The Young Miss-tocrat

She didn’t know what to do.

After Lydia’s uncle dismissed them from the study, her mother and Aunt Raisa took the five of them back to Raisa’s suite within the estate. The two Heroic women sat them down on lounging couches with large painted cups of spirit wine, sweet and warm and heavily spiced. They asked them, gently, to go over the events of the night again, in greater detail.

Heron, in contrast to when Uncle Damon had been asking, supplied most of the details. Castor and Rena added small details here and there, nursing their cups of wine. Myron didn’t say anything more than he had in the office, shrugging his mother off when she attempted to pry into the times he’d spent with Lio and the slave.

No. Not Lio.

Griffon.

Lydia’s mother did her best to coax answers out of Lydia. Anything at all, really. But she didn’t know what to say. So she didn’t say anything at all.

After the debrief came the consoling. Castor’s wrist required setting, though fortunately it was a clean injury. Their mother muttered furiously while she wrapped it, vowing that if Griffon hadn’t been so lucky in delivering such a fine break, she’d have hunted him down herself. Somehow, Lydia knew luck hadn’t had anything to do with it.

Lydia’s mother moved on to treating Rena’s swollen left eye as soon as the wrist was set. Meanwhile, her aunt was carefully prodding Myron’s right leg, her expression darkening every time he winced. Heron sat beside his little brother, on the same dining couch, a wet cloth pressed against the ugly bruise on his face. Every so often he spat blood into a jar on the floor. Griffon had knocked out two of his back teeth.

Of the five of them, only Lydia had escaped the encounter unscathed. She wasn’t even bruised.

Chryse and Raisa did their best to convince them that it wasn’t their fault as they worked. It quickly turned from assurance to ranting, though. Griffon’s actions were entirely his own, her mother assured her. They were only the natural result of a character that had been flawed from the start. Weakness of spirit made manifest. Heron agreed emphatically, and surprisingly Castor did too. Rena didn’t say anything, staring into her cup of spiced wine miserably.

Myron only scowled and shook his head each time his mother, aunt, and male cousins tried to convince him that Griffon had always been selfish. They said some things to Lydia as well. Lydia didn’t bother hearing them.

Their fathers joined them. Uncle Stavros was furious, of course, but his anger couldn’t compare to Lydia’s own father. Fotios Aetos was a man of powerful restraint, but in that moment he looked fit to kill a man. He stopped only briefly to cup Reina’s swollen cheek comfortingly, and to inspect Castor’s wrapped wrist, before kneeling in front of Lydia.

“He was a worthless boy from the moment he could walk,” Lydia’s father spoke fiercely, taking her hands in his and gripping them tight. “And now he’s a worthless man. The world can have him. I’ll find you a husband that’s better than him in every way, I promise you that.”

Her father pulled her into a tight embrace. Lydia didn’t feel the tears as they fell, but when the hug ended there were damp spots on his robes where her face had been pressed.

“Of course you can do it!” Griffon assured her, a hundred feet up the rock wall, clinging to the steepest face of the eastern mountain range. Only eight years old and already fearless. He held out a hand as if she could simply reach up and take it. His scarlet eyes were bright. “Where I go, you go. You’re going to be my wife, aren’t you?”

She didn’t want a better husband.

They gave up trying to comfort her after some time, moving on to their other children and nephews. When Heron sat beside her and tried to tell her that this might have been for the best, Lydia gave him such a poisonous glare that he didn’t say another word to her. When they left her aunt’s suite, Lydia returned to her own room without a word. They let her go.

She sat on her bed and stared at a small bronze mirror. Her reflection was empty, almost confused. How had it happened so quickly? Had he been acting the entire time? Since the Daylight Games? Since that slave had arrived? Or from the beginning.

Had Griffon ever cared for her? For any of them?

At some point the sun set and night fell. Castor and Rena brought her dinner and pulled up two dining couches next to her bed so they could eat with her. They picked at their food in silence after a handful of aborted attempts at conversation. Lydia didn’t touch the plate they’d brought. They left it there with her.

Later, in the middle of the night, the door to her room cracked open. A shadowed silhouette slid inside before shutting it silently behind them. Lydia was still awake, of course. She hadn’t even bothered trying to sleep, instead dragging a dining couch out onto her terrace and contemplating the heavens. She looked at her intruder, vitriol on the tip of her tongue.

