That number staggered his mind and left him reeling. More than that, it left him furious on Styxx’s behalf. What the hell? “Imprisoned for what?”
“Being born Acheron’s brother … well, except for when Apollo and the Atlanteans held me here. That was entirely my fault. Turns out, gods don’t like it when humans defeat them and invade their homelands. Who knew?”
Urian had to sit down for a second on that one, especially when he remembered Apollymi’s reaction the day she’d seen his shield. And Styxx would have been just a kid …
Where the hell were his parents?
“Didn’t anyone love you?” He looked up at him.
Styxx let out a bitter laugh and ignored his question. Instead, he swung his arm around the room. “Did you know this temple belonged to Bet’anya Agriosa … the Atlantean goddess of misery and wrath? The next temple on the right belonged to Epithymia, their goddess of desire. She was a royal fucking bitch. Vicious. Cold. Lived to hurt others. It always made me wonder if Aphrodite was anything like her.” He paused as he caught the pained expression on Urian’s face as he grappled with trying to reconcile the horror of Styxx’s life in his mind. And kept failing to do so. He just couldn’t imagine what this man had been through. “Sorry. I’m not used to having anyone to talk to.”
Honestly, Urian wasn’t sure what to make of Styxx. From what Acheron had said of his brother, he’d expected some arrogant, demanding prick who looked at the people around him like they were dirt.
The man in front of him was definitelynotwhat Acheron had described. There was no arrogance in him, at all. If anything, given that he’d been born a prince to one of the richest kingdoms in the ancient world, and had been a young commander of one of the most successful armies, the bastard was exceedingly humble. He had a very quiet, suspicious nature more akin to Urian’s. He reminded Urian more of the gators that called the swamps home in Louisiana.
Styxx kept his eyes on everything around him, assessing each corner and shadow as a possible threat. Though he seemed to be at ease, there was no doubt he could launch himself at someone’s throat and roll them under for the kill before they even saw him move.
Yeah, Urian could easily see in Styxx the legendary general he’d read about. The one who didn’t complain over anything and who had sacrificed and sold his own personal effects to buy supplies for his men. Just the physical scars on his body alone made a mockery of the person Acheron thought him to be.
This was not some pampered prince who’d been waited on hand and foot, and who expected the entire world to bow down to him. In over eleven thousand years, Urian had never seen any man more scarred. Even Styxx’s fingers and the backs of his hands said he’d lived a hard and harsh life. For that matter, Styxx barely had the use of his right hand. Two of his fingers, the pinkie and ring fingers, stayed permanently curled against his palm. And the other two didn’t fully extend.
More remarkably still, there were just four scars on his face. And one of them was only noticeable if you paid close attention. He had a faint scar beneath his left eye. One that ran along his hairline across his forehead that was covered by his hair most of the time. One that slashed across his right eyebrow, and the one in the center of his upper lip where it’d been forcefully busted open so many times that it’d left a permanent divot and thick vertical line.
The awful condition of Styxx’s body verified what he’d said about captivity. As did his knowledge of the temples. As with Kalosis, there was nothing left inside any of the buildings here to say whom they’d belonged to, and not even Acheron knew.
But Styxx did.
And what really screwed with Urian’s head was the fact that Styxx had been imprisoned for more than eleven thousand years. The duration of Urian’s long, long life. So he could easily appreciate exactly how many mind-blowing years that was.
Alone.
He would call the man a liar for that, but again, the scars and his calm acceptance of Acheron dumping him here and forgetting about him testified to the fact that Styxx was more than used to isolation and neglect. More than used to scrounging for scraps to eat.
And all Styxx had asked him for was untainted drinking water.…
Buddy, you get the prize bonus in my book.Urian still couldn’t believe how humble a request that was.
“I brought you more food,” Urian said, trying to break the suddenly awkward silence.
“It wasn’t necessary.”
“Having seen the shit you had on your plate when I brought in the spaghetti, I’m going to respectfully disagree.” Urian headed back to the other room and, as a trained warrior himself, didn’t miss the fact that Styxx kept a lot of empty space between them. He also walked at an angle so that he could see if Urian was reaching for a weapon.
The way Styxx did it, it was hardwired into him. That, too, made a mockery of the pampered-prince bullshit.
At least until he saw what Urian had brought in a large plastic box, and then Styxx relaxed his protocol and rushed forward.
“Bread?” he whispered.
“Yeah, that’s the white stuff in the plastic bag.”
His expression said he hadn’t had bread in a long time. Urian imagined he must have looked like that the first time he saw daylight.
He stepped back so that Styxx would look through the box and see what else it contained. The minute he was clear, Styxx rooted through the contents like Erik breaking into his presents on Christmas morning.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Urian picked up another box that he’d set on the floor. “I have your water and more wine in this one. And I put candles and a lighter in here, too.”
