Page 85 of The Shadow of Polaris

Through the eyes of a sentry, our fleet was merely a blur, hidden beneath a thick wall of dark, grey cloud, approaching the shoreline with unearthly speed. Under the blanket of darkness, we moored, stowing our sails with trembling urgency, against the towering cliffs.

Our final preparations for war had begun.

Chapter 45

Arcturas paced through the captain’s quarters, her black fur now encased in golden armor. I strapped my black leather breastplate to my chest, pulling its straps tight and triple knotting them. With my mother’s hair clip tucked neatly into my bun, I stared in the mirror.

The woman looking back at me was a stranger. She had the same black hair, same violet eyes, but her cheekbones weren’t hollow anymore. Her jaw was not as sharp. Eyes that used to be dim, now burned brightly with new found ferocity. Shadows lurked just beneath her skin, creeping and wriggling around her neck every so often. She was a new type of beast. One that both terrified and repulsed me.

Mixing a bowl of black ink, I took my brush and painted thick lines beneath my eyes that trailed down to my collarbones.

The mark of the warrior.

Aryx’s marks.

I knew what they meant, how much he resented them. It was time I gave them a new meaning.

I tucked my key into the folds of my tunic, kneeled on the plush red rugs, and whispered a prayer to the gods. We were going in with a dwindling army and a broken leader. A soft knock on the door pulled me from prayer. It was Lytos, his short, dark hair hidden beneath a golden helmet. A golden breastplate, littered with scars, had replaced his usual flax tunic. He was every bit of a soldier as Aryx had once been. Tucked under his arms was a bronze broadsword, its hilt inlaid with small citrine gems.

“Lady Elpis, the men are ready,” Lytos said. His voice was a low, steady pulse amidst the apprehension that buzzed through me.

“Okay, thank you, Lytos. We’ll be on deck shortly. I wanted to double check Arcturas’s armor and make sure it’s secure before battle.” I clasped my shaking hands behind my back.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked, watching my lip tremble.

“Yes,” I whispered, sucking in a breath. I wanted to scream at him, to throw myself against his solid chest. How could I possibly be ready? I was about to lead my men to their deaths. Our numbers were nearly half what they’d been when we set sail. We were about to march into an undeniable defeat.

“I guess that’s not a fair question.” His bronze greaves clanked against varnished wood as he took a seat by Arcturas on a velvet-cushioned settee. “What I really should ask is, are you okay with all of this?”

I sat beside him, checking the leather ties between the golden plates of armor across Arcturas’s chest. She grunted, lifting her arm. A request for scratches. I gently complied, sliding my fingers beneath her chest plate and stroking her thick, black fur.

“No. Of course not, but I don’t have a choice anymore. We’ve come this far.”

Lytos nodded thoughtfully. The ever-silent observer. The quiet teacher.

“I wanted to give this to you,” he said, handing me the sheathed broadsword. “It was Aryx’s. I know he’d want you to use it today.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to force down the pain that welled in my eyes at the mention of his name. The sword was breath-taking. Its blade, although solid gold, was as light as steel and perfectly balanced. The metal edge gleamed like the rising sun. A trail of citrine gems, laced in intricate engravings, followed the centerline of the blade.

“It was his father’s before him. Passed down through their bloodline. See the markings on the hilt? Their family sigil,” Lytos pointed to the carved sun, crested by a shield of ivy.

“It’s beautiful, but I don’t deserve it,” I said, running a finger down the blade.

“Of course you do. You were everything to him,” he said, smiling sadly.

“Please stop,” I said, my words quivering off my tongue. “I can’t take this.”

Lytos grew quiet, his eyebrows curved with an ever-growing concern. We sat in silence, both examining the sword, unsure of what to say. Two strangers grieving over a mutual friend. It was uncomfortable, unconsolable. I was the reason his brother was dead. I was the reason we didn’t stand a chance against Tethys.

“Lytos, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, anything,” he said, turning to face me.

“Why are you so kind? I killed Aryx. I slaughtered our crew. I took you from your family- your wife, your son. I don’t understand. After everything you’ve witnessed, why?”

He stroked his chin and settled into his seat. His ocean blue eyes, simmering with sincerity.

“You know,” he started, his voice serious and quiet. “We’ve all done things we regret. We’ve all been the villain in another’s story. Aryx didn’t tell you much about me, or my past, and I will always be grateful for his discretion. I’m not originally from Venia. My mother is, but I was born in Aquilae. I remember little of my real father. All I know is that I wasn’t expected, nor was I wanted. Before my first birthday, he sent us back to the East, left behind. My real father never claimed me as his son, and to this day, although I don’t even know his name, I’ve resented him for it.

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