Leave me alone.

The scathing comment escaped her when she was who it was. Myron limped quietly across her room, sitting beside her on the bench and leaning his shoulder against hers. For a while they sat there like that, just watching the stars.

Finally, he found his voice.

“I should have stopped him. I’m sorry.”

It was the most absurd thing he could have possibly said. He was the youngest of them all, and Lydia’s junior in cultivation besides. To say nothing of how he compared to Lio- to Griffon. For her youngest cousin to take personal responsibility for something all his elder cousins had failed to do was beyond all reason.

Lydia tried to tell him this, but all that came out was a choked sob. She found herself hunching over, burying her face in the crook between his shoulder and his neck, sobbing and sobbing. It hit her all at once, everything she’d been trying not to feel. The grief, the agony, and the betrayal.

Myron whispered soothingly to her all the while, forcing himself to stay strong for her sake. But his voice trembled with every word.

Niko arrived the next morning.

Myron jerked away at the creak of the opening door, falling entirely off her bed. They had both fallen asleep, thoroughly drained, just before dawn. Lydia looked blearily first at the newly risen sun, and then at her eldest cousin. There was some mirth in his eyes as he watched Myron just barely catch himself on all fours, but it was subdued.

He’d brought breakfast with him, three simply adorned platters balanced on his left hand, and a pitcher of fresh water in his right. He set it all wordlessly down on Lydia’s dining table and set down to eat. Lydia considered telling him to leave, or perhaps rolling over and going back to sleep, but Myron made the choice for her by stumbling to his feet and joining Niko at the low table. Lydia threw her sheets aside.

“I’m not hungry,” she said, just so he’d know.

“Neither am I,” Niko said, popping an olive into his mouth. He washed it down with a long pull of clear water.

Reluctantly, Lydia started to eat. The food was simple and filling. Niko spoke to them as they ate.

“Uncle Damon spoke to the elders last night,” he said, leaning an elbow on the table. There was a different air about him without his usual travel clothes. For the first time since he’d returned for his wedding, Nikolas Aetos wore the cult cloths of the Rosy Dawn. Specifically, he wore the predominantly scarlet style that Griffon had always worn. The attire of the Young Aristocrat.

“What did he decide to do with them?” Myron asked.

“Oh, nothing too severe.” Niko shrugged. “A few of them will be losing their seniority within the cult. One tried making excuses to the very end, apparently, so he’ll be getting a beating and some mandatory closed doors cultivation. As for Old Chersis, Uncle Damon decided the broken nose Lio gave him was enough punishment, and told him to let it heal naturally. You can imagine how pleased he was about that.”

Myron cracked a smile at the mental image, but it was a fleeting thing. Lydia picked methodically at a vine of grapes on her plate.

“Speculation is running rampant through the cult, unfortunately,” Niko continued, giving up the attempt at humor. “It’ll be that way for a while. They weren’t very subtle on their way out the door.”

Lydia drank deeply from her cup, hoping it would wash the sour taste out of her mouth. It didn’t. She tried eating a grape, but it only made it worse. She wondered if this was what a deviation felt like.

“I spoke to the others earlier this morning,” Niko said. “Rena is taking it hard. Castor is still a bit shocked, I think. An injury like that is always frightening for a sword artist, no matter how easy it heals. Heron is putting on a show and acting glad, but I can tell he’s struggling as well.”

“It’s not a show,” Myron muttered. He picked at a small block of cheese with his thumb, breaking it into crumbles. “He’s always hated Lio.”

Niko frowned. “You shouldn’t think that of your brother.”

“It’s the truth,” Lydia whispered. “Our parents, too - they couldn’t throw him to the wolves fast enough. Like they’d waited years for this moment.”

“That much is probably true,” Niko admitted. “But Heron is only taking cues from his parents. Don’t be too hard on him.”

Neither of them replied. Niko sighed.

“Uncle Stavros and Uncle Fotios told me the two of you were taking it the worst,” he said. “I know it’s still fresh, and it hurts, but you have to understand that this wasn’t your fault. If anything, the blame lies with me.”

