“Has he said anything to you about being alone?”
“He really doesn’t talk much. Mostly asks questions about modern things he can’t figure out. Or customs and phrases he’s unfamiliar with.”
Savitar scowled. “Does he ever mention Ash or their sister?”
“Only if I bring them up, and then he quickly deflects the conversation to another topic. Tonight notwithstanding, or when he and Ash went at each other, he’s usually quiet and reserved. Unassuming. But he does have a wicked sense of humor.”
“How so?”
Urian smiled at the memories of their brief conversations. “One of my personal faves … he made a snarky comment on something, and then apologized by saying that he was so allergic to stupidity that it caused him to break out into rampant sarcasm. Another time, he made the comment that he was a leader and not a follower. Unless it was a dark place with loud growls, then fuck that shit, he’d gladly follow me in to investigate it.”
Savitar laughed.
Urian continued, “He also wanted to know why sour cream, buttermilk, and blue cheese have expiration dates. Why boxing rings are always square. Why buildings burn up as they’re burning down.” He paused to laugh. “And my two favorites, he asked why we have doctors now and not physicians.”
Savitar screwed his face up. “They’re the same.”
“That’s what I said, but then he pointed out to me that back in the so-called barbarian days, we didn’t have doctors who practiced medicine, but rather physicians who healed you … or killed you, just like now. He asked me how modern man could trust someone with so little knowledge of their field that they told you right up front that they were still in the learning process.”
Savitar snorted. “I never thought of it that way.”
“Yeah, and a few months ago, he was in a grocery store and wanted to know why lemon juice was artificially flavored, but dishwashing soap contained real lemons. And what did modern people have against turkeys? He could find turkey masquerading as bacon, steak, and burgers, but no plain turkeys. Needless to say, I never thought about any of that, either. Probably because the only time I was ever in a grocery store, I was shopping for humans.”
Savitar ignored those last comments. “It must be hard for him to adjust.”
“He doesn’t complain. He just tries to understand modern mind-sets, such as how can he be a chauvinist pig if he opens a door for a woman and then he’s an insensitive pig if he doesn’t.”
“The day he figures that one out, tell him to write a book and we’ll all be rich.”
“He already has. He stays back until she goes in and then he runs for it before another one comes along.”
Savitar laughed, then sobered. “Tell me honestly, Urian. What do you think of him?”
“I like him, and it’s not because I idolized him as a military hero when I was a kid. He was a fierce old fart to me then. Kind of like you.”
Savitar arched a censuring brow, then smiled and hehed.
“You know me, Chthonian; I don’t play well with others, and I basically hate everyone, all the time, but I would actually cross the street to have a conversation with him.… In fact, I have.”
“Coming from you, that’s the highest endorsement I can think of.”
Urian shrugged. “I just don’t understand their mutual hatred. I mean, I get not liking your brother. Had more than my fair share I couldn’t stand to be around for more than five minutes. But I didn’t really hate them. We were just different. While I might deck one from time to time, I never really tried to kill one.”
Savitar glanced around at the sparse, humble furnishings. “I understand why Acheron hates him, and it is justified. Believe me. Apollymi herself has told me about their bad blood, and I know she’s not lying. I’m just having a hard time reconciling the stories I’ve been told with the man who lives in this apartment. Of course, eleven thousand years can change someone.… I don’t know.” Savitar sighed. “Keep an eye on him and let me know if he slips back into another coma.”
And with that, he was gone.
Urian started to leave, too, but given how distraught Styxx had been, he didn’t want Styxx to be alone when he woke up.
That was the last thing anyone this lonely needed.
Besides, it wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go or anyone else waiting for him.
Loneliness he got as much as he understood wanting to pound on a brother who wore out the nerves. And having been left alone to struggle to pull his life back together twice already, he wouldn’t do that to Styxx. So he glanced around for something to occupy himself with.
His gaze fell to a sketchbook on the end table. Curious about what it contained, he walked over to it and flipped it open.
His jaw went slack at what he found inside. The majority of the book was filled with drawings of an absolutely stunning woman who must be the Bethany Styxx talked about. Damn, no wonder he was obsessed. She was gorgeous.
Some of the pictures of her were so real, she looked like she could step off the page and touch him. But the ones that were truly haunting were drawings of Styxx and her. He’d perfectly captured their smiles and laughs, but most of all he caught the anguish and love on his own features as he held her.
There were also pictures of Bethany with a son, and of the boy by himself. A boy Styxx had never met. It wrung Urian’s heart. Because these weren’t just images of memories.
These were memories Styxx had wanted to have. They were longings of a broken promise the gods had stolen from him.
There was nothing crueler than to steal someone’s dreams. To take a future. And he should know. It was what he grappled with every day of his own life.
His tomorrow had become his yesterday. There were no more left to look forward to. And that was the moment when you knew you wanted to die and you began every day with a breath and a whisper that searched for a reason to get up out of bed, because really? What was the use?
Life just became rote.
In that, he and Styxx were bonded brothers.
The one difference being that Styxx was talented in a way Urian would never have guessed.
And what he found most telling about his friend was that while a couple of Bethany’s drawings showed her seductively clad in Greek gowns, none of them were of her naked. Even though Styxx had never intended for anyone else to see this, he’d kept his wife’s honor sacred and respected her. That said it all about how much he loved that woman.
Urian stopped on the next page as he found the image of a toddler boy dressed in a hoplite’s Corinthian helm. It was hilarious and adorable. Beside it, Styxx had written the name “Galen” in Greek.… He also had a few of an adult Galen, one of a woman named Tig, a horse and a dog, and a few scenes from what must have been his native Didymos.
The pages went on and on. Including a large number of Acheron in his modern Goth wear and long black hair, as well as pictures of them together with a bolt of lightning coming down between them.
When Urian turned to the next page, his heart stopped as he stared at a face he’d never thought to see again.
It staggered him so much that he had to sit.
Styxx had drawn him with Phoebe. Even though the bastard had never seen her, he’d penned her perfect likeness from Urian’s descriptions. It was absolutely eerie that he could do that, and it showed him just how true to life his drawings of Bethany must be if Styxx could do this just based off words.
Incredible.
And in that moment, the pain that rifled through Urian was crippling. It merged with the same agony and madness that had driven Styxx to fill this book with image after image of his wife and longed-for son. Since Styxx had nothing left of her to hold on to, he must have created this. And it was like looking into Styxx’s soul.