My Spartan Hellion (20 page)

“I apologise. He’s—”

“Adonis,” Ulysseus finished for Thanos, since they both knew how the young soldier could be. One dawn, Adonis would grow and mature to become a great king and general, but there was a daring about him that sometimes worried Ulysseus. He’d trained the boy into a man, had watched him grow under his and Thanos’ tutelage, so he knew Adonis’ skills were impressive, but Adonis was a risk-taker, sometimes forsaking his training and acting on instincts alone. Thus far, his gambles had paid off, but Ulysseus knew the dawn would come when Adonis would act on impulse, without thinking first, and he worried about the price the young man would have to pay for his hasty actions.

“I know you did not come here to talk about Sparta’s resident charm-wielder.”

Despite his sour mood, he could not help but grin at Thanos’ very accurate description of Adonis, and he twisted around to face his brother.

“No. I think I’ve had enough of Adonis for one dawn.”

An almost helpless breath rose out of him as Ulysseus raked a hand through his hair. He didn’t even know where to begin. It was hard to admit the failures of his relationship with his wife to anyone, even Thanos. Most men in Sparta wouldn’t have even bothered, but he didn’t always think and act like most Spartan men, and that was what made him different, what set him apart, which was something Basha didn’t seem to realise…or she just didn’t care. He hoped it was the former, but of late he couldn’t be so sure. Basha had done everything in her power to push him away, and, had he been like most Spartan men, he would have taken a lover and ignored the deep-seated problems in his marriage, but he couldn’t do that. He loved her too much.

“Basha wants to take a lover—that much I caught when you stormed in here.”

Ulysseus gave his brother a weak smile, grateful that Thanos had broached the subject, since he couldn’t seem to, now that his anger had waned some.

“She thinks it will solve everything. Actually, she wants us both to take lovers, but she does not realise doing so will solve nothing.”

Thanos nodded. “I could imagine how that would make you feel. Most men would prefer not to know if the child their wife bears isn’t actually theirs.”

Most men wouldn’t, but that was not what troubled him. “You and Lamia have recently adopted your
helot
Armine, no?”

“Yes,” Thanos answered with a puzzled frown.

Ulysseus nodded, gesturing for him to hear him out. “I know it takes time to develop a bond with a child you’ve adopted, but, even in this short time, I see how you dote on her, how focused you are on her instruction. You care about that child.”

“Yes. She’s lived in my home for many
annos
, but, until Lamia came, I rarely saw her. Now that Lamia and I must prepare her for the
agoge
, I am with her quite often, and our bond has grown in a short time…but I do not see your point.”

“Let me ask you this,” Ulysseus continued. “Do you somehow feel less responsible for Armine because she is not the child of your loins? Do you think Lamia cares that she did not carry Armine inside her body and give birth to her?”

Ulysseus watched a myriad emotions cross Thanos’ face, and he knew his brother was sifting through his words.

“No. I care for Armine as if she were my flesh and blood, just as Lamia does.”

“How you feel about Armine is how I would feel about
any
child of Basha’s. She is my wife. I care not about whom the father is, because it would be the child of my wife, and that is all that matters.”

“But?”

He smiled at his brother, who, besides Basha, knew him better than anyone else. Of course he realised there was more. “I know Basha does not feel the same as I do. She hasn’t said it, and she won’t, but I know her far too well. She
hopes
she would conceive with a lover, but if she didn’t, and in turn I planted my seed inside another woman, it would destroy her. She doesn’t say it, because she doesn’t even want to think it, but if I were to have a child with another woman she would never forgive me.”

That was the truth of it…mostly. He’d never thought the dawn would come when he would believe his wife could ever be dishonest with him, but it had. He’d offered her many opportunities to tell him the truth, but she hadn’t, and that was also why he’d refused to entertain the notion of going outside of their union to conceive a child.

If he took a lover and they had a child, he would tell Basha, no matter how painful it was, no matter how much he knew it would hurt her. He would tell her the truth because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t, but he knew Basha did not share his sense of honour, at least not when it came to this. She would carry another man’s child and pass it off as his for as long as she could hide the truth, and that was unacceptable to him.