Lydia remembered the look in Griffon’s eyes that night around the campfire, as she’d drifted off to sleep in his arms. How cold they’d been. She’d never seen him like that in her entire life. And she’d done nothing about it. Stupid. She was so stupid.

“I should have known that he was feeling the itch.” Niko ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “And I should have known better than to taunt him with stories of all the things he couldn’t have. Patience has never been his virtue, and I should have known that. I knew it before I left. I got too carried away reminiscing with all of you, and I pushed him over the edge.”

“It would have happened anyway,” Myron said, looking far too weary for his age. Lydia reached over and took his hand in hers, squeezing it. “Something happened to him after the initiation rites last year. Ever since then…” He shook his head and repeated, “It would have happened anyway.”

“Lio is-” Niko hesitated, considering his words. Finally, he decided to go through with them. “Lio is a wanderer. I’ve met his type, over the course of my travels. He was always a little thrill-seeker growing up. When I saw how subdued he was at the dock, I thought adulthood might have mellowed him out. But he’s still the same Lio. Always chasing new experiences, even at the expense of himself and the people he cares about. It’s who he is.

“Heron and Castor told me what he said to you, at the end. I want you both to know that he didn’t mean it.”

“Lio doesn’t lie,” Myron said at once.

Niko smiled faintly, bitterly. “He may not have lied, but he didn’t tell you the truth either.”

A fine sentiment, but it wouldn’t allow her to forget. She’d heard those words in her dreams.

I won’t suffer another day with you.

“Niko,” Lydia said, tracing a pattern in the wood of the table with her fingertips. “Could you tell us another story?”

“Of course,” he said quickly. “Any story you’d like. What did you have in mind?”

“Tell us about Olympia.”

His eager acquiescence vanished in a moment. Niko leaned back on his elbows, considering them both. “You really want to know? Right now?”

“Not knowing is worse,” Myron said. Lydia nodded in agreement. “What are they getting themselves into?”

Against his own instincts, Niko obliged them.

“Olympia is the cultural epicenter of the Hellenistic world. It’s the home of the Olympic Games, as you know, but even during off years it’s a melting pot of Greek civilizations. Its poorest districts are far beyond anything we have here in the Scarlet City.

“It’s known as the Half-Step City, or the Plateau, because it’s the second-most divine place in the world. Just short of Olympus itself. It’s where our world’s most powerful cultivators congregate, and it’s where champions are born.”

“But only Heros can compete in the Olympic Games, right?” Myron asked. The obvious question in his mind was something Lydia herself had been thinking about all night.

“That’s right,” Niko agreed, smiling wryly. “Lio may be exceptional for his age, but even he can’t pass as a Hero just yet. He won’t be competing this time around.”

“Then why go?” Myron pressed. “Just to see it happen? Lio’s never been a spectator. And why tell me in the first place?”

“It may have been a misdirection,” Niko suggested. “Something to throw any pursuers off their trail. He may not be headed there at all.”

“Griffon doesn’t lie,” Lydia said, echoing Myron. Both of them looked at her blankly.

“What did you call him?” Niko asked, confused.

“It’s…” Myron paused, glancing her way. “It’s what Sol calls him.”

“It’s the name he chose for himself,” Lydia quietly corrected her littlest cousin.

“I see.” Niko sighed, processing that, and moved on. “There are as many thing to do in Olympia as you could think of. They honor every holiday of every city-state, and more of their own making. It’s an old joke that the citizens of Olympia holiday as often as the rest of the world works. The revelries are constant, and business is exceedingly lucrative no matter the trade. It’s a city of abundance.”

“What are the people there like?” Myron asked. At this, Niko perked up despite himself.

“Incredible! By and large, anyway. I’ve met many good friends there, and even a couple of my current companions. It’s a nexus for cultivators of every kind, you see, but especially for those of great renown. It’s not at all rare to meet a Tyrant in the course of your daily errands. The city is teeming with outstanding people.”

He leaned across the table, nudging Myron slyly. “I met my Iphys there, too. People say there are as many fine marble beauties in the Half-Step City as there are stars in the sky.”

“I see,” Lydia whispered.

Niko winced.

“Not that any of them could hold a candle to my beautiful cousins,” he quickly amended.

