Chapter Thirty-Two
For a few short hours, it was as if I lived a life blessed by the gods.
I drank wine and laughed with my friends as we watched the plays that the young men had spent moons preparing.
Oh, we laughed as we watched them, although most of the plays were tragedies where the heroes met unfortunate ends.
Still, the boys played to the laughter, drawing more from the audience.
While they acted, I tried to match the young men to their mothers.
Some were easy to spot. Glykeria’s son had the same narrow, beak-like nose, not to mention the permanent scowl, while Halysia’s had the same strong brow and square jaw.
Yet there were those whose families I could not place. One in particular.
I searched the group for the one who had fetched Ereas, though he did not appear in any of the plays. Instead, he stood at the side, pushing the younger children in front of the audience when it was their turn.
“Who is he?” I asked Althea as we watched. “Whose son is he? Or husband? He appears old enough.”
“Cleon? Oh, he is old enough to be married by quite some years, but so far he has shown no interest.”
“He prefers men?” I asked.
“He prefers solitude,” Althea replied before shaking her head. “I am sorry. That is not fair of me to say. He was a good boy growing up, and he tended the sheep from a young age. But around the time he should have been securing a wife, his mother, Siana, grew ill and passed away.”
“And his father?”
“They arrived here together without one. She said she was a widow, yet I always wondered if perhaps there was never a husband at all. Either way, Cleon has made her proud. He looks after the young boys, and it does them no harm to have someone like him watching. Why do you ask?”
My gaze shifted to where Cleon was adjusting the shoulder of a smaller boy’s robes, and an unexpected lightness filled my belly.
“No reason,” I said.
By the time the festivities ended, the fires were waning, and the stars were succumbing to the light of the dawn. It was then that I finally spoke to my employer.
“See,” Phile said as she appeared beside me and took my hand. “There are good moments to be found in the black. Good moments for all of us.”
I scanned the scene. The smiling wives, the playing children.
Drums continued their beat, and men slurred their words of song.
To an outsider, it would be an idyllic scene, but I saw the cracks in the image.
I saw women’s smiles that, like my own, had grown narrower and narrower the more their husbands drank.
I saw the flinches at every unexpected noise and the grips around wrists that were far tighter than they needed to be.
I saw the daughters who stuck to their mothers’ sides, not even daring to meet their fathers’ eyes. I saw the truth behind the facade.
And even if it was entirely my imagination that had conjured the darkness behind the veil, it was not enough.
“One night a year,” I said to Phile. “Perhaps five or even ten with the other festivals? That is not a life. That is not what we deserve. And I would risk Tartarus to offer the women of the village more.” With that, I dipped my head in a nod and took my leave. “Good night, Phile.”