Chapter Eighteen
Dimitris
Wrapped in parchment, a black velvet box sat atop Dimitris’s desk, a small scroll secured in the thin twine that bound the gift together.
He wasn’t even sure if he would give the delicate piece to Thalia—but at least he’d have something to show if he mustered up the courage later this evening.
There was not much left to do before the bonfire.
Already, he had wrapped Cal’s leather tricorn he’d picked up at the market, along with what was apparently Dafne’s favorite amber liquor.
The latter was difficult to find. He’d searched through five different stores before finding the bottle Cal described—a leaf etched on the front of the bottle, spiced with cinnamon and vanilla.
Maybe it would gain him some good will with Thalia, to give her sister something.
Although, knowing the seer, she would probably act aggravated that Dimitris did not put more thought into the gift than a mere bottle of alcohol.
Should he even give Dafne the bottle? If he chickened out and decided to keep the pin he’d had commissioned for Thalia hidden, would she be jealous that her sister was thought of and not her?
Dimitris cursed himself for not purchasing something more unassuming for the seer just in case he couldn’t go through with his plan.
He was a Nexian warrior, a wolf, and yet the mere idea of disappointing this woman had him running for the woods.
Perhaps he could pick another bottle of Alexander’s wine Thalia seemed to love so much.
It would be equivalent to his gift for Dafne, and if Thalia hadn’t gotten him anything then he would just tell her he stole the wine anyway from his brother’s storage.
Yes—that was a much better idea.
Tucking the velvet box and small scroll in his dress coat pocket just in case, Dimitris headed for the wine cellar.
An hour before, the bonfire had been lit in the center of the stage.
It was a masterpiece, towering well over the height of three men.
Built of cypress and cedar, the bonfire was crafted to look like an isle in the sea.
Dried plumes of seagrass and carved dowels lined the perimeter.
In the center, covered by bowed beams of wood, sat the carcass of a bull, cleaned down to the bones—a sacrifice to the gods in hope for a bountiful harvest. The rite had evolved over time—what was once a true blood sacrifice of the animal was now merely a symbol.
Its meat and hide were used as part of the festival, filling bellies and warming shoulders of the very people that now bowed before it.
Children wandered down to the structure, tossing small pieces of parchment with their hopes for the coming year—wishes to the gods that did not reside in this realm.
Then, when the sun made its final descent over the horizon, a torch was placed on each of the four sides like the points of a compass rose, lighting the symbol of rebirth and good fortune.
As the fire raged in the blackest of nights, Dimitris conversed with the soldiers around him, men he had come to respect over his weeks in Skiatha.
They laughed and rang in Haloa as if they were old friends, devouring cuts of boar covered in honey and apple slices, sipping on heavy mead and the occasional glass of clear alcohol his people called ouzo.
His crewmate Elias sat beside him the whole time, trying to get the other men and women to make bets on if he could take more shots of the liquor than Sebastian.
That was a bet Dimitris did not want to make—Elias could outdrink any of their crew as well as his soldiers in Nexos, but Sebastian was a fierce competitor, even if Dimitris did despise the sly man.
Down the table, Dimitris’s uncle pushed back his chair and stood.
“Ahem.” Cal cleared his throat above the ramblings of men and women and a hush followed.
“I would like to give thanks to Alenia—the mother, herself—and to the Grechi that do not reside in this realm. For the seeds that sink beneath our soil. For the rains that nourish our lands. For the sun that sparks growth. For prosperity. For harvest. For life.”
“For prosperity. For harvest. For life,” they all chanted back, each member of the table lifting their glass of wine, or liquor, or mead in the air before taking a sip.
“Now, in honor of the gifts we sacrifice to the gods, any who wish to exchange a gift to those with meaning may do so,” Cal continued, signaling to the soldiers that the night would be nearing its end.
The box sat heavy in Dimitris’s lap. Although the piece itself was small, barely the size of his little finger, the intention behind it was more than he cared to admit, especially in such a public place.
It was customary on Nexos to exchange gifts for Haloa in the privacy of one’s own living chambers, or at least in a more intimate gathering than what unfolded before him in the colosseum, yet the Skiathans around him took out small packages and began to pass them across the table, unwrapping trinkets meant for those they cared for.
Cal had fooled him once again, his own uncle deciding it was better to embarrass Dimitris in front of every soldier in Skiatha rather than let him keep one semblance of pride.
He would need to take back that new leather tricorn that was still sitting wrapped in his chambers.
The man simply did not deserve something as generous as that when he clearly had no regard for his nephew's feelings.
“I have something for you,” a light voice hiccuped from across the table.
Dafne sat there with her hands folded around a narrow package. Pushing the object across the table, her crimson-stained lips curved into a bright smile, accentuating the deep sparkle in her matching sanguine eyes.
“For me?” Dimitris questioned, reaching out to take the piece, its weight heavier than he expected from the size.
“Your uncle informed me it was polite to exchange gifts, on both your isle and here, with those who have meaning in our lives. You are the reason I sit here today with my sister—that I am free from those wretched men of the Legion for good. I could not think of a person who has had more meaning than that.” Beside her, Thalia’s cheeks paled, her eyes going glassy for a moment.
“I was only doing what was right, Dafne, but I appreciate the words nonetheless,” he replied.
Unwrapping the parchment, Dimitris let out a chuckle.
Inside was a thin dagger, one he recognized with its bronze blade and black leather-wrapped hilt, the pommel ordained with rubies cut like stars.
Antares—a blade Elias coveted and was reserved only for a soldier that could draw blood from his flesh while sparring.
There was only one individual that ever had—Dimitris himself, but he did not wish for the general to part with his prized possession.
