Chapter 5 Prisoners of War #3
Patro’s eyes sharpened as he glared at me. “It doesn’t mean she’s innocent—some people are experts at deception. Maybe she hasn’t assisted him. Maybe she was the leader of the entire operation? You can never tell—I want to question her. Extensively.”
I stepped back in front of her. “You promised.”
Patro clenched his fists. “Alex,” he said, his jaw working like he wanted to say something else.
I held his gaze. “Leave.”
Patro backed away from me and turned to Achilles, signing rapidly, “That bastard almost killed her, and this bitch probably helped—we can’t let them free her. It’s not safe.”
I swallowed down the urge to argue.
Can’t you see she’s suffering? She’s not a threat, you heartless bastard.
When the men had forcibly taken me and Charlie from Montana, back to Sparta, we’d agreed to hide that we knew sign language from the others so we could collect information. It felt safer that way.
It was getting harder to hide that we could communicate, but I was glad for our subterfuge, because it meant I could understand moments like this.
Achilles looked back and forth between me and Patro. “You promised her,” he signed slowly. “If you want her to trust us, you can’t change your mind.”
Patro swore viciously. He rubbed at the back of his neck.
Wait, why do they suddenly care what I think?
“You questioned her. Can we all go to bed?” Helen whined. “I’m tired.”
Augustus’s face immediately twisted with concern. “This is settled for now. We can discuss it at dinner tomorrow. Everyone, go back to bed!”
Wow, she’s good.
Patro turned slowly and stared at me, his eyes piercing.
I squirmed.
There was something different about the way he was looking at me, something unsettling.
Achilles glanced between us, tensing.
Is he angry?
Patro grabbed Achilles’s arm. “You’re all trusting fools—something is suspicious about her … I can feel it.” He muttered something about Ceres being shorter than he remembered.
I swallowed a retort as they stalked away down the hall.
“Tomorrow morning,” Augustus said, voice sharp with danger. “Be ready—Alexis.”
He once again said my name like it was a threat.
Kharon’s frigid eyes sharpened. “Good night, wife.”
Helen and I flanked Ceres, holding her on either side and shielding her from the men with our bodies as we escorted her down the hall.
Augustus and Kharon didn’t move as we passed; they both just watched.
By the time we made it to the bedroom next to Helen’s—which shared a connecting door with hers—I was trying not to throw up from anxiety.
“Just rest for now,” I whispered to Ceres as she tentatively crawled into the grand four-poster bed. “Shower in the morning. You need to heal.”
Her panicked eyes met mine as she settled under the covers, quivering, covered in dirt and blood.
“I remember recent events,” Ceres said shakily. “But the years before that, my childhood, it’s all a blur. I need to remember where I came from. I need to know who I am … I need … I need …” She trailed off with a strangled gasp.
Her trauma was tangible.
“I can bring you Spartan books,” Helen offered. “About our history, your history. It will help you … regain what you’ve lost.”
For the first time, Ceres relaxed, her guard lowering. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I like to read—it should help … I can’t thank you both enough—what you’ve done is …” Her voice cracked as she trailed off, staring at me with tear-filled eyes.
“Of course,” I said, even though apprehension twisted my stomach. I’d felt the fear and acted anyway.
So had Helen.
Eventually, the consequences would come for us. Until then, we’d bring Ceres whatever books she needed until she got her memory back.
Helen and I turned to leave.
“Wait! I recall … one thing,” Ceres blurted.
We turned back to her.
Her lavender eyes were wide and haunted. “Zeus.”
Talons of fear scraped down my spine. “What … about him?” I asked as a high-pitched ringing started in my left ear.
Ceres looked dejected. “I can’t remember.”
Helen and I backed away into her bedroom and closed the door. We crawled into her pink bed and turned onto our sides, facing away from each other.
Fraught silence stretched.
“You don’t want to mess with Zeus.”
It took me a second to process Helen’s quiet voice.
“There’s a reason,” she said, “that the Great War was so fatal for Olympians and Chthonics. Have you ever wondered why no one talks about it?”
I dug my nails into the “C+A” tattooed on my forearm.
Everything about Sparta was convoluted.
“Three words,” Helen whispered.
I squinted, confused what—
“Mutually assured destruction.”
Paralysis stiffened my limbs. Rigor mortis.
Helen fell asleep first, whimpering and kicking under the covers. When I finally joined her, I dreamed of a cloaked grim reaper watching me.
“Be careful, darling,” Death whispered darkly into my ear, twirling one of my curls.
It’s just a nightmare.
A mouth brushed softly against my forehead, lips warm and disturbingly real. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.
The grim reaper stared down at me.
All night, he didn’t move.
Death stood hunched over my side of the bed, staring without blinking, hovering inches from my face, his breath hot against my cheek.
Watching.
Mutually assured destruction played on a loop inside my head.