The Belial Warrior (The Belial Series Book 9)

by R. D. Brady

  Castor was at her side immediately. “What is it?”

  “The awareness—but it’s greater than anything I’ve felt before.”

  “Helen!” Achilles yelled again.

  Helen’s head jerked up. She knew the feeling of awareness had come from him—but why was it so strong? She had always known Achilles was a Fallen, even without the ring; she’d seen him fight with Pollux. Was it the emotion between them that made the feeling so strong?

  Regaining her feet, Helen ran down the hall turning to the door that led to the training grounds. Instead of a door, she was confronted by empty space.

  The doors lay shattered on the ground beyond it. Shaken, Helen quickly crossed the destroyed entryway, stunned by the sight in front of her.

  Achilles stood in the middle of the training yard, his chest heaving, his hair wild around his face, turning from one side to the other. Three arrows were embedded in his chest, and blood poured down his sides. Guards two deep surrounded the boundary of the yard, clearly keeping their distance. The ground in between them and Achilles was littered with broken bodies.

  “Where is she? You are keeping her from me!” Achilles shouted. He lunged at a guard with astonishing speed and flung him through the air. Men scrambled to get out of the way as the guard flew across the yard and crashed into the wall of the citadel.

  “Achilles!” Helen yelled.

  Castor grabbed her arm before she could step forward. “Helen, stop.”

  Achilles blinked at her as if he thought she was a mirage. “Helen?”

  “He will hurt you,” Castor hissed.

  “I am the only one he will not hurt.” Shaking Castor off, she approached Achilles slowly, if she were approaching a wounded animal. Pollux and Castor followed right behind her.

  “Helen?” Achilles asked again.

  “It’s me,” Helen said. She shook her head at an archer taking aim.

  Achilles’s shoulders drooped. “You were gone for so long.”

  “I’m sorry. There was much to do.” Helen stepped closer.

  Achilles’s words slurred. “I couldn’t find you.” He swayed on his feet.

  Helen inched closer. What had happened here? Was he drunk? Had he truly gone mad? She tried to keep her voice calm while inside she whirled. “It’s all right. I’m here now.”

  “It’s all right,” he echoed. Then he crashed to his knees.

  With a cry, Helen ran forward. Her heart broke at the sight of Achilles like this.

  He looked up at her with tears in his eyes. “I couldn’t find you.”

  Helen dropped to her knees in front of him. Gently she wiped a tear from his cheek. “It’s all right now. I'm here. Everything is all right.”

  Achilles nodded, then closed his eyes and pitched forward. Pollux grabbed him before he could land on Helen.

  Castor took Achilles’s other arm. “We’ll take him.”

  “But—”

  “We’ll make sure he is taken care of and that he hurts no one else,” Castor said.

  Helen nodded numbly. She watched her brothers carry Achilles between them until they disappeared around the side of the stables.

  Then she became aware of the silence around her. She looked around at the faces of the Spartan warriors who encircled the yard. The emotions on their faces ranged from anger to confusion to pity and fear. She looked at the ground—at Achilles’s victims—and she understood why.

  Then one of those victims began to stir. And the sight of him slammed the door on any plans she had made on the long ride home from Plataea. It was someone she recognized well.

  Her father shook his head and rolled to his knees.

  As Helen watched him she knew that whatever fantasy she had concocted about her and Achilles had been destroyed as thoroughly as the doors she had walked over on her way in.

  Chapter 16

  Six months later

  The sound of people walking down the hall could be heard through the door. Helen had been listening to the footsteps since before dawn, guessing each time who it was and what they were up to. And when she didn’t hear any footsteps, she listened for conveyances. At one point she heard what she thought might be some minstrels or acrobats, judging by the oohs and aahs of people below. But no matter what she heard, Helen did not get out of bed. She just lay there wishing she had more time.

  A knock sounded at her door before it was pushed open. Adorna spied her in bed as she bustled in, a gown over her arm. “Ah, good, you’re awake. It’s an important day.”

