Chapter 1
EVAN
The first corpse he had ever seen was his father.
He was a third born. His father, the king of Locris and the son of kings. His father had always seemed far too tall and just out of reach for him. He could never hope to live up to his father’s wishes. He would never even have to. That is what first born sons were for.
Their kingdom was grand with flat rolling plains as far as he could see from the palace. That is how he grew up, staring out of windows, reaching for clouds, hoping to grasp the gods themselves.
Beyond that, there is not much else he remembered about his childhood. A few carved wooden toys, walks in the palace grounds, teachers hurrying after him, treating him better than his father ever had.
His father and brothers looked at him as a disappointment, for reasons he could never name. Perhaps they always seemed to be looking down at him because of how tall they were. The distance between them seemed like the path to Olympus. His older brothers were young men already when he was born. After two sons, another was just a burden.
He had never felt loved by his father, not in the way his brothers were. Both tall, with broad shoulders, built like strong bulls with fair hair that lit up like gold under the sun’s domain. Evan shared their appearances, even as an infant. Their strength and skill. There had been no denying he was his father’s son. He would have made a fine ruler had he been in line for the throne.
It never bothered him, the fact that he would never sit on his father’s throne, never command his kingdom. At least when he was a child, problems like these did not occur to him. Though he knew he could not live in his father’s palace for long. He would have to marry, perhaps leave and try to capture a kingdom of his own. There, living at the mercy of his brothers, he would not survive.
Evan had known for as long as he had been alive, that he was more trouble than he was worth. It had been made abundantly clear to him.
He had been five when his father died. Now, Evan cannot remember how he used to look. He had a vague memory, shrouded in mist, of a tall man looking down at him in disappointment. Nothing more.
He remembered the cries of his mother’s handmaidens, the guards, the commotion inside the palace as the servants screamed and cried. They were far louder than the wife of the king. Evan’s mother did not cry. She did not shed tears, nor did she wail like her women.
She had known her husband's time was coming. Or rather, she had made sure of it.
Evan had been far too young and far too afraid to wonder why his mother did not seem that affected. Why she stood at the foot of their bed, staring at his father’s corpse with indifference, something like accomplishment.
Though, in their lands, the son is named after the father and carries the father’s name with him for the rest of his life, Evan had always thought he was too much like his mother. That is why, after he was chased out of their kingdom, after he had left his family and land behind, he did not name himself the son of his father. That man, he had barely known. He could not remember the color of his father’s eyes, if his smile had been warm, if he laughed, if he ever even held Evan.
Why should he use the name of a man he had never known?
Son of Rose, he called himself. After his mother.
His oldest brother became the king. It was a quick affair, grand but fast. There were no more tears shed after that afternoon. His brother sat on the throne like he had been molded for it, perhaps he had been.
His first business was the funeral of their father.
Evan was not allowed to attend.
He supposed it started there, that very clear divide between him and his brothers. They were older, men already. He was but a child, with bony arms and legs. Nothing like them yet. And why should the kingdom care about him when they had a new king and another in case the first died?
The first death Evan had seen was his father. He had not seen him gasping for air, begging his wife for help. He had not seen his father clutching his neck in desperation, his skin turning violently red and purple. He had not seen his father collapse onto the floor, nor had he seen the light leaving his eyes. He had not seen his mother drag his father’s twitching body to their bed. He had not heard his last spoken word, a plea for forgiveness. He had not seen his father go still.
But he had seen the aftermath of it.
They told him death was natural. His mother pulled him aside after the funeral. She was the one who told him about the gods. If all went well and if his father had been a good man in his life, he would have an eternity of pleasure in their underworld, in the kingdom of Hades. She called it the land beyond the mortal world, at the periphery of all that was known to them.
Evan remembered asking if he could sail to the Underworld and bring his father back.
He remembered his mother laughing slightly, pulling him close. “You do not have to. He is gone. He cannot hurt us”
Evan did not remember his father hurting him. But he must have hurt his mother. And for that sole reason, he did not believe his father would reach Elysium.
