The Triumphant (The Valiant #3)(64)

“What are we but savages, Darius, without the conventions of commerce?” Charon grinned. “Of course, had you said no . . .”

“Right . . .” Darius looked at him sideways. “And where, exactly, was it you said you were bound for?”

“I didn’t.” Charon turned to Cleopatra with a deferential nod. “Your Highness?”

The queen stepped forward and pushed the deep cowl of the homespun cloak off her face. “Alexandria, Master Darius,” she said, smiling sweetly as he went pale as milk and looked as though he might collapse to the deck. “In Aegypt. My home.”





XVII


SOMETHING WAS WRONG.

I could tell by the way Charon was clutching at the rigging rope, white-knuckled, and leaning heavily on the rail. It was just over a week since we’d set out on our sea journey, and the morning had dawned bright and clear. The Mare Nostrum that day was almost without any chop, the water as smooth as any sailor could ask for. But Charon looked as if he was having a hard time standing upright. I’d never seen him without sea legs on the water, and I almost made a joke about it—about him finally succumbing to seasickness—but when I approached, I was struck by the pallor of his skin. And then I saw that his left arm was hidden beneath his cloak, and I could tell by the way the fabric draped that he had it wrapped around his torso. When I looked at the deck beneath his feet, I saw the drops of blood spattering the wood beside his boot.

“Charon . . .” I said. “Your arrow wound—”

“It’s nothing.” He glanced at me.

“I’ll get Neferet—”

“No!”

He reached out to clutch at me as I turned to go find our physician. “I don’t want anyone else to know about this,” he said.

I looked at him through narrowed eyes, wondering what exactly he was trying to hide. “That’s what you said the night it happened. I kept quiet then, but . . .”

“All right.” He shook his head. “I don’t want Sorcha to know about this.” He let go of me and winced, putting a hand to his side again.

“I’m sorry, Charon,” I said with a sigh. “I never meant to drag you into this kind of situation.”

“Oh well.” He laughed a little. “It’s my own fault, really, for kidnapping you in the first place.”

I bit my lip. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

He shook his head. “No. No . . . it’s healing.”

I glanced down at the fresh blood spatters on the deck, then back up at him.

“For the most part,” he amended. “Slowly.” He scuffed at the stains with the toe of his boot, then he raised his gaze to mine, his dark eyes serious. “Fallon . . . promise me you won’t tell Sorcha.”

“Why Sorcha specifically?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow at him.

He grinned, but it was almost bashful. “I just don’t want her to worry.”

I may have gasped a little. “You and Sorcha—”

“Are in . . . conversation,” he said and cleared his throat, shrugging. “For the last few months now, really. And often late into the night. She is a balm on my battered slave trader’s heart.”

“Ye gods.” I snorted, rolling my eyes before he could wax romantic. “And it’s all my fault.”

“It is that.” He laughed again, and this time it didn’t seem to pain him as much. “Don’t forget it was your sword—the one you helped me save from that sinking ship—that carved out this destiny for us both.” The laughter faded to a quiet smile. “Thank you.”

“Be good to her, Charon,” I said. “Something tells me she has needed you as much as you have needed her.”

He nodded. But then the smile disappeared from his face altogether, and he sighed. “I don’t deserve this,” he said. “I’m not . . . I’m not a good man, Fallon. And what I did to you—to so many people—was deplorable. Unforgivable.” A fleeting, troubled frown shadowed his brow and then was gone. “But if the truth of it were known, I would probably do most of it again, given a choice, because that is how I have lived my life and I have done well by it. So I won’t apologize, because an apology would be meaningless.”

I half unsheathed the sword he’d given me before we left the ludus. “What was this meant to be, then?” I asked.

He quirked an eyebrow at me, and his customary grin twitched back into place. “I am your patron, remember? Perhaps it was meant to be . . . an investment.”

“I’m not so sure it was a wise one, then,” I said, gesturing to the wide expanse of ocean all around us. “As I am, sadly, without an arena in which to display your generous patronage. And I doubt I’ll ever see the inside of one again.”

He shrugged. “You never know. Arenas come in all shapes and sizes. And as I said then: Your journey is not over, and you may yet find more use for your martial skills.” He sniffed and drew himself upright. “No, Fallon, that”—he gestured to the sword—“what that really is is a thank-you. You have given me the opportunity to become, if not a good man, maybe at least a better man before I die.”

He gripped my shoulder for a moment and then walked back toward the ship’s stern, proud and upright, as arrogant as ever. But maybe just a little bit humbled by experience. A little bit more human. I watched him go and then went to seek out Elka. There was something I needed to say to her that I’d been avoiding for days. Since we boarded, really.