Freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.
-Martin Luther King, Jr.
December
She wanders.
"He's trying to break the defenses in Elysium," Artemis tells Thalia one day, when the girl is curious for answers. The last person she wants to see is Kronos but his absence is just as nerve wracking as his presence. "For all that it's worth, let us hope the ghosts keep him occupied for much longer." Thalia can't agree anymore.
She eats.
She eats even though it brings her no pleasure to do so. She has been devoid of pleasure for a while. But at least she stops crying. Thalia hates to cry.
It's another thing to go on her mental list to keep her from going insane.
I don't cry anymore, is one.
At least I have Artemis for company, is another. Though that also brings on its own sadness.
A lot of things make her sad.
The isolation. Her past times now include eating, sleeping, and breaking the vases that never stay broken. They used to be pranking Nico, drawing out war plans, killing monsters, and training to kill monsters. And Titans, let her not forget the nasty Titans.
But now she has none of that. She is in the dark, unsure of how her friends are faring. If any of them are even alive still. Even islands in the middle of ocean know more than Thalia does.
But the isolation is also comforting in a way. It means that Kronos is far away, unable to fill the air with her screams. Another thing on her list that she is thankful for.
She showers.
The water burns to the touch but Thalia hardly notices, busying herself by scrubbing endlessly. Long scratches appear on her arms, her legs, but she doesn't feel clean. Worse, actually. She's disgusted with herself.
Thalia sits in shower, letting the scalding water maul her wounds. She watches a streak of blood drip down from her knee to her thigh. She can't feel a thing.
Sighing, Thalia shuts the water off. She grabs a towel, only to have her raw skin protest in vengeance. She stares in the mirror only to see the shell of a girl that once was. Her eyes no longer hold power; they're dim, no longer harboring light, as if the bulb has been broken. And her face is thinner from previous weeks of starving herself.
But Thalia figures she has looked worse. At least now, the bruises that used to be on her face and arms and legs have yellowed and disappeared. Progress, for her now, can only come one step at a time.
Her stomach lurches. Thalia vomits again, a prayer on the back of her mind that she may be rescued yet. But it's wishful thinking. No one can truly help her.
"Thalia?"
She sighs, cracking open the door a smidge. "I'm here."
"I have something to show you," says Artemis, her voice a little more worn than usual.
That garners some interest.
Thalia steps out, steam fleeing from the bathroom as soon as she opens the door wide. Artemis sits on the bed, her fingers brushing over a Grecian-styled dress of green silk.
The air chills and Thalia clenches her fist. "What's this?"
"A dress," says the goddess, as if it should be obvious.
Her eyes narrow. "And what is it for?"
"Saturnalia."
A Roman holiday, celebrated to honor the most gracious Saturn – their Lord Kronos. And for Thalia it means the bird gets to come out of her cage; all the slaves get to be released from their shackles tonight, joining their masters in the adultery, drunkenness, and gambling to come.
The words stick in her throat like bubble gum. "It's been that long?"
No one is coming to rescue me.
Slowly, Thalia shakes her head, pushing down the bile rising in her throat. "I don't want to go."
"I know you don't." Artemis sighs too, as if she predicted this would happen. "But it's not up to me. Or you."
Her fist trembles. "I don't want to see him… I…" Can't.
Artemis stands, crossing the room and taking Thalia's hands into her own. "Please?" Or I'll be punished, is the look in her eyes. Both daughters of Zeus have it exceptionally hard.
And we have to look out for each other, the former huntress reminds herself. Thalia nods.
Artemis dresses her, eyes flickering to the girl's stomach and then Thalia's face. She wants to say something, the girl can tell. But no words seem to flow between them, even as the goddess then takes to braiding Thalia's hair.
And then nothing.
Artemis just pauses, staring at Thalia.
"You look like…" she trails off, the thought floating into the void as if it never existed. "You're beautiful," Artemis corrects. "You always were."
There's a mirror tucked away in the corner but neither of them make a move towards it.
"Look where that got me," Thalia can't help but say aloud. She wants to chop her hair off, dress in black and silver camo with a bow slung across her back, paint her face with brown-gray mud, and sharpen her arrows and drive them through a stag's belly. Just like how she used to be when no one cared if she was pretty and she could maim any boy that so much as looked at her the wrong way.