She was his wife, the other half of his very soul. They should have been able to share anything with each other, but they couldn’t, and that was why he refused to bring an innocent child into their union.

Their marriage was broken—splintering apart at the very seams. And Basha’s ‘solution’ would only add more tribulations to a union that already had far too many to contend with.

* * * *

Lamia knew as soon as she glimpsed the strained expression on Basha’s face that her sister within the law and Ulysseus had quarrelled. Yet, even if she hadn’t seen Basha’s face, Ulysseus barrelling out of the courtyard, nearly knocking her over with just a muffled apology, would have been her first clue.

She walked with hesitant steps towards the woman, who stood as still and frozen as a mountain of ice.

“I came here seeking advice about my own marriage, but I am wondering just how sound this advice will be, since I believe you might be a bit partial at the moment.”

A faint grin tugged at Basha’s lips as she shook her head. “I do not even want to laugh, much less smile, but thank you.”

“For what?” Lamia moved closer, only realising then that Basha had been crying, if her swollen eyes and red nose could serve as testament.

“For making me laugh.” Basha smiled. “I needed that.”

“Do you wish to talk about it?” she asked quietly, still reeling from her surprise that this woman, who seemed as impenetrable as the Spartan
phalanx,
could actually
cry—
that Basha wasn’t without her own weaknesses, her Achilles heel. She was human just like the rest of them, just as flawed and vulnerable as everyone else.

“Of course not. When does one ever want to admit they are not perfect?”

“None of us is perfect, Basha.”

Basha curled her lips into a bitter smile as she stared off at something behind Lamia’s head, and it was clear to Lamia that, wherever Basha’s thoughts were taking her, the journey was far, far away.

“I know that. I hear your words, but believing them is something else entirely.”

Basha’s gaze snapped to her face, as if she was coming out of a trance, and when she finally spoke, Lamia had to strain to hear, her words were so faint.

“I was the only child of the union between my parents, but like most Spartan men my father wanted a boy, had to have a boy. So I had to be better than everyone in everything in order to prove that my Egyptian half did not make me weak, just as being a girl did not make me less valuable as his child.”

Lamia moved towards Basha, not sure what she would do, but sensing that the woman needed comfort. She grasped Basha’s hand in hers, holding her gaze. “I am sure your father loved you.”

“In his own way.” Basha smiled, but it was hard and brittle, making Lamia wonder if she should even call it a smile.

“And in his own way he loved my mother, but he hurt her, most of it unknowingly. When they did not have a son, he looked for someone else who could. She’d left her homeland, everything she knew, and it killed her to watch him take lovers. He never managed to have another child, but it did not matter. My mother never forgave him, and deep down, I knew she hated him for what he did.”

Basha’s words crawled over her skin like an icy serpent, chilling Lamia where she stood. Her heart ached for Basha and a woman she would never know, but whose story could one day be hers. How could she hate Thanos for being who he was, for living according to how he was reared? But, like Basha’s mother, she knew she would.

Thanos’ actions suggested that he did not desire an open marriage, but what if they didn’t have children…or what if they had girls, but not a son? She had no doubt that his position would change, because in Sparta one
had
to have children and they
had
to be boys.

“I thought we were listening to your problems, but this sounds like a cautionary tale for me,” Lamia joked, although it was forced, as was her smile.

“I did not mean it to be—a cautionary tale for you, that is. Thanos is a good man, a far better man than my father,” Basha whispered, her beautiful eyes darkening with sadness.

“Same could be said for Ulysseus,” Lamia offered quietly, wondering if Basha had considered how lucky she was. Four
annos
was a long time to go without having a child. That Ulysseus hadn’t strayed rang true of his depth of character.

When Basha didn’t respond she realised that the woman was withdrawing from her. Lamia didn’t want to push her, knowing how hard it must have been for her to even reveal that she and Ulysseus had a problem.

