The Belial Warrior (The Belial Series Book 9)

by R. D. Brady

  “I hate this part,” Helen grumbled. “These men are being duped.”

  “The mortals might be, but the Fallen aren’t. Maybe this one will be able to tell us something about ‘Zeus.’”

  “Maybe,” Helen said, though she didn’t hold out hope. She was sure the Fallen knew more than the men did, but so far, none had ever been willing to talk.

  Castor nodded down the road. “I’ll get the coffins and tell Aeropus the village is safe.”

  Helen nodded, but she knew his words weren’t entirely true. No one was truly safe as long as Zeus was planning something.

  The lone Fallen stirred and glared up at Helen. “His time grows near. He will take control of this world and smash all those who oppose him. He will destroy you.”

  Another one talking about something coming, Helen thought. In the last few months, the Fallen had all suggested that Zeus was building toward something. And whatever it was would no doubt not be good for the world.

  Chapter 24

  It was almost dawn by the time they had the Fallen and nephilim in coffins, and loaded on a barge that would take them to Saqqara. Each of them had been drugged which should keep them out until they reached the necropolis. Helen watched the barge sail off, a frown on her face.

  “What is it?” Castor asked.

  “I don’t know. These tales of Zeus and his sending people after other Fallen. Why? What is the point?”

  “Someone wants to cleanse the world of them?” Pollux offered.

  Helen shook her head. “No, because Fallen or nephilim—or both—are always part of Zeus’s group. Something else is at work here.”

  “What?”

  Helen blew out a breath. “That’s the problem—I don’t know. But something’s building.”

  Castor put an arm around her. “We’ll figure it out.”

  An eagle let out a cry, and Helen’s gaze flew upward. The bird soared in a circle right above them. “Oh, no. Menelaus.”

  Without a word, Pollux lifted her into his arms and sprinted back toward Athens. Helen closed her eyes. To anyone watching, they would be no more than a burst of wind. But Helen knew from experience that keeping her eyes open during these runs meant she would be sick as soon as they stopped.

  She and Menelaus were in Athens because Menelaus had been checking on their holdings here. Officially, Helen had offered to go along as a sort of second honeymoon, but in reality, she had wanted to go because Zeus had been stepping up his attacks in the area, and she had hoped to learn more about him.

  “Almost there,” Pollux breathed.

  Helen nodded, feeling the flap of her tent. Pollux dropped her in her bed and threw the blankets over her before disappearing back through the tent flaps.

  Helen kept her eyes shut and tried to calm her breathing, hoping Menelaus didn’t climb into bed with her. She wasn’t sure how she’d explain her clothes and sandals. The ring. She scrambled to yank it off her sweaty finger under the covers, but it was stuck. Then she heard the soft approach of her husband and went still.

  Menelaus sat down on the edge of the bed and pushed a hair from Helen’s face. Helen stirred, opening her eyes slowly. “Menelaus?”

  He smiled. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. But I wanted to see you.”

  She ran a hand along his arm. “I have missed you.”

  “I have missed you too.”

  “I hope you haven’t been taxing yourself too much.”

  “Of course not. I spent the days with books and my brothers.”

  “Good. I will take a bath and then join you. Unless you wish to join me?”

  “I will be along in a minute.”

  He leaned down and kissed her softly. “I will be waiting for you.” He stood and left the tent.

  Helen watched him go, her face softening. She loved him. Not the way she had loved Achilles, but that love… it was the love of young people. This love was the type that stood the test of time.

  She sat up, throwing off the blankets. She reached for the water next to her bed, dunked her hand in, and pulled the ring off her finger. Then she held it up, watching the stones glimmer in the light. I just wish I didn’t have to keep who I am from him.

  Chapter 25

  “Zeus” stormed into his study and picked up a vase he had found on a trip to China four years ago. It was a delicate, polished ceremonial object thousands of years old that he had plucked from the banks of the Yangtze River.

