The Belial Warrior (The Belial Series Book 9)

by R. D. Brady

  Helen gaped. That had been a huge risk. The Fallen constantly roamed the walls. In fact, she had been worried about Castor foolishly pursuing a misguided rescue attempt. But never had she imagined it would be Clytemnestra who came to her. “You never should have—”

  Clytemnestra’s smile dimmed, and her chin began to wobble. “I needed to see you.”

  Her obvious grief made Helen gasp. She sprinted across the space and hugged her sister to her tightly. “What has happened?”

  Clytemnestra clung to her sister, her whole body shaking. “He killed Iphigenia.”

  Helen did not need to ask who, because she already knew. Anger hit deep and burned through her. It was joined by grief that went all the way to the bone. “Oh, sister, no.”

  Helen’s words seemed to cut the strings holding Clytemnestra upright. Her knees buckled, and Helen had to hold her upright. Adorna hurried over, and the two women helped Clytemnestra to the bed.

  Helen sat beside her sister, her arms wrapped around her. “Tell me everything.”

  And Clytemnestra did. She didn’t stop talking for hours. Finally, she lay quiet, her head in Helen’s lap as Helen stroked her hair.

  “I should never have let you marry him,” Helen said. “I should have—”

  Clytemnestra wiped her eyes. “You tried to stop me, to warn me. You share no blame for this. The blame is mine.”

  “No,” Helen said forcefully. “The blame is Agamemnon’s. Don’t you dare carry it for him.”

  Clytemnestra nodded wearily. “You are right.”

  They sat quietly. Helen marveled at all her sister had been through, and cursed herself up one side and down the other for not stopping her sister all those years ago. She had known who Agamemnon was, even then. She should have tried harder, locked her sister away until she saw reason.

  Finally Clytemnestra sat up, wiping her tears. “There will be time for grief later. Now we need to get you out of here.”

  Helen looked away. “I cannot. I have chosen Paris.”

  “You listen to me, Helen. You may say whatever you wish to the rest of the world, but I know you. I know you. And I know you are lying. What does he hold over you?”

  “Nothing. I—”

  “Enough.” Clytemnestra’s gaze was unrelenting. “Tell me.”

  And then it was Helen who found herself talking for hours. She told Clytemnestra everything, starting with Paris’s arrival and continuing all through her stay here at Troy. When she was done, she felt like a weight had been lifted, even though nothing had truly changed.

  Clytemnestra gripped her hand. “I knew he had to have something on you. You would never turn your back on your family. Or on your duty.”

  “Not unless something more important was at risk.”

  “Tomorrow, we will get you out of here, and then—”

  “No. Did you not hear what I said? Hermione, the boys—they are in danger. I cannot risk their lives.”

  “You won’t have to, because you will remain here.”

  Helen frowned. “Then why did you say that I should go?”

  Clytemnestra ran a hand through her hair. “Why do you think I am here? I will stay in your place. You will get your children to safety and then find out who is behind this. Because I agree—Paris is not smart enough to do this on his own.”

  “Clytemnestra, no—you can’t. They’ll know you’re not me.”

  Clytemnestra stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Who do you think you are? I am Helen of Sparta. I can do anything I damn well please.”

  Helen’s mouth fell open. “I don’t sound like that.” She turned to Adorna.

  Adorna shrugged. “You kind of do.”

  Helen glared at her.

  Adorna chuckled and put up her hands. “I’ll help her, coach her. No one will know.”

  Helen looked between the two of them. “I cannot risk you as well, Clytemnestra. After Iphigenia—”

  Clytemnestra took her hand. “Iphigenia is the one who sent me. She came to me in a dream and told me to come help you. Even if she hadn’t, I think I would have made my way here eventually. I have been blind for too long. Now that my eyes have been opened, I cannot close them again. You need to leave so you can end this. You are the only one who can.”

  “Won’t Agamemnon realize you are gone?”

  “Even if he does, he can’t take anything more from me. I am choosing to do this. Do not deny me my part to play.”

