Page 17 of Eryx
Axios sighed. “I do not know, Ery. All I know is I wish to leave this place.”
Why must he be so… different? I might not ever understand.
“Yes,” Axios whispered. “I’m afraid.”
Though I didn’t show it, his admission surprised me. Being afraid—or at least admitting it aloud—was an act of cowardice in Sparta’s eyes. But I knew Axios was no coward. I also knew no matter how great the fear in his chest, he’d do what needed to be done when the time came.
Because I knewhim.Even if I didn’t always understand the reason behind some of his actions, I knew his heart.
In the barracks that night, I was nearly asleep when something brushed against my abdomen. A bit groggily, I opened my eyes to see Axios had scooted his bed of reeds closer and lay with his back to my front. I stared at the back of his dark hair and trailed my gaze lower to the curve of his neck.
I sensed something wrong and leaned closer. He was trembling.
“Axios, you’re shaking,” I whispered against his neck.
“I’m just cold.” He tugged his cloak tighter around his body.
I put my arm around him and rested my head on his shoulder. Somehow, I knew his thoughts without him saying a word. It was clear in the way he pressed against me, as if seeking comfort. Our connection grew stronger with each day that passed.
“Do not worry your mind so much,” I whispered, drawing him closer to my chest. “We will be together, and I will not allow any harm to come to you.”
My words calmed him. He stopped shaking and nestled against me. As he slept, I stared at his soft features. Memorizing every angle of his face.
Why did my chest lighten when I looked at him? Why did I feel ill and excited at the same time?
In so many ways I knew Axios. It was my own mind I struggled to understand.
***
The intense training for thediamastigosisproved more difficult than any exercise I’d endured up to that point. My muscles screamed, my lungs burned, and the sweltering heat of the midday sun weighed me down.
Felix took no mercy on any of us. Then again,mercywas not the Spartan way.
As Felix stood over me, his mountain of a body blocking the sun, I smiled up at him. Blood dripped from my lip after the elbow to the face he’d just given me. My ribs screamed in protest from the times he’d slammed me to the ground and my breaths rasped from my chest. I rose from the dirt and shifted to a defensive stance, ready for him to make another move.
His sun-darkened face stretched with a smirk. “A true warrior you’ll be one day. Not a thing can keep you down. Back in line.”
I did as he said, keeping my head held high.
“You’re bleeding,” Axios whispered as soon as I’d returned to his side. He kept his gaze fixated on Felix and the next boy being knocked to the dirt.
“It’ll dry.”
“Tell me,” he said, finally looking at me. “What glory comes from it? Thediamastigosis, I mean. Boys try to steal cheese from a heavily guarded altar. Their skin is flayed open, their blood is spilled. Some have even perished in years past. So, tell me. Where is the glory in dying for a meaningless sport?”
He questioned everything Spartans held true. Our customs, our entertainment. I’d never even thought to question it.
“No one will die on the morrow,” I answered, wiping the blood trickling down my chin.
“And if one of us does?”
The answer was simple: anyone who died did so because they weren’t strong enough to live. Axios would never appreciate the answer, though. He’d only ask more questions until even I began to question it.
When I didn’t respond, Axios focused on the bleeding boy in the arena. “It makes me wonder why we try.”
“Come again?”
He pressed his lips into a line and frowned. “If thediamastigosisdoesn’t kill us, something else will. Eventually.”