  He hurled it across the room. It struck the wall and splintered into shards.

  Gods be damned. The ring bearer had interfered again. Over the last ten years, she had continually thwarted his attempts to thin the ranks. And he still didn’t even know who she was. In fact, all he knew was she was female.

  The only saving grace was she did not know who he was either. But she had been trying to find his identity as well.

  He spied a box and a scroll on his desk, a note beside them. Where had this come from? He picked up the note.

  I believe your search is over.

  —Faenus

  Zeus smiled as he opened the box. A stone tablet, obviously ancient, lay inside. For a moment Zeus was silent, awe robbing him of his words. For years he’d been scouring the globe for this object; more recently, he’d taken to sending emissaries on his behalf. And now one of his best agents had succeeded.

  His anger forgotten, he broke the seal on the scroll—a seal marked with two intertwined triangles—and unrolled it with trembling hands. His pulse ticked up with each word he read. He let the parchment drop to the desk and walked to the balcony, his hand to his mouth. After all this time…

  His mind ticked through next steps. He ruled out two paths immediately. They would take too long.

  Which left only one.

  It would not be easy—but it was possible. With some thought, some planning, he could make it happen.

  But first things first. He crossed the room and opened the door. The guard outside straightened his spine. “Find me Faenus.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The guard bowed and hurried off.

  “Zeus” poured himself a drink. It was a shame about Faenus. He was a good soldier. But loose ends were not acceptable.

  Chapter 26

  Thebes, Greece

  Paris, the prince of Troy, smiled as he stepped away from the fighting tent. The festival in Thebes was everything he had hoped it would be. Food, women, entertainment. This is what I deserve. His brother, Hector, had been right about this, at least.

  He frowned. And this is what I have been denied. The bitterness of missing out on the privilege of his station in life was a constant companion. But he banished that thought. He was back with his family now, and he should enjoy it—not allow bitterness from the past to tarnish it.

  He headed toward the avenue of merchants trying to sell their wares.

  “A drink, good prince?” a woman called. She was clad in red and blue satin, marking her as a servant of the royal family. He had seen them all day, moving in and out of the crowds with food and drink.

  Paris shook his head. “I am well.”

  “But good prince, this is a special blend. Only royalty have ever been allowed to let it pass their lips.”

  Paris raised an eyebrow. An exclusive drink. He smiled. “Well, I am royalty.” He took the goblet and sipped. It was good, with a taste of cherries and other berries and a hint of something he could not quite recognize.

  He walked away from the servant without a word, sipping from the goblet every few steps. It really was quite delicious. No wonder it is reserved for those of superior birth.

  He stepped onto the path and squinted, his eyelids feeling heavy. His tongue felt dry as well. The goblet tumbled from his hand, and he stumbled, steadying himself against a tent pole.

  “Good prince,” a woman purred in his ear. “Let me help you.”

  He blinked at her. “Who are you?”

  “Do you not recognize me, my love? I am Aphrodite.”

  Paris squinted. He could ma
ke out her long blond hair and shapely figure, but he couldn’t quite make out her face. “Of course, your beauty is unparalleled.”

  Aphrodite put her arm around his waist. “Come with me, Prince. There is a task only you can fulfill.”

  Paris perked up even as his brain and vision stayed fuzzy. The goddess calls on me. I am truly blessed. He didn’t question the goddess’s interest in him; the gods had blessed him with incredible looks, and women had often beckoned him into their bed, even before they knew of his royal birth.

  Aphrodite led him into a tent and lowered him onto a pile of colorful pillows. He reached for her, but she danced out of his way with a laugh. “Not quite, my prince.”

  The tent flap opened, and two more women entered. Both had long hair—one black, one brown. He couldn’t see their faces, but he recognized them nonetheless.

  “Hera and Athena,” he said. “All of the goddesses have joined me. Lucky man.”

