Auron

The buzz and bustle of the marketplace is so loud, the people so many, I can disappear into the crowd. A welcome reprieve after the fussing of servants at home. They wouldn’t leave me alone when they saw I still carried the ring box.

Young children with coins from their fathers and old men with lists from their wives meander in front of me. The stalls run on through the center of town as far as I can see. A cornucopia of colors line rows of vendors. The sounds of shoes on the cobblestones adds to the cacophony.

Fresh produce and potions. Breads and spices. Fabrics and leatherwares. A man could find anything here if he looked hard enough. Perhaps even love or death. Who knows?

Two old yayas in bold colors call to each other over their clay pots and fabric bolts. The elderly women always seem to be in good spirits. I smile and match their demeanor despite myself.

A young woman in red silk walks in front of me and offers to sell me a bunch of flowers. She picks up one in pinks and yellows. They smell nice, but there’s no one to give them to. Certainly not Betha.

The woman in red silk presses me. “Surely a nobleman like you has a lover who might love these?”

I frown, the smile chased from my lips as fast as it had arrived. Three days. Three long days since I walked in on them. I still can’t fathom how Betha could be so vile. I trusted her. She was going to be my bride. At least that’s how I saw it.

I shake my head no, and the young woman in red moves on. Deep breath.

A man calls out from under the colonnades, “Come, young man. Surely someone of your stature should have more gold on his fingers!” I grimace politely and continue on. I wear only a family heirloom on my right hand, a reminder of the family I have lost.

The scent of baklava draws me further into the bustling marketplace. I might at least find something pleasurable about this miserable day. Intricate bottles of tinctures and baskets of brightly colored herbs catch my eye as I pass an alchemist, almost to the baklava stand.

Between them is a large display of marble statues. I shake my head. It seems the gods and goddesses cannot be trusted any more than Betha. Guess that was my mistake again. Several siblings and my parents all lost to the curse. I don’t know what I did to deserve such misery.

My fingers drag over the statues as I pass, the forms pulling heat from my fingertips, happy to have any part of me numb even for a little while. The last one is Persephone, and I wonder whether the statue is made from a different material. It’s warm to the touch.

I pause, picking up the small goddess. She’s surprisingly heavy. Should I get one for the fields? I can’t bring myself to do it though. Instead, I just make a small prayer to the daughter of Zeus and set it back down. She half looks like she’s smiling at me, and a foreboding shiver runs down my spine.

A long line snakes from the pastry stand. That’s a good sign, and I twist my ring while waiting my turn, until an old man asks me what I want. He pulls me from my despair, once again thinking back to that fateful morning, and it takes a few swallows before I have the voice to request a large portion of the tasty honeyed-pastry. A smile forms over his mouth. “Good choice, my son!” He shoves it on a white napkin and takes my coin.

“Hey, Auron. How’ve you been?”

I turn to find three old friends approaching. The people in line behind me eyeball them warily. Two of them—Alexander and Christos—had been old sparring buddies, the third Alexander’s younger brother Nikos. I nod in their direction as I lick my fingers. Goddess, the pastry was definitely what I needed.

The three men, with their dark hair and almost black eyes pass for triplets, even though Christos is only a distant cousin of the other two.

Dimitri chimes in, “Heard you’ve had a rough week, friend. Maybe we should grab some wine and drown your sorrows a bit, eh?” He’s always up for a drink, even early in the day. More importantly, he’s always up to distract me from my troubles.

We all need a friend like that.

“Who did you hear it from?” We begin walking toward Taverna Dionysus, an open air establishment with some of the better wines of the city. I don’t come into the market often, but there’s always a good meal or drink to be had here.

Christos grimaces. “Dolian is a far-cousin on my mother’s side. The whole family is upset for him.”

My stomach twists. The other man has an entire family up in arms for him. I have. . . no one. Stupid curse. The gods and goddesses stand united against me.

“Sorry, Auron. She shouldn’t have done that to either of you.” His eyes are apologetic, and the half smile shows he gets it.

We settle in at the high table and each of us grabs a pine barstool. Alexander flags down a server and asks for two jars of red apple wine. She has red curly hair like Betha, though her eyes are hazel and not green. She smiles at me, but I can only look away.

Alexander pours for us all and raises his. “To Dionysus! May he take away your woman woes!”

I can drink to that. I lift my glass and sip the warm liquid. It’s smooth and tastes of red cherries, with just a hint of burn as it goes down.

Christos empties his glass with one long swallow and quickly pours another. He thumps me on the back. “You deserve so much better, friend. You know, the Eros Encounter is coming up. You’re over twenty-five and unattached now. You could find yourself a wife.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at me.

My full body tenses, and my fist slams down on the table. “And why in the name of Eros would I want to do that?” Eyes from around the room glance warily in my direction. “Just so another vile woman can try to break me.”

That will never happen. I wrap my hand around the box with the ring still in it. My grip tightens as I wait for my heart to settle, to find words that don’t end my friendships immediately.

I haven’t even had the heart to take it out yet.

Hissing, I take another swig of wine, finishing what is in my glass.

Alexander fills it again before annoying weighing in. “They aren’t all like that, friend. My Daphne is a beautiful woman, and she would never do what Betha did.”

“Well some of you aren’t cursed like the Bozzelli family is. Consider yourselves lucky.” I finish the wine and set the glass down so hard on the table that the owner of the taverna glares at me.

I gulp and nod an apology in the old man’s direction. He might let it go, but his wife won’t. Luckily she’s nowhere to be seen. He returns to wiping down the bar.

“I have no intention of marrying. Single life is the only one I am interested in from now on.” My shoulders square in the conviction of my words. No woman would break my heart like that again. Because I won’t open it up to anyone.

Nikos touches my arm, and I tug it away from him. I’m in no mood to be comforted and toss a few coins on the table. “Good to see you, friends, but I think this is enough taverna time for me.”

I shove my stool under the table with a loud screech and stride to the door even as the three men call out to me to stay.

I can’t. I need to get out of here and away from all the people. What made me think that coming into the heart of the city is beyond me. Dumb move.

The market has gone from a buzz to an uproar. More people crowd the streets, and the vendors have gotten louder. One boy tries to get my attention while I feel another try to pick the contents of my coin pouch.

I glare at the street urchin, and he disappears into the crowd along with his friend. Cursed every way I turn. Shoving, the throngs of people begin to part, but the same young woman in red stops me again, though her flowers are far fewer.

Shaking my head, I step around her. I just need to get out of this place. When will the gods and goddesses see fit to help me instead of harm me?

I crest a steep hill close to the stable where Andreas is. A woman with short curly brown hair calls out to me about potions, but I keep moving. I wish Hermes would come take me out of this madness, but the curse would probably land me in some other place.

To my surprise, a beautiful woman with long black hair is sprawled on the cobblestones, a runaway cart laden with wine about to trample her.

“Gods help me!” I run in her direction.