Page 47 of Where Darkness Bloomed
His father’s parting words rang in Patroclus’s ears—
My son walks beside the greatest of all the Greeks.
The only praise Patroclus had ever heard fall from his father’s lips.And it hadn’t even been meant for him.
Achilles’s face burned behind his eyes, impassive, hard as granite. Even as the dead burned and hope crumbled. If even Odysseus, silver-tongued and clever beyond reckoning, could not sway Achilles to rejoin the battle, no one could.
Patroclus sank onto the low cot, his body heavy as the agony crushing against his heart. His head bowed into his hands, breath harsh, throat raw.
He had followed Achilles into exile. Into war. Into legend. He had stayed, even as Achilles turned inward, pride closing like a bitter fist around his heart. He had tried to hold the thread between them—tried to speak when Achilles would not, to be his voice when silence pressed in too tightly, when the world turned to ash around them.
But now—now there was nothing left to say. Only silence, heavy as the air inside a tomb.
Slowly, Patroclus rose.
His hands moved reverently as he reached for the breastplate, lifting it as he had watched Achilles do countless times. It was heavier than he expected, like taking up the mantle of a god. He bound the straps tightly across his chest.
Greaves. Bracers. Each piece was strapped into place like a sacred rite, like an offering. His hands shook as he reached for Achilles’s black-crested helmet.
“Forgive me,” Patroclus whispered.
To the boy he remembered.
To the man who no longer looked back.
To whatever gods still listened.
Taking up the helm, he slid it on and stepped from the tent—into light, toward the sound of war.
Chapter 21
Hades did not appear the next day.
Kore remained in the bedchamber. The hours passed like shadows across stone. Her thoughts burned feverishly—restless, tangled with the memory of his mouth on hers, the weight of his body, the sound of marble fracturing beneath his hand. The echo of it lingered, as if carved into her bones.
After he left, she had bathed in the bedchamber’s stone pool, wincing as the warm water embraced her aching body, washing away the grime of her escape. Lavender-scented steam curled through the air, a soft balm but one that did little to quiet the humming beneath her skin.
When she rose from the water, a chiton of deep indigo appeared on the divan. Soft as mist, it slid over her skin like smoke, weightless and cool. Then she collapsed into the bed’s embrace, and sleep claimed her, deep and dreamless.
When she woke, every muscle screamed in protest. She groaned as she sat upright, stiff and sore. Sleep had steadied her body, but her thoughts still tumbled in a wild melee. Her fingers drifted to her lips, where the memory stirred again, soft and startling.
For a moment, she wondered where he had gone. If she should seek him.
No.
The thought was dismissed with a sharp exhale. It did not matter. Not the kiss, nor the strange gentleness beneath his power. Not the way he had pressed her to the pillar, nor the words he had spoken just before.
All that mattered was leaving this place, returning home. To Eleusis. To the world above.
She pressed her palms to her eyes, willing herself to steadiness. Leavingon foot was impossible. Her reckless attempt had made that brutally clear. The Fates had been merciful that he had found her when he did. And only they knew what other horrors lurked beyond the temple walls.
There was no path out—
A thought, wild and half-formed, flickered to life. Her head snapped up.
The horses.
She had seen the stables upon her arrival, tucked into the cliffs beyond the temple’s colonnade. A home, no doubt, for Hades’s dark stallions.
