My Spartan Hellion (23 page)

A ragged, weary sigh tore through her, slicing open her conflicted heart.

Her vengeful vow
—
it now choked her, weighed her down. Like an obsession, it would eventually destroy everything she loved—including herself.

And yet she could not abandon the promise she’d made. She would not abandon her vow to Darius for a life of happiness that would always be haunted by his ghost as long as Atallus still lived.

The wind whipped through her hair, the gentle breeze carrying with it the scent of sweat and leather, reminding her of Thanos.

How she wished he was there to talk to. She could have confided in him, shared with him those demons he’d once declared he would slay for her, but he wanted nothing to do with her, and she couldn’t blame him. Thanos had offered her everything—his entire world—and she’d turned her back on him, rejected him.

Even after their bitter argument, he’d still kept his promise. He’d loaned her the coins for her to begin plying her trade as a swordsmith. When Basha had handed her a purse full of silver
drachma
, she should have been overjoyed, but she’d been filled only with regretful sadness. He’d kept his word, despite everything, but she’d wished it had come directly from him, and not through Basha. As heartwarming as his gesture had been, it had been impersonal, leaving her feeling cold inside, reminding her that Thanos had no desire to even lay eyes upon her. And now she feared that whatever affection he’d once harboured for her she’d all but destroyed.

Thanos was never around anymore—his instructions with Armine the only times she saw him at their home, and even then he did not speak to her. He’d taken up separate chambers, rising before dawn and creeping in late into the eve.

But last eve…

Her heart squeezed so tight in her chest she could hardly breathe. She inhaled sharply, even as the very thought of Thanos’ betrayal clogged her throat with a heart-wrenching sob.

Last eve Thanos had
not
been in his chambers, for she’d gone to him, ready to humble herself, hoping to at least find a way to bridge the distance that separated them…but he hadn’t been there. And she’d spent a lonely, heart-breaking eve in their bed, wondering whose bed he
was
in.

Her hammer crashed down upon the forming blade, striking the metal with the full force of her anger. That was probably why it slipped again and slammed against her finger.

“
Fuck!
” Two of her fingers were well on their way to being broken while her hand now throbbed with pain

“If you keep that up you will have no fingers left to finish my dagger,” a teasing voice chimed from behind her.

A familiar voice.
Lamia scowled at her approaching visitor.

“Oh, do not give me that look. Of late you have become quite inept. I wonder why?” Callisto smiled prettily, mischief sparkling in her aquamarine eyes.

“I am in no mood, Callisto,” she muttered under her breath and turned back to her work, but her friend was far from offended, let alone deterred.

“Yes, and if you say that to Thanos as prettily as you just said it to me it is no wonder you are so…frustrated.”

Lamia spun to face Callisto, her cheeks heating with embarrassment. She was still trying to get used to the Spartan humour or the
laconic
wit as they called it. Crass and abrasive was more accurate a description in her opinion.

She flung the sword aside, dimming the smelting fires. With Callisto, there was no telling when she would get back to work.

“It is not
me
you should ask about their moods,” she said irritably.

Callisto’s brows knitted above startled eyes.

Immediately, Lamia surmised the direction of her friend’s thoughts. “You mistake my meaning. Thanos has no physical trouble—he just chooses not to,” she said softly, her eyes drifting to the ground, embarrassed to say even that much.

“But it was not like this before,” Callisto remarked. “You two were always tearing at each other’s garments. I repaired at least
four
of his—”

“We had a fight,” she interrupted before her friend could continue. She did not need Callisto to recount the tales of the arduous lovemaking she and Thanos used to enjoy.

“Over what?” Callisto questioned as she plopped her curvy backside down on one of the marble benches in the courtyard.

Lamia sighed. It would be a long while before she got back to work now that Callisto had got comfortable.

Although her time with Callisto would undoubtedly set her back another dawn, she didn’t mind—she welcomed it, actually. She had not left many friends behind in Carthage and it was nice to have friends like Callisto and Basha to confide in.

