It was all he'd ever truly wanted. A peaceful hearth, children to love, and a wife who loved him. Such simple things, really. Yet they had forever eluded his grasp.
Now, as a Dark-Hunter, such wishes were an impossibility.
Kyrian couldn't imagine the horror Julian must still feel every time he thought of his children. He doubted if any man had ever loved his children more than Julian had. Indeed, he remembered the time five-year-old Atolycus had replaced the horsehair in Julian's helm with feathers as a gift for his father before they rode out to battle.
Julian had been one of the most feared commanders of the Macedonian army, yet rather than hurt his son's feelings, he had proudly worn his son's gift in front of all his men.
No one had dared laugh. Not even Kyrian.
He cleared his throat and averted his gaze from Julian's. "I buried Callista and Atolycus in the orchard overlooking the sea where they used to play. Penelope's family took care of her, and I sent Iason's body back to his father."
"Thank you."
Kyrian nodded. "It was the least I could do. You were like a brother to me."
Julian gave a halfhearted laugh. "I guess that explains why you went out of your way to annoy me all the time."
"Someone had to. Even at twenty-three, you were too serious and stern."
"Unlike you."
Kyrian could only vaguely remember being the man Julian had known all those centuries before. He'd been carefree and battle-ready. Hot-blooded and pigheaded.
It was a wonder Julian hadn't killed him. The man's patience knew no limits.
"My glorious days of misspent youth," Kyrian said wistfully.
Looking at his shoulder, Kyrian spread the soothing salve over the burn. It stung, but he was used to physical pain, and he had suffered worse injuries than this tiny ache.
Julian leveled a probing stare at him. "The Romans took you because of me, didn't they?"
Kyrian paused at the remorse in Julian's eyes. Then he returned to spreading the ointment over the burn. "You were always too hard on yourself, Julian. It wasn't your fault. After you were gone, I went on a bloodthirsty crusade against their forces. I made my own destiny in that regard, and it had nothing to do with you."
"But had I been there, I could have kept them from taking you."
Kyrian snorted at that. "You were good at pulling me out of trouble, no doubt about it. But not even you could have saved me from myself. Had you been there, the Romans would have just had another Macedonian commander to crucify.
Trust me. You were much better off in that scroll than meeting the fate Scipio and Valerius had in mind for us."
Still, Kyrian saw his friend's guilt and he wished he could give Julian absolution.
"What happened?" Julian asked. "Historical accounts say Valerius captured you in battle. But I can't believe that. Not the way you fought."
"And history says you were killed by Scipio's assassins. Victors make their own versions of truth."
For the first time in centuries, Kyrian allowed his thoughts to turn to that fateful day in the past.
He clenched his teeth as a wave of rage and agony washed over him anew and he remembered all too well why he had banished those memories to the farthest corner of his mind. "You know, the Fates are treacherous bitches. I wasn't taken by Valerius, I was handed over, gift-wrapped."
Julian frowned. "How?"
"My little Clytemnestra. While you and I were out fighting the Romans, my wife was at home welcoming them into her bed."
Julian's face paled. "I can't believe Theone would do that to you after all you did for her."
"No good deed goes unpunished."
Julian scowled at the bitterness he heard in Kyrian's voice. This wasn't the same man he'd known in Macedonia. Kyrian of Thrace had always been fun-loving and lighthearted.