Page 91 of Axios

Tensions arose again when we made camp. Agesipolis, who had been surrounded by his advisors all day, broke free of them and came toward me.

Seeing his approach, Eryx stilled, and a low growl left his throat.

I shot him a warning look and shook my head. He glowered before clearing his face of all emotion.

We had set our provisions down and had made a small fire to keep warm, and our companions had joined us. We were warming ourselves by the fire when the king approached.

“Good evening,” Agesipolis greeted, stopping a few strides away from the fire and rubbing his hands over it to warm them.

The passage of time had not touched his appearance. Same brown hair I remembered and the same stubble upon his jaw and chin. He was almost thirty and still had his youth, but he also had a look in his eyes that told of his time in war.

I wonder if I have that look now too.

“My king.” I stood and gave a quick bow.

He and I exchanged a look. His brown eyes gleamed with a memory, and I was sure mine did as well.

During our time together, he had asked me not to refer to him in such a formal manner, but in front of the other men, I thought it wise to address him as such. Even though we Spartans rarely held any man higher than the other, kings were a different matter entirely.

“I only come to see how you all are faring,” he said, not taking his gaze off me. “The walk was long and tiresome this day.”

“We are well,” Eryx answered in a taut tone, standing at my side.

He wrapped his arm around my waist and narrowed his eyes at the king.

Agesipolis moved his stare to Eryx and focused on where he held me. I saw the light of recognition then. He knew Eryx was the one I’d denied him for and seemed to suddenly notice his presence beside me.

“Get your rest,” the king spoke, holding more authority in his voice than he had before. “We leave at first light.”

He glanced at me once more before tuning and walking back to his area. One of his advisors—an older man with graying hair—instantly neared him and started talking. Agesipolis held up his hand to silence the man and then continued toward his mat on the ground.

I laid down and stared at the fire, watching the flames dance in the pit—enough to provide some heat, but not wildly blazing as it had been. The men around me settled down too and conversation drifted off one by one.

Nothing more was heard except the licking of the flames against wood and stone.

Theon lay on his makeshift bed of weeds and Quill snuggled in behind him without a word.

Eryx did the same with me. His strong arm came around my stomach and he tugged me to his chest before burying his face in the back of my hair.

As I shut my eyes, my mind wandered to Nikias and the warning he’d given a year before. The thought had been pushed from my mind because we had settled back into everyday life in Sparta and war had not been on the horizon.

But, as the army finished our first day of travel and rested for the night, I remembered him speaking of a battle that had not yet occurred, one where he’d warned me to persuade Eryx to make a choice.

What choice? How am I to know?

Nikias had never told me the rest of the story.

I then wondered if the battle he’d seen in the vision was the one we were marching toward.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ihad lost track of the number of days that had passed. Two fortnights? Perhaps longer. The weather had turned cold and winter was upon us. Snow rarely fell in Sparta, but the farther north we traveled, the colder it became, and I smelled it in the air.

The helots who traveled with us were not adapted to extreme conditions as us Spartans were, and they shivered under their layers of animal furs. The one who walked with our unit was a young man who looked to be no older than eighteen.

He wore a leather cap on his head—as was custom for the slaves as a humiliation, but I was certain it was a blessing in these conditions. Pale hair stuck out from the bottom of the cap, not white but not golden either. A unique shade that was not often seen. He reminded me so much of the boy I had seen at the first dining mess we had attended with the older men—the slave who had been forced to drink wine and mocked as he stumbled around. Then, his throat had been slit.

Because of me.