"Have you told him? About—"
"Yes."
That surprises her. She wonders how long then, until Kronos kills her.
"Was he angry?"
"No," Artemis murmurs, eyes downcast. "He was… satisfied."
Thalia purses her lips. "Kronos, the devourer of children? Satisfied?"
A familiar defiant looks sparkles in her silver eyes. "He thinks you can be… controlled."
"He's an idiot." And I'll make him regret those words.
Artemis allows herself a small smile. Perhaps the infamous Thalia Grace yet lives.
Saturnalia.
The throne room must have undergone extensive preparation the day before, hence Artemis's disheveled appearance.
Marble floors shine terribly in the light of a thousand blinking candles. The polished gold thrones still command the center of the room, malevolently presiding over long mahogany tables overflowing with food: the ripest of fruits, the hardiest of meats, the richest of wine, all for demigods and demi-titans in attendance. And then nectar and ambrosia for the immortals.
Thalia feels out of place with it all. For starters, she's the only one wearing green. The rest find themselves in some sort of gold tunics or armor and, as soon as she walks in, all eyes are on her.
A prize to be flaunted.
She lingers near the walls, attempting to keep her head down. But it still doesn't stop the whispers.
Thalia shoves food into her mouth next, hoping it'll calm her nerves. But it doesn't. Instead, she can feel the back of her neck flushing. She feels too plain compared to the goddess's here, too fat as her belly begins to protrude with a growing… something. The spawn of a Titan.
"Thalia."
She tries not to flinch. Tries not look in his direction. But Kronos is not one to be ignored.
Her eyes vaguely skim over his intricately engraved gilded armor and Thalia attempts to hold back a sneer. It hurts to even look at him, shining like Apollo himself.
Bastard. Murder. Sadist. Monster. Dick.
He raises an eyebrow, sensing her thoughts or not, she can never be sure. "You came."
Thalia snorts, lips pursed in a thin line. "Did I have a choice?"
"No," Kronos muses, taking a sip from the nectar-filled goblet in his hand. "All the same, I expected to drag you here kicking and screaming. Like your father, you seem to have a flare for the dramatics."
"I have my reasons." And those same reasons will help me plunge a knife through your eye.
Kronos sets the goblet down and holds out a hand to her. "I'm bored. Dance with me."
He doesn't wait for her to refuse. Kronos pulls her along anyway, a vicious grin stuck on his face. She, of all people, knows how dangerous a bored immortal can be.
"I will be visiting again tonight," he says as if in response to her thoughts. "Your… friends have kept me rather busy since taking up residence in Elysium."
And you intend to punish me for their insolence.
"I'm sure they have," is all Thalia says, not trusting herself any further.
"You make for a terrible dancing partner," he comments, a scorching hand dropping to the small of her back, forcing her steps to become in tune with his. Thalia doesn't even try to hide her gritted teeth, fitted to match an animal's snarl.
"A pity too," he continues on the subjects of her friends, "considering Saturnalia is not without its gladiators. Unfortunately for us, last Kronia left the dungeons a little too empty."
She know what he's talking about all too well. Thalia has seen those matches firsthand; they're always televised and many a good friend or two has died from such a fate. But she refuses to believe that any of them – Jason, Percy, Annabeth, or Nico – could suffer the same untimely end. Such an insinuation lets the little fire of hate in her heart burn bright.
Thalia tilts her head in a motion of fake curiosity. "Do the other Titans force their captives into an empty marriage? I can imagine why the cells would be just a little bit vacant."
Kronos snorts. "Please, the other captives are worth as much as a clump of insects." His smile doesn't waver. He twirls her but stops mid-motion, slamming his chest against Thalia's back. She's jolted by his warm breath at the edge of her ear. In that moment, time seems to stand still. "Except the Aphrodite girls, of course. They provide a good deal of entertainment before being promptly disposed of."
Thalia turns back to back him, trying to hide her shaking hands. "I count the days until you dispose of me. Just hearing you talk is torture enough."