“I realise this must be difficult for you,” she acknowledged gently.

Basha shook her head. “Talking is not what is difficult. Admitting that I am not perfect, well, that is a bit harder. But what is truly difficult is having to accept that I cannot be the woman my husband needs.”

Basha’s last words came out as little more than a tortured whisper, and Lamia’s heart broke for her and the pain she’d undoubtedly carried around inside for so long.

“That is not true. You are the woman Ulysseus both needs and wants. Ulysseus love—”

Basha’s eyes flashed. “Do not say he
loves
me,” she snapped, abruptly snatching her hand from her grasp, and just like that Basha’s walls fell into place. “You will soon learn, Lamia, that love has no place in Sparta. Ulysseus
cares
for me, but eventually he will leave once he realises I cannot give him the child he so desperately wants.”

Crossing her arms over her breasts, Lamia shook her head, because it was sad that Basha could not see the obvious—that her stubbornness, her need for perfection, her inability to heal from the wounds of her past had left her blind to the true needs of her husband. For, it was apparent to Lamia, Ulysseus wasn’t the one desperate to have a child—it was
her
.

She regarded Basha thoughtfully, carefully choosing her next words. “I saw Ulysseus walk out of here and he looked like a man who was hurting, a man who was in pain. The look in his eyes wasn’t one of a man who only cared for his wife, it was one of love. You cannot judge Ulysseus by the actions of your father—” Basha parted her lips to speak, but Lamia shook her head. She was not yet done.

“You must take him for whom he is, and open your eyes to the feelings he carries inside his heart for you. I have no doubt you could lose Ulysseus, but it will not be because you cannot have his child—it will be because you refuse to love him back.”

She didn’t realise she was shaking until she was done. Basha was a lucky woman to have a man, a Spartan man no less, who wore his love for her across his face. She thought fleetingly what it would feel like to have Thanos love her so deeply, but she refused to dwell on such a thought because it was one born of futility, one that would only lead to disappointment.

Basha claimed that Ulysseus only cared for her, but the woman was wrong. She needed to take a lesson from Thanos on the depth of caring, because he did it well. He was tender and considerate, kind and attentive…but he did not love her. Not that she needed his love, she told herself, because she didn’t, just as she was determined to ignore the feelings she’d begun to nurture for him. Thanos’ lack of trust and disregard for the promise he’d made to her was the reminder she’d needed, because over the passing dawns she’d lost her way, becoming distracted from her purpose.

For a moment, she’d allowed herself to forget that her destiny had been sealed the dawn Atallus had burned down her home and ripped her from Carthage. A few fortnights spent in Thanos’ arms, experiencing bliss, and she’d allowed herself to dream—allowed herself to hope that maybe she could lay her demons at his feet. That maybe she could find happiness with him in Sparta.

Yet such dreams were foolishness.

She could not allow herself to forget, not even for one moment, that Atallus was her destiny, and, when she’d dealt with him, she would return to Carthage and rebuild the ruins of her life…alone.

Chapter Fourteen

Thanos walked briskly towards his bedchamber, knowing that Lamia would be inside and hopefully in a better disposition than when they’d parted. It had been a long dawn for the both of them and he’d given her the space she’d needed after she’d returned from Basha’s.

Thoughts of Basha reminded him of his conversation with Ulysseus earlier. His brother and Basha had many problems to work through, but he knew they would sort their union out in due time. They cared far too much for one another not to, and he was starting to understand that feeling.

Lamia was too important to him to leave things as they were. She deserved an apology for his high-handed actions, and he would humble himself before her because she was worth the small slight to his pride.

His father, Icolos, had taught him that. And when it had come to his mother, Illythia, his father had never hesitated to set aside his pride—at times, even his own needs—to see to her happiness, for in turn she would always do the same for him. His parents had maintained a joyous single union for thirty-five
annos
until Icolos’ death
,
and Thanos reasoned that that was why he and his brother were somewhat different from most Spartan men when it came to how they demonstrated their affection for their wives.