“A gift for Lady Thalia?” Elara questioned. Gods—was he that obvious with his affection that even this merchant knew? Or had rumors of what happened in the gymnasium spread like wildfire? It was reckless of him, but not a single piece of Dimitris regretted it.
“It seems that everyone but Thalia has noticed my endearment toward her.” Dimitris sighed. At least he had gotten past the loathing stage with Thalia, whatever he was to her now was an improvement, but it was not what he wanted. He wanted her. All of her.
“Well, maybe I can help you find something that will make her notice. Mytheahas a lovely shop right around the corner from here with her wife. They craft custom leathers and small metal goods.Usually it would be impossible to commission something on so short notice forHaloa, but if you let them know I sent you and who it is for, I am not sure they would refuse.” Elara scribbled a note down on a small piece of parchment before handing it over to Dimitris. “Good luck, Prince.”
Taking the note from her outstretched hand, Dimitris couldn’t help but wonder if he needed more than just luck.
Chapter Eighteen
Dimitris
Wrapped in parchment, a black velvet box sat atop Dimitris’s desk, a small scroll secured in the thin twine that bound the gift together. He wasn’t even sure if he would give the delicate piece to Thalia—but at least he’d have something to show if he mustered up the courage later this evening. There was not much left to do before the bonfire. Already, he had wrapped Cal’s leather tricorn he’d picked up at the market, along with what was apparently Dafne’s favorite amber liquor. The latter was difficult to find. He’d searched through five different stores before finding the bottle Cal described—a leaf etched on the front of the bottle, spiced with cinnamon and vanilla. Maybe it would gain him some good will with Thalia, to give her sister something. Although,knowing the seer, she would probably act aggravated that Dimitris did not put more thought into the gift than a mere bottle of alcohol. Should he even give Dafne the bottle? If he chickened out and decided to keep the pin he’d had commissioned for Thalia hidden, would she be jealous that her sister was thought of and not her?
Dimitris cursed himself for not purchasing something more unassuming for the seer just in case he couldn’t go through with his plan. He was a Nexian warrior, a wolf, and yet the mere idea of disappointing this woman had him running for the woods. Perhaps he could pick another bottle of Alexander’s wine Thalia seemed to love so much. It would be equivalent to his gift for Dafne, and if Thalia hadn’t gotten him anything then he would just tell her he stole the wine anyway from his brother’s storage.
Yes—that was a much better idea.
Tucking the velvet box and small scroll in his dress coat pocket just in case, Dimitris headed for the wine cellar.
An hour before, the bonfire had been lit in the center of the stage. It was a masterpiece, towering well over the height of three men. Built of cypress and cedar, the bonfire was crafted to look like an isle in the sea. Dried plumes of seagrass and carved dowels lined the perimeter. In the center, covered by bowed beams of wood, sat the carcass of a bull, cleaned down to the bones—a sacrifice tothe gods in hope for a bountiful harvest. The rite had evolved over time—what was once a true blood sacrifice of the animal was now merely a symbol. Its meat and hide were used as part of the festival, filling bellies and warming shoulders of the very people that now bowed before it.
Children wandered down to the structure, tossing small pieces of parchment with their hopes for the coming year—wishes to the gods that did not reside in this realm. Then, when the sun made its final descent over the horizon, a torch was placed on each of the four sides like the points of a compass rose, lighting the symbol of rebirth and good fortune.
As the fire raged in the blackest of nights, Dimitris conversed with the soldiers around him, men he had come to respect over his weeks in Skiatha. They laughed and rang inHaloaas if they were old friends, devouring cuts of boar covered in honey and apple slices, sipping on heavy mead and the occasional glass of clear alcohol his people calledouzo. His crewmate Elias sat beside him the whole time, trying to get the other men and women to make bets on if he could take more shots of the liquor than Sebastian. That was a bet Dimitris did not want to make—Elias could outdrink any of their crew as well as his soldiers in Nexos, but Sebastian was a fierce competitor, even if Dimitris did despise the sly man.
Down the table, Dimitris’s uncle pushed back his chair and stood. “Ahem.” Cal cleared his throat above the ramblings of men and women and a hush followed. “I would like to give thanks to Alenia—the mother, herself—and to the Grechi that do not reside in this realm. For the seeds that sink beneath our soil. For the rains that nourish our lands. For the sun that sparks growth. For prosperity. For harvest. For life.”
“For prosperity. For harvest. For life,” they all chanted back, each member of the table lifting their glass of wine, or liquor, or mead in the air before taking a sip.
“Now, in honor of the gifts we sacrifice to the gods, any who wish to exchange a gift to those with meaning may do so,” Cal continued, signaling to the soldiers that the night would be nearing its end.
The box sat heavy in Dimitris’s lap. Although the piece itself was small, barely the size of his little finger, the intention behind it was more than he cared to admit, especially in such a public place. It was customary on Nexos to exchange gifts forHaloain the privacy of one’s own living chambers, or at least in a more intimate gathering than what unfolded before him in the colosseum, yet the Skiathans around him took out small packages and began to pass them across the table, unwrapping trinkets meant for those they cared for.
Cal had fooled him once again, his own uncle deciding it was better to embarrass Dimitris in front of every soldier in Skiatha rather than let him keep one semblance of pride. He would need to take back that new leather tricorn that was still sitting wrapped in his chambers. The man simply did not deserve something as generous as that when he clearly had no regard for his nephew's feelings.
“I have something for you,” a light voice hiccuped from across the table.
Dafne sat there with her hands folded around a narrow package. Pushing the object across the table, her crimson-stained lips curved into a bright smile, accentuating the deep sparkle in her matching sanguine eyes.
“For me?” Dimitris questioned, reaching out to take the piece, its weight heavier than he expected from the size.
“Your uncle informed me it was polite to exchange gifts, on both your isle and here, with those who have meaning in our lives. You are the reason I sit here today with my sister—that I am free from those wretched men of the Legion for good. I could not think of a person who has had more meaning than that.” Beside her, Thalia’s cheeks paled, her eyes going glassy for a moment.
“I was only doing what was right, Dafne, but I appreciate the words nonetheless,” he replied.
Unwrapping the parchment, Dimitris let out a chuckle. Inside was a thin dagger, one he recognized with its bronze blade and black leather-wrapped hilt, the pommel ordained with rubies cut like stars.Antares—a blade Elias coveted and was reserved only for a soldier that could draw blood from his flesh while sparring. There was only one individual that ever had—Dimitris himself, but he did not wish for the general to part with his prized possession.
No way had Elias givenAntaresup willingly, even if Dimitris had noticed the way the general stared at Dafne with unrequited longing. “How did you get this?” he asked.
“I won it. Obviously,” she replied, her tone mocking.
“And how exactly were you able to draw blood on our general? Not a single soldier here has been able to.” Elias shifted uncomfortably next to him at Dimitris’s question, letting out a forced laugh.
“I kissed him.”
Wine flew from both Thalia and Dimitris’s mouths at the same time, peppering the table between them.
Dimitris coughed, trying to compose himself. “You kissed him?”
