Iason laughed cruelly. "Everyone except Kyrian mocks you, you fool. In fact, he defends you so strongly that it makes me wonder what the two of you do when you wander off alone."
Squelching the rage that would leave him vulnerable to Iason's blade, Julian barely ducked the next attack. "Stop it, Iason. Don't make me do something we'll both regret."
"The only thing I regret is that I let a thief into my house," Iason bellowed with rage, and swung again.
Julian tried to duck, but Penelope ran at him from behind and pushed him forward.
Iason's blade caught him across the ribs.
Hissing in pain, Julian drew his own sword, then deflected a blow that would have left him headless had it made contact.
Iason tried to engage him, but Julian did nothing more than defend himself while trying to keep Penelope out of the thick of the fight.
"Don't do this, Iason. You know your skills are inferior to mine."
Iason pressed his attack. "There's no way I'm going to let you keep her."
The next few seconds had happened so fast, and yet Julian saw them unfold in sharp, crisp clarity.
Penelope caught Julian's free arm at the same time Iason swung his sword. The blade narrowly missed Julian as she slung him about. Unbalanced, Julian tried to extract himself from her, but with Penelope in the way, he staggered forward at the same time Iason did.
The instant they collided, he felt his sword sink deep into Iason's body.
"No!" Julian shouted, drawing his sword out of Iason's stomach as Penelope let out a scream of pure, tormented anguish.
Slowly, Iason fell to the ground.
Dropping to his knees, Julian tossed his sword aside, and pulled his friend into his arms. "Dear gods, what have you done?"
Coughing up blood, Iason stared accusingly at him. "I did nothing. It was you who betrayed me. We were brothers and you stole my heart."
Iason swallowed painfully as his pale eyes bored into Julian. "You never had anything in your life you didn't steal from someone else."
Julian trembled as guilt and agony washed over him. He'd never meant for this to happen. Never meant to hurt anyone, least of all Iason. He'd only wanted someone to love him. Only wanted a home where he was welcome.
But Iason was right. It was all his fault. All of it.
Penelope's screams echoed in his ears. She grabbed him by the hair and pulled it as hard as she could. Her eyes wild, she wrenched the dagger from his waist.
"I want you dead! Dead!"
She plunged the dagger into his arm, then pulled back to strike again. Julian grabbed her hand.
With a feral shriek, she wrenched herself away.
"No," she said, her eyes crazed. "I want you to suffer. You took from me what I loved most. Now I will take the same from you." She ran from the room.
Overwhelmed by his grief and anger, Julian couldn't move as he watched the life drain out of Iason's body.
Until Penelope's words sank into his dazed mind.
"No!" he roared, rising to his feet. "Don't!"
He reached the door to her chambers in time to hear the children screaming. His heart shredded, he tried to open it, but she'd bolted it from the inside.
By the time he broke into her rooms, it was too late.
Too late…
Julian pressed his hands against his eyes as the horror of that day washed over him anew, and he felt Grace's soothing touch on his skin.
He would never be able to purge the sight of them, the fear in his heart. The absolute agony.
The only thing in life he'd ever loved had been his children.
And they alone had loved him.
Why? Why had they had to suffer for his actions? Why couldn't Priapus have tortured him without hurting them?
And how could Aphrodite have let it happen? It was one thing for her to turn a blind eye to him, but to let his children die…
That was why he'd gone to her temple that day. He'd planned to kill Priapus. To cleave his head from his shoulders and mount it on a pike.
"What happened?" Grace asked, dragging his thoughts back to the present.
"By the time I got there, it was too late," he said, his throat aching as raw grief tore through him. "Our children were dead, killed by their own mother. Penelope had already slashed her wrists and lay dying by their side. I called for a physician and tried to staunch the blood." He paused.
"With her dying breath, she spat in my face."
Grace closed her eyes as his pain washed over her. It was even worse than she had imagined.
Dear Lord, how had he survived it?
Over the years, she'd heard numerous horror stories, but none could compete with what he'd been through. And he'd suffered it all alone, with no one to help him. No one to care.
"I am so sorry," she whispered, rubbing her hands over his chest to comfort him.
"I still can't believe they're gone," he whispered, his voice laden with grief. "You asked me what I do while I'm in the book. I just stand there, and remember my son's and daughter's faces. I remember what it felt like when their tiny arms wrapped around me. The way they ran out to meet me when I came home from campaigns. And I relive every moment of that day, wishing I could have done something to save them."