Chapter 95
As Actor released his grip from Deucalion’s throat, Deucalion kicked his brother in the stomach, putting some distance between them. He tossed the blood-stained sword far away.
‘Why, Deucalion?’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t you want things to be easier?’
Actor gave a hollow laugh. Never having truly learned how to smile at the right times, his attempts always felt strange, as if a fleeting breeze had brushed across his gloomy face.
Deucalion scoffed at his brother’s wretched expression.
‘Live a little longer. Even if it’s uncomfortable.’
Actor spent a long time repeating those words to himself, as if he’d heard something deeply mysterious. Live a little longer. Even if it’s uncomfortable.
‘I’m not going to kill you with the sword you gave me. I’ll make you yield and kill you with my own spear, Actor.’
‘How ridiculous. Does it matter how the killing is done?’
‘You’re the favorite, so stop chasing after Father’s approval and just bide your time.’
‘…’
‘Maybe if you stay alive, you’ll find something good along the way.’
‘Aren’t we just going to kill or be killed anyway?’
‘Are we the only ones who die? All humans die eventually. But they still try to live their lives, don’t they?’
‘I don’t have anything good in my life, unlike you.’
‘Not my problem. Now pick up your sword and get lost, Actor Nikandros. And get that ‘proof’ erased from your arm.’
‘…Did you cut my arm so I’d have to get it healed?’
‘No, I cut you because you were strangling me.’
‘…Cal, soon enough, Pherenike will be taken from you and given to me.’
As if repaying him for the scar on his arm, Actor addressed his brother by his nickname, in the same awkward way he’d once carefully called his little brother’s name after the queen.
‘You’re a good person, Cal. Unlike me.’
‘…’
‘But you’ll always regret this day.’
‘…’
‘I’m worthless, and what you did was pointless.’
Deucalion never really regretted that day—not even when Pherenike ultimately became his half-brother’s fiance, nor when he was branded a traitor in the middle of Antehe, forced to look up at Actor standing high above him.
But when Pherenike spent her wedding night and left him; when those nine nights ended and she was gone from his side for good… Regret always comes too late. Had he stabbed Actor in the neck instead of his arm that day, everything might have turned out differently.
He tried to recall Actor Nikandros’s well-practiced smile, the same smile he wore while looking at Pherenike, filled with all that wretched happiness that mirrored his own.
They were the same. Both stagnant water, never flowing anywhere.
“Cal.”
Pherenike called to him sleepily as she lazily fanned the fire with a large leaf. He was resting his chin in his hand, watching her quietly.
“Nike, how did you manage to start the fire when I wasn’t here?”
“Pitiful, isn’t it? I trembled in anticipation, waiting for you to come back.”
In truth, she was perfectly capable of handling it herself. When they were ten, Deucalion had personally shown her how to light a fire and gather wood, knowing she’d be left alone in the cave.
Tiring of fanning, Pherenike tossed the leaf into the flames. The wide leaf covered the fire, smothering it a bit, but she seemed indifferent. She was simply teasing him, in her own small way.
Deucalion nonchalantly reached into the fire and pulled out the leaf she’d tossed in. It wasn’t even a dry leaf, and the flames hadn’t really caught. Still, Pherenike clapped her hands briefly, as if she was a young girl watching a servant perform a trick. Deucalion’s mouth twitched.
“Noble Kybellaune. Wherever you go, you act like you’ve got a servant to tend your hearth.”
“Well, I do. There’s always someone. Even here.”
“Impudent thing.”
“How tiresome. It’s not even that cold here.”
“Then why were you shivering so much before?”
“Because you, feeling sorry and apologetic, cried and threw me into the water—and then took me.”
With her usual calmness, Pherenike brought up their past lovemaking again. Deucalion’s throat flushed a little red.
“At first, you were the one—no, never mind.”
“Of course I dirtied you first, Deucalion.”
“Why are you so shameless?”
“Because you get embarrassed.”
“…”
“Oh, and every time you blush like a child, I just want to dirty you even more.”
She teased him without so much as a change in expression. Deucalion sighed wearily, the heat in his face just barely visible beneath his silver hair.
“…Annoying as it is, keep the fire going. I put some wood over there for you. Nights are cold.”
“If you’re here, I don’t need a fire to stay warm.”
“What about when I’m not here, Nike?”
When you’re not here… Pherenike propped her chin on her knees and looked at him.
“When I’m here, it still feels like I’m with you, even if you’re not.”
“…”
“It’s not quite the same as the real thing, though.”
Still looking down, he quietly raised his eyes to meet hers.
“That’s why, here, the nights never seemed so cold. I always thought you might show up in the morning, so I actually looked forward to sleeping.”
“You sure slept well on a cold floor.”
“That’s because I always had good dreams here.”
“…”
“I always dream of you, Deucalion.”
Pherenike said it simply, not as some secret confession, but as a plain truth.
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