by R. D. Brady
And now that little light of hope had been snuffed out. She felt empty and lost.
Arms wrapped around her, and through her tears, Helen saw her own face. “He—he is gone,” she stammered.
Clytemnestra held her close. “I know.”
“How can he be gone? It’s not possible.”
“I am sorry, sister. But know he loved you. With his every breath, even with his last, you were the one he loved more than any other.”
Clytemnestra’s words broke the last of Helen’s restraint; sobs burst forth from deep in her chest. Her whole body shook, and she felt as if she was going to break in two.
Clytemnestra continued to hold her tight. “Cry, sister. I am right here. I have you.”
Helen cried for the love that had broken her heart and mended it time and time again. She cried for the man she had always loved and had never been able to banish from her heart.
She cried for her Achilles.
Chapter 117
The light chirp of birds was the first sound Helen heard the next morning. Her eyelids felt heavy. Her chest felt hollow. Achilles’s face swam into her mind before she was even fully awake, and the pain of his loss crashed over her again. She took a stuttering breath and slowly opened her eyes, squinting against the bright light.
Clytemnestra rubbed her back. “It’s all right, Helen.”
Helen realized they were in the room Paris had given her when he’d brought her here. “How did we get here?” she asked.
“Menelaus found us. He carried you.”
A new pain bloomed in her chest, this one created by guilt. “I do not remember that.”
“You were beyond remembering anything at that point.”
“How is he? Menelaus?”
“I think it is difficult for him to see how hard you are taking Achilles’s death. But he knew how much you loved Achilles when you were first married. And he knows you love him as well.”
Helen’s eyes teared up at the idea that she was causing Menelaus pain. She had never wanted that. He was a good man. But she could not stop herself from loving Achilles. She had never been able to. Perhaps it was too much to expect.
“How long have I slept?”
“Two days.”
Helen sat up. “Two days?”
“You needed to rest. You have been through a great deal in the last few months.”
“Have you heard any word from our brothers? Or Barnabus?”
“It’s too soon. But you know them—they will get to the children before any harm can come to them.”
Helen fell back against the headboard. “I know.” Her gaze caught site of the vial on the bedside table. She reached out and pulled the Omni toward her. It didn't work on Achilles. Perhaps it was because she was too late administering it, the poison having already worked its way through his system.
Or maybe it is because he is not a Fallen. The thought whispered through her mind. The signal she felt when Achilles was near was far greater than for any other Fallen. And the Fallen could not sense him. Was he something else? Was that why it didn't work? No, it had robbed him of his powers. It should have been able to return them. I was just too late. The failure weighed on her and she closed her eyes against the pain of it.
“I'm afraid there is some other bad news," Clytemnestra said.
Helen opened her eyes taking in her sister's concerned face. “What?”
“Agamemnon has already sailed for home.”
Exhaustion weighed Helen down. “It’s worse than that. Agamemnon has regained his powers.”
“How?”
“I was too late. And he’s got my ring as well.”
Clytemnestra shook her head. “No.”
“What of Paris?”
“He was found not far outside the walls. He had died from a wound on his neck.”
Paris’s death brought Helen no happiness. Not with the failure of the last few days pressing down on her. Agamemnon’s power restored. The ring gone. And Achilles… A fresh wave of grief rolled through her.
None of that changes what I must do. “I will have to follow him. Figure out a way to recover my ring. And I have not forgotten my promise to you. I will kill Agamemnon—somehow.”
“No,” Clytemnestra said.
“No?”
“You have done enough for now. Besides, you cannot kill Agamemnon while he has both his power and the ring. It would be suicide.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s my duty, ring or no ring. I will get the ring back, and then I will take care of him.”
Clytemnestra shook her head. “He will never let you near him now that he knows who you are.”
“I will find a way. I made you a promise. I intend to keep it.”
Clytemnestra squeezed her hand. “It is a promise I never should have asked of you.”
“He deserves to die. For all he has done.”
“Yes. But it will be by my hand.”
“Clytemnestra—”
She held up her hand. “No. I have relied on others for too long. Perhaps if I had been stronger, I would have realized who Agamemnon was before things had gone this far. Perhaps I could have saved Iphigenia.”
“Do not take that guilt on yourself. That is his burden to shoulder, not yours.”
“I know. But from this point on, I will not allow him to control me. I need to do this myself. I will find your ring. Besides, you are in no shape for the fight to come. You need to hold your children in your arms and breathe in their scent."
Tears pricked at the back of Helen's eyes as she thought of it.
"And you need to mourn Achilles. I know what he meant to you. Do not deny yourself the chance to say good-bye."
Helen looked up into her sister's knowing eyes and realized that she had changed through this whole experience. She had regained her strength. And it gave Helen a small measure of comfort. Whatever happened from this point on, Clytemnestra could handle it.
"Can you trust me with this?” Clytemnestra asked.
“I trust you. But you do not need to do this alone.”
“I am not alone. You go with me, I know that now. I will contact you when I find the ring. Then we will finish this together.”
