Page 37 of Something Human

That feeling passed, quicker than he would have thought possible. Rus had killed himself, in the rain, on the horns of a bull that shouldn’t have stood a chance against him, to let Adares keep all these things. And was he going to show his gratitude by wishing them gone?

“What it means,” he said, his voice sounding surprisingly normal even to his own ears, “is that we had a very narrow escape. It likely means Gunthanaruth was planning to attack tonight—but when he looked for a sign that the gods would prosper him, thinking that it would come, as it always did … it was not given. So he withdraws.”

“We should make a sacrifice,” Kleisios murmured.

“We already have,” said Glaukos.

“We will make another one,” said Adares. He turned to Doros. “Tell the emissary I will meet with Gunthanaruth tomorrow, at noon, outside the main gate.”

“Yes, lord archon.”

“Lord archon,” said one of the councillors, as they left the gate house, “do we have permission to cheer and whistle now?”

“Yes,” said Adares. “Yes, by all means.”

He was borne along towards the waiting horses on the wave of his companions’ joy and relief. Then he made it halfway through the ride back to the palace by thinking carefully about the sacrifice. It was not a sacrifice of thanksgiving that he had in mind, but one of propitiation—in case the blood that the gods had already received should not be enough.

From the sound of it, the Luth had been profaning their own stupid bull ceremonies for years. Adares was no expert on the gods, but he couldn’t imagine how they could hold what Rus had done against him. But that he had really fought to lose, which he might himself have felt to be a profanation, Adares did not doubt. He would make a sacrifice—a very proper one, the kind of thing Rus would have approved of. He made it through the rest of the journey by trying not to think at all. He threw back his cloak to get rain on his face, so that if he started to cry before he was alone, no one would be able to tell.

He managed to get inside, and through the front hall crowded with revellers, without breaking into a run. He remembered in time that his suite would be locked, and it would take time to send a slave for the key. The sliding doors to the library were unlocked, the room beyond dark and empty. He sank down with his back to a shuttered bookcase, hiding his face in his hands.

He thought of Rus alive, remembering how he had thought of him in the warm comfort of wine at dinner, when what he imagined had already become impossible. He saw him in his mind dead, blood in his fair hair, his beautiful blue and white skin torn by the bull’s horns.

He would not have thrown away his life; if he had done it, it must have been necessary. But necessary for whom? Necessary for Tios, which Rus had only cared about because of Adares. He had said as much himself. He had died heroically, but if he had never met Adares, he would still be alive. Adares curled over his bent knees and sobbed.

It was like the plot of some insufferable tragedy. Maybe he had been fated to kill Rus on the battlefield, but because he hadn’t, all this had happened, and now Rus was dead after all. The will of the gods was implacable.

Well, no. It wasn’t like that. That was ridiculous. Those three days in the storeroom of the temple of Soukos had happened, and they had mattered. They mattered still, even if he was the only one left alive who knew it.

He couldn’t risk telling anyone what he’d lost. He had already spread around the story that a Luth had spared his life on the battlefield, taken refuge with him in the temple complex afterward, and helped him reconnoitre with the Daine. He had let that much information out when he imagined that there might still be a way for Rus to join him in Tios, everyone would find out that they had become lovers, and it would be the romantic sensation of the decade. He thought of that now, and it felt like a knife twisting in his belly. He couldn’t let anyone find out, now. The story would get back to the Luth, if there was going to be an alliance, and it would be too easy to figure out who the archon’s lover had been. Rus’s memory would be dishonoured. Adares owed him better than that.

He found a dry corner of his tunic and mopped his face clumsily with it. He thought of the statue of Anaxe to which he had offered Rus’s kilt pin, and he remembered what he had asked of her: only that Rus should go back to his own people alive. That much had been granted, true enough. What he should do, after that, with the life that had been begged from the goddess for him—that had not been part of the prayer. At least there had been those three days.

He went back out into the party, sodden cloak draped over his arm. He met Kleisios in the hallway, coming from somewhere—possibly looking for him.

“Are you all right, sir?” the old soldier asked, concerned but not prying.

Adares drew a shaky breath and let it out somewhat more smoothly. “I think I will be all right,” he said. He had to be; he owed it to Rus.

Kleisios smiled. “If you need anything … ” He let the offer hang in the air for a moment, compassionately, and went on. “I’ve told the others not to start trumpeting the news around. I thought it would be best. Everyone has been drinking—we don’t want riots. I figure, if we keep things quiet, try to pack them off to bed soon, we can let the good news filter in tomorrow morning, and things will stay under control.”

“Good man,” said Adares feelingly. “Thank you for thinking of that.”

“No trouble. If you’ll listen to another thought of mine—perhaps you ought to pack yourself off to bed too. You look like you need rest.”

“Yes,” said Adares. “I suppose I do.”

He did not sleep, that he was aware of, though he did have the sense to take off his wet clothes and lie down. Once it was light enough to rise, he got up and splashed cold water on his face. He looked at a rivulet of water running down over the back of his hand, washing away a little more of the faint, curling snake, and he dashed the whole basin to the floor with a tremendous clang, splashing water over the tiles. He dressed hastily and went out, unshaven and unattended, mumbling something incoherent at the slaves who followed him puzzledly to the door.

The old Getti woman that he found, working in a smoky little shop just inside the city gates, looked at the design on his hand in surprise.

“That’s a coiled serpent. The Luth and the Hurs and some of the other tribes all use it. It’s the mark of a headman.”

That was how the Luth emissary had known who he was. Rus had marked him as a leader of men, without telling him what he had done. The old woman’s daughter, a striking blonde girl who stood in the shadows inside the shop, looked at Adares with embarrassment.

“Mother, he’s archon of the city. You ought to know that.”

Adares smiled at her, though it must have looked half-hearted. She blushed. He looked away, feeling raw with grief. Afterwards he was grateful, in a strange way, that there was a certain amount of pain, and even a little blood involved. He paid the old woman and returned to the palace with barely enough time to make himself presentable to meet Gunthanaruth.