Page 70 of Blood of Hercules
Enough said.
Patro continued, “The good news for you is that asking another Spartan about their power, without them offering to discuss it, is considered taboo. Your incompetence shouldn’t pose too much of a problem—at least, for now.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “So what is our overall strategy?”
The men glanced at each other.
Patro ran his hand through his hair. “You survive.” He shrugged.
“That’s it?” I gaped at him, fury filling me as I fisted my hands.
Patro rolled his eyes. “After the first two weeks, you’ll have another few mentor days with us. Once you’ve experienced a...taste of our culture,we can reassess. Make it until the end of July, and then we’ll talk.”
I saw red.
“You’re giving up,” I whispered. “You didn’t even bother.”
Green eyes flashed like lightning in a fog. “Don’t you fucking daretellme what I’m doing. We have more here to fucking lose than you do.”
I crossed my arms and glared at my feet. “Myl-lifeis at stake.”
Patro leaned forward. “Ourworldis at stake because if we’re named generals, then we get seats in the Spartan Federation and Chthonic power increases. In contrast, your life means nothing to anyone in Sparta.” His tone was vicious. “Grow up and figure out how to make it matter—then we’ll talk.”
I scowled. “I want a strategy. Now.”
“You want to know whatmystrategy was?” Patro bared his teeth. “Beat everyone in everything—separate myself as smarter, stronger, faster, tougher from day one... I made it so they couldn’t ignore me. I couldn’t fall behind, because everyone was chasingme.”
“What happens if you fall behind?” I asked.
Both men looked at me with pity.
“They kill you.”
There are no stupid gods because there are no stupid Spartans. The crucible or death; there is no third.
The book’s words haunted me.
Patro smiled meanly. “You want to know what Achilles’s strategy was?” he asked sarcastically. “The same fucking plan as mine. We were the best of the best—something someone likeyoucan’t even imagine.”
He spoke like I was lesser than him.
Unimportant.
Replaceable.
Filthy.
Patro continued, “Survive—if you last fourteen measly fucking days, then we’ll talk.”
He stood up, and Achilles followed him out with the animals. None of them looked back.
I’d never felt smaller.
That night, I barely slept.
Before the sun had risen above the horizon, Patro burst in and ordered me to wake up and get dressed.
“It’s an exercise toga,” he said as he handed me a thin scrap of black fabric made of a buttery-soft elastic material like nothing I’d ever felt before.
