All thoughts of Spartans and war were swiftly removed from Praxis’ thoughts as he was confronted with the idea of mortality.
Not his own, but his mother’s.
He was so struck by the severity of his stepfather’s words that Damian had to repeat them.
“You might want to say your goodbyes now,” the king urged. “If you don’t do it now, you won’t get another chance.”
Praxis nodded solemnly and followed his stepfather into Doris’ room. Just earlier today, it had seemed like she might turn the corner, looking to be in better shape than the day before.
It was only now that Praxis realized it was a temporary gasp of fate. Doris’ condition had worsened over the day. A damp cloth now rested over her forehead. Her eyes were closed and her face was full of anguish.
“She can barely open her eyes,” Damian whispered quietly. “Otherwise, she’s burning up. She won’t last much longer at this pace.”
“Isn’t there anything we can do?” asked Praxis. “Surely there’s someone in the city that can help her. Some kind of doctor.”
Damian gave him an indignant look. “I have my own personal doctor attending her. She’s getting the best care we can afford. Sometimes, there is little we can do to stave off death, Praxis. It’s a fight we can only delay but never win.”
Hearing that fatal word caused a tear to descend from Praxis’ cheek. He looked over at his mother, only to find her surrounded by people. The doctor was there, as were two of his attendants. With them were also Ariston, Xanthos’ younger brother as well as Astara, who gave Praxis a concerned look as he approached them.
It wasn’t a surprise that Xanthos, Eulalia, or Melitta were absent. None of them cared a fig for Doris.
“We can give you a few moments alone if you like,” said Damian quietly. “I can call the doctor out. Not like he’s doing much good at this point.”
“I just don’t understand,” said Praxis, shaking his head. “She seemed fine this morning. I thought she was crazy yesterday when she said she was dying. How could this have happened so quickly?”
Damian let out a deep breath. “Only the gods know the answer to that question, Praxis.”
To Praxis, it seemed like the gods were punishing him. First they took offense to his relationship with Astara, stripping him of her tenderness as casually as he would strip an enemy of his sword. Then they decided to make him a helpless spectator in the war between Corinth and Sparta.
And now his mother was going to be taken from him.
Surely if anyone had drawn the ire of the gods, it was Praxis.
With weary feet and trembling hands, Praxis approached the bedside of his mother. Unbeknownst to him, Damian gave a silent signal to everyone else in the room, having them vacant to allow some privacy between mother and son. Ariston was the only one that acknowledged his departure, putting his hand on Praxis’ shoulder as he left.
Finally, it was just the two of them once more. Praxis studied the weathered and tired face of his mother, searching for answers. He found none that made him happy, only those that signaled the loss that was about to come.
Doris’ hand reached out, searching for him weakly. He grabbed it and held it tightly.
“Praxis?” she whispered.
“I’m here, Mother. It’s just us now.”
A long sigh erupted from her body. “I’m so cold, Praxis.”
“How can that be?” asked Praxis, looking at the sweat pouring down her neck. “You’re burning up, Mother. How can you be cold?”
“My body is shutting down,” she said weakly. “It doesn’t know what to do right now, only that it’s no longer in control. I’m no longer in control.”
“Is there anything I can do? Anything at all to ease your pain?”
Doris nodded her head slowly. “Remember what we discussed yesterday? Remember the past?”
That could only mean one thing—his father. Of all the things they’d discussed, his father was the one that signified the past.
“Of course,” he replied. “I’ve thought of little else since then. Well, that, and you.”
A pained smile appeared on her lips. “He’s still alive, Praxis. I want you to find him. Don’t stay in Argos. There’s nothing for you here, my son.”
That statement was like a dagger to the heart. Argos was his home. If he didn’t have his own city, what did he have?
“What you’re asking of me is incredibly difficult,” said Praxis. “I still don’t even know if I want to see my father after the way he abandoned us. Not to mention, leaving Argos? I don’t want to be a vagabond, Mother.”
Doris pursed her lips. “I know you don’t, my son. But leaving the city is the only way. You know that your enemies will see you as vulnerable once I’m gone. You know of whom I speak, right?”
Praxis nodded silently. It wasn’t hard to figure out that she was talking about Xanthos, and Damian to a lesser extent.
“I can’t protect you in death,” she whispered quietly. “The only way I can is by getting you out of the city. They’ll move against you before my body is even cold. I know this. I can feel it.”
Those words sent a chill down Praxis’ spine. “Are you sure of this?”
“As sure as a mother can be. And I know that there’s animosity for your father over what he did. But you have so many questions, Praxis. So many of them unanswered. If you ever want to truly know about who you are and where you’re from, he can answer those questions for you. It probably won’t be a joyous reunion, but the least I can do for you before I depart this world is give you the key to seek your own answers.”
