Cassandra and Apollo

Chapter 15

Cassandra paces the length of the old music room. The walls are bathed in yellow midday sun. She knows the duels should be over by now, but she cannot bring herself to learn the outcome. As long as she stays in the room, Hector is alive and well. He is still the person she saw that morning. Once she steps outside, he can be anything—he could be injured, captured, or...

She shakes her head, as if to release the dreadful thought.

Suddenly, a brilliant light quakes the room. Shielding her face with her arms, she squints in the direction of the burning flash. Through her fingers, she can almost shape his face and shoulders.

It takes him a moment to dim himself.

She runs to him and throws her arms around his neck, just as she'd done so many years ago. He lets her, in his own wooden way. Even that small bit of affection is a great comfort to her.

Pulling away just enough to look into his eyes, she asks, her voice scraping and raw, "Is it done?"

His face reveals nothing, but he answers her. "Yes, your brothers are both alive."

"Are they injured?"

"Paris has a cut on his leg, but it will heal."

"Hector?" she is holding her breath.

"He is well, possibly even better than when he first set out."

She looks at him quizzically.

"I healed him during the duel," Apollo clarifies.

Her knees weaken from relief and she stumbles forward. He catches her waist and the feel of his hands sends a jolt of expectation coursing through her body. She ignores it, burying her face in his chest.

"Thank you, thank you," she breathes. The air warms around them.

Without lifting her head, she whispers, "It is finally over then."

Taking her shoulders, he gingerly peels her away from him. His brows are raised in the middle and his cushioned lips are tight.

"No, it is not."

"I—I don't understand."

"There was...interference. Athena rescued Ajax from a felling blow and Aphrodite interceded on Paris's behalf. In the end, Father halted the fighting for the rest of the day. Sacrifices will have to be made in gratitude."

"Ajax?" she asks, and it is as if the ground has shifted beneath her feet. "Not Achilles?"

The god shakes his golden head. "No, he did not fight."

Her stomach drops to her feet. The pieces don't fall into place, the mosaic is warped and strange.

"And so..." she's afraid to ask, but fights past it. "What does this mean?"

"More fighting," he replies evenly. His amber eyes flat and declarative. "But on a grander scale."

Cassandra looks at him, his eyes are mild and mysterious as always. There is no hint as to his inner workings in them anymore. He has become opaque, like polished stone.

He is a god of contradiction, of everything good and everything its opposite—disease and healing, reason and rage, inspiration and dejection. That perfect equipoise shows now, like a sail hanging taught on its line.

She digs her fingers in her hair, agitating the wild, arching curls and feeling much like the ill-fated gorgon.

"Tell me, please," she pleads. "These visions. Hector killing Achilles, Achilles killing Hector, which is right?"