A Gift from the Gods

8

It had been a week, and Achilles hadn't touched her. He had barely been in his tent since storming the beach. Zephyra had been conflicted during that time, fearful at her fate with her captor, and desperate for even the slightest taste of news. As far as she could tell, Troy had not been tainted, and Zephyra sought faith in her city, but her dreams had come back. She woke in the night, hot with sweat, dreaming of Troy in flames. Though she would disregard any notion of clairvoyance, the dreams were too real to set aside during this war. The only question she held was what side of history was she to be on? Either way, she would be dead at the hands of the Greek army by the end. She would likely never see her family again.

She didn't have much time to grovel in any sense of pity before two Greek soldiers stormed the tent, ripping her from the furs she had come to claim as sanctuary and dragging her through the camp to a ship engulfed in a tent that was much larger than Zephyra could have thought be erected by intruders on the beaches of Troy. She struggled against the strength of the men as they yanked and shoved her, her body still sore from her initial capture. When they let her go, she was refocused, finding herself in the presence of Agamemnon and his company, Achilles' eyes fixed on her from across the room.

"The spoils of war," Agamemnon said.

"I have no quarrel with you, brothers," Achilles said to the guards, "but if you don't release her, you'll never see home again. Decide."

"Guards," Agamemnon said. Achilles drew his sword, donning a defensive stance as a dozen more guards herded into the tent.

"Stop!" Zephyra said, finally breaking free. "Too many men have died. Trojans and Greeks." She focused on Achilles. "If killing is your only talent then that is your curse."

Achilles glanced at her, still firm in his stance. Was he intrigued by her? Why was he protective of her now?

"I don't want anyone dying for me." Though her words may have emanated courage, she was frightened beyond anything she had ever felt before. But her words bled through. Achilles straightened himself, regrasping his blade to show retreat, something Zephyra was sure he had never experienced.

"Mighty Achilles, silenced by a slave girl." Agamemnon walked toward Zephyra. Achilles was already uncomfortable in his stance, wanting to take action.

"Tonight, I'll have her give me a bath," he said. Zephyra's stomach clenched at his words, already regretting the command she gave Achilles, though she was surprised he listened. "And then, who knows?" He took a strand of Zephyra's curls to his nose, maintaining eye contact with Achilles.

"You sack of swine!" Achilles clenched his fists and paced, working to control himself. "Before my time is done, I will look down on your corpse and smile."

Zephyra was abruptly removed from the makeshift throne room and taken to Agamemnon's personal quarters. Zephyra shook as they tied her down again, but she refused to shed tears, not for the Greeks. But when the guards left her, she immediately collapsed into sobs. She had no courage left, and by the end of the war, she would have no honor as well, whether by the hands of Agamamnon or another. If she were to face the boatman at the river Styx without honor, it should be at her own hands. Her father could never forgive her for taking her own life, but she saw no other choice.