The funeral was a sordid affair. Evan had watched the processions from windows, like he watched the rest of the world. Always on the periphery. Like the Underworld.
His oldest brother ruled fairly, better than his father, from what Evan heard. He stood tall and sat comfortably on the throne. He was just and intelligent. Perhaps that is why his mother seemed so happy at his father’s death.
The only clear memory Evan had other than staring out at his father’s funeral, was that of his mother. They were by the sea. Now, it sounds fictional, even to him. Their kingdom was surrounded by land, the only water that reached them were rivers. But in his memory, Evan was standing, his toes buried in sand as he stared out at sea. The sun was hitting his face. He raised his hand to shield his eyes.
He remembered looking back, at his mother, who stood a few paces behind him.
For reasons unknown to him, he felt like Orpheus in the moment. Like he was not meant to be looking back at her. He should have been staring into the future. Now she would be gone, snatched from him by the cold claws of Thanatos.
The irrational anxiety made his heart race. He waited for her to fade, to be dragged away, to collapse and join his father in the Underworld.
None of the sort happened. She smiled. Evan remembered her smile. Soft and pink like the rose bushes that surrounded their palace. Their palace. In a perfect world, it would be their palace. Evan would rule, his mother by his side. He did not need anyone else.
Or he could let her rule and stand by her. He had never had any qualms about staying on the sidelines. He had endured most of his childhood like that. He had a feeling he would live out the rest of his life that way. He did not mind.
Evan stood in a field, far from the palace. He had come to think of it as “the palace” no longer his. His brothers had made that clear to him.
He was not welcome. He was not one of them. He was the Prince. Second in line to the crown, but they did not see him as that. He was competition. And his brothers did not like that.
In their land, youngest sons sometimes killed their fathers and brothers, all for a taste of power. They were punished by the gods, of course. But that did not stop them from trying. They rose to their thrones, bloodied and bruised, hands covered in unfathomable amount of crimson.
Evan did not want the throne. His brothers did not understand. Everyone wanted the throne. His oldest brother had to deal with uprisers and strike down any competition to the throne daily. If the situation came to it, Evan had no doubt his brothers would try to kill each other.
They were civil, but only for the moment.
He was ten when it happened. When he could feel the life he’d been born into slip right through his fingers. Evan did not care for it anyway. He did not mind.
There are few days he remembers with the clarity of that one. The unnatural stillness in spring, like the world itself was holding its breath, waiting, watching, looking at him . The palace grounds were lit with colors, flowers and trees, all in bloom.
The very earth seemed joyous, but then again, everything seemed joyous to Evan when he was a child. His mother was inside the palace, humming as she weaved. She liked doing the arts for reasons Evan could never find an answer to. She had handmaidens by the dozen, and yet she chose solitude and art. Evan had never been good with solitude even if he had to grow up in it.
The rest of the children of the noblemen laughed and ran outside in the fields of grass. They played games only they could understand. Sometimes Evan liked to sit and watch them. He never agreed when they asked him to play. Better to cement his place as an outsider, an onlooker than pretend to be friends even if it was just for a game.
He rolled the pair of dice in his hands. They were smooth ivory, set with onyx, a gift from one of the visiting kings. They seemed far too small in the mound of treasure he offered Evan’s brother. Drowning among the gold and bronze. Evan was used to noticing things others did not, The dice had caught his eye immediately.
He didn’t wait or ask permission before he had them in his hands. It was for the best if his brothers never even knew he had them. They had started to follow his movements like hawks. Evan could tell they were hungry for an excuse to send him away, to never look at his face again.
His only solace was his mother who stood between his brothers’ cruelty and him. Everytime they became too much, everytime they acted like their father, she would remind them of it. She stood between them like the shield of a hero, steadfast and unyielding. Evan had never been protected by anyone like her before, nor after.
The weather was turning warmer, but the cool breeze still made him shiver. The fields smelled sweet and fresh, like Persephone herself was running through the grass with him.
