A Gift from the Gods

17

The city was simultaneously the same and entirely different. Hector's loss could be felt through the streets, but the citizens had to carry on. Life could not stop, even if the Trojans lost their prince.

They stared at King Priam and Princess Zephyra as the two rode through the streets on a Greek chariot with their prince's body wrapped and bound before them. Most knelt, some sobbed, but no one could feel the loss that Priam and Zephyra did. Not even Paris knew the extent of what he had done, even as they entered the palace grounds and Andromache fell to her knees, overwhelmed by sobs. Paris only held onto his whore and made no move toward their brother.

Zephyra was in a daze as she walked past Andromache and through the palace to her quarters. The stone steps felt like boulders under her feet after months of living on the beach, and the statues of the gods seemed inauthentic. The palace was so trivial. So absurdly grand. Even her quarters no longer felt like home. But she at least felt safe when she closed the door behind her. Safe enough to let down what little guard she had left, and she, too, broke into sobs.

What had happened to her city? Her family? How had she lost nearly everything in the span of half a year? More than that, why did he let her leave? Why didn't he come after her? Is what they had so meaningless to him? It wasn't for her? Had she let herself get played by the Greek master of battle?

She sucked in her sobs without an ounce of grace of her bedroom door opened, Briseis running in and kneeling beside Zephyra.

"My dear cousin," Briseis said, pulling Zephyra to her chest, squeezing her so tightly that Zephyra had half a thought Briseis would put her broken pieces back together though it was impossible.

Briseis let her cousin crumble to nothing then slowly regain herself, never leaving the cold, stone floor, holding her cousin in her arms until Zephyra could take a full breath again.

"You are safe now," Briseis said at last.

"I fear I may not be for long," Zephyra said.

"What do you mean?"

Zephyra took her cousin's hand and placed it to her abdomen.

"You're with child?" Briseis was remarkably calm for a priestess of Apollo. "What did those monsters do to you?"

"It's not like that. I chose him."

"Him?"

"He protected me. He may have even loved me. But then he sent me with Father."

"Who do you speak of?"

"Achilles."

Briseis sat back. "And you love him? A Greek warlord?"

"As you love a god you have neither seen nor heard." Zephyra didn't mean the bite in her words, but there it was.

"I am sorry," Briseis said. "What can I do?"

What could Briseis do? These problems were bigger than anything either had faced in their lives as high borns. This wasn't something sneaking to the kitchen for a pitcher of wine could fix nor a walk around the gardens. What could Briseis do?

"Just, don't leave me," Zephyra said. "Please. Don't ever leave me."