“I don’t need your pity,” she said, unable to summon any real heat to the words. “Why wouldn’t he want a woman from such a fantastic place? I’m sure he’ll find someone there who can stand beside him.”

“Don’t say that!” Myron cried, slapping the table. Such was his passion that when it split down the middle he didn’t immediately apologize for the lapse in his control. “Lio cares about you. That’s not why he left, and that’s not what he’s looking for.”

Niko said nothing. The fact of the matter was, he’d been gone for too long. He didn’t know enough to say one way or another. Lydia scowled, glaring at her littlest cousin.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said sharply. The anger was slow to come, but when it did, it burned. She felt her eyes grow hot again, but she refused to cry. Not in front of Niko. “You’re too young. You’ve never experienced something like this before.”

“I don’t have to be old to see Olympus when it’s right in front of my face,” he shot back. “Lio made a mistake in the heat of the moment. He got impatient, that’s all! If we bring him back, I’m sure we can make him see reason!”

“Bring him back?” Lydia asked, incredulous. “How can we bring him back? He beat us like unruly children, all at the same time, and that was without the slave’s help! We’re too weak.”

“We can get stronger,” he insisted.

“You saw the difference between us,” Lydia said, her voice rising precipitously. “He isn’t going to be standing still while we rush to catch up!”

“So you just want to let him go?” Myron asked in disbelief. “But you love him.”

“Of course I love him.” The anger and passion fell away from her in an instant. Lydia shook her head softly. “But it doesn’t matter. Loving him isn’t enough. It never has been.”

“You’re both too pessimistic,” Niko said.

They looked sharply at him. He tilted his head, Heroic flames flickering behind thoughtful eyes.

“Catching up to him is far from impossible,” he explained to Lydia. Then, to Myron, “And you won’t be going after him alone.”

“Do you mean-?” Myron trailed off hopefully. The grinding sound of nails digging through wood alerted Lydia to the fact that she was gripping the table’s edge hard enough to carve furrows into its surface.

“Can the two of you keep a secret?” Niko asked in return, leaning in.

They nodded frantically.

“You can likely tell from what I’m wearing, but your fathers both demanded that Lio be abolished as heir to the Rosy Dawn as punishment for his actions. Uncle Damon agreed, and made me the Young Aristocrat in his place.

“I may not be as bad as Lio, but I’m certainly not ready to stay here for the rest of my life. My time abroad has spoiled me too much, and I still have too many things that I want to do before I settle down. Gods know my wife would be furious, and I just got her. So in the interest of killing many birds with one stone, and possibly even reclaiming my ship, I intend to track him down myself. If the two of you are up for it, I can bring you with me.”

“You’re telling the truth?” Lydia demanded, fearful that she would wake up at any moment.

“I am,” he said firmly. “It will take time, but I’ll find a way to convince our uncle to let me go. We’ll bring him home, kicking and screaming if need be, and make certain he does things in the proper order for once in his life. I know the boy that he used to be, and I saw a glimpse of the man he is today. He may have been troubled here, but he didn’t hate it, and he certainly doesn’t hate any of you. He’s at a turning point in his life and he needs guidance. Now more than ever.”

“When?” Myron asked, the only question that mattered. They both leaned forward, three heads huddled together over a broken table and three plates of forgotten scraps.

“Sooner than later,” Niko promised. “There are a few things I need to do if I’m to get Uncle Damon’s approval. They’ll take me some time, but that will give the two of you time to get up to speed for the outside world.”

“How much time?” Lydia demanded.

“Months at the most, weeks if we’re fortunate.” Niko poked her forehead. “Relax. We’ll find him.”

“Relax.” She grit her teeth. “He’s on his way to the most powerful city in the Mediterranean, we might not be able to follow him for months, and you’re telling me to relax? Forget months from now. I’m worried about him today.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Lydia’s eldest cousin chided her. “Lio is many things, not all of them good, but he’s always been resourceful. He knows how to conduct himself in a dangerous environment. And from what I’ve heard, his companion isn’t half bad himself.”

“You don’t know the new Lio,” Myron said, unable to help himself. “It might already be too late.” Niko rolled his eyes, standing up from the table and stretching. The light of a new dawn was bright on the horizon.

“It’s only been a day,” Niko said dismissively. “How much trouble could they have possibly gotten into?”