  Helen could feel her sister’s conviction. “If something should happen to you…”

  “It won’t. I am a daughter of Sparta.”

  Helen nodded. “Yes, you are.”

  Clytemnestra pulled a small satchel from a pocket in her dress. “Castor sent this for you.” She upended the bag into Helen’s open palm, and Helen’s ring fell out.

  Helen clasped it to her with a breath of relief. She had missed it. She slipped it onto her finger, feeling stronger already. “Thank you.”

  For a moment Clytemnestra smiled, but then her smile dimmed, and sadness filled the room again. Helen grabbed a blanket from the bed and took Clytemnestra’s hand. “Come.”

  She walked to the balcony, spread out the blanket, and took a seat. Clytemnestra sat next to her. Helen pulled up the sides of the blanket so it wrapped around them both.

  “I am sorry for the loss of Iphigenia,” she said. “She was a beautiful girl.”

  “Yes. She was.”

  “And she was also a daughter of Sparta. She deserves a warrior tribute.” Helen nodded to the far cliff, hundreds of yards away, where a single tree stood reaching for the heavens. She wound her fingers through Clytemnestra’s and squeezed. “My warrior niece will never be forgotten.”

  Focusing on the tree, she called on the powers in the skies. The wind blew and the clouds shifted. A single bolt of lightning tore from the sky and crashed into the tree. It burst into flame, even as some of it fell to the ground from the blast. Helen used the wind to push the blaze higher and stronger. “She was blood of our blood. A true daughter of Sparta. And she will be avenged.”

  “I will be the one who avenges her,” said Clytemnestra quietly.

  Helen turned to her sister and saw the resolution in her face. “Yes. Agamemnon is yours. But that is for tomorrow. For tonight, we remember her and love her and—” Helen swallowed, trying to speak past the tears in her throat. “And say goodbye.”

  Tears trailed down Clytemnestra’s face as she laid her head on Helen’s shoulder. Helen gently laid her own head on her sister’s, staring at the memorial she had created. Safe journey, my niece.

  The sisters sat quietly until the tree had burned to ash and the sun began its journey across the sky.

  Chapter 60

  At dawn, Helen crept from the room. She had borrowed Clytemnestra’s veil and kept her head down. No one she passed gave her a second look.

  She made her way to the rear wall of the castle. She had known it would be lightly guarded this early in the morning. It stood mere feet from a sheer cliff dropping down to the sea, making it an unlikely breach point. Sure enough, only two guards were on duty.

  She ran a finger over her ring, loving the feel of the metal once again. She had grown used to it being there, warning her of danger, giving her the power to do what needed to be done. To be without it these past months had been more difficult than she had anticipated.

  She called up a wind, which tore a tree at the far end of the wall from its perch. And as soon as the guards went to check it out, Helen, with the aid of the wind, was over the wall.

  At the cliff’s edge, she once again called on the wind. It lowered her gently below the edge of the cliff, then floated her alongside it, out of view of the guards. When she was far enough away from the guards, the wind lifted her back atop the cliff, and she sprinted for the trees. She slipped into them without any shouts from behind.

  She quickly stripped off the long gown. Now clad in her tunic, she ran swiftly through the countryside toward the spot to which Clytemnes
tra had directed her. Her legs ate up the ground, and she felt a freedom in her chest that she could not deny she had missed.

  Even with her speed, it took almost a full day to reach the site. But finally, she came upon the remains of the old prayer henge. It was long abandoned, used by an ancient cult of priests long forgotten to history, and only a few of the stones remained upright.

  Helen kept her eyes peeled for any sign of trouble. She moved in the shadows cast by the dimming light. A light tingle ran over her skin.

  Two figures moved about the ruins. “Where is she? She should have been here by now.”

  “Patience. She’ll be here as soon as she can. She doesn’t have your speed.”

  Helen smiled at their voices and then stepped into the circle of stones. “You two, always complaining.”

  Castor and Pollux whipped around. Looks of shock and then joy appeared on their faces.