He hadn’t realized how much further he’d wandered away from the palace until he found himself alone.
He did not mind it.
He rolled the dice in his hands and let them scatter on the ground. He would think of different games he could play with them, all alone of course. He crouched to the earth, scooping the dice in his soft young hands. He let them fall again, and again, and again. He could spend hours like that. Lost in his own world. One where everyone was as kind as his mother.
That is why he did not like it when he was pushed ahead.
Evan stumbled, catching himself on his hands and knees, like a dog or a beggar or a devotee at an altar. At different points in his life, he’d been all three.
The boy who had pushed him laughed like Evan’s pain brought him joy. Evan did not recognize him, but he seemed to recognize Evan. Though his royal blood seemed to offer him no special treatment.
The longer Evan glowered at him, the more familiar his features seemed. His name, Evan could not quite recall, something long and boring like his father who was often at the palace. A nobleman’s son.
“Give them to me,” He said, staring at the dice hungrily.
He was bigger, older, meaner. Already, he was climbing into adulthood. His limbs were longer than Evan’s, his skin poked with red marks and his mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. When he spoke, his voice was scratchy, like rocks upon rocks, sand on a beach. Evan did not like it. Evan did not like him.
“No”
Evan snatched his dice away, tucked him into his fist.
“I want to see them,” The boy demanded.
“They’re mine” Evan stumbled backward. Was this really what he had come to? A prince the nobles could threaten? Bully? Demand things from? Was his blood of no use anymore? Was his claim to the throne but fiction?
Evan did not think of himself a fighter. He liked reading. He liked long leisurely days. He liked the sun on his skin as he played outside. He could also grow from a timid animal to a beast. He had started to learn how to fight with swords and spears, and how to string a bow. He’d rip the boy apart if he stepped any closer.
Evan was no stranger to screams and yells, having to fight for every day at his home.
The boy stepped closer.
Evan shoved him.
He did not stumble very much. That boiled Evan’s blood even more. Knowing he was about to lose this fight. Knowing he was about to be reduced to a joke. Knowing that even one of the last few things he owned was about to be taken from him.
Evan did not like to think of himself as a rabid beast. Perhaps when it was necessary. That is when his anger shone through. But it was steady, like a thunderstorm that grew at the edges of the sky and rolled over their kingdom. The storm that grew violent at midnight, made the children pray to the king of the gods for mercy.
“Hey!” The boy was angry. All Evan had done was make him angry.
He was no beast.
He was cowardly prey.
He could run now and prove he was quite stupid, that he was a forgotten son of a forgotten father. He could run, but he would not be able to hide from the reality of life much longer.
Evan took three steps back.
The boy smiled cruelly. “Coward”
“I am not a coward”
“Your brothers think so” The boy said, assured in himself. “They told my father so”
“Liar!”
Evan knew it was not a lie.
That is what his brothers thought of him. A coward. A child. A burden. But underneath it all… fear. For what he might become, for how he might rise to the throne anyway. For how Evan might drive a knife through their skulls and claim the crown for himself.
If his brothers could fear him, so could this nobleman’s son.
“I am not a liar” The boy laughed. He seemed to be under the notion that he was in charge. That he had all the power over Evan. He was bigger. He was stronger. He was meaner. He took what he wanted. Like the dice in Evan’s hands.
The dice he would not let anyone take from him.
Evan dropped them to the ground, distracting the boy briefly. He looked down like he could not believe Evan had given up so easily.
Evan planted his hands on the boy’s chest and pushed. It wasn’t very hard. It should not have hurt. It should only have made him confused for a moment, given Evan some time to run away or kick him or something of the sort.
Childishly, Evan remembered thinking he should run to his mother. She would protect him. He knew she would.
Their kingdom was grand and stretched far. It was rolling flat plains as far as Evan could see. The fall should not have hurt.
He was making excuses. It was also a land of rocks.