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“What if they’re answers that I don’t want to know?” whispered Praxis. “What if I’m better off staying in the dark?”
Doris actually smiled at him. “That’s for you to decide, my dear. What happens after that is up to you. But it cannot be here. Not in Argos. There’s no future for you here.”
Praxis swallowed the lump in his throat. “Then I guess I’ll have to make my future elsewhere. If that will make you happy.”
“Seeing you happy will make me happy. Argos, in its current form, will only bring you sadness and death. You were meant for bigger things than that.”
“Then I give you my promise,” replied Praxis. “I will do as you ask. One day I will find my father. I will find Evander, wherever he might be.”
The smile didn’t leave her face. “I’d give the last of my strength to aid your mission, Praxis. I may not have much time, but my thoughts will always be with you. I love you, my son, and I always will, even after I’m gone. Even when the night seems darkest, I will always be with you.”
Another tear fell down Praxis’ cheek. “I love you too, Mother.”
He stayed there for another hour as Doris drifted in and out of consciousness. Finally, once it seemed that she was deep within the trance of a sleep, he pulled back his chair and kept watch over her body, wanting to be near when the awful task came to premonition.
Damian’s doctors soon reentered the room, taking their tests and reapplying more damp cloths. However, it was the face of a new visitor that actually gave Praxis comfort.
Lysandra nearly burst into the room, flying into Praxis’ arms at once. “I heard a rumor at the marketplace about your mother. I didn’t know it had gotten this bad!”
“Thank you for coming,” whispered Praxis, hugging her close. He spent the next ten minutes updating her on everything that had happened.
“She’s a strong woman,” said Lysandra admirably, looking over at Doris. “You’re lucky to have had her as your mother.”
“Luck is not anywhere near the emotions that I’m feeling right now,” replied Praxis. “Cursed is more accurate.”
“You’re not cursed,” whispered Lysandra. “You had your mother for a long time. It’s a lot longer than some people.”
By that, Praxis figured she was talking about herself. He knew that Lysandra was tight-lipped about her parents’ deaths and from little he’d pieced together, they’d died when she and Lysander were very young. It forced them into adulthood much sooner than they would have otherwise.
“The city will remember her for a long time,” continued Lysandra. “Our feast this year was magnificent, and it was all due to her. We’ve been blessed to have her as our queen.”
“As blessed as I’ve been to have her as my mother,” added Praxis.
Lysandra smiled and bumped her shoulder against his. “You know I’m always here for you, right? No matter what you want to say or yell or scream, I’m here for you if you need someone to listen.”
Praxis put on a stoic face. “I’ll be okay. You don’t need to worry about me.”
Lysandra shook her head. “It’s okay to be upset. It’s okay to show weakness sometimes, Praxis. Everyone in this city knows you’re strong and tough but you don’t always need to keep that face up, especially not in times like these.”
“What are you saying? That you want me to break down and cry right now?”
Lysandra rubbed his thigh. “No, but it’s okay to be vulnerable. Especially with me.”
“Why is that?” asked Praxis.
Her eyes locked on his for a moment. “Because we’re the closest of friends, right? And friends can tell each other anything.”
That almost made Praxis chuckle. “What we’ve done together is beyond what mere friends do.”
“You’re not wrong but we’re friends first. All that other stuff—the intimacy—is just an added benefit. Besides, if we were just intimate with each other and nothing more, I wouldn’t have raced so fast to be here by your side.”
Praxis grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently, something that seemed to surprise her. “Thank you then. Thank you for being my friend today. And everyday.”
She rewarded him with a beaming smile. “You’re welcome.”
They continued to sit there for what felt like hours. Praxis couldn’t have asked for a better presence beside him than Lysandra. She knew how to be comforting without getting too caught up in the bad emotions of the day.
To his surprise, Praxis found himself starting to come around on her. For too long, he thought about Lysandra only in a sexual manner but not like a true lover. Sitting there with her that night, he was forced to admit that she’d managed to burrow a hole into his heart. It was a stunning admission, especially seeing as he was still raw from the Astara deal.
It wasn’t as if he was trying to replace Astara either.
It was just that there was more to Lysandra beyond sex. As a person and as a friend, she was a very good fit for him. And now, some of the very same thoughts he’d once entertained about Astara were now being substituted with Lysandra.
Where did that come from?
He didn’t get very long to think about it. It was just before midnight when the doctor turned away from his mother and looked at Praxis.
“I’m sorry, Praxis. She’s gone now.”