A Gift from the Gods

6

They weren't supposed to arrive for at least three more days. That was if the winds were in the fleet's favor, which it hadn't been. The king's council had said as much. The men were still planting magnificent spears in the sand, and the regiments behind the city walls were sharpening blades and readying horses. But from a mere glance at the approaching army, their ships were leaner and faster than anything the Trojans had. Their speed could not have been accurately calculated based on even Troy's council, the greatest there was.

Zephyra jumped into action, immediately running back into the temple to warn the priests and priestesses, but mainly to protect her cousin. Zephyra took Briseis by the arm, rather harshly, and dragged her through the side entrance, forcing her cousin on her own horse.

"What about you?" Briseis said. "I can't just abandon you."

"You're not. Diocles will take me back." If she could find him.

She swatted the horse's rear and watched as her cousin rode toward the palace. Once she felt Briseis was safe, she went back to the temple, searching for Diocles. For all her talk of independence and strength, Zephyra found that she didn't want to be part of this battle. But she already was. The Myrmidons had stormed the beach, Trojans and Myrmidons already dropping, blood spilling onto the hot sand. Panic was beginning to set in, but she forced herself through, determined to find Diocles.

And she did.

He was flat on the sand one hundred yards in front of the temple's entrance, a Greek standing above him, pulling a sword from his body. She clasped a hand to her mouth, not wanting to yield a scream and draw attention to herself. She did the only thing she could think of. She ran back to the temple, already chaotic with priests praying furiously to Apollo for safety. Zephyra was frustrated at their lack of action, merely crying to a god that could not be bothered with dealings of mortals when it did not suit him.

Zephyra stripped the gold lacing her body and shed her cape, not wanting to be caught with such valuables. There was nothing she could do about the white fabric of a virgin wrapping her skin. Her fate was already uncertain.

She hid in the darkest corner she could find, tucking her knees to her chest, hoping the storm would soon pass and she would be safe. But deep down, she knew in her bones that this would be her last day on earth. She would never be safe again, and she was a coward for hiding, but she couldn't help herself. Hector was right – she wasn't ready.

As the looting began, she did everything in her power not to make a sound. She would never forget the sounds of the priests, her people, crying out in pain and gasping their last breaths on this mortal plain, knowing her fate would soon match, knowing she had the skills to protect them but not the courage. She would hide as long as she could, no matter how her muscles burned from the crouched position.

The Greeks were fearless, reckless, and they soon found her.

"Well, look what we have here," one said, sweat dripping down his forehead. "A priestess?"

"The robes of a virgin," another said.

"Not for long."

"Leave her be." For a split second, Zephyra felt hope. This man wasn't holding a sword and shield, wasn't covered in blood. "Save her for Achilles. You can have her after."

Fear scorched through her once again. A fate worse than death.