Chapter Seventy-Four
While Hirtus’s departure left me exposed to Cleon, I did not offer him the opportunity to approach me. Instead, I turned quickly back to the women, many of whom were locked in tight embraces with their loved ones, and strode to Althea.
“If we told any person of this situation—women taking boys to be raised by a group of nomadic men—they would think it barbaric,” she said. “And yet it does not feel so, does it? It feels as if this was what the gods intended.”
“It does,” I agreed. “And we should make an offering for it. To Hermes for the safety of our journey as well as Artemis, of course. And we should find out to which gods the Gargareans pay homage.” I added.
“The Gargareans?” Althea questioned.
“That is what they call themselves. Or at least that is what their young men call them. I think it is fitting, do you not?”
Althea’s eyebrows rose as she surveyed the scene in front of her. “I do, though perhaps we need to give ourselves a name too.”
“You think?”
“How about the Themiscyrians?”
I considered the name with a level of humor, only for a sense of sadness to unfurl within me.
Did I not tell Iphinone she would be one of us wherever she chose to live?
Themiscyrians implied we were rooted to a place, like the Athenians or the Mycenaeans, and we were not.
We were more than they could ever hope to be.
“I will think on it,” I told her. “But for now, I will help to light the fires, for it will not be long until darkness comes.”
Had I had the skill to observe myself objectively, I would have laughed at the way I dodged and avoided Cleon, kept my gaze away from him, yet always knew where he was. Only when the stars took a hold of the sky and the women and men began to retire did I know I could not avoid him much longer.
“I should get some sleep,” I said, rising from where I had been sitting cross-legged on the ground.
“Good night, Otrera.” Safak was among those who remained awake, many young men vying for her attention. I did not fear for her safety; these were Hirtus’s boys. I trusted them as I trusted him.
Still, Cleon was on his feet before I had taken a single step.
“I will come with you,” he said. “I can walk with you to your resting spot.”
I could have refused him, but I did not have it in me.
Not that I had been yearning to feel the touch of his hand against mine since the moment I first saw him across the valley or that I had been imagining the moment of us alone together on the long hours’ ride to find them.
No, it was to spare his feelings that I allowed him to join me.
That was what I told myself as my gaze met his for the first time since our arrival and I nodded.
His shoulders had grown broader, and the muscles on his thighs and arms had thickened.
His fingers twitched, yet he made no move to touch me nor to speak.
I noticed with a sense of disappointment how he kept himself always a slight distance away as we walked to where I had strung a skin over a branch and formed a rough shelter.
Erebus was loosely tethered, with enough slack that he could easily leave if he wished, but he chose to stay by my side, Erebus and Cleon both.
When we reached my shelter, Cleon met my gaze before dipping his head. “Good night, Otrera,” he said. His intention had been, as he had said, merely to walk with me to my resting place. Yet as he turned away, something surged within me.
“I know you were not complicit.” The words blurted from my mouth before I could stop them, and Cleon twisted back to face me again. The words continued to spill from my lips. “I am sorry. I am sorry to have ever thought you could have been behind Kakos’s actions.”
As he took a step closer, Cleon shook his head.
“No, do not apologize, Otrera. You were not wrong to blame me.”
It felt like an axe to my belly.
“You knew?”
“No. No, of course I did not know. I would never condone such actions. Believe me, had I heard even a whisper about what he intended, Kakos would not have set foot at the festival. But I should have known. I should have seen the type of person he was becoming and done all I could to prevent it. I did not, and therefore the blame lies with me.”
Relief and sadness filled me as I saw the remorse that burdened him. With no words to offer him, I reached out and took his hand.
A small sigh blew from his lips, as though my simple touch was as intimate as the time we had spent together.
“My regret about that night is deeper than any I will ever know,” Cleon said. He closed his eyes before opening them again and staring straight at me. “I should have known. I should not have left him. That poor girl.”
“Aina was strong,” I said, my need to erase Cleon’s image of her as nothing more than a feeble girl more overwhelming than my need to offer him comfort. “She drew strength from what happened.”
“She should not have had to!” His voice was loud enough to stir Erebus. With a second sigh, this one far more melancholy, Cleon dropped his head. “I am sorry. It plays on my mind every night, you know. How that evening ended and how it had begun.”
I knew what he referred to, yet I made no immediate acknowledgment.
“You are right,” I said instead. “She should not have had to. But now, under my rule, no women will have to suffer in such a way. Their strength will come from their actions alone.”
“Your rule?” He gave a slight smile that caused a lightness to flicker within me. “You speak as though you are a queen.”
At this, I scoffed. “No, I am no queen, Cleon, but there are times when people must put themselves forward for the good of all.”
He nodded. His smile was gone, and silence swirled around us, silence that I was worried would not break but hold us immobile for all time.
I imagined the stars tracing their paths across the sky, dissolving into Eos’s painted dawn before the sun broke across the hillsides.
And beneath it all, Cleon and I would remain standing there, waiting.
“This life. Life as a Gargarean. You find joy in it?” I asked.
He chuckled only briefly, but it was enough to take that lightness and transform it into a bone-trembling quake that caused my pulse to soar.
“You have heard the term, Gargarean?”
“I think it is quite fitting.”
“Then I will insist we are called it always.” He paused; then when he spoke, he shook his head slightly as if he were in disbelief. “The things we have seen, Otrera, I could lose a thousand nights telling you of them.”
“Then I would like to lose those nights listening to them.” My words were genuine, yet his smile dropped.
“My regret haunts me, Otrera, and not only because of Aina. I only spoke the truth to you. I swear. I wanted to be with you. Not for a night but for always. I wished to marry you. To be your husband.”
Longing soared in my chest. Longing that I knew had no home.
“Themiscyra is a sanctuary for women. I am the one who has decided that. I am the one who has cast away other women’s sons and brothers, because I have said we are safer without them. How could I then take a husband? I could not.”
His head bowed, and only then did I realize that my hand was in his. No sooner had the realization occurred than he let go. The emptiness of my palm felt as painful as a slap.
“I understand,” he said. “I do. And I respect you for that.”
Once again, he prepared to leave. This man whom I had spurned was walking away from me, just as I had told him to. Yet as I stared at the smooth skin of his back, I reached out and grabbed his arm. Cleon turned to face me, confusion written across his features.
“Just because I do not want to be a wife,” I said, “does not mean you must leave me now.”