No way had Elias given Antares up willingly, even if Dimitris had noticed the way the general stared at Dafne with unrequited longing. “How did you get this?” he asked.
“I won it. Obviously,” she replied, her tone mocking.
“And how exactly were you able to draw blood on our general? Not a single soldier here has been able to.” Elias shifted uncomfortably next to him at Dimitris’s question, letting out a forced laugh.
“I kissed him.”
Wine flew from both Thalia and Dimitris’s mouths at the same time, peppering the table between them.
Dimitris coughed, trying to compose himself. “You kissed him?”
“You told me that the best time to strike an opponent was when they were distracted, so I distracted him.” What other tricks did this woman have up her sleeve? She was bold, Dimitris would give her that.
“It was a lapse in judgement, my friend, one that will not happen again,” Elias muttered as he took a long drag of his drink.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, General.” Dafne leaned into the table, pressing her fingertips to her mouth and blowing a kiss in Elias’s direction. His cheeks went instantly rouge.
Bold, bold woman indeed. It must be a familial trait.
“As much as I appreciate the blade, I cannot accept it. That blade was crafted by my uncle many years ago, and there is special significance in the weapons he forges. If you won the honor, I must insist you keep it.” Dimitris pushed the dagger back across the table.
“I must agree with Dimitris on this,” Thalia exclaimed, clutching her sister’s hand in her own. “With war upon us, you can use all the luck and protection you can get.”
“Well, I guess I can’t say no. Now, General, would you do me the courtesy of walking me back to the castle? I think it is time I go to sleep.” Dafne stood, brushing out her glittering onyx dress under her thick fur cloak.
“Of course, my lady. I would be happy to.” Elias stood as well, but before he rounded the table he leaned down toward Dimitris and whispered, “Perhaps I should not have gone drink for drink with Sebastian.”
Shaking his head, Dimitris replied, “No, brother, perhaps not.”
As the two walked away, both stumbling slightly, Dimitris let out a laugh. Elias was in for it with that one, but he couldn’t be more happy for the general. After losing his wife a year ago, Elias had never looked this unburdened. He deserved happiness, even if it was just for this night.
Thalia and Dimitris remained at the table, surrounded by other soldiers, yet seemingly alone for quite some time after their friends had left.
The bonfire still crackled in the distance along with the torches staked into the ground around the many tables that lined the colosseum’s stage.
Firelight created shadows along Thalia’s face that danced with the ebb and flow of the winter’s breeze and Dimitris couldn’t help but suck in his breath every time he glanced up at her.
The seer was silent, nodding her head along with the string music that played nearby, tapping her fingers against her goblet of wine with every beat.
Pulling out the present Dimitris had hidden in his pocket, he fidgeted with the wrapped velvet box.
Amber liquor racing through his veins emboldened him just enough that he placed the object in front of Thalia, peering up through his eyelashes at her as she stopped thrumming her fingers against her glass.
“Am I to assume this is for me?” she asked, tilting her head to the side, her lips parting ever so slightly.
Dimitris only nodded, words escaping him at the moment. Thalia pulled at the twine, the parchment falling to the side as the string came undone. Slowly, she lifted the top of the box, her violet eyes widening as she pulled out the broach.
“This is beautiful,” she whispered, hand trembling ever so slightly that Dimitris almost didn’t notice. Her fingers traced over the amethyst and deep sapphire stones that made up the arrow broach. “Where did you find it?”
“A jewelry cart down in the market,” Dimitris lied, unable to share that he had specifically asked for this piece, picking out each stone by hand, waiting as the woman in the shop welded the pieces together.
“There is something else there as well. It is more of a gift for Mykonos—I have become strangely attached to the creature,” he admitted.
Thalia shuffled through the wrapping before pulling out the rolled piece of parchment. It made a crinkling noise as she undid the roll and flattened it on the table. Her nose crinkled and her brows furrowed in concern.
“Do you not like it?” Dimitris asked, gesturing toward the sketch he had drawn of Thalia and Mykonos at the helm of the Aphrodite.
It had taken him quite a while to do and his heart sank at her reaction, such a stark contrast to her opening the piece of jewelry.
Maybe she only liked the sparkling gemstones and not the intention or thought behind it—or maybe the drawing had taken it too far.
“Did—did you draw this?” she replied, ignoring his question.
“I did. But if you don’t like it, I will burn the very thing in the bonfire. No need to ever see it again.” He was a damned fool.
“It is not that at all. I do…like it, that is. It’s just the handwriting…
your handwriting, I have seen it before.
” Dimitris could see the way Thalia’s mind spun as traced the curve of his script with her eyes.
“You must come with me.” She rolled the piece of parchment back up and placed it and the velvet jewelry box in the pocket inside her cloak before hurrying around the table to his side.
“What do you mean you’ve seen my writing before? Where are you taking me?” he croaked out as Thalia grabbed his hands.
A smile lit across her face. “The archives, of course. To Alexander’s journals.”
She had read his brother’s journal. And not just any journal, but the one Dimitris had translated himself—or had tried to.
The dialects Alexander encountered on his travels over the years, few knew the translations of—even his brother himself.
If Thalia had seen his writing, then perhaps she knew which journal contained the code he needed to finish the translation—the key to the Eleusínia Mystéria.
His heartbeat quickened its pace at the thought that he might finally solve what Chloe and Farah were really sent to Hespali for. Dimitris knew it was not purely a hunt for an alliance with their aunt, but his brother was always particular about which secrets they shared.
And as they ran toward the archives, his heart raced even more knowing Thalia had not flipped over the piece of jewelry and looked closer. That she had not noticed the words inscribed.
Psychí mou.
A small piece of him wished she had.