Lamia recounted the gist of her fight with Thanos, and when she was done she expected Callisto to be outraged by Thanos’ stubborn behaviour, his unreasonableness, his complete inability to see her point, so she was surprised when, instead of agreeing with
her
, Callisto took
his
side.

“I am not taking Thanos’ side, Lamia,” Callisto argued, brushing aside Lamia’s heated accusation. “Of course I am your friend. That is why I am pointing out that you are a fool to think you could tell Thanos you wanted to
leave
him and that he would not grow cold towards you. To Thanos’ way of thinking, you were rejecting him. And for a man as proud as Thanos, rejection is a hard blow to his pride, especially coming from the woman he loves.”

Loves?
Whatever made her friend believe Thanos loved
her
? She shook her head sadly. “You are wrong, Callisto. Thanos does not love me.”

“Of course he does. He wed you. Made you his queen. Everything he does, he does to please you.”

“Again, you are mistaken. Thanos
cares
for me, and before our fight we shared a deep affection, but that is not love. Not once has he even said the words.”

“Is that what you think?” Callisto’s brow wrinkled with tiny lines. “That Thanos does not love you because he does not tell you? If that is what you believe, then you still have much to learn about the men of Sparta.” She chuckled. “Our men do not so openly declare their love, wearing their affections upon their brows, but that does not mean, once a man of Sparta has claimed a woman as his, he does not love her, for he will show it in his actions, in how he treats her. Thanos loves you, Lamia, but it will be some time before he says it, if at all. That is just how our men are made. You have to listen to their actions, not their words.”

Lamia snorted.
Well then, that was easy now, wasn’t it?
She had her answer, since Thanos’ actions were nothing but cold and distant—clearly not a symbol of love.

“Thanos does not love me, Callisto, and I cannot blame him. I told him I planned to leave him. That I was going to walk away, and so he did it first.”

“Ahh, Lamia, Lamia,” Callisto chided. “Thanos’ pride was wounded, so he is sulking right now. In time he will get over it, especially if you admit what you’ve just admitted to me. That you miss him, that you were wrong. But, even if you do not, that will not stop Thanos from trying to win you again. He has not walked away, Lamia, of that you can be certain. And if you even doubt my words, just see what happens if another man comes near you. You belong to Thanos, and I can assure you, no matter what has transpired between the two of you, that is exactly how he still feels.”

“But that is not love,” Lamia argued. “Thanos is just possessive. What man isn’t?”

A tiny smile spread across Callisto’s face and she shook her head, as if to say
Lamia, you have much to learn.

She could not argue that. She had much to learn about Sparta, its customs, and the man she still called her husband.

“There are no boundaries here, Lamia. If a couple decides to go outside their union, that is acceptable, so if Thanos is possessive that does mean something, because most Spartan men are not. There simply is no need to possess what belongs to everyone. It is like coveting the air of your neighbour, and yet Thanos covets you because he considers you his and
only
his.

“Thanos loves you,” Callisto pressed. “And, if you ever desire evidence of this, simply turn your attentions to another man or let another man turn his attention to you, and Thanos will reveal himself as he never has before.”

* * * *

“Don’t you think it is time for you to return home and talk to your wife?”

Thanos glowered at his brother. He didn’t need this. He’d come here to escape his problems, not confront them directly. Besides, Ulysseus had enough of his own, certainly far too many to take on his.

“Have you talked to Basha since your argument?”

“I know what you are trying to do, but it shall not work. To answer your question, no we have not talked and we have not done much else for that matter, but, thus far, neither one of us has moved into separate chambers or taken up residence at our brother’s home.”

Thanos glared at Ulysseus, itching to wipe that smirk from his face with his fist.

“Basha does not have a brother—”

“You need to go home, Thanos,” Ulysseus said firmly.

But Thanos was too sullen to heed warnings. His brother talked to him as if he didn’t have problems with his own wife. “Just as you need to talk to Basha about why
it is you two haven’t conceived a chi—”

Ulysseus lunged for him, and he let him ball his fist into his
chlamys
. Thanos wanted a good fight—it would help ease the ache inside him that cried out for release.

