Chapter 7
The morning was fresh the day my world fell apart. Autumn had finally set her claws into the earth, letting the summer heat bleed out.
I was with my mother, preparing our masters’ breakfast. The kitchens hummed with activity; fires spluttered to life, pots clattered, feet shuffled to and from the storeroom.
Sweet cinnamon punctuated the air as one of the cooks sprinkled it over the porridge.
It was a rare and expensive spice, the smell of a luxury I would never know the taste of.
The sound of footsteps caught my attention.
I glanced at my mother, a silent question lifting my brows. A second later, guards burst into the kitchens.
“Up. Move. Now.”
“I said now!”
“What’s going on?” I gasped.
“It’s all right,” my mother whispered. “Just stay close to me. Everything will be all right.”
Before I could even wipe my dough-caked fingers, I was swept up in a swirling current of rushing feet as the guards herded us outside.
“Move faster.”
“Keep quiet.”
“Eyes ahead.”
I gripped my mother’s hand as we spilled out into the palace grounds.
Sleepy morning mist skulked across the earth, dew-dusted grass caressing our feet.
Ahead of us, a thick thread of gold tied the horizon to the sky as Helios began his daily ascent.
Beneath that sky, I spied men working the fields, their spindly silhouettes like smudges of paint.
Some turned to watch as the guards drove us into straight, uniform rows.
To our left were three large carts. One was filled with pigs, another with bleating sheep. The third cart was empty.
Icy dread crept up my spine. I looked at my mother again, watching the fear tighten around her like a noose.
“It’s all right,” she repeated. “Everything will be all right.”
I nodded, though we both knew it was a lie.
Panic seeped into the air, spreading like a sickness, making the silence weigh heavier on our shoulders as we waited. After what felt like an eternity, a figure finally appeared, and those tendrils of dread twisted into great talons of fear.
As Queen Leda strode toward us, familiar memories seized me, vivid and terrible. My scars began to burn as if those tongues of fire had found me again, had come to finish what they had started, to devour me whole.
My mother squeezed my hand, tugging me back. I met her gaze, the understanding in her eyes steadying me. She knew the shapes of all my scars, even those hidden deep inside.
“As you know, there has been an issue of overcrowding in the royal kitchens,” Queen Leda announced. She did not lift her voice, forcing us to strain to hear. “There is not enough space to work and sleep or food to go around. These are not appropriate conditions.”
It should have felt reassuring, hearing this from the mouth of our queen, but the tension in the air only sharpened.
“Today, I am going to rectify this issue. Sacrifice the few to benefit the many,” Leda continued. “I ask for your cooperation. There is no need for this to become…difficult.”
I shifted closer to my mother. “She does not mean—”
“Quiet,” a guard snapped.
Silence followed, stretching dangerously thin as Queen Leda made her way down the lines.
She stopped to inspect each slave, turning their face, checking their teeth, sometimes asking a question or two.
After every inspection, Leda would mutter something to a guard, and he would escort that slave to stand in one of two places—either beside the carts or back toward the palace.
The word “sacrifice” turned in my mind, but I forced myself to remain calm.
The two groups began to swell as Leda progressed through the rows of slaves.
Most were being directed to the group nearest the palace, while the cluster by the cart appeared far smaller; I had only counted eleven slaves by the time Leda neared us.
Most were older women; a few were younger but thin and sickly looking.
One was pregnant, anxiously rubbing her swollen stomach.
Leda was close now, and I had a sudden, eclipsing thought that she might remember me.
But as the queen of Sparta finally turned her attention on to me, I realized her eyes were blank, devoid of any recognition.
I stared up at her face, as beautiful and cold as winter sunlight.
While she had permanently resided in my nightmares for the past four summers, I had not even mattered enough to be remembered.
I was nobody to her. I was nothing.
She pinched my cheeks and turned my head from side to side.
“Open,” she commanded, and I let my mouth hang open so she could assess my teeth. “Age?”
“Thirteen,” I mumbled.
Leda flicked another glance over me, then said, “Keep.”
Beside me, I felt my mother sag with relief. She squeezed my hand before letting go, and I suddenly felt horribly exposed without her palm in mine. Before I could reach for her again, a guard seized my arm and began dragging me toward the palace.
As I stumbled away, I glanced back to watch Leda perform the same routine with my mother, turning her face from side to side, checking her teeth, asking a question.
