Chapter 14: Imprisoned(3)
(Go to chapter 13.5 for context)
The boat trip had been like a dream.
It had smelled of salt and been filled with the sound of gentle voices. But when Helenos finally emerged onto the stone docking areas of Sparta, he knew that something was not right.
Mycenae was golden, with empty spaces where honey flavored the air.
But Sparta was not. This was a land of grey rocks with hard angles.
There was no sea wind. The flavors of hot metal, wood smoke, and the bitter bite of blood from where soldiers fought and where animals were slaughtered filled the air. There was no crowd to cheer him on. Music had no chance to play.
Lines of women with armor stood in silence. Their eyes didn’t rest on his face but on his neck as if to make sure that the Queen’s new plaything would never run away.
Menelaia kept her hand on his neck.
What had seemed so sweet in the boat was now claiming in its own way as they walked down the stone streets. It wasn’t a touch of love; it was a touch of one who had won a war.
“Keep your head up,” she whispered. The warmth of the trip was over. Her voice was cold and chipped now, and it made his skin crawl. “You are the crown here. Act like it,” she said.
“The more they could see of the palace, the stranger Helenos felt. He watched the uneven path, and his itching fingers seemed to recall the grip of something cold.
And his fingers were meant to be soft, the fingers of a prince, but he felt as if his entire body were out of tune. He stumbled, not on the stones, but from a muscle memory he could no longer recall.
He could have sworn his skin itched with the memory of sweat and grime.
"What is it?" she asked, stopping abruptly. She had bright eyes that made him feel the urge to hide.
“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “I just feel like I have forgotten something... or maybe... someone important.”
He racked his brain to come up with a name or a face, but all he could think of was this thick grey mist.
He tried to look into it, but his eyes hurt.
There was this void where a person should have been. A person who smelled like hay and had this rough voice. The more he thought about it, the quicker it slipped away.
Her hold on his arm was becoming painful. The chill of the air enveloped them. The sweet queen from the boat was nowhere to be found.
In her place was a dark shadow.
"You haven't forgotten anything," she said firmly. "Mycenae was only a waiting room. Everything behind you is dust. Those people were weak, and they lost you."
“No, it’s a feeling," he whispered.
He tried to grasp the thought.
“Like I should know how to stand. how to.”
Without thinking, he freed out of Menelaia's grip
Her eyes froze. She drew near, her towering form cutting off the light. She wasn't his guardian now. She was a hunter tracking him.
"You are the Prince of Sparta, now," she hissed. It gave him the chills. "You don’t have to know a single thing. You’ll stand wherever I want you to stand. Do you understand?"
He flinched. He still loved her, but fear was beginning to prod him with chilly needles. “Menelaia, I didn’t mean—”
"I spent blood and gold for you to be with me," she said, interrupting him. She pressed her thumb firmly on his chin. "You are mine. Your mind and memories are also mine," she said.
She released him, but her gaze was dense. They continued walking. The guards were behind them, silent, and it was difficult to breathe.
This palace was not a luxury dwelling; this was a stone and iron fortress. There was no garden either.
He was led direct to a tower that was distant from the others. In the palace, the rooms were lined with soft furs and silks. There were sweets too. However, when he glanced at the windows, he saw that each was closed with thick bronze bars.
“Rest,” she said. Her voice was warm again, but it was the love of the sort that someone might have for a horse that they keep locked in a stable. “The healers are coming with medicine for your dizziness. It will drive those feelings away."
“Stay with me,” he begged. His voice was Small and weak. He hated that he sounded so afraid, that he reached out for her as if he were a child in the dark. But he still wanted a hand to hold, no matter that it was a hand that broke him.
She smiled briefly, but it did not reach her eyes. “I have a city to run. You have to stay beautiful. We both have jobs to do.”
The door slammed shut. He heard the lock engage. This time, it was like thunder.
He stood in the center of the room, his hands shaking. He could still experience the sensation of the “ghost grip” and the smell of the stables in his mind. This was something that menelaia saw as a danger to his security.
He held the bars of the window and watched the women training with swords. His eyes were starting to hurt again.
"I love her," he whispered to himself. He leaned his head against the cold metal. "She saved me. My sister only wanted me as an object, but Menelaia wants me."
However, the words seemed false. She wanted her idea of him, a perfect, quiet thing that waited in a tower.
He felt just a little bit small as he pulled the blankets tight around him. For a fleeting moment, he missed the old days of being "Dodo." He missed coding and being just an everyday guy.
But such thoughts were fleeting.
The healers came and brought him tea. It was bitter, but he drunk it all.
When she returned with the scent of leather, he was sitting next to the window with his eyes on the stars. He greeted her with an empty smile filled with peace.
“Better?” she asked, running her hand through his hair.
“Better,” he said, leaning into her touch.
Days began to resemble one another.
The only variation was the light on the walls.
The tower was a prison to his senses.
The carpet was soft, the wine was sweet, and the fire was warm.
Tea was brought to him twice a day.
And each time he took it, the world outside receded further away as a dream he no longer wanted to experience.
He would gaze at himself in the mirror.
The person in the mirror was perfect.
His skin glowed, and his hands had no creases on them. He was the Prince he was meant to be. But there were times when he couldn't see himself.
He searched for the trace of "Dodo," the guy who pored over computer code late into the night.
But there was nothing. All he saw was someone with skin that was beautiful and hands that were empty inside. Dodo was gone.
Menelaia was the only thing that kept him grounded.
Without her, he would be floating away into the grey fog.
With her, all that mattered was that she was in his life.
She would speak for hours about all the things that she wanted to do.
She had dreams. Unlike him.
She wanted to create an empire, and he would be safe in the center.
'I have ordered the gardens to be walled off,' she said one evening while he stroked her hair. 'The walls will be so high that no one will be able to see inside. You can walk through the flowers, and no one will be able to see you.'
‘That sounds peaceful,’ he said softly.
"It will be just right," she whispered. "The world spoils beautiful things, but I won’t spoil you."
She looked up at him. Then, for a fleeting moment, she looked desperate. In that moment, she wanted more than to love him. She wanted the possession of him.
"Do you ever feel... trapped?" he asked.
Menelaia sat up quickly. The room was chilly and frightful. She focused on his eyes, looking for the “shadows”, she didn’t like.
"What do you mean, trapped?" she asked. Her voice was low. "I have put you above everything else. Do you hate being safe, Helenos?"
“No,” he replied hastily. He was afraid. “No, I didn’t mean that.”
“I’ve seen what men are like,” she continued.
“They use each other until they’re broken. I’m all that protects you now. Believe me, you think you’re imprisoned? Trust me, it’s worse out there.”
She grabbed his neck and raised her hand “Do you want to go back to Mycenae? Where your mother wanted to sell you? Where your sister looked at you as if you were a side of beef?"
“No.”
He began to cry. “I want to be with you.”
"Then don't ever speak of being trapped again,” she said. “You are the heart of Sparta. The heart stays inside the body.” She left him alone.
The tower was still and weighed heavily.
He lay down and shut his eyes.
He tried to recall the scent of hay and the gruff voice, but that was too misty.
He wanted to go back.
But he had forgotten where he was from.
