A Gift from the Gods

1

Waking to a hot sweat on a cool morning was never a good sign, especially after tormented dreams of fire and death. Yet, there Zephyra lay, frozen atop her thin bedding, the flames still hot behind her eyes and ringing in her ears. The heat was palpable, even now she was awake, how the flames jumped across rooftops and trees, destroying everything in its path. Dreams are only manifestations of the subconscious at work, but something about these visions seemed too real. It gave her an edge from the moment she woke, a tingle of anxiety vibrating through her bones. Troy was in trouble.

She took a deep breath, turning onto her side and looking out of her window onto her city. Down below she could already peek the citizens maintaining their daily routines in the early morning, as if nothing had happened. Of course, nothing had happened.

Not really.

Not yet.

The sun was barely creeping over the city walls, and determining that she couldn't go back to sleep, she decided to dress for the day. The servants would not enter her quarters for hours yet, but contrary to her father's perception, and even her betrothed, she could care for herself. At least that is what she kept telling herself as she slipped out of her night shift and fastened a cream toga around her body, cinching the waist with a thick, leather belt looped on one side for her dagger. She strapped arrows between her shoulder blades and crossed her bow over her shoulders. Even packed with weapons, she could maintain her dexterity with relative ease.

Abandoning her supposed lady-like disposition, she took to the courtyard through one of her bedroom windows. Years ago, her older brother, Hector, created a sort of obstacle course for her to work through, helping her improve her talent with a bow. They spent many hours practicing hand-to-hand combat with swords and daggers, and while she was effective with a blade, she excelled with a bow and arrow. There was nothing more thrilling than the swish of the arrow as she released the bowstring, dislodging the thin butt of wood from the nocking point, through the arrow rest, and into the target. Exhilarating. Freeing. Tantalizing.

She scaled various walls and empty courtyards around the palace, hardly missing a beat or target. Stealth was on her side, and she barely made any noise as swept her way through the morning. With daily practice, her stamina steadily improved, and nearly an hour had passed before she began to feel winded. A small break would do before returning to practice.

Hector's quarters were not far from where she had loosed her final arrow for the morning, so she decided to make one last duel with him before he and Paris left for potential peace treaties with Sparta. A voyage she desperately wished to go on but knew she was banned before even asking permission from King Priam. Her father was more traditional in his views of what roles women should hold. Politics and battle were not among them.

Hector was finalizing plans and sending soldiers off to pack provisions and weapons when Zephyra arrived.

"Negotiations will take a mere portion of our time," Hector said to a soldier. "Menalaus will likely spend the remainder of our visit..." Hector searched for the right description, "socializing. Pack our finest wines and a gift of gold for the king and his wife." Hector's tone was laced with dread. Spartans were notorious for their ability to drink a nation dry. "And make sure Paris understands he is to be present for all negotiations."

The soldier gave a curt nod and left Hector's quarters.

"I would be a fit replacement for our brother," Zephyra said, picking at the stone wall. "I know more of the negotiations than he." She made eye contact with her brother. "And Helen is rumored to be the most beautiful woman in the world. A worrisome distraction for Paris."

"Sister," Hector said. He walked toward her, placing his hand on her black curls and kissing her forehead. "Your time will come. Be patient."

"Not under Father's reign."

"Respect, dear sister."

Zephyra sat on an empty chair next to a window and glanced out at the soldiers preparing the chariots to take to the boats. Sweat glistened on the soldier's skin and reflected in the sun.

"They are only peace treaties, not battles."

"Peace treaties with the Spartan king," Hector said. "Rumors of his dealings with women nearly exceed the rumors of his wife's beauty. Stay here. Paris and I will go this time."

Zephyra slouched against the wall. "I feel so useless in this country. Trapped behind high walls with no purpose other than status. As much a pawn as your frontline soldiers."

"And what a hard life that must be." Hector laughed and kissed her forehead again, bringing her to her feet. "What can I do to make it up to you, dear sister?"

"Break my betrothal?" Zephyra's optimism was clear.

"Diocles is a great match for you," Hector said.

"For the country, you mean."

Zephyra's betrothed was a man of breed and financial backing, not a life partner. He was kind, but Zephyra found him dull. Uninterested in political discourse. Only fascinated in Apollo. Truly, he should have chosen the path of Apollo's priest, for more than one reason, Zephyra believed.

"Go your brother farewell," Hector said, guiding his sister through the door.

"Must I?" Zephyra almost whined, a quality only brought about by interaction with her second-eldest brother.

"Yes, and be nice." Hector pointed his finger at Zephyra in warning.

Hector had his fair share of breaking up sibling fights. Some verbal, but mostly Zephyra pinning Paris to the ground. With every passing year, it was harder for Hector to pull Zephyra away. However, Hector was more a father to her than the king, and she minded his instruction. Most of the time.

One of the household maids was sliding out of Paris's chambers when Zephyra arrived, trying to tame her disheveled hair while holding the top of her garment with her free hand. Zephyra tsked at the sight and entered her brother's chambers, determining he would now be decent enough for visitors.

"I hear the queen of Sparta is the most beautiful woman in this life and the next," Zephyra said.

"Sister!" Paris said, his face spread in a grin. He embraced his sister momentarily before returning to dressing in his armor.

"If you do anything to put Troy in danger, I will rip your pretty face from your pretty skull."

"You act as though I have no self-control," Paris said, his smile unwavering.

"I speak as if I know you all too well, brother." She turned to leave.

"How is our dear Diocles?" Paris said, knowing Zephyra's feelings toward him. "Marriage will suit you well."

Zephyra rolled her eyes and made her leave before she did anything to break her word with Hector.

If Zephyra were half as brave as she pretended to be, she would have stowed away on one of Hector's ships. Instead, she sat on the steps of Apollo's temple, watching her brothers sail without her. She threw small pebbles and sticks into the sand below, frustrated at her inability to better her father's country. Her country. At least in a way she saw fit.

The sun was setting as the ships slipped into the horizon. She dug her toes in the soft sand, still hot from the afternoon. Briseis descended the steps of Apollo's temple just as the sun whisked away, finished with her worship for the day. Though Zephyra was raised to believe all the gods were to be feared and respected, she never understood the religious lifestyle her cousin dedicated herself to. Yet not even the gods could break the bond of cousins.

Briseis sat silently next to Zephyra and nudged her shoulder. "Are the gods whispering to you again?"

Zephyra scoffed. "The gods do not know who I am."

"Athena does, surely."

"Then why am I stuck here? They are more interested in lavishness than the dealings of mortals."

"Best not to speak against the gods."

"If they even exist."

Briseis went rigid next to Zephyra, but she did not continue the argument with her cousin. "Shall we return home?"

Zephyra nodded.