Galen pulled a shell necklace out from under his cuirass then took a seat next to Styxx so that he could hand it to him. "She and my granddaughter sent this. They are all well and can't wait to see my grizzled face again. What of your family?"
"All well," Styxx guessed. Yet honestly, he didn't know for sure. No one, not even his father, had contacted him. He assumed if Didymos had been invaded or something had befallen them, his family would have sent word.
But day after day, when messages came for him they were from other military commanders and kings, and had to do with the war, not with wishes for his health. Though to be honest, he liked to think that Bethany, in spite of her blindness, would have sent things to him had she known his real name. For all he knew, she'd tried numerous times.
At least that was he hoped and pretended.
Not wanting to contemplate his fear that she'd found another man in his absence, Styxx jerked his chin toward the table where his maps were spread out. "I was reviewing our progress. We should hit the mainland shore of Atlantis in four days."
"I heard from the messenger earlier that the boats are being prepped. Our men are eager to dance in Apollymi's hall on capital hill."
Over the last months, they had conquered six of the outlying islands and held them until more Greek forces had been sent to occupy them while Styxx marched toward the Atlantean capital. He was the only one who'd had any kind of success against their stronger enemy. From what they heard through messengers, the rest of the Greek forces were being obliterated by their enemies at home.
But if Styxx and his army could make the Atlantean capital and breach the palace there, they would win this war in spite of the losses the other armies had taken. He couldn't wait for it.
"Have you ever been to the Atlantean capital, Highness?"
Styxx tried not to think about the last time he'd seen his brother and the hurtful things they had both said to each other. "I have."
"Is it as advanced as they say?"
Another thing he'd rather not have diverting his attention. "It is."
Galen met his gaze over the map. "Do you really think we can win this, Highness?"
"Yes, I do." And Styxx fully intended to ram his retribution down a number of aristocratic Atlantean throats.
Both for him and for Acheron.
August 10, 9530 BC
Bethany pulled back to watch the Stygian Omada break through another line of Atlantean defenses in spite of her people's superlative abilities. While her brethren were winning the fight on Greek soil and annihilating their royal houses, Styxx was kicking the crap out of them at home.
How was it even possible? It was as if he could read their minds. Every tactic they used, he headed off with a skill that went far beyond his age. Over and over, he used maneuvers the likes of which none of them had seen before. Somehow he'd shorn up every weakness of Greek warfare her people had always relied on to ensure victory.
The bastard was invincible.
And over the last few battles, as she'd watched him overcome incredible odds and emerge victorious when he should have been put in his grave, she'd had a realization about his true identity.
It was the only thing that made sense.
How ironic really. The very child Archon had torn their kingdom apart to find had come marching home with a Greek army in his wake....
Styxx of Didymos was Apollymi's hidden son. She'd stake her life on it.
Wheeling her horse about, Bethany flew away from the battle where Styxx was busy driving the Atlanteans back, and went into the realm that her great-grandfather had ruled until the other gods had joined forces to make it Apollymi's prison.
At least until Apostolos was dead.
Dark and dismal, Kalosis was not anyone's idea of a vacation destination. Unless they were truly into terrifying death motifs. Ironically, this was where Bethany had spent most of her childhood, and one of her favorite places.
Which said much about her personality.
Bethany ignored the Charonte demons who watched her suspiciously as she made her way to the dark palace in the center of the hell realm. Barely dressed, the Charonte were a dangerous demonic race whose skin was made up of swirling colors-usually only two, but occasionally more. They had wings that matched the color of their horns and their eyes were always creepy.
"Where is Apollymi?" she asked the blue male demon closest to her.
"In the back courtyard," he said in their unique singsongy accent.