sarcastic salute he could manage. “Understood … my king.”
Pain in my ass.
The repugnant expression on his father’s face promised severe retaliation later. So be it.… He’d failed to meet the king’s high expectations.
There’s a fucking surprise
.
Disgusted with himself and his father, Styxx retrieved his helm and hoplon. When he went to pick up his sword, his father kicked him to the ground.
“You haven’t earned the right to touch a Didymosian xiphos, even a training one, and I won’t have your weak, effeminate hand defile it.” The king retrieved it, and left. He handed the sword off to Galen on his way out of the arena.
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.”