Helen hugged Clytemnestra close. “Be careful, sister. We have already lost too many to Agamemnon’s machinations. I could not handle losing you as well.”
“You will not. This time it is Agamemnon who needs to fear me.”
Helen studied her sister, seeing the determination in her face. She was right. It was her time to step forward. "Be safe sister."
Clytemnestra hugged her tight, whispering in her ear. "Heal, sister."
Chapter 118
Four months later
Mycenae, Greece
She walked slowly down the hall, a basket in her hand, keeping her head bowed. Two of Agamemnon’s soldiers lounged in the hall leading to his rooms. Neither of them bowed to her or showed her any respect. Agamemnon had long ago shown them they did not need to respect his wife. Everyone knew Clytemnestra was a beaten woman.
She passed Agamemnon’s bedroom, where he often took other women to his bed. His latest trophy was Cassandra, Priam’s daughter, whom he had taken as a spoil of war. But Cassandra was not the only addition to the household since the war. Agamemnon had doubled his guard, and he kept his men around him at all times. He was taking no chances. He knew Helen would come for him, and regardless of what he said, he feared her.
Helen may have been the only one he feared. All others bowed to his will, even the nobility from neighboring kingdoms. And if they didn’t, if they acted against him or even slighted him inadvertently, they would soon turn up dead, their throats slit while sleeping. The nobility were growing worried. As they should be. Agamemnon was clearing a path, making sure there was no one to stop him.
When he wasn’t bedding his women or silencing his critics, Agamemnon spent hours in his study, poring over maps and the box he’d brought from Troy. Those long hours only seemed to anger him more. It wa
sn’t until just the other day that she found out why: it was because he couldn’t find the instructions to create the Omni. Even with Helen's ring, he was still unable to create more of the Omni. His failure caused his agitation and paranoia to grow with each day that passed.
She stopped beside the door to Agamemnon’s bathing chamber. She could hear the slosh of water from inside. She took a breath. He had been so paranoid, he had not even let her near him for the first few months he was home. Not that he knew anything of her activities during the war—he thought she had been in Sparta the whole time. No, he worried about anyone getting near him and finding the instructions themselves. It had taken her weeks for her to be allowed near him without his guards. But she knew how to play the vulnerable wife. She kept her head down, demanded nothing, and eventually he forgot she was even in the room.
She gripped the basket in her hand, its towels and oils visible. She thought of Iphigenia, Hector, Achilles, and all the others who had lost their lives because of the man beyond the door. And she had no doubt—Agamemnon needed to die.
She opened the door.
Agamemnon, soaking in his bath, scowled at her. “Clytemnestra! What are you doing in here?”
“I—I thought I would wash your back for you.” She held up the basket. “I have brought some oils.”
Agamemnon grunted. “Good. You’ve finally come to your senses. You are weak, Clytemnestra. Like Iphigenia. It is better she died than lived to embarrass us.”
Adrenaline coursed through her veins when Iphigenia’s name passed Agamemnon’s lips. But she kept her head bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
She placed the basket on the floor and began placing the oils on the ledge of the bath behind Agamemnon’s head. He barely paid her any attention.
“And your sister—she is weaker than she believes. I will make her pay for what she has done. She will beg for death. Oh, I have plans for her.” He paused. “Clytemnestra, are you listening?”
She snatched the knife from the bottom of the basket and held it to his throat. She leaned down and put her lips beside his ear. “I am not Clytemnestra.” Helen ran the knife across Agamemnon’s neck. Blood poured from the wound, mixing with the water and turning his chest red.
Agamemnon jerked away from her, but he laughed even as blood seeped through the fingers he pressed to his neck. “Stupid woman. You cannot kill me.”
He went to backhand her. But she raised her palm blocking his strike. His eyes went wide. “But—”
She smiled. “What? You thought I’d fly across the room?”
Helen sliced him again, across his chest this time, and he fell back into the tub with a shout. And Helen smiled. They had not been sure if the small amount of Omni left from Troy would do the trick. But apparently, it did not require much.
Helen leaned down close to Agamemnon and whispered in his ear. “Your powers are gone. Your little puppet, Paris, kept some of your precious Omni—then left it behind in his futile attempt to escape. It courses through your system, stripping every ounce of your ability from you.”
Agamemnon had both hands pressed to his neck now, but blood continued to seep through his fingers. Helen slashed at him again, cutting his fingers. He struggled to get out of the water, to escape.
Behind Helen, the door opened. Clytemnestra strode in, flanked by Castor and Pollux.
Pollux looked at Agamemnon and smiled with satisfaction. “The wounds are not healing.”
“No, they are not,” Helen said. “The Omni worked.”
She smiled at Clytemnestra. Helen may have made the first cut, but it was her sister—her strong, resilient sister—who was responsible for this moment. For the last four months, Clytemnestra had played the role of the dutiful wife. That time had taken a toll on her. Her skin had paled, her hair had darkened, and dark circles had appeared under her eyes. But it had paid off. Agamemnon had finally let her near him, and Clytemnestra had learned where Agamemnon had hidden Helen’s ring. Then she had contacted Helen and her brothers, so they could help her finish the job.
