LIAKÁDA, percy jackson

XV. family is as strong as she once thought

0015. | FAMILY IS AS STRONG
AS SHE ONCE THOUGHT

Octavia dreamt of Sparta.

Sparta, despite its stones and bricks laid out in every direction from every window, held a warmth of nostalgia for both Helen and Octavia. It was home, even without the elements of nature or favour from the sun. It was cold and harsh and domineering, like its people, and yet, it had made and nourished Helen. She could neither hate it nor feel restricted knowing that it housed her favourite memories.

The halls were spread out throughout the palace of King Tyndareus, all looking the same with the same torches and the same servants lining the walls, heads bowed, and fear flickering. For Clytemnestra, that was the case at least. For Helen, even the servants watched her. They had no fear, only fear of being caught, but Helen was too mild mannered to say anything and so they were more fearless than even their princess.

Helen was rubbing at her hands, massaging the ache of strain that Octavia recognised from holding spears and swords for a day too long. It was one of the same things that she and Helen actually shared, despite her timidity. They were both trained by soldiers, as all Spartans were expected to be.

Helen's fine hands were peppered with the sheen of blisters that had not yet made a head on her skin, still building the bubble of protection between her skin and her sore muscles. They shined red and pink under the light of the torches. Her arms were worn down the same with pink scratches and a single raised scar on her right hand wrist. Octavia often mistook that scar for her own.

Her sandalled feet carried to the courtyard gardens of the Women's Quarters. The constellations cast greater light and brighter in Octavia's dreams than they ever did in her life. Grover would feed her with rants about light pollution but it was nothing compared to actually seeing it. When the stars moved in the sky, it was not as if the stars were moving, but more that the ground beneath her feet was.

Her light blue dress looked grey in the dark light and she lit a lantern from a torch to carry with her. She took a seat on the edge of the fountain and plunged her hands beneath the water.

Often, underneath the midday sun, the water in the pools would warm without any hot stones needed. In the evening, after dinner and dark, like then, it was cool and necessary for her swelling hands. She enjoyed the ripples it made on the water and how it blurred the patterns of the mosaic beneath. It was Persephone, rejoining her goddess mother Demeter after wintering in the Underworld. It was meant to signify how a woman's love carries, but to Helen, all it meant was a reminder that one day she would have to leave home for a husband and never come back.

The fountain trickled, but that was not the sound that suddenly drew Helen's attention. Her demigod ears heard breath before her skin felt the watchful stare of someone.