Page 63 of Eryx

“Oh.” I sighed and looked across the green valley. We sat on a small hill near the sanctuary of Apollo that afternoon, after finishing our training. The day was warm and life thrived all around us. A summer wind swept through the grass and birds flew overhead. “How unfortunate. I suppose you’ll never know.”

“Ery.” He laughed and bumped my shoulder with his. “Tell me.”

“If I must.” I peered at him and smiled when he crinkled his nose. A patch of flowers grew around the sanctuary and could be seen from our place on the hill. “Do you see the flowers there?”

Axios followed my gaze then nodded.

“There’s a reason they sprout from the earth around Apollo’s shrine.”

With an eager smile, Axios looked back at me. I knew he wished to speak, but he held his tongue.

“In the days of old, much before you and I were born, there lived a boy called Hyacinthus,” I said, as excitement swirled in my stomach. Axios enjoyed my stories, and I enjoyed telling them. “He was a Spartan with raven-black hair, much like yours, and eyes like emeralds. He loved athletics, as all Spartans should, and Apollo loved him.”

Axios gaped. “Apollo loved him?”

“Yes,” I said, linking our fingers. The warmth of his palm spread up my arm and gathered around my heart. “One day, Apollo and Hyacinthus were throwing the discus in the valley. The god and the Spartan youth laughed as they practiced, and Apollo’s affection for the boy showed through his tender smiles. ‘I shall scatter the clouds,’ Apollo said before throwing the disc to the wind. Hyacinthus laughed as he chased after it.”

Axios frowned when I paused in the story. I sensed his mind at work as he listened to each word I spoke.

“But there was another who also loved Hyacinthus. Zephyrus, the west wind. And his jealousy at not having the object of his desire pushed him into a murderous rage. When Apollo threw the disc to the wind, Zephyrus blew the disc toward Hyacinthus and struck him in the head, killing him.”

“What?” Axios gasped. “Tell me you lie. What an awful story. Why would Zephyrus kill Hyacinthus if he loved him?”

“Because he couldn’t have him,” I answered. “Apollo held Hyacinthus as he died and tried to save him with healing magic. However, not even the god of healing could save the Spartan youth. Apollo held the boy until his dying breath, his tears blowing in the wind. Blood dripped from the boy’s head and wet the grass. To honor the one he loved, Apollo then made flowers spring from the blood. The flowers have grown there ever since.”

Axios focused on the sanctuary, a solemn expression on his face. “I do not understand how Zephyrus could’ve killed the boy.”

I shrugged. “Perhaps seeing the one he loved be happy with another was too much for him to allow.”

“It’s silly, is it not?” Axios stretched out his legs on the grass and I was momentarily distracted by the flash of his inner thigh. “If you ever loved another man, I would never think to kill you.”

“Agreed,” I said, touching his leg with mine. “I would, however, kill the other man.”

He laughed.

I beheld his smile and the plumpness of his lips. I noted the specks of gold in his eyes and how his long lashes fluttered against his sun-kissed skin. Yes, I’d kill any man who tried to take him from me.

“When do you expect them to arrive?” Axios asked, pulling me from my musings.

King Agesipolis was returning to Sparta with his army and they were set to arrive any moment.

To balance the power, Sparta had a dual kingship system. Equal in all ways, the two kings ruled simultaneously and were divided by their dynasty: theAgiadand theEurypontidhouseholds. King Agesilaus was our other king.

King Agesipolis was young and, if the stories I’d heard were true, had a preference for men.

“I believe they’re already here,” I said, seeing the army in the distance.

The sun reflected off their shields, sending bursts of white into the air. The men marched in unison, a perfect example of Spartan discipline. Axios and I stood and observed them as they approached the city.

“How many men do you think there are?” he asked, using his hand to shield his eyes.

“Not all are Spartans,” I responded. “Some areperioikoiand some are slaves.”

Perioikoiwere neighbors of Sparta but remained free men, only fighting when Sparta needed them. Most were merchants and farmers. Not bred warriors like us.

“Yes, but they are still men, are they not?” Axios asked with an annoyed edge to his voice.

I glanced at him, wondering what had sparked his annoyance.