Helen yanked the necklace from around Agamemnon’s neck. Her ring hung on the chain, just as her sister had promised it would. She wrapped her hand around it and released a breath. Finally.
Agamemnon gurgled. Helen turned away from him and extended the knife handle toward her sister. “He is yours,” she said. “I promised you that honor. But if you wish, I can—”
“No.” Clytemnestra took the knife from Helen’s hand. Her eyes were already wet with tears as she stepped toward her husband and stabbed him in the chest. “This is for Iphigenia. This is for what you have done to my sons. This is for what you have done to me.” With each statement she plunged the knife once more into her husband. Soon she was sobbing. Helen watched her in agony, wanting to intervene, but knowing Clytemnestra needed this after all she had suffered at this man’s hands.
Finally, when water and blood covered both the floor and her sister, Helen wrapped her arms around Clytemnestra and pulled her back. “Shh, shh. That’s enough.”
Clytemnestra shook her head. “No—not until it’s done.”
“It is done. Look.”
Clytemnestra looked. Agamemnon lay sprawled in the bloody water, his head tilted to the side, his eyes seeing nothing.
Whatever force was holding Clytemnestra together vanished. She sagged in Helen’s arms.
Helen held her tightly, keeping her from falling. “This time I’ve got you, sister.”
Chapter 119
The halls were empty as Helen made her way to Agamemnon’s study. All the guards were out searching for Agamemnon’s killer. Clytemnestra had run from his room, crying that a man had attacked the king and disappeared back out through the window. The guards had given chase immediately, believing the same killer who had struck down the nobility across Greece had finally turned his attentions to Mycenae.
Helen stopped at the door to Agamemnon's study and glanced around but the hall remained empty. She opened the door and a chill ran over her skin. Is that you, Agamemnon? she thought only half-jokingly.
She ignored the cluttered desk, heading straight for the long table under the window where a map was unfurled. Marks had been made along both sides of the Aegean Sea and spread out from there. Agamemnon had been putting his men in place, getting ready to take control.
She rolled up the map. But not anymore.
Also sitting on the table sat the box from Troy. Clytemnestra had said that Agamemnon had studied it, looking for the instructions on how to create the Omni. Now Helen pulled the box over to herself, wondering if somehow the instructions had become lost over time.
She ran a hand over the lid. It felt strangely warm.
She was about to open it when her ring finger began to tingle. The stones on the ring’s face began to glow—and the box grew even warmer.
Carefully, Helen opened the lid. And there, on the inside of the lid, in a glowing script, were the instructions. The instructions require the ring bearer. “I guess you were right, Ajeet,” she whispered.
A tingle of recognition ran over her. She closed the box’s lid before turning to the doorway. “Hello, Barnabus.”
“I can never sneak up on you,” he said.
“Not as long as I wear this.” Helen held up the ring.
“It is good to see it back on your finger, where it belongs.”
Helen’s hand felt heavier, but she did not disagree. Clytemnestra had come through for them. Helen had hated letting her come back here, but she had recognized that Clytemnestra had needed to do this, for her own sake—she had needed to help. And Helen knew she herself could not play the hero every time. This time it had been Clytemnestra’s turn.
Besides, Clytemnestra was right—Helen had needed time to grieve Achilles. And to hold her children again.
Helen looked out the window, where the sun was dropping below the horizon. She slipped her ring off her finger. “Thank you, Barnabus. For all your help.”
He tilted his head toward her. “No
thanks is necessary.”
“Yes, it is. You could have chosen to sit out. Or even to side with Agamemnon. But you chose to help me. I will always be grateful for your friendship.”
“And you will always have that friendship. Even if you weren’t the ring bearer.” He paused. “Have you made any decisions about what Ajeet told you? Will you go after the other sites? Find all of the hiding places for the Omni?”
Helen had been asking herself the same question. They had used the last of Paris’s vial to make Agamemnon mortal. And the idea of burying herself in a challenge right now, something that would distract her from her grief and guilt—that would distract her from her life—was more than a little appealing. Somewhere out there was a way to make Fallen mortal and to make mortals with the power of the Fallen. It could be an invaluable weapon.
But Samyaza was dead. The threat was gone. And the rest of the Fallen would not band together without their leader. She shook her head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“The Omni is too powerful. Yes, it can remove a Fallen’s ability, but it can also grant abilities. Can you imagine if it were to fall into the wrong hands? No. The immediate crisis has passed. The weapon is not needed, and I won’t bring it out into the world.”
“Were you able to find the instructions?”
Helen didn’t hesitate. The instructions, the temptation to use them, it needed to stay with her. “No. But others exist out there.”
“So what is to become of that box?”
She handed it to Barnabus. “I will give it to a friend to hide and not tell me where it is.”
“Me? Why?”
