Two days had passed since Damian’s initial, unsatisfactory meeting with the Spartan envoy of King Nikandros, Dorrusas. They had been two days filled with much soul searching, wondering if he could sacrifice the sovereignty of Argos to be included in this dominant Spartan alliance.

And it was a question without a happy answer.

Damian just couldn’t do it. Despite the accusations of his stepson, he wasn’t so cavalier when it came to Argos’ future as well as her cherished independence. He knew the people of the city would riot over the stationing of a Spartan garrison there, not to mention the payment of a yearly tribute.

Even so, Dorrusas had made it known that those two were pivotal to any agreement. Damian suspected he could get the tribute passed without too much heartache but the garrison was completely off the table.

He would simply have to negotiate a way around it.

That was the first thing on his mind that morning as the Spartan envoy once more arrived at his study. Dorrusas looked no less arrogant or smug, and his time in Argos had been punctuated with a thinly-disguised disgust for anything that wasn’t Spartan.

Whoever decided to make that man an envoy clearly didn’t care too much about the opinions of their respective allies.

“Great King Damian,” said Dorrusas, giving a mocking bow as he arrived in the study. “I come now to resume our talks about Argos entering the Spartan-led Peloponnesian league. Have you given any more thought to the terms of our alliance?”

Damian started to nod. “I’ve given it much thought. And as much as I’d like to enter your alliance, there is one item that I find distasteful. In fact, my city would find it distasteful as well. I’m talking of the Spartan garrison to be housed here in Argos and paid for from my treasury.”

Dorrusas already managed to look annoyed. “My suggestion then is that you find a way to overcome your distaste in an effort to look after your collective security. Before it’s too late.”

“Surely there must be another way we can come to terms,” suggested Damian. “We have many things that we can offer Sparta that could compensate for the lack of a garrison. The fields of Argolis are bountiful with the harvest. A favorable trade agreement to Sparta could see your city overflowing with fresh produce and grains. I’d even be open to increasing the yearly tribute if it would mean not stationing the garrison. There are other things I’d be willing to consider as well such as a temple to Heracles to honor your kings—”

“None of your suggestions are worth taking seriously,” interrupted Dorrusas. “It’s the garrison or nothing at all. My king was quite specific about that requirement and it’s my job to enforce it. If you cannot provide for a Spartan garrison, then these talks are at an end.”

“I plead with you,” said Damian. “I’d be willing to discuss this personally with King Nikandros himself—that’s how important I view the notion of Argos entering your alliance. But what you’re asking me to do strikes at the nature of my power in the city. You would gain only a temporary ally before the city revolted if I did as you suggested.”

Dorrusas shrugged. “Sparta does not need King Damian as the ruler of Argos. Sparta only needs a loyal ally who understands the costs of collective security. And if the city rebels? Big deal. The entire alliance will restore order. I think you should think long and hard about the nature of the issue in front of you. Are you willing to jeopardize your entire rule to turn us down?”

Damian swallowed heavily. “I’d do anything else to enter the alliance. I just can’t do that in good faith.”

Dorrusas sneered at him. “So be it. I will report this discussion back to King Nikandros and Argos will not be entering the Peloponnesian League. You had your chance and you blew it, King Damian. I hope the next king of Argos will be more prudent with the lives of his people.”

With those final words, Dorrusas turned on his heel and marched out of the room, leaving Damian anxious and afraid. The only thing worse than not knowing where he stood with the Spartans was being on their bad side, and now he was frightened that they would have a reason to invade the Argolis. He knew his army couldn’t stand up to them in an even fight, and that was before the armies of Corinth and Achaea got involved as members of the alliance.

So what exactly would he do now? How could he still turn this around?

Could he still turn this around?

*****

For the past two days, Praxis spent most of his waking moments around Astara as they explored the city of Corinth together. She knew the city well from her frequent journeys there, and there weren’t that many landmarks that she hadn’t been to.

The second day was spent going through the market, careful for both of them to keep a firm distance from her family so they wouldn’t risk the wrath of her father.

The third day was spent near the waters of the isthmus, watching the water shimmer and shine from the sun’s light.

Praxis had to admit that he greatly enjoyed all the time spent with her, even if it did come with the risk of discovery. Funny enough, it wasn’t her father that was the first in her family to find out about them.

It was her younger brother, Nico.

