Cassandra and Apollo

Chapter 3

Cassandra spent the rest of the night kneeling before his statue, head bowed. But she couldn't pray, couldn't finish even the simplest hymn. Her memories of Apollo jostled together, elbowing every other thought out of the way. Here was a glimpse of his bronze throat, there was the feel of his hand on her cheek. The silence would have driven her mad but for the grounding effect of pain, her knees bruised and sore from the marble tiles.

Opening her eyes, she looked at the statue. It was life sized and raised on a stumpy dais, so she was eye level with its narrow waist.

The gods were often depicted nude, their forms being an expression of their divinity. She found herself comparing the statue to the god she'd met, the one of firm flesh and golden blood. Though clearly sculpted by an expert hand, it did not do his face, his strong hands, justice. Her face heated as she lingered over areas she couldn't compare. Did those miss the mark, too? She jerked her head away, deeply ashamed for even asking.

She waited for him to show. A dozen times, she saw the flickering of her taper and turned to look for him.

The linen curtain behind her started to lighten with the first rays of dawn.

He'll show, he has to.

She waited another hour, two, three.

It was broad daylight now, the curtains awash with pale sun.

You were a fool to expect him, she told herself. Disappointment sluiced through her, dark as runoff. She was beyond tired and yearned to return to her small room.

The priestess caught her at the temple steps, her face lineless and knowing as always. Cassandra hated her for it. Had she anticipated this all along?

"Did you have an enlightening experience?" she asked, hands clasped against her long chiton. Her face was bare of emotion, smooth as marble and nearly as cold.

Cassandra tried to keep marble-cold, too. She refused to let the priestess know she had been jilted, refused to let the news slink back to the other adepts. Do you think he'll attend? Not for her, she's dull as bark... their words tore through her again.

"Yes, I did." She meant it.

The priestess raised a high, arched eyebrow.

"You sound displeased, child."

"I am just tired, faith mother, may I return to my room now?" Cassandra whispered, her voice sluggish from disuse.

Something like surprise crossed the priestess's face, though it was wiped clean in a moment. She nodded once, dismissing her.

Cassandra hurried down the temple steps and walked to the dormitories. Before she could reach her room, she saw two adepts walk past, their arms linked smugly as they chittered.

Head down, she repeated "Don't notice me, Don't notice me" to herself, like a prayer.

"Cassandra!" the adept on the left called out with painted cheer. The young woman was tall and thin—though they were all tall and thin compared to Cassandra. The adept might have sat for a sculptor or mural painter, were she not the daughter of a great priest and destined from birth to serve Phoebus.

The adept on the right, a lovely youth with rounded, high cheeks and chestnut hair suppressed a giggle.

Did they already know of her failure? Of course, they did. The disappointment was bared like a wound, raw and smarting across her face.

"Briseis," she returned evenly. Before she could shuffle away, Briseis extended a creamy white arm and caught Cassandra by the wrist.

A cruel smile twisted her lovely face. "Let me be the first to welcome you, faith sister!" She leaned in with interest, lowering her voice to a near whisper, "Please, tell us. How was your night?"