  Pollux reached her first, pulling her into a hug. “Thank the gods.”

  Castor pried Pollux’s arms off her. “Right, let her go. My turn.” Helen laughed as he pushed Pollux aside and pulled her into his own hug.

  Helen closed her eyes, feeling as if she could let down her guard for the first time in months. I feel safe, she realized with a jolt. But not everyone I love is. So she pulled herself back. “It is good to see you two.”

  “Are you all right?” Castor demanded. “Did Paris do anything—”

  Helen shook her head. “No. He didn’t. And if I thought he would try anything, I would not have allowed Clytemnestra to trade places with me.”

  “Is she all right?” Pollux asked quietly.

  “She is. She has a purpose, and I don’t think she’s had that in a long time. It’s given her focus. But I think it won’t be long before the horrors of Agamemnon catch up with her.”

  “We should have killed him,” Pollux said.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t,” Helen replied.

  “We would have, but we were stopped.”

  Helen arched an eyebrow. “Who could have stopped you two?”

  “Achilles.”

  The name was like a blow. “He’s here?” She hadn’t heard his name mentioned in the war talk. Although she knew everyone was trying to keep the details of the fighting from her; she heard only snatches of conversation here and there.

  “Where else would he be when he heard you had been taken?” Castor asked.

  “I never thought—” She shook her head. Achilles was here. He had had come to try and defend her. Helen felt lightheaded. “But how—why would he come? He hates me for marrying Menelaus.”

  “No,” Pollux said quietly. “He hates himself for letting you get away. It is not hate he feels for you.”

  “He is fighting like a man possessed,” Castor said. “He is not even hiding his abilities well.”

  “Does he think it’s true? That I ran off with Paris? Does everyone think so little of me?” Helen asked.

  “He does not know what to think. He knows you—and he knows you turned him away for duty. He knows that Paris would not be the man who could turn your heart. Yet a small part of him worries that he did.”

  “Oh, save me from men and their egos,” she grumbled.

  “Hey, two men, right in front of you,” Pollux said.

  She smiled. “Present company excluded, of course.”

  “I should think so,” Pollux grouched.

  Helen leaned into him. “Sorry, big brother. You two are men among men.”

  Castor gave a tip of his head. “Nice of you to notice.”

  Helen smiled. “Right, well, if we’re done with all the ego soothing, we still have to deal with what happens next.”

  “No.” Pollux crossed his arms over his chest. “First I want to understand what is happening. Why did you come to Troy? You could have destroyed Paris and all his men. So what are you doing here?”

  “Paris threatened the children,” Helen said. “When he arrived, he already had men embedded near them—embedded in our own household. I had no choice. If something were to happen to Paris, or if I were to go to the children, or warn anyone about what was happening—those men had orders to kill.”

  Castor’s face turned red, his lips though were a white line. “What? I’ll—”

  Helen put up her hand. “Trust me, any version of Paris’s death you have come up with I have already thought of, and probably in more detail. But I could not risk their lives.”

  “And now?” Pollux asked.

  “When I was girl, you two saved me from Theseus when no one else could. I am now placing my children’s lives in your hands. When the time is right, get them to safety, and trust no one but yourselves. Once you’ve gotten them away, take them to Proteus and Barnabus. I know Paris has no allies there.”

  “What of Menelaus?” Castor asked.

  Helen’s heart lurched. “He cannot know.”

  “What?” Pollux exclaimed. “Helen—”

  Helen’s voice was firm. “No. Menelaus—he loves his children. But if he knew they were in danger, he would rush to their aid without thinking. His focus would be on them, and he would leave himself vulnerable.”

  “You think Paris would have him killed?” Castor asked.

  “If he had a chance to, yes. So Menelaus cannot know. Promise me.”

  Reluctantly the brothers nodded.

  “Well, we can take them to Proteus, but Barnabus is here,” Castor said.

  Helen felt relieved. “That is good news. Because I may need him for my part in this.”

  “What is your part? And why is any of this happening? The world is at war over you,” Pollux said.

