A Gift from the Gods

4

King Priam entered Zephyra's quarters during the heat of the day. Zephyra was sitting by her window, craving the breeze. She barely glanced away from her book, hoping her father would leave, though she knew he wouldn't. He sat next to her with a muffled groan and settled into the chair. His age was showing, and his body struggled to complete nominal tasks. Zephyra tried to ignore the deterioration, but it was becoming too blatant in the past few months.

"You were too harsh on your brother today," Priam said. He was calm, filled with reason. He had never raised his voice to her.

"Oh? Which one?" Zephyra immediately regretted the disrespect she had shown her father, but he took her response in stride.

Priam gave a slight chuckle. "You inherited many traits from your mother. Patience was not one." Zephyra had no response. "Your mother had a ferocity in her that could never be challenged. I see the same in you."

"I thought you liked that about her."

"My dear, I loved that characteristic the most in your mother."

"Then why do you hate it in me?"

Priam sighed and took his daughter's hand in his. She set her book down, recognizing the seriousness in her father.

"This betrothal wasn't an act against you, my dear, but for you. I want you to be safe when I'm gone."

"Don't use your age as an excuse, Father." Zephyra pulled her hand away.

"Anything but, my dear. I fear I will be crossing the river Styx sooner than I had hoped. While I am still here, I would like to protect you. You will be safe in this marriage, with this family. You may be bored, but I would rather have you that than unsafe or begging for food on the streets you once owned."

"Your drama is weening your credibility."

Priam struggled to stand, but once he straightened the kinks out of his legs, he kissed the top of his daughter's head. "Your cousin will be in Apollo's temple tomorrow. Go with her. Pray for wisdom."

"If it pleases you," Zephyra said, picking her book up from her lap.

She stared at the text on the crinkling page, waiting for her father to leave. He was right, of course. The once strong man she admired was now feeble and losing physical and mental mobility. Though she was sure her father had time left, Zephyra felt the sharp pang of guilt at her childish immaturity, contradicting her claims at adulthood and being her own keeper.

Zephyra took to her desk and penned notes of apology to her father and brother and sent them across the palace with a page boy stationed at her door. Afterwards, she slipped into bed as the sun was dipping into night. Tomorrow was a new day, and she was sure all would be forgiven.