Chapter Fifty-One
No one moved. Had it not been for the sounds of stifled sobs and the crackling of the fire as it spat scalding embers into the dark, I might have believed time had ceased. But as a baby’s wail cut through the night, I knew I was not done.
“Take the children home,” I commanded. I did not need to repeat myself. Several women scrambled away from the scene, scooping up children in their arms as they went.
“Is he dead?” someone said.
I strode forward, my head held high, refusing to quicken my pace. When I reached the body, I bent down, pulled the knife from Kakos’s ribs, and wiped it on the fabric of my robe. That was the only answer they needed.
That task done, I returned my attention to the rest of the young men.
“Who else was involved?”
My voice was a low whisper, a growl that reverberated as though it had come from the depths of Tartarus.
I did not move or blink as I stared at them.
They stood with their heads bowed, tears dripping from their cheeks.
Whether those tears were for their friend’s life or their own, it was impossible to tell. Not that I cared.
“I will not repeat myself a third time. Who else was involved?”
I moved my hand, ready to strike, but once again, Cleon grabbed me.
“Otrera. Whatever they did, they would have been acting on Kakos’s orders. Do not tarnish them all with his actions.”
“You.” I spun and pressed the blade of my knife against his neck. The difference in height meant I was forced up on tiptoes to ensure the pressure was enough to draw the slightest sliver of blood. But Cleon did not so much as flinch. “You were complicit in this.”
“No, no, I was not.”
“You knew he wanted me away from her.”
“No…yes…perhaps. I did not know the reason he suggested I ask you to pray. I thought he was being gracious. Encouraging the feelings I—”
“Stop now. You and I are nothing. You and I will never be anything.”
I dropped the knife from his neck and spun back to the young men.
“I will not ask again, so let me make this easier for you. If I do not know which of you played a part in this violation, then every one of you dies here, tonight.”
Screams and wails rose from the mothers and sisters who remained. I was vaguely aware that at least one lunged toward me, only to be stopped.
“She does not mean it,” Damaris said quietly.
“I can assure you, I do.”
Damaris approached me, her hands raised as if I were a wild animal.
“Otrera, I know you are angry, but these are good boys. Most of them have not left the fireside all night. They have been with their families.”
“Can you tell me which ones?”
“We can figure it out.”
“No. They will lie. They have shown that already. They have left me no choice.”
I raised my knife, and one boy stepped forward. His cheeks were ashen, and there was a stain of vomit on his robe.
“I kept watch. He told me to. Kakos. He threatened me if I did not. It was me. I am to blame. Do not hurt the others for this.”
I nodded, satisfied that at least one had seen sense, cleared his soul before he passed into the underworld to face judgment.
I lifted my knife again, but before I could let it fly, a hand wrapped firmly around my wrist. Three times that night, a man had taken liberties to hold me back, but I knew that the fingers currently fixed around me were not Cleon’s.
“Hirtus,” I growled as I met his gaze. “You need to release me. This man needs to face his fate.”
While my voice was guttural and uncontrolled, Hirtus’s was calm, soothing.
“The wrongdoer has been killed, Otrera. You have seen to it.”
“No. Kakos is not the only one who did wrong here tonight. He would not have gotten away with it without this boy’s help. And others too, I suspect.”
“That may be. But I believe him when he says he was threatened. He does not deserve the same fate as Kakos. This boy did not force himself on Aina.”
It was the sound of her name that fueled the fury within me.
“This time. He did not do the act this time. Surely you see that?” I turned and addressed the remaining women.
“Surely you see that if he is not punished, he will do the same. He helped another man to violate one of our daughters. He will grow up to be the same kind of man as his father. That is what we must stop.”
“Or we could teach them to be different men. Better men.”
I turned slowly back to Hirtus, my brow furrowing deeply as I scoffed. “Better? How can such men be better? They cannot. This is who they are.”
“I do not believe that is true. You trust me, do you not? I am a man, and you trust me with your life.”
“It is not the same.”
“But it can be. Give me a chance. Let me take this boy, this one who spoke out to save the lives of the others. Let me offer him guidance. Let me teach them all to become what their fathers were not. To become good people.”
Silence swelled around us. The crying babies had been removed, and even Aina and Iphinone had stopped their weeping to listen.
Everyone’s gaze was fixed on me, awaiting orders and answers that I did not want to give. That I did not know how to give. I needed time and space and was afforded neither.
In the end, it was not myself or Hirtus who broke that silence. It was Aina.
“How will you do it? How can you teach them not to do this to others?”
Hirtus locked his eyes on Aina, his back to me as he spoke. “I will leave, and I will take them with me.”
I had heard enough.
“No. You will do no such thing. Your place is here. Your place is with us.”
“No, Otrera, you are wrong. My place is with Phile. She is my home.”
“And her home is here.”
“But not for much longer.”
It was as if Phile were not with us, not able to hear how we spoke about her impending death.
And perhaps we would have continued arguing had she not walked toward us.
When she reached Hirtus, she looped her arm into his and looked up at his face.
The pair smiled at each other as if they were walking through flower-filled meadows, not here, in this forgotten village where pain circled like vultures.
“We have talked at great lengths,” Hirtus said, once more looking at me. “Once Phile has traveled to the underworld, I will not stay here. There will be nothing here for me but grief. My departure was planned before this night.”
One would think it was not possible for a heart to break so many times in such a short space of time, yet there was mine, shattering over and over again. I was to lose Phile. I was to lose Hirtus. And as for Cleon, had I even had him long enough to feel loss?
As I stood there, I felt the pressure of gazes on me mounting like a crushing weight upon my bones.
“We will make no decisions now,” I said, trying to shake the sensation away. “The festivities are over. Damaris, Thalassa, take these boys back to their homes. None of them are to leave. I will leave it to you to arrange the watches. I will let them know their fates at sunrise.”
The two women moved without words, and the young men followed. Even Ereas left his sister’s side. Only one remained, and he dared to address me again.
“Otrera, please,” Cleon spoke softly. “I am here for you. Tell me how I can be of aid.”
Tell me how I can be of aid. They were words I never expected to hear from any man’s lips. Words that could have given me power, strength, confidence. But they did not. Instead, they reminded me only of how weak I had been.
I moved forward, so close that no one could overhear. So close that I could feel the quiver in his warm breath and see the reflection of myself in his eyes. It was there that I spoke to him.
“Let me make myself clear. To me, you are as dead as this body on the ground. I never wish to lay eyes on you again.”