Chapter 45

Arcturas paced through the captain's quarters, her black fur now encased in golden armor. I strapped my black leather breastplate to my chest, pulling its straps tight and triple knotting them. With my mother's hair clip tucked neatly into my bun, I stared in the mirror.

The woman looking back at me was a stranger. She had the same black hair, same violet eyes, but her cheekbones weren't hollow anymore. Her jaw was not as sharp. Eyes that used to be dim, now burned brightly with new found ferocity. Shadows lurked just beneath her skin, creeping and wriggling around her neck every so often. She was a new type of beast. One that both terrified and repulsed me.

Mixing a bowl of black ink, I took my brush and painted thick lines beneath my eyes that trailed down to my collarbones.

The mark of the warrior.

Aryx's marks.

I knew what they meant, how much he resented them. It was time I gave them a new meaning.

I tucked my key into the folds of my tunic, kneeled on the plush red rugs, and whispered a prayer to the gods. We were going in with a dwindling army and a broken leader. A soft knock on the door pulled me from prayer. It was Lytos, his short, dark hair hidden beneath a golden helmet. A golden breastplate, littered with scars, had replaced his usual flax tunic. He was every bit of a soldier as Aryx had once been. Tucked under his arms was a bronze broadsword, its hilt inlaid with small citrine gems.

"Lady Elpis, the men are ready," Lytos said. His voice was a low, steady pulse amidst the apprehension that buzzed through me.

"Okay, thank you, Lytos. We'll be on deck shortly. I wanted to double check Arcturas's armor and make sure it's secure before battle." I clasped my shaking hands behind my back.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked, watching my lip tremble.

"Yes," I whispered, sucking in a breath. I wanted to scream at him, to throw myself against his solid chest. How could I possibly be ready? I was about to lead my men to their deaths. Our numbers were nearly half what they'd been when we set sail. We were about to march into an undeniable defeat.

"I guess that's not a fair question." His bronze greaves clanked against varnished wood as he took a seat by Arcturas on a velvet-cushioned settee. "What I really should ask is, are you okay with all of this?"

I sat beside him, checking the leather ties between the golden plates of armor across Arcturas's chest. She grunted, lifting her arm. A request for scratches. I gently complied, sliding my fingers beneath her chest plate and stroking her thick, black fur.

"No. Of course not, but I don't have a choice anymore. We've come this far."

Lytos nodded thoughtfully. The ever-silent observer. The quiet teacher.

"I wanted to give this to you," he said, handing me the sheathed broadsword. "It was Aryx's. I know he'd want you to use it today."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to force down the pain that welled in my eyes at the mention of his name. The sword was breath-taking. Its blade, although solid gold, was as light as steel and perfectly balanced. The metal edge gleamed like the rising sun. A trail of citrine gems, laced in intricate engravings, followed the centerline of the blade.

"It was his father's before him. Passed down through their bloodline. See the markings on the hilt? Their family sigil," Lytos pointed to the carved sun, crested by a shield of ivy.

"It's beautiful, but I don't deserve it," I said, running a finger down the blade.

"Of course you do. You were everything to him," he said, smiling sadly.

"Please stop," I said, my words quivering off my tongue. "I can't take this."

Lytos grew quiet, his eyebrows curved with an ever-growing concern. We sat in silence, both examining the sword, unsure of what to say. Two strangers grieving over a mutual friend. It was uncomfortable, unconsolable. I was the reason his brother was dead. I was the reason we didn't stand a chance against Tethys.

"Lytos, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, anything," he said, turning to face me.

"Why are you so kind? I killed Aryx. I slaughtered our crew. I took you from your family- your wife, your son. I don't understand. After everything you've witnessed, why?"

He stroked his chin and settled into his seat. His ocean blue eyes, simmering with sincerity.

"You know," he started, his voice serious and quiet. "We've all done things we regret. We've all been the villain in another's story. Aryx didn't tell you much about me, or my past, and I will always be grateful for his discretion. I'm not originally from Venia. My mother is, but I was born in Aquilae. I remember little of my real father. All I know is that I wasn't expected, nor was I wanted. Before my first birthday, he sent us back to the East, left behind. My real father never claimed me as his son, and to this day, although I don't even know his name, I've resented him for it.

"As a child I imagined what I would say to him if I ever had the chance. I envisioned screaming at him, asking why he didn't love me, why he abandoned us. I was so full of anger and uncertainty about my identity, I tried to figure out who I was through other avenues. I was a thief, then a mercenary, then a soldier. I bounced from one thing to the next.

"When my mother married my stepfather, she was happy for a while, but he was a drunk and I never wanted him. It had always been just us, and that was all I needed. I refused to understand why she'd want to share our lives with someone else, and I resented her for it. But I hated him even more.

"The first time he hit my mother, I threatened him with a butter knife. I was six. I remember that day so clearly. How the blood trickled from her nose and her eye swelled shut from where he'd punched her. I was furious with him for hurting her, but I was even more furious with her for choosing a man that would do such a thing." He looked down at his boots. The leather toe glistened from fresh polish.

"It was always a cycle. He'd hit her. Chaos would ensue. Then a few days later he'd apologize profusely, making false claims that he'd stop drinking and be a better husband, a better father. It started with a black eye here and there, which turned into broken ribs, broken arms. The last time he attacked her, he threw her down the stairs, nearly killing her. I didn't even think twice when I lunged for him and stabbed him through the heart.

"Rather than thanking me for saving her life, my mother called me a monster. A cold-blooded killer. She sent me away, shipping me off to the soldier's encampments. I hated her for it, too. I used my anger to train, quickly rising the ranks among us, and because of it, the other boys never fully accepted me. Then I met Aryx. He didn't judge me for the blood on my hands or the crimes I'd committed. He accepted all of it. Eventually, he became family. Probably the only I truly ever had." Lytos paused, his voice wavering against a sob.

I couldn't bear to hear his pain, his sadness. In the hours that passed, I let my rage distract me from the harshness of reality. Not only had I lost the man I loved, Lytos had lost his closest friend, his most trusted confidant, his brother.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, refusing to meet his gaze.

"To wrap up this long-winded answer to your question before, why am I kind to you? Even after everything you've done? It's because that's what Aryx would do. He was kind to a broken boy who was lost in the darkness. He accepted my demons and was patient, supportive, caring. He is the only person who stayed when everyone else in my life had left."

I hadn't noticed the silent tears streaming down my cheeks as he spoke.

"Thank you," I whispered, unsure of what else to say. "Thank you."

"There's no need to thank me." He smiled, taking my hand in his. "Now, take the sword. You're the only one who can wield it."

I took the sheathe in my hands, feeling the smooth leather against my fingertips. It hummed against my touch, as if the blade within was alive. Holding his weapon, it was as if Aryx was here beside me. Guiding me through the shadows of heartbreak. Guiding me into the light.

"Now, I'll ask you again. Are you ready for this?"

I stood, strapping the sword across my back.

"Yes," I said, and for the first time in a very long time, I truly was .