  Helen groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

  Adorna disappeared into the bathing chamber and then reappeared without the gown. She started straightening up the room, humming as she went. Adorna clearly did not fear disturbing the future queen. Helen wasn’t sure Adorna feared anything.

  “Most girls would be honored to have dozens of men fighting for her hand,” Adorna said.

  Helen rolled her eyes. “Yes, because they all fell madly in love with me before they even laid eyes on me.”

  “Is that self-pity I hear?”

  Helen sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “No, simply an observation.”

  “Well, observe your way to the bathing room.”

  “Yes, Adorna,” Helen said sweetly, earning a laugh from Adorna.

  But Helen's smile dropped as soon as she closed the door behind her. Today was when the first of the guests for the competition arrived, and Helen wanted nothing more than to hop on a horse and race as far away as she could. But that is not what we Spartans do. We do not run from problems. We charge straight at them.

  She glanced at the long, yellow dress with disgust. Then again, no one said I needed to rush.

  Helen took her time bathing trying to keep her mind blank but the images of Achilles seeped in. After the destruction in the training yard, the king had not listened to Helen’s pleas or even Leda’s. “He will never be king of Sparta,” he had told Helen. “Never.” And he had banished Achilles before Helen could even speak with him.

  Helen had tried to find a way to explain Achilles’s behavior. She knew something had been done to Achilles that night—for she had never seen him behave like that before or since. After he returned to his senses, he told Pollux that he had been drinking with a man named Claudius, but that he was sure he was not drunk—that in fact he’d had very little to drink. And suspiciously, Claudius, who had arrived only a week earlier, had disappeared that very night. Helen had dispatched men to track him down, but they had all returned empty-handed. And thus Helen’s fate had been sealed.

  So Achilles was gone, and she was to be married to someone else. Duty trumped love. As a Spartan, she knew that better than most. So she had thrown herself into her training, honing her skills as a ring bearer. She had tracked down and killed both men and Fallen who were preying on innocents. She had even managed to drum up a rainstorm for nearby lands on the edge of drought—only to be chagrined the next day when the people loudly credited Zeus’s compassion for the rains.

  And while she worked and trained, she studiously avoided thinking of Achilles. She walled him up in a corner of her mind. Until last night, when he had slipped into her dreams. And now he plagued her waking thoughts.

  Enough. He is gone. And this is your duty. Resigned, she stepped from the tub. She put on the flowing pale yellow gown that waited for her. Her legs could move freely enough, as long as she didn’t have to run or fight. But she supposed with a sigh she would not have to do either today.

  When she returned to the bedroom, Adorna, who was making the bed, stopped, her mouth falling open. “You look beautiful.”

  Helen looked at herself in the mirror, as Adorna walked over and placed her hands on Helen’s shoulders. Adorna’s brown hair had begun to gray, her skin had more wrinkles than just a year ago, and her shoulders had even begun to stoop, making Helen feel taller and more aware that time was passing quickly. But Adorna’s brown eyes and no-nonsense approach to life hadn’t changed.

  An
d now Adorna looked at Helen with understanding—but also conviction. “I know it is not what you want. But it is the duty of the future Queen of Sparta.”

  Helen placed her hand over Adorna’s and stared at their reflection. “I know. But it would be nice if I got to choose my husband for reasons other than his political connections.”

  Adorna smiled. “You mean for his broad shoulders?”

  Helen sighed. “Might be better than the size of his holdings.”

  Adorna tugged Helen away from the mirror. “Come on. A good breakfast, and all will be right with the world.”

  Helen let herself be led outside. She tried to sound cheerful as she replied, “I’m sure you’re right.”

  Straightening, she blew out a breath, imagining what her parents would say about her self-pity. I am the future Queen of Sparta. I will do whatever is best for my people. But a small corner of her mind still asked, But wouldn’t it be nice if I could choose what was best for me instead?