“You can strike me all you like,” Thanos growled. “Just know that I shall hit back, but no matter how many times you strike me it won’t silence the guilt inside you. Try fucking your wife for once, and maybe she could actually have a bab—”

“You need to stop right there because you know nothing of what keeps me from Basha’s bed.” Fury raged in Ulysseus’ gaze, but Thanos also glimpsed a soul-stirring pain, and it instantly quieted his own anger.

It was as if all the air inside him had been let out, and he felt completely empty and deflated. He wasn’t angry with Ulysseus—he was only lashing out at him because his brother was convenient and he could not lash out at the one person whom he truly was furious with—himself.

“I am sorry, brother. My anger is directed towards the wrong pers—”

“Ulysseus, release him,” Basha snapped from the doorway. “I grow weary of all the things that disappear from my home because you two are constantly tussling like children.”

Ulysseus released his hold on him as Basha sauntered into the
oikos
, her hips swaying gently. For just a moment, a look passed between Basha and his brother that was so intimate he felt as if he should cover his eyes. It was a look of longing—their eyes, their bodies saying what their lips would not—but it passed just as quickly as it had come, and he almost thought he’d imagined it when Basha turned towards him with a smirk on her face.

“There is a messenger here with a note for you, Thanos. He says it is from your wife.”

* * * *

Thanos walked towards his home, dragging his feet slowly. He’d wondered how long he could go before Lamia’s patience ran out. He was surprised she’d lasted as long as she had. He’d avoided her for a full moon, by rising early and returning long after she’d gone to bed. But he’d known she wouldn’t stand for it forever so it had been no surprise when he’d received the
summons
for him to return home.

Ulysseus had roared with laughter when the
helot
had arrived with the terse message, trembling as he delivered it—‘
Come home now or I shall drag you home myself!’

“For all your searching I do believe you wed a Spartan woman after all,” Ulysseus had taunted, falling over himself with laughter.

With his foul mood, he would have actually punched his brother that time had Basha not kicked him out, saying, “I can see where this is headed and I have no intention of letting the two of you destroy my pottery again. Go home to your wife, Thanos. You are very lucky she did not actually come and drag you home, as she threatened. I know I would have if you stayed gone until dusk for as long as you have.”

He’d scowled at her words. Basha had always been his champion. They’d rarely disagreed on anything and she had always been quick to defend him, so he was more than surprised that she’d taken his wife’s side.

Women.

No matter he’d known Basha all his life, after just a few moons her and Lamia had now banded together against him. And Thanos knew it had been from her co-conspirator that Lamia had even discovered his whereabouts in the first place.

For the last full moon he’d spent his eves hiding out at his brother’s until he was certain she was asleep and only then would he return home. Last eve he’d overindulged in too much wine, and had passed out on one of the couches in his brother’s
oikos.
He’d finally stumbled home well past dawn. He knew it was cowardly to hide from his wife, but he saw no other way. It was hard for him to be at home with her, in separate chambers, pretending to be her husband when he was not.

Leaving his brother’s home behind, Thanos walked the short distance towards the spot where he’d left Zeus tethered. It was well into the eve, and the moon winked out from behind weaving clouds, piercing the charcoal night. The streets were empty, eerily silent, and for a fleeting moment a chill of unease crept down his spine, leaving the hairs on the back of his neck tingling. He tightened his hand around the reins.

Thanos glanced up, his gaze searching into the darkness, but he saw nothing but barren, mud-brick pathways.

For some time now, he’d felt as if someone was watching him, but nothing had ever come of it so he’d just brushed it aside. Yet again, he felt someone’s eyes upon him, but as he raked his gaze in every direction, he didn’t see anything that was amiss. He shook himself with a mocking curse. He had far more tangible problems than the imaginary ones he’d created in his head.

The most important one being the very real troubles with his wife. He acknowledged that he’d made a mess of things by pushing Lamia away, but he didn’t yet know what else to do with her. She planned to leave him. What was he supposed to do?