He laughs at her. "In addition to the other things I do to you? Worse than the Fields of Punishment, I bet. And considering it is Saturnalia, I am willing to bet a lot." Kronos takes her into his embrace again and the dance resumes. "No, Thalia. I will keep you around for a very long time. Especially if you prove yourself useful."
"How can I be of any use to you?" Her eyes narrow into slits. "As you made perfectly clear, you can fuck any girl you'd like with no one to stop you."
Kronos ignores that. "I want to know what they're planning. You're friends."
"How am I supposed to know? I've been away for months now."
He shrugs. "I had a feeling you would say that."
"It's the truth," she insists. Or a half-truth at the very least.
"Is it now?" says Kronos. "You see, the Thalia Grace I know can be very evasive."
Thalia doesn't miss the story etched behind those words. There's something he's expecting her to know, something Kronos doesn't plan to tell her anytime soon.
"I don't know anything that you don't." She casts him a rueful side glance. "I don't even know which of my friends are alive."
He chuckles. Of course he picks up on the ever present question lingering at the back of her mind. "Yes. You would like to know wouldn't you?"
More than anything, she almost blurts out. But Thalia will not do this. She will not become putty in his hands, not when she needs to hold onto whatever dignity she has left.
But much to her surprise, he responds regardless.
"Because it's Saturnalia I will tell you this: we haven't found Nico Di Angelo's body. Can't say that doesn't mean he isn't dead. After all, thanks to my urging, everyone thought Percy Jackson was dead. But the truth always has a way of finding the light, doesn't it?"
They stop dancing completely, irritating the immortals around them. "Where's the Roman camp?" he asks.
Why would it matter? They've moved on by now.
She bows her head a little, this time with a forced smile of her own. "It's Saturnalia, my lord."
"You're suggesting I relax." He laughs at that. "You will find the ways in which I relieve myself are wholly uncomfortable for others involved."
Like fucking me.
"I don't know anything," she spits. "Now if you excuse me, I'm feeling rather sick."
"No, you're not," he affirms. "But, just this once, I will indulge you. As the mother of my child."
She flees the throne room as soon as he turns his head, a string of pent up curses and an irate scream stuck in her throat.
Thalia raises her hand against a statue of Kronos and it explodes into pieces with one conveniently placed lightning bolt.
"You shouldn't haven't done that."
Thalia whirls around. "What else can he do—" Her jaw drops open. "Piper?"
Piper let's out a little puff of air, blowing aside her dark uneven bangs. She adjusts the heavy load in her hands: a case of at least six unopened wine bottles.
A daughter of Aphrodite. One of the first demigods she and Nico saved before the T.A.R.D. unit snuffed them out. That is, until a year ago when they'd lost her all the same.
But before Thalia can tell Piper that she should be dead, she's cut off.
"I figured it was only a matter of time until we ran into each other," Piper sighs, giving the broken state a reproachful look. "Gods, I'm running late. Well, if you're done throwing a tantrum I suggest you follow me."
Thalia doesn't even argue.
"How are you here?" says the daughter of Zeus as she struggles to keep up, forcing down her morning sickness. Thalia can vomit as much as she wants to later.
"How the rest of us are here." She lets out a bitter chuckle as they round a corner and come straight to a dead end. "The Titans need slaves, don't they?"
Half-hidden in the shadows are a dozen other demigod slaves, dressed in the finest clothes they could procure, chatting with each other animatedly about a load of things Thalia might never comprehend.
The newcomers' discussion catches the eye of a brown-skinned boy with a blond afro. He approaches them, a boom box slung over his shoulder.
"If you ask me, our friends that died were the lucky ones." The boy appraises her with mischievous hazel eyes. He holds out his hand. "Reggie, son of Dionysus. Never made it to Camp Half-Blood, I'm afraid. Practically grew up here."
They shake on it. "Thalia."
He whistles. "The infamous Thalia Grace." Reggie sets the boom box down, bending over it to turn it on and fiddle with the buttons. "You're not supposed to be here. You're supposed to be fighting for us."
"I know," Thalia murmurs. "I failed."
"We all failed," Piper corrects. "And that's okay. It's Saturnalia and we shouldn't worrying about these kinds of things."