  Chapter 17

  Leda stood on the balcony, overlooking the grounds. Their visitors had begun arriving three days ago, and tomorrow the contests would begin—contests of strength, dexterity, and cunning.

  An arm slipped around her waist. Tyndareus smiled down at her. “It will be fine.”

  Leda clasped his arm. “I wish none of this were necessary. Achilles—”

  Tyndareus’s mouth tightened. “Enough. The matter is settled. He is no more than a raging beast. He is not worthy of the Spartan title, never mind worthy to be its king.”

  Leda shook her head. She knew Achilles had been drugged. Helen knew it as well. But Tyndareus would not accept it. And as he had been among those so easily defeated by Achilles, his pride had played no small part in his decision to ban Achilles. Tyndareus was a good man but he was a product of his time. And in this time and place, the preferences of women did not count against the preferences of men.

  But Leda knew how much Achilles loved her daughter. And with all that was to come in Helen's life, she had wanted her to have a husband who would always be in her corner. Achilles, though, was gone and Helen was heartbroken, though she tried to hide it. The only good to come from the whole situation was that Helen had come up with some possible new solutions to the Fallen problem. She now had alchemists trying various poisons to see if any could incapacitate a Fallen for an extended period of time, and she was also developing an idea for a containment unit.

  Oblivious to his wife's thoughts, Tyndareus gestured to the land in front of them. “I know Helen is hurt. But with her hand comes all of Sparta. And the rumors of her beauty and strength have stretched across the world. She is a prize.”

  Leda narrowed her eyes. “She is a woman, not a trophy. And I wonder how pleased these men will be when they realize just how powerful she truly is? No man wants to take on a wife who can beat him in a fight.”

  Tyndareus’s hazel eyes twinkled. “I seem to recall one who did not mind.”

  Leda smiled. “Spartan men are more evolved. They have a strength of character others lack.”

  “So do Spartan women. She will be fine. She is your daughter, after all.”

  Leda’s smile faltered, but she only squeezed her husband’s hand. She turned her gaze to where the flags of the differing kingdoms who were fighting for Helen’s hand were raised. That is why I’m worried, she thought. I know what is to come.

  She pictured her beautiful, headstrong daughter. I’m sorry, Helen. I wish I could do more.

  Chapter 18

  Helen had been a dutiful host for three days, smiling at guests and speaking when required. But every chance she got, she left for a run or a hard ride on her horse. Castor or Pollux always found her—and he would stay with her until she knew she needed to return. But those little bursts of freedom were needed to keep the feelings of suffocation at bay.

  Her mother knew she was disappearing, but she had said nothing to her father. In fact, she had covered for her. And Helen loved her all the more for it.

  The competition was now set to begin in two days, and hundreds of guests had already arrived. But none of those arrivals had elicited the same anticipation and dread as the one she was waiting on now.

  Her twin sister, Clytemnestra, was finally coming home.

  It had been three long years since Helen had laid eyes on her, and all the doubts from their last conversation flew through her mind. Had Helen pushed too hard? Not hard enough? Should she have said nothing? But how could she in good conscience have allowed her sister, her twin, to marry Agamemnon without first voicing her concerns?

  Trying to push away the memory of the scene, she closed her eyes, but that only brought it out in vivid detail.

  The sisters stood in the room they had shared since they were babes. They were identical from toes to face, except for their hair—Clytemnestra’s was darker than Helen’s. And Helen had often thought that Clytemnestra had a softness Helen lacked. Sometimes that softness angered her—Spartans were not meant to be soft—but at other times, she envied it.

  The Clytemnestra standing in front of her now, though, showed no sign of that softness. Her arms were crossed and her chin was held up defiantly. “I am marrying Agamemnon.”

  Helen was unable to believe her sister could agree to such a match. “You cannot be serious.”

  “I am serious. He is a strong man and a king. And I will be queen.”