  “Yes,” Aphrodite said. “We know, poor prince, that you have been treated so unfairly by your family. How could they turn you out when you are so rightly a prince? Why, you would make an even better king than Hector.”

  Paris nodded, knowing she spoke the truth. “But my brother is heir,” he said. He had been going for humble, but even to his ears the words came out bitter.

  “We are here to rectify this grave injustice,” Hera said.

  Paris grinned and tried to stand, but he fell onto his side and received a mouthful of pillow for his efforts. He pushed himself back up, but once up on his hands he couldn’t remember what he was doing.

  Gentle hands landed on his shoulders. “Let me help you, Prince.” He was turned over, and pillows were piled behind his back and along his sides, keeping him upright.

  Aphrodite stood in front of him, her hands on her hips. “Now, Prince. We have been fighting among ourselves over who is the most beautiful. We thought you could decide.”

  Paris blinked hard, but he still could not bring her face into focus. “You are all so beautiful, I could not choose among you.”

  Irritation crept into Aphrodite’s voice. “But you must.”

  Paris’s head tilted up, and a frown crossed his face.

  “I mean,” she said, her tone soothing again, “please allow us to each present our case, as well the reward you will receive if you pick us.”

  Paris perked up again. The reward of a goddess. That would truly be worth something. “Very well. Make your cases.”

  Hera stepped forward. “Handsome prince, you deserve much for the unfair treatment you have received at the hands of your family. If you choose me, I will make you the king of Europe and Asia.”

  “I can do better,” Athena said. “I will give you wisdom and unrivaled skill in war.”

  But no riches, Paris thought sourly.

  “But I,” Aphrodite said, “will give you more than all of that. I will give you the world’s most beautiful woman—Helen of Sparta. Beauty, power, riches—Helen has it all. And it will all be yours. No man would dare turn up his nose at you with her at your side. No man would dare speak against you with her at your side. You will be the envy of the world. Your place in this world—your rightful place in this world—will be assured.”

  Paris nodded. She was right. Helen commanded the world’s fiercest army. Everyone knew that no one could compete with the Spartans. And with that army, he could conquer the world.

  But then he frowned. Something was wrong with Aphrodite’s offer. “Isn’t she married?”

  “That does not matter. We have the backing of Zeus himself. Whichever of us you choose, Zeus will support. If it is Helen you choose, it is Helen you will receive.”

  “Then I choose Aphrodite as the most beautiful.”

  “Thank you, good prince.”

  A goblet was placed in Paris’s hand, and Aphrodite said, “Now drink.”

  He took a long sip. It was a stronger wine than the one from before. He drained the cup and blinked. Black spots danced across his vision. The goblet was taken from his hand just before he tilted forward, asleep.

  Chapter 27

  When Paris awoke, he was in a seated position, his chin on his chest. But he could see nothing. He felt at his eyes, but there was nothing covering them. Where was he? What had happened?

  Then he recalled the three goddesses. Had that been a dream?

  “Awake, Prince,” a voice boomed.

  Paris’s head jolted back and slammed into a rock wall behind him. He grimaced against the pain, his hand flying to the back of his head. “Who’s there?” he called. “I am the prince of Troy. I will not—”

  “I know who you are,” the voice boomed back at him. “How dare you speak to me in such a tone?” The whole cave seemed to shake with the words.

  Paris’s eyes grew wide as he realized whom he had yelled at. “Zeus?”

  For a moment the cave was silent. Then the voice spoke again. “You have ended a feud among three of my goddesses. That has been a great help to me. I find myself wanting to return the favor.”

  Paris’s mouth fell open. Zeus wants me to help him? “I—I—”

  “Aphrodite has promised you Helen of Sparta. You chose wisely. Helen is your way to riches beyond your imagining.”

  “But I have heard that Helen is happily married.”

  “She is. You must find a way to make her want to leave. If you do that, you will have all Aphrodite promised you and more. You will have tenfold the riches of Sparta. I promise you that.”