  “No,” Helen said. “Not over me. It is ‘Zeus’ who is behind this. He told Paris that if he took me, he would be a ruler in his own right, and he would own the riches of thousands of kingdoms.”

  “That’s insane,” Castor said.

  “But Paris believes it.”

  “You think it’s the same Zeus?” Pollux asked.

  Helen nodded. “Yes. He’s up to something. He wants the armies of the world focused on Troy. I just can’t figure out why.”

  “So where are you going?” Castor asked.

  “Do you remember the last thing Mother said? She told me where to go—with her very last breath.”

  Helen paced the hall outside her mother’s room. She had been inside until a few minutes ago, but when Menelaus arrived, he had suggested she go outside before she made everyone in the room a nervous wreck. With every sharp intake of her mother’s breath, she had glared at the healer and his servants.

  She heard the front door swing open with a bang, then the sound of running feet. Castor and Pollux sprinted down the hall, coming to a stop in front of her.

  “What happened?” Castor asked.

  “How bad is it?” Pollux demanded at the same time.

  Helen took their hands. “It was a boar. It came out of nowhere while she was walking with Hermione. The blood—there was so much blood.”

  “By the gods,” Castor murmured as he pulled Helen into a hug. “Is Hermione all right?”

  “Yes. Mother kept Hermione behind her, even as—” Her words choked off. “Proteus got to them as quickly as he could. But the damage—it is not good.”

  The door to the room opened, and Menelaus stepped out, with the healer and his servants behind him. Through the door, Helen could see Proteus kneeling next to the bed speaking quietly with her mother. Proteus had been visiting for a week; he was the one who had carried Leda into the palace, and he had refused to leave her side ever since.

  Helen gripped her brothers’ hands tightly. “Well?”

  Menelaus’s voice was slow and measured. “The injuries are too severe. She has lost too much blood. It will not be long now.”

  Helen’s knees went weak, and she could have sworn a tremor ran through all of Sparta. “No.”

  Menelaus pulled her to him. Helen clasped her arms around his neck, borrowing his strength while she felt her own leave her.
>
  “I am sorry, my love,” Menelaus whispered.

  Castor and Pollux went into the room, leaving them alone. After only a few moments, Helen pulled back from her husband. If her mother didn’t have much time, she would not spend it being weak. She would spend every moment with her.

  “Do you want me with you?” Menelaus asked.

  Helen nodded. “Yes. But Hermione needs you. She was with Mother. She saw what happened. Will you stay with her?”

  Menelaus kissed her on the cheek. “Of course. But I will only be down the hall. If you need me, send for me.”

  Helen placed her hand on her husband’s cheek. “You are a good man, Menelaus of Mycenae.”

  “And you are an incredible woman, Helen of Sparta,” he said before heading down the hall.

  Helen took a deep breath and entered her mother’s room. Proteus had stepped back to make room for Castor and Pollux, who were now kneeling next to the bed. A sheet covered their mother, hiding her injuries, but her face was paler than normal, and her skin had a glassy sheen.

  Helen hurried to her side. “Mother.”

  Leda’s violet eyes turned to Helen, a smile struggling onto her face. “Good. I need to speak with you.” She grimaced.

  “It’s all right, Mother. There’s nothing that—”

  “No,” Leda breathed out quietly. “There is much coming for you, my child. I wish I could spare you it. But this is your responsibility. Much will be asked of you. Perhaps too much.”

  “I am Spartan, Mother. There is nothing I cannot handle.”

  “And she has us,” Pollux said.

  A smile ghosted across Leda’s face. “She always has you. Stay by her side, but listen when she speaks. She is the one who must direct the action that is to come.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Pollux said.

  “Even if she sends us off a cliff,” Castor added with a smile.

  “I fear it may come to that,” Leda said softly.

  Helen frowned. “Mother?”

  “You three, along with Clytemnestra, are my blessings. Take care of one another. A time of darkness is coming. You will need each other if you are to come through the other side.”