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I don’t question how he knows what Nikolaos’ will says, I’m just over the moon Marian will be revoked of the Drákon name.
“Areyouokay?”Gusasks, his hand lingering on my hip.
Shaking my head, I allow myself to lean against him. “No,” I croak, feeling this overwhelming sadness that’s threatening to tear me apart.
Tears spring to my eyes, the streams of grief trickle down my cheeks, distorting my view of the flames in front of us. Thoughts I’ve kept pushing away rush to the forefront of my mind, and I can’t get rid of them as I watch the pyre Nikolaos is resting on top of.
He’s covered in his white ceremonial clothing, and his hands are crossed over his chest, holding his favorite weapon. Two Drachmas rest on top of his eyelids, one on each—payment to Charon, the ferryman who transports souls across the river Styx.
Gus is fisting his bow so hard his knuckles are turning white. I don’t think before I put my hand on top of his, wordlessly trying to get him to ease up before he breaks the heirloom he got from his dad.
The bow is old and goes to the Leader. Since Nikolaos never got the chance to pass it on, Gus took it from his house so he had it for today. It’s ceremonial and used to start the funeral fire by shooting a burning arrow onto the pyre that’s drenched in gasoline. Although Gus is the best archer I know, it took him three tries to get it right, and I hated watching him struggle.
“Gus,” I whisper, as I feel his big body shake against mine. “Look at me.” He doesn’t move or say anything, remaining immobile while his eyes are locked onto the flames.
I sigh and take the bow from him and give it to Liam. Then I wrap my arms around my cousin and hold him, whispering soothing words that are broken by my own sobs. I completely ignore my dad and aunt, happy to pretend they don’t exist because, to me, they don’t. Even Liam is pushed to the background of my mind as I focus on Gus and our shared pain.
“We’ll get through this,” I say. I don’t know if I’m saying it for my cousin’s benefit or my own, but I have to believe the words.
Gus looks down at me, his blue eyes shine bright despite the dull lighting in the underground chamber. “Together!” How he can sound both resolute and heartbroken I’ll never know, but I take the one-word promise for what it is—a renewed vow.
Even though part of me wants to take him at face value, and wrap the hope stirring in my chest around me like a blanket, I can’t help feeling trepidation. We’ve made promises before, yet those weren’t enough for him to believe in us—in me.
Would Nikolaos still be alive if Gus and I had remained together? It’s one of the questions that unbidden keeps churning in my mind. I know better than most that life only comes with one guarantee, and that’s the promise that one day we will all die.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
As remarkable or unremarkable as one’s life might be, that’s still the only definite we have—the only assurance that can’t be ripped away.
Despite knowing all of that, I can’t help wondering if the course of our lives would have been altered if Gus hadn’t broken his vow. The journey of our lives isn’t a cautionary tale from any myth or legend. It’s as real as the sickly sweet stench that’s coming from the pyre—yet all the warnings within my beloved Greek mythology books come to mind, and I can’t shake them.
I don’t think Gus and I are responsible for Nikolaos’ death, not really. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel guilt pricking at my skin, slithering up my spine, making me shiver. I bury my head in Gus’ chest, letting the fabric of his toga absorb the liquid, salty evidence of my grief.
“He gave me a life, a purpose,” I sniffle. “He gave you back to me. I knew I could never repay him for that.”
Gus’ arms tighten around me as he bends down to capture my lips with his. He tastes of sorrow, of salt, and there’s a hint of ashen regret as well.
Pulling back, he looks into my eyes, holding my gaze. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admits. “There’s so much I need to tell you, and I don’t know where to begin.”
I nod because I get it. As much as I want to hate my cousin, I guess a part of me has always known it would take something monumental to get him to turn his back on me. His lips might be able to form lies, but his body isn’t, and I’ve felt the truth in his touch too many times to just shrug it off.
“At the beginning,” I sigh. “That’s always the best place to start.”
Gus averts his gaze, focusing on his dad’s burning body. “You might hate me once you learn everything I’ve kept from you,” he solemnly rasps.
Instead of giving him empty assurances and pretty lies, I agree. “I might.” Then I take his hand and place it on my heart. “Do you feel this? My heart won’t lie, it simply doesn’t know how to. It’s always steered me to you. You’re my heart’s true north, Gus. You need to stop running, stop hiding—no more leading me astray because you’re afraid of the outcome.” My voice cracks and fresh tears gather in my eyes.
Now that the dam is open, there’s no stopping the onslaught of water trickling—no, streaming—down my cheeks.
“Your dad died alone. We were there, physically, but not mentally. We were both busy fighting our own battles, our bodies trying to protect us. If he had been open and honest, there’s a good chance he wouldn’t have left the world like that. Of course, I can’t know for certain, maybe the truth wouldn’t have changed anything…” I stop talking and instead pull Gus down, fusing our lips together.
All my pretty words change nothing, and they’re nothing more than guesswork. Maybe I’m just so over the secrecy that I’m looking for any way to convince Gus to stop lying, to stop running. I guess it’s possible that no amount of honesty could change the outcome, and the harsh truth.
Someone wanted the Leaders dead.
While my mind immediately leapt to blaming Marian, I’m no longer so sure. Why weren’t Gus, Liam, Kai, and I killed? Even though someone laced their chalice, it wasn’t with the intention to kill.
Could my dad really have done that?