"Ditto. Here." He rushes up behind her, grabbing her stiff braid and quickly undoing it. "This holiday is for us to let our hair down and drink until there's no tomorrow. Think you're up for it?"
She regards him carefully. "Of course."
Reggie beams at her.
"You're not actually letting her stay," says one of the other demigods as they come to notice just who exactly has decided to join them.
A pretty Asian girl in a dirt brown tunic sneers at the three of them.
Piper purses her lips. "Of course we are, Drew."
Her eyes narrow. "She's no slave. She's Kronos's wife."
"Which means she's a slave like the rest of us," Reggie comments.
"She doesn't work as hard as we do. She just gets to be locked up in a room all day."
"Permanently entertaining Kronos," he emphasizes. "The job description seems bad enough. You of all people know what it's like to have that position."
Drew opens her mouth to protest but nothing comes out.
The boom box turns on, blasting out anonymous dance music. Reggie grabs one of Piper's wine bottles, cracking it open and taking a sip before placing it Thalia's own hand.
"As one of Hyperion's favorite whores, here is to our shared struggle. You're always welcomed here, Thalia Grace."
He turns the music up.
Thalia figures the wine must be spiked with something when she finds herself a little too drunk a little too fast, intoxicated by music she can't even hear properly, rubbing up against a son of Dionysus she doesn't even know.
But let it not be said that Thalia Grace, daughter of Zeus, doesn't know how to party.
Let it also not be said that Thalia Grace, pregnant or otherwise, doesn't know how to drink. She finishes one entire wine bottle with rapid precision and quickly reaches for another. And much to her relief, as ignorant as her newfound friends are to her condition, no one stops her. She's relieved for that.
And for the first time in ages, Thalia finds an escape. For the first time in ages she doesn't think about her friends, doesn't think about Nico.
The moment is fine while it lasts, this taste of freedom.
In the middle of their circle, dancing to some pagan tune Thalia can't even name, Piper stops completely. At first, Reggie shoves her playfully, urging her to keep moving, be he also halts in his tracks. And before Thalia knows it, someone shuts the music off.
"Please, don't stop on my accord."
No one moves. The slaves stand frozen in their spots, some glaring at the very girl who has ruined all their fun.
Slowly, Thalia turns to face him.
Luke.
But not Luke, she reminds herself. Never Luke. But she can't help but match Kronos's disapproving look to her long lost friend. Her long lost dead friend that had betrayed her.
He simply stands there, smirking, arms crossed over his gilded breastplate. Perhaps he notices the flush in her cheeks, the wine stain on the neckline of her dress, the dark green bottle in her hands. But Thalia hardly cares.
Instead her eyes are on Artemis half-hidden in the shadows, her eyes on her feet. Thalia finds disappointment there too.
"Terribly dreadful," says Kronos once he realizes the festivities won't commence with their lord occupying the hallway. He crosses the space, grabbing Thalia's arm. "Let's say you let go of that drink and turn in for the night."
"And if I don't?"
Artemis silver eyes glare at her.
He only smiles, taking the bottle of wine from her hands anyway. "Careful, Thalia. Just because you're drunk doesn't mean I will excuse your insolence."
Again, she feels eyes on her. The eyes of her fellow demigod slaves.
She clenches her fists, forcing herself to swallow down the embarrassment. "It's not my fault the parties you throw suck."
Kronos's eyes seem to burn. "Come." Knowing his strength, Thalia doesn't even refuse when he begins to tug. Still, he addresses the others with a pleasant smile. "Please resume. It is Saturnalia, after all."
Still, no one derives comfort from those words.
She leaves unwillingly. But not before shooting Piper one last glance, a simple plead for help. But the daughter of Aphrodite's blank stare mirrors the very void growing within Thalia as well.
What help?
Thalia doesn't fight when Kronos forces his way into her bed later that night. She doesn't even feel pain when he thrusts into her this time. But she is grateful he doesn't mock her with kisses that sting just as much as the blade of a knife.
No, Thalia only feels numb. She tells herself that it could be worse, that this is her place now. And with every thrust she counts, Thalia starts to believe it.
Not even Saturnalia – her one taste of freedom – can change that.