  Tenfold Sparta’s wealth—that was beyond even Paris’s imagining. “I will do it, sir. I will make her love me.”

  “Love is not necessary. Just be sure to take her from Sparta and bring her back to Troy. I have a plan in place to aid you in this endeavor.”

  Paris scoffed. “I need no plan. She is a woman. She will fall in love with me after only a glance.”

  Zeus scoffed. “Helen is not a girl whose head is easily turned. But possession of her will lead to untold power.”

  Paris stewed at the reprimand. “Yes, of course.”

  “Now listen close, for here is what is to happen…”

  Chapter 28

  Sparta, Greece

  Giggles rang out through the courtyard, and Helen’s heart lifted at the sound. Castor and Pollux had taken her two six-year-old boys, Davos and Theron, for training in the mountains. They had been gone for a month and would return in a few days. But Helen had eight-year-old Hermione all to herself, and she was loving it.

  “Now, where could Hermione be?” Helen asked loudly as she walked toward the middle of the courtyard. In response, she heard more giggles.

  Helen shook her head with a smile. She needed to teach her daughter how to hide more quietly. She had played this game with her since she was old enough to walk, and usually her daughter was good at it; it had taken Helen as long as an hour to find her on previous occasions. But Hermione’s good mood today was making it difficult for her to stay silent.

  Helen crept toward a small copse of trees. A branch rattled, and Helen frowned. She needs to be better than this. Although Helen had made it a game, it was also part of Hermione’s training—learning how to be unobserved by an enemy. For a child, being able to hide well was often more useful than being able to fight—although Hermione knew how to do that as well.

  Helen moved toward the tree, scanning the limbs for any sign of her daughter. A small thump sounded behind her. Helen whirled around as Hermione rolled to her feet, running for the base with a laugh.

  Good girl.

  Helen took off after her. Hermione’s strides ate up the ground, and Helen couldn’t help but marvel at how fast she had gotten. Helen was almost upon her when Hermione reached out a hand and touched the side of the wall. “Safe!”

  Helen put out her own hands to keep from running into the wall. “Well done.”

  Hermione beamed up at her. Helen saw Menelaus in her eyes, her mother in her cheekbones, and herself in the rest of her. She pulled Hermione into a hug. “You d
istracted me and sent me in the wrong direction. Excellent.”

  Hermione wrapped her arms around Helen and hugged her back.

  Helen was content to stay there, with her chin on the top of Hermione’s head, for as long as Hermione would let her. These moments were far too rare, and she had enjoyed this last month of being able to focus solely on her daughter.

  “Excuse me, my queen.” Darius had appeared in the doorway.

  “Yes?”

  “A ship in need of repairs has arrived. The owner insists on meeting with you to extend his thanks for allowing him the use of our docks.”

  A ship’s owner thinking they were allowed to speak with her? That was unusual. She frowned. “Who is the owner?”

  “Prince Paris of Troy.”

  Helen frowned. She knew of Paris, of course, but she’d never met him. He had been discovered by the royal family of Troy only a few years ago at the urging of a seer, and apparently he had been making up for lost time, embracing every privilege of being a royal. From what she'd heard, he eschewed war for bedroom activities.

  Helen sighed. She really didn’t feel like dealing with a spoiled royal right now, but decorum dictated she offer him food and lodging. “Very well. He may stay in the east wing until his ship is repaired. And tell the cook we’ll have more at dinner.”

  “Yes, my queen.” Darius bowed and took his leave.

  “Mother?”

  Helen looked down into Hermione’s hazel eyes. “Yes?”

  “Does that mean we cannot play anymore?”

  Helen smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “Nope. But it does mean that it is my turn to hide.” Helen took off at a run. Hermione’s laughter trailed behind her.

  Helen shoved the unexpected prince from her mind. He was simply an inconvenience. After all, how much trouble could a boy prince really be?