My mother held her head proudly, but I could see her hands were shaking.
The sight made my throat squeeze so tight I could scarcely breathe.
I was deposited with the other “keep” slaves. When I turned back, Leda had already moved on. Relief soared through me as I watched a guard thrusting my mother toward us. But then he began steering her left, toward the carts.
No.
I stepped forward, only to be met by a large arm blocking my path.
“Don’t even think about it,” a guard rumbled.
My entire body grew cold as I watched my mother being discarded. Her eyes found mine, and she smiled bravely, mouthing the words, It’s all right.
“Melantho?”
I turned to find a figure hovering nearby. My father. He was not a man I knew well—our separate duties had never permitted us that luxury—but still the sight of him helped steady my hammering heart.
My father was here. He would help.
“What’s going on?” he asked in that delicate voice of his, quiet eyes absorbing the scene before us.
“Back up, slave,” a guard barked.
My father obediently retreated a few steps.
“Get them back to work.” Leda’s voice pulled my attention away. “And take these ones to the market. Make sure you get a good price.”
As the guards collected chains from the empty cart, I felt the world crumble beneath me.
No, no, no.
The women began to wail in protest as iron collars were fastened around their throats. Some attempted to wrestle the bindings away, but they were powerless against the guards who effortlessly restrained them.
My mother did not fight as they secured her metal collar.
“No!” The scream ripped itself from my throat. “Get away from her! Stop!”
“Melantho!” My father’s voice chased me as I bolted forward.
Two guards lunged at me, but I pivoted around them, slipping from their grasp as I raced ahead, my feet pounding desperately against the earth.
When I reached my mother, I flung my arms around her neck, the coldness of her shackles biting against my skin. I pulled back, panic strangling logic as I tried to tear her chains apart with my bare hands.
“They can’t take you,” I wept. “You can’t leave me—”
The words were cleaved from my lungs as an arm locked around my waist, hauling me backward. I tried to hold on to my mother’s hands, but the guard tugged me so hard I thought my ribs might crack. Still, I thrashed against him, foaming at the mouth like some wild, cornered creature.
“Please, my queen, she is my daughter,” I was faintly aware of someone saying.
“Control her then,” Leda replied flatly.
I was thrust into unfamiliar arms. My father’s.
“Do something!” I screamed at him.
His wounded eyes lifted to my mother, then turned to our queen. His throat bobbed, his breathing shallow.
“We must obey, Melantho,” he said.
“No, no, no!” I sobbed. “Help her! Please!”
“I cannot. I’m sorry,” he murmured to the ground, looking so small and pathetic, as if his spine had been ripped out, leaving him to melt into the dirt.
I heard chains clinking as the guards began loading the women onto the cart. At the same moment, my father tightened his grip, holding me still.
“Melantho, please be calm,” he whispered in my ear. “Please obey.”
“I hate you!” I screamed, elbowing him hard in the stomach. He doubled over, and I took the opportunity to rip myself free.
My mother was in the cart now, and I scrambled up to her, sobbing breathlessly, but two firm hands landed on my shoulders, halting me.
My mother’s hands.
“Melantho, you need to stop,” she told me, voice thick and trembling. “Please, my heart. Stop this.”
“No! I won’t let them take you!” I was barely able to get the words out as I choked on desperate tears.
“You must.”
I wanted to ask her why. I wanted to scream it.
Why must I stop?
Why did someone as cruel and horrible as Leda get to decide our fates?
Why did she have to choose her?
Why, why, why?
I shook my head furiously, still reaching for my mother. Then my father was there again, his arms clamping around my waist like shackles of flesh and bone. I kicked and screamed as he dragged me away, my throat so raw I thought I might start spitting blood.
“I will not ask you to control her again, Dolios,” Leda warned.
My father’s hand covered my mouth, his voice tight and panicked in my ear. “Please, Melantho. Please stop. I beg you.”
In that moment, I hated him. I hated him so deeply that I felt the burn of it scorch against my heart, leaving a permanent, irrevocable mark there.
Before us, the cart rumbled to life, and I finally fell still. I could see the fear in my mother’s eyes now as the slaves around her wept. Still, she forced a smile.
“Be brave, my heart,” she called to me. “It will be all right, I promise. Everything will be all right.”
Those were the last words my mother ever said to me, and they were a lie.