The problem was that they were becoming careless. Instead of staying in parts of the city where her family wasn’t likely to be found, they kept gravitating to parts like the market where discovery might be more easy. It was as they were walking along and talking about their respective childhoods that they bumped into Nico.

“Nico! What are you doing here?” exclaimed Astara as she gave a nervous glance at Praxis.

The young boy pointed a finger at Praxis. “You’re not supposed to be with him. You heard what Father said about him, didn’t you?”

“Nico, you have to be able to keep this secret for me,” said, lowering herself to his level. “Father doesn’t need to know who I’m with. I’m not in trouble or any danger, and we’ve become good friends. Promise me that you won’t say a word?”

The boy gave her a shrewd look as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “And what do I get in return for keeping my mouth shut?”

Astara growled at him. “Is not doing your dearest sister a favor not reward enough in itself?”

Nico shook his head firmly, putting an end to any such notion.

Astara sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine, you can consider me in your debt for one favor of your choosing in the future. But only one, you hear me?”

The boy was an aggressive negotiator and his next response made Praxis laugh.

“Make it two favors.”

“Fine,” she said, scoffing at him. “Now run along.”

The boy grinned happily and waved at Praxis as he left. He was gone just as quickly as he appeared, but Praxis had to wonder if he was really the type to keep his mouth closed.

He didn’t want to risk upsetting Astara’s father and getting himself in more trouble.

“Can he really be trusted?” asked Praxis a few minutes later. “I just remember my younger stepbrother, Ariston, at that age. He gabbed about every secret that was told to him within a day of finding out about it.”

Astara linked her arm through his. “Don’t worry about Nico. He’s a smart boy and he knows that his sister will make a whole lot of trouble for him if he doesn’t follow through with his pledge. Now, where were we?”

Praxis shrugged. “I do believe you were flirting with me just before we happened into your brother.”

Astara started to giggle. “You think so, do you?”

She bumped her hip into him before giving him another coy look.

“And what would you do if I was actually flirting with you?”

“I’d suppose I’d take you up on that offer,” he answered honestly. “And perhaps find something for us to do tonight. Somewhere we can be alone together.”

That was exactly the kind of answer she wanted to hear. “I like the sound of that. What did you have in mind?”

Praxis thought for a moment before responding. “I wouldn’t mind seeing what the waters of the isthmus look like after dark. It seemed secluded enough, did it not? Somewhere that we can truly be alone?”

Judging by the look in her eyes, Astara seemed all for it. They made plans to meet at a certain time, and Praxis hoped that her late night wanderings wouldn’t draw the attention of her father. Though Astara said he was frequently absent from the family on business, Praxis still didn’t want to take that chance.

They were risking enough as it was already.

It was later that evening as he was on his way to see Astara that something happened that truly disturbed him. He was walking past a temple of Apollo when one of the priests, a disfigured-looking man wearing an all-black chiton, stopped him in his tracks.

“You!” said the priest, pointing directly at Praxis. “You’re the foreigner on everyone’s lips!”

Praxis’ eyes went wide at hearing the foreigner title. Before he could form any words, the priest talked again.

“Trouble will find you on the path you’re walking on tonight,” warned the priest. “There are two roads in front of you. One that will lead you to unimaginable glory and the other will lead to total failure. Guard your heart against the desires of flesh or your fate will be the second road!”

Praxis took a step backward. “What does that mean? What are you even talking about?”

The priest gave him a knowing look. “You know exactly of what I speak. Be gone with you!”

Just like that, the priest went back inside the temple and slammed the door behind him, leaving Praxis bewildered.

What was that all about?

What was the desires of the flesh?

Was he talking about Astara?

Would meeting up with her tonight be a mistake?

If he was being truthful, the warning spooked him. Not only because it came from the priest of his personal family god but because it seemed to confirm what he knew already in his heart.

That sneaking around with Astara would eventually come back to bite him. That stealing the woman promised to his stepbrother might give him even further trouble.

All these warnings were going off in his head about continuing this road with Astara—the warning of her father, the betrothal to Xanthos, and even the way she disregarded a concern for both of those items.

Was this the path to total failure as the priest warned?

And if it was, how could he stop it before it was too late?

Finding his confidence shattered, Praxis couldn’t continue toward their meeting spot. Taking the priest at his word, he started to head back to his room, but not before getting a fresh cup of wine in the process.

If he was so easily going to abandon this meeting with Astara, he was going to need a lot of wine to drink this premonition away.

A lot of wine.