  “Yes, but he is not a good man. I worry how he will treat you.”

  Clytemnestra waved away Helen’s concerns. “You worry too much. And you don’t know him. He was a child when he was here. I’m sure he’s changed.”

  “People don’t change—not who they truly are.”

  Clytemnestra narrowed her eyes. “Are you worried for me, or are you jealous?”

  Helen reared back. “Jealous? Of what?”

  “That I am getting married before you. That I too will be a queen.”

  “I—You know that’s not it. I want you happy.”

  “No, you want me second. Hidden behind the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  “We are twins! If I am beautiful, then so are you.”

  “But people don’t write odes to my beauty, do they? They don’t talk of me in foreign lands as if I am a gift from the gods.”

  “That has nothing to do with me. If I weren’t the heir, they would not even look at me.”

  Clytemnestra went still, her voice quiet. “The way they don’t look at me?”

  Helen’s mouth fell open. “No. I didn’t mean that. You know that.”

  Clytemnestra shook her head. “No. All I know is that I am happy. And I am to be married. And you are making this about you.”

  Helen reached out a hand, but Clytemnestra slipped out of her reach. “No. If you cannot be happy for me, then you cannot be there for me. You are not invited to my wedding. You are my sister no longer.”

  And she slipped from the room.

  In the years since that day, Clytemnestra had birthed two children, with a third on the way, and still, Helen had not seen her. Helen had sent letters begging her sister to speak with her, but she never received a reply. She missed Clytemnestra so much. She loved her brothers, but there was something about Clytemnestra that filled a space that neither brother could touch.

  But Clytemnestra was finally coming home. Helen didn’t know if she should hope for a reconciliation or prepare herself to be treated coldly. The uncertainty was adding to her nervousness over this whole ridiculous affair. She anxiously paced the length of the balcony that ran across the front of their home. “Where is she?”

  Castor grabbed her around the waist. “Wearing a hole in the floor will not make her appear any faster.”

  Helen reached down and grabbed one of his legs from between hers. He went down with a yell, and avoided smacking his head on the floor only thanks to Pollux's quick shove of a pillow underneath him. Pollux raised an eyebrow. “Really? Is that the behavior of a future queen?”

  She smiled sweetly at him. “It is
when the future queen has annoying brothers.”

  Adorna appeared in the doorway. “Your sister’s carriage comes, if you three can quit behaving like barbarians long enough to greet her.”

  Helen ran to the edge of the balcony, leaning over to see the bend in the road. Sure enough, a caravan was headed toward them. It could only be Clytemnestra; very few of the guests were allowed to reside in the house, and all of them had already arrived..

  Butterflies raced through Helen’s stomach, and she gripped the bannister tightly.

  Pollux stepped up next to her. “It will be all right.”

  “What if she hasn’t forgiven me?” The fight with Clytemnestra played through her mind once again. “She said I am no longer her sister.”

  “She didn’t mean it. She knows you only said those things out of love.”

  “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he is not as bad as—”

  Pollux took her hand. “We all know who Agamemnon is. Father never should have let her marry him. Just be there for her if she needs you.”

  Helen nodded, clasping her brother’s hand.

  “Let’s go.” Pollux tugged her back inside and down the stairs to the front door. Pollux had already run ahead. A guard opened the door for them.

  Helen held her breath, searching inside the conveyance for any movement. Then a hand appeared on the edge of the door, and Clytemnestra’s face appeared.

  Helen gasped. Her sister was so thin, and she had dark circles under her eyes.

  Helen was moving before her sister could climb completely out. But Pollux got there first. He ushered the servant away, taking Clytemnestra’s hand and helping her from the carriage.

  Clytemnestra smiled, tears shining in her eyes. “Pollux.”

  Helen hung back, not certain what to do or to say.

  Pollux hugged her carefully, as if he too realized how fragile she was. Then Castor was elbowing Pollux aside. “Save some of that for me.”