Urian handed it to him, then dug out the opener and two glasses. “I’m going to hazard a wild guess that you’re a little short on supplies. Would you like me to bring you something?”
“I can make do, but some fresh water would be nice. It doesn’t rain here, and it doesn’t get quite hot enough to make a lot of condensation. It’s been difficult to desalinate the river water, which I can’t figure out why it’s salty…”
Urian scowled at something he hadn’t known about the island. Or Styxx, for that matter. “Why didn’t you stay where your supplies were?”
Styxx dug a fork out of the backpack and sat down to eat. “I haven’t received any.”
Urian was aghast at the last thing he expected to come out of Styxx’s mouth. “What have you been living on?”
Closing his eyes, Styxx savored the unfamiliar taste. He swallowed and wiped his mouth before he answered. “Clams mostly … whenever I can find them. Coconuts. Some greens I found out back.” He took a drink of wine, then sighed in appreciation. “What?”
“Nothing.” Urian grabbed the backpack up. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”
Styxx nodded as he kept eating. “Urian? What’s this called?”
It took Urian a second to realize that Styxx was as innocent about the world as he’d been when he was first made human. Damn, that was pathetic. “Spaghetti.”
“It’s really good. Thank you.”
“Parakaló.”
Urian hated leaving Styxx alone. But once again, he found himself hiding a massive secret from those around him. Weird that this seemed to be some recurrent theme in his life and he didn’t know why. He’d done so much to avoid drama, yet that bitch kept hunting him down just to put stress on him he didn’t want.
So here he was again.
But what else was he to do? He couldn’t let the poor guy starve. Styxx needed help and it wasn’t in him …
Yeah, okay, so maybe it was in him to turn his back on people and not care. Urian was a bastard that way. Yet there was something about Styxx that was so familiar. A kinship he couldn’t deny. Maybe because he looked so much like Acheron and he owed Acheron so much.
Whatever it was, he found himself back in the temple where Styxx sat at the pool with his feet dangling into the water while he stared off into space, at nothing in particular.
“Is this what you do at night?” Urian asked him.
Styxx got up and pulled his jeans down. “There’s nothing else to do, really. Sometimes I go outside and stare at the moon.”
“You must get a lot of sleep.”
“Not really.”
Urian couldn’t imagine living like this. And he’d always thought his life was lonely. “How are you not crazy?”
Styxx snorted. “Who says I’m not?”
Touché. Perhaps they all were. “I couldn’t take three days of this boredom without being stark-raving mad.”
“As far as prisons go, trust me, this isn’t so bad. No one’s sticking hot brands on me or beating me, and I’m not chained to anything or drugged. Best of all, I don’t have to bend myself in half to lie down.”
Urian cringed at what he was describing in a monotone, yet the scars on his body said that he spoke from absolute experience. “When were you a prisoner?”
Styxx laughed bitterly. “Honestly? In the whole of my extremely long life, I’ve only spent roughly a high grand total of fourteen years where I wasn’t imprisoned for one reason or another.”
That number staggered his mind and left him reeling. More than that, it left him furious on Styxx’s behalf. What the hell? “Imprisoned for what?”
“Being born Acheron’s brother … well, except for when Apollo and the Atlanteans held me here. That was entirely my fault. Turns out, gods don’t like it when humans defeat them and invade their homelands. Who knew?”
Urian had to sit down for a second on that one, especially when he remembered Apollymi’s reaction the day she’d seen his shield. And Styxx would have been just a kid …
Where the hell were his parents?
“Didn’t anyone love you?” He looked up at him.
Styxx let out a bitter laugh and ignored his question. Instead, he swung his arm around the room. “Did you know this temple belonged to Bet’anya Agriosa … the Atlantean goddess of misery and wrath? The next temple on the right belonged to Epithymia, their goddess of desire. She was a royal fucking bitch. Vicious. Cold. Lived to hurt others. It always made me wonder if Aphrodite was anything like her.” He paused as he caught the pained expression on Urian’s face as he grappled with trying to reconcile the horror of Styxx’s life in his mind. And kept failing to do so. He just couldn’t imagine what this man had been through. “Sorry. I’m not used to having anyone to talk to.”
Honestly, Urian wasn’t sure what to make of Styxx. From what Acheron had said of his brother, he’d expected some arrogant, demanding prick who looked at the people around him like they were dirt.
The man in front of him was definitely not what Acheron had described. There was no arrogance in him, at all. If anything, given that he’d been born a prince to one of the richest kingdoms in the ancient world, and had been a young commander of one of the most successful armies, the bastard was exceedingly humble. He had a very quiet, suspicious nature more akin to Urian’s. He reminded Urian more of the gators that called the swamps home in Louisiana.
Styxx kept his eyes on everything around him, assessing each corner and shadow as a possible threat. Though he seemed to be at ease, there was no doubt he could launch himself at someone’s throat and roll them under for the kill before they even saw him move.
Yeah, Urian could easily see in Styxx the legendary general he’d read about. The one who didn’t complain over anything and who had sacrificed and sold his own personal effects to buy supplies for his men. Just the physical scars on his body alone made a mockery of the person Acheron thought him to be.
This was not some pampered prince who’d been waited on hand and foot, and who expected the entire world to bow down to him. In over eleven thousand years, Urian had never seen any man more scarred. Even Styxx’s fingers and the backs of his hands said he’d lived a hard and harsh life. For that matter, Styxx barely had the use of his right hand. Two of his fingers, the pinkie and ring fingers, stayed permanently curled against his palm. And the other two didn’t fully extend.
More remarkably still, there were just four scars on his face. And one of them was only noticeable if you paid close attention. He had a faint scar beneath his left eye. One that ran along his hairline across his forehead that was covered by his hair most of the time. One that slashed across his right eyebrow, and the one in the center of his upper lip where it’d been forcefully busted open so many times that it’d left a permanent divot and thick vertical line.
The awful condition of Styxx’s body verified what he’d said about captivity. As did his knowledge of the temples. As with Kalosis, there was nothing left inside any of the buildings here to say whom they’d belonged to, and not even Acheron knew.
But Styxx did.
And what really screwed with Urian’s head was the fact that Styxx had been imprisoned for more than eleven thousand years. The duration of Urian’s long, long life. So he could easily appreciate exactly how many mind-blowing years that was.
Alone.
He would call the man a liar for that, but again, the scars and his calm acceptance of Acheron dumping him here and forgetting about him testified to the fact that Styxx was more than used to isolation and neglect. More than used to scrounging for scraps to eat.
And all Styxx had asked him for was untainted drinking water.…
Buddy, you get the prize bonus in my book. Urian still couldn’t believe how humble a request that was.
“I brought you more food,” Urian said, trying to break the suddenly awkward silence.
“It wasn’t necessary.”