Evan had wanted to kill him, he understood as it happened. He had meant for it to happen the way it did. The way he tried to flail around, looking for something to hold him upright. The way the boy’s head hit against the gray stone, the dull thud it made. The shock in his eyes. The way his eyes never moved after that.
His blood watered the ground next to his head like the beginning of a stream.
Evan stared. Not in horror at what he had done, but in mild curiosity. He had killed a man. A boy.
He had killed.
But all that seemed irrelevant against the fact that Evan had never seen death happen in front of his eyes. His father had been long dead before Evan had seen his corpse.
Evan stepped forward, the blood spread and almost touched his toes. It was like a sea of red, Poseidon's domain. And Evan stood at the edge of it.
The boy himself was dead almost as soon as his head hit the ground. His bulging eyes stared back at Evan and his mouth was open in an expression of shock. He had made some sort of strangling noise, perhaps the last bit of breath from his lungs escaping.
Evan remembered that day in every breath he took. He carried that day in his memories, all his life. He counted the moments, he counted his own breaths. Just staring at the dead boy at his feet.
The blood reached his toes. It was hot and sticky. Evan had not known what to expect.
He had seen the death of bulls and goats. The floundering fishes that struggled without water. He had seen animal sacrifices. But never a human. He supposed the two weren’t so different after all.
The boy had groaned just like the bulls. He looked just as spooked as the goats. He had flailed around just like a fish.
Evan scooped up his dice before the blood could reach them.
That is how they found him. Standing over the dead boy, his feet stained red, eyes glued to the dead ones staring back at him. He rolled the dice in hand.
Mine. He wanted to say. These are mine.
Evan was summoned to the king. He could feel dread filling every crack of him. With every step, he grew heavier, his limbs refusing to listen to him.
His eyes were burned with the image of the boy, the shock in his eyes, his last moments.
Evan did not regret it. Perhaps he should have. Perhaps there was something wrong with him. Something sick and twisted inside him. Something his brother now saw.
The king stared down at him angrily.
Evan knelt on the stone. Some kings chose to have rugs there, for messengers who bowed and fell to their knees. For comfort, as a gesture of gratitude. Evan’s brother did not.
His lips were pulled back in an ugly expression. He had a handsome face, straight, light teeth, short, fair hair like Evan, but his mouth always dipped in a disgusting scowl. As if just looking at Evan made bile rise in his throat.
The king gestured and the servants carried Evan inside.
The boy’s family demanded immediate exile. He had been their eldest son. There was a certain amount of violence the people did not mind, a certain amount of power the king utilized even over the noblemen. But you did not touch the oldest sons.
There were rules to existing in their times. Rules that the kings clung to in desperate hope that the kingdom they scrambled to protect and rule over did not turn against them.
For an offence like this, the punishment may have been worse had Evan’s mother not intervened.
Exile was the best she could grant him. She spoke sweet words into his brother’s ears, trying to convince him. Evan had always thought of her as cunning, far too smart to be the forgotten queen of an already forgotten king. She should be on the throne, a just and smart ruler.
She gave him as much mercy as she could offer.
It was her that scrubbed the blood off his feet, that wrapped him in blankets and spoke soft words against his temple. It was her that stood in front of him as the punishment was awarded. It was her that looked the boy’s family in the eye.
The king might have chosen death for Evan if it weren’t for her. That and the fact that a royal funeral would have cost his brother more.
It was easy to exile him, as they had been planning for years. Evan had handed the opportunity to them on a golden platter. His brothers looked giddy and drunken on their success at driving him out. Now that only left them with each other. Evan feared how that would resolve. But that was no longer his concern.
The palace was no longer his concern. The kingdom was no longer his concern. His home was no longer his home. And his mother was no longer his mother.
That is how Evan found himself ten and an orphan, exiled to another man’s kingdom to be reared by another king into adulthood in exchange for his weight in gold. Evan was small and young. His weight in gold was not much for his brothers.
His last memory of his home, of his kingdom was his mother. She stood silent and tall, but he saw tears in her eyes. Beside her, his brothers grinned, smiles against the sun.