Sometimes Castor joined me and we didn’t speak at all. Sometimes he told me of the other men in our unit, of the commanders we were likely to serve under, or of theGeistwe owed our allegiance to. It depended on my mood and on the day he'd had. Even when he talked, I listened but I rarely spoke.
And so my days had progressed in the week since the day Valin had locked me in a cage with a godkilling beast. Training with swords, spears, and axes. Training with magic, awareness, and focus. I strengthened my mind as well as my body. Once again, I had a cause, an end goal, just as I'd had while training for the Trials. But at least this time, I understood what I was getting into. I had a concrete enemy, a physical force I could funnel all my fury into fighting rather than spending my time training to face the unknown, never knowing if what I was doing would ever be of any use to me at all.
All the training was a good distraction, but not an effective one. So I turned to the drink. Several glasses a night and a few hours spent brooding in the dark corner of the tavern meant I could fall into my bed blissfully unconscious, sending those thoughts of doubt, guilt, and regret scurrying away for a few peaceful hours of sleep.
So that's precisely what I was doing when Castor made his way into the tavern as well. I wasn't surprised to see him. He joined me more often than not, either checking up on me because of arequest from his Commander or drinking to drown some sorrow himself. This time, however, he wasn't alone.
My gaze narrowed at the three beautiful women accompanying him into the tavern. I wasn't the only one who'd noticed. Whistles shot up throughout the tavern, soldiers began crying out raucous obscenities, the tavern owner cursed and ran around the bar to calm the hooting men. But, when one fresh-faced recruit sauntered over to try his game with the ladies, Castor shot him a look so dark, he backed away as quick as he could and some of the fanfare died down immediately.
My fingers tightened around my glass once I realized they were headed straight toward me. I fought the urge to curse. Castor was the only one who'd never understood that the entire point of my sitting in this dark corner alone was tonotbe approached. And now he was bringing a whole group to my table. As my jaw clenched, my gaze flicked over the women at his side. They were dressed in glimmering gowns, the lower portions of their faces covered in shimmering gossamer masks while their eyes were shadowed and the vibrant color on their lips showed through the fabric. They trailed dutifully after Castor, batting their eyelashes in my direction. They even each struck an individual pose when Castor came to a stop at the edge of my table.
"What is this?" I spoke slowly, my voice low and unimpressed.
"A gift," Castor replied and his tone suggested he was just as unenthused about this as I was, "from the Lord of the Geist."
"A gift…" I repeated, letting my eyes rove over each of the women in turn. "Which one?"
"All of them."
"Fuck am I supposed to do with all of them?"
"This is a textbook case of shooting the messenger, Viper," Castor blew out a breath in exasperation.
"Go," I growled at the women. "Now."
With soft gasps, they straightened and bolted from the tavern, leaving the door literally swinging on their way out. Several of the men groaned when they'd gone. Some even went so far as to toss crumpled up napkins in my direction for having spoiled their fun. But I cast a glare in their direction and the napkins stopped flying quickly enough.
"You get mean when you're drunk, you know that?" Castor muttered, pulling out a chair and sitting down next to me, uninvited as always. "Deimos sent them to entice you."
"Why would he do that?"
"You're the first Champion in a thousand years. They don't make super-soldiers as regularly as they used to in Sanctuary. So the Lord of the Geist is having to try to get them the old-fashioned way."
I frowned, glaring at Castor who merely shrugged and took a sip of the brownish liquor the bartender knew he preferred and had brought over without being asked. My mood darkened even further at his words. I’d spent the last few years trying to avoid being bred like cattle. The thought of falling back into that trap in this new place where I was a new man sickened me to my core. It also reminded me of my grandfather and, even more, ofher.
"I'm not a commodity for the gods to trade in as they see fit," I grumbled, slurring my words only slightly as the alcohol I'd already consumed began to take effect.
"Oh, but you are," Castor replied, tapping his head as he sat back in his chair. His tone was light, mocking, but his eyes betrayed the gravity of the truth in his statement.
He was right, of course. I’d survived all ten Trials only to find myself under the thumb of a new master. Now, instead of disappointing my grandfather, I was disappointing our gods. So why subject more people to my failure? Those women didn't want to be shackled to me any more thanshehad. They were only doing their duty. I could relieve them of this one, atleast. And, if I were being honest with myself, I simply wasn’t interested. There was a void in my chest I knew none of those beautiful women would fill. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“I’m not one to admonish a man for having principles,” Castor started and there was something about his tone that had me looking up at him through the haze of the drink. “But you should know, if you keep refusing Deimos’ gifts, you’ll find yourself called in front of the Council.”
I didn’t respond, simply frowning over at him from my darkened corner. After a moment, Castor sighed and rose from his seat. He muttered one final warning before heading for the exit and the deep night beyond.
“Sober up, Viper. You’ve got training in the morning.”
***
The next day, I found myself raising my sword to spar with Valin once again. He didn't say a word. His expression was set in the same grim scowl as always, but he gave me a small nod, almost imperceptible but there all the same. Approval. It took me off guard, so much so that Castor was able to strike in a way I barely managed to avoid. Then we were training again.
“Bend your knees, Viper,” Castor spat, lunging again asValincircled us, watching. I winced at their preferred nickname for me, the name of my house, a reference to a past I would rather forget. But I grit my teeth and obeyed all the same. “You must be ready to move at all times. To dodge, to attack, or even to flee. Standing straight doesn't lend itself to easy movement. There are no awards for posture in battle. Just life and death. Now,move.”
I lunged to the side as Castor struck a mighty blow with his sword, one that would have split me in half if I'd remained where I was standing before. I turned back to face him, eyes wide as he pivoted and swung again. I leapt desperately out of the way.
“Move with your feet,” he commanded, “not your arms. Never stay in one place for long. Keep your enemy guessing.”
I bounced on my toes, dodging left and right as Castor attacked, even getting a few swings in of my own. Castor always dodged them effortlessly enough. This swordplay was different, I realized, from all the training I'd ever done in Sanctuary. My mother had taught me the art of the sword, the movements all the books said only the fiercest warriors could accomplish. But she hadn’t trained me for battle. Not like this.
