Cassandra and Apollo

Chapter 6

Cassandra had been called back to the palace for her brothers' homecoming. Surrounded by silks and gold, the ghosts of another life came rushing to meet her, grubby hands pawing at her skin. She hadn't seen or heard from the god since the festival, several weeks past. It was not unusual for him, though. He'd come back to her soon, offering a new story or exotic trinket.

She thought of his last gift, tapping her knee as she sat cross legged in her old room. She'd received no visions, yet. Except. Could the dream have aught to do with her gift? But the dream had been about the past, not the future.

Rising and shaking her head, she dressed and made her way to the inner courtyard. Fresh air and a wide blue sky were what she needed. The sun was bright and warm, reminding her of him. Her skin had turned a rich olive in the ten years' she'd spent with him. Sometimes, after his longer visits, she'd look in the mirror and see a rosy flush over her nose and cheeks. Sun-kissed, indeed.

She needed him to come back soon, hoping he might help her understand the dream.

An out of breath page boy rushed into the courtyard, kneeling next to her. Looking up from her book, it took her a few moments to realize he was addressing her.

"Oh, there you are! Good morrow to you, your ladyship." He gulped the air like a docked fish. "His majesty would have all his children gathered in the receiving room. I'm to escort you there straightaway."

That was odd. If the king wished to formally welcome Hector and Paris, there was more than time for that during the feast. It was the only reason she'd stayed past the procession. With luck, she'd finally have a moment alone with Hector. She couldn't wait to hear about the warlike Spartans and their famed horsehair helmets.

"Certainly," she said, extending her hand. "Though I already know the path."

*

She was one of the last to arrive, drawing chastising looks from her father and mother as she took one of the cushions by the dais.

Most of her brothers were standing, circling the throne like flowers lining a fountain. Her sisters were further way, arrayed, haphazardly, on soft cushions and couches near the gallery. There were some faces she did not recognize, too. Low-born advisors and diplomats from surrounding kingdoms, she reasoned.

Hector sat at the king's right hand, a magnificent chair had been laid out for him. It was not, strictly speaking, a throne, but Hector's mien and carriage made it so. He looked older than she remembered, his rugged jaw set against the world. A few days before the journey to Sparta, he'd come to the temple seeking Apollo's blessing. Together, they'd freed a dove in the god's honor. It was best not to spill blood, even sacrificial blood, before a sea voyage, for it whetted the Sea Lord's appetite.

Paris sat beside Hector. His seat was also inlaid with gold and jewels, but he lacked the alchemy to make it kingly. For all his thirty years of age, he bore the same naïve, cow-eyed expression as the youth in her dream.

The king raised his palm and everyone quieted.

"My dear children, trusted advisors and allies." Her father could still command the room. "You, who are the best of Troy, should be among the first to welcome its new princess."

Princess? That couldn't possibly require an assembly of Troy's counsel. The air rippled like the surface of a pond under a chill breeze. Something was coming.

She noticed Paris then, his brown eyes turning, time and again, to the same corner of the hall. Try as he might to stone his features, his eyes softened to cotton when he found that corner.