Cassandra and Apollo

Chapter 7

Author's note:  Hi!  The top of the page features some of my sketches of Hector.  Enjoy!

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The moon cast long shadows by the time the feast ended. Servants were gathering shards of splintered amphorae and wiping spilled dregs from the tessellated floors.

She'd left after the first kylix hit the floor. But Hector had stayed. As the future king, he had no choice. He lacked the freedom of a title-less adept.

She knew she would see him again, though. He knew the winding corridors leading to her room, had walked them smooth over the years.

As a baby, she'd been fussy and sickly, but, miraculously, she had stilled in his arms. At first, the king and queen had worried about handing her to a boy of ten, fearing the clumsy arms and faltering steps of youth. But Hector had never been young, not really. He'd cared for his sister through storm and fever, until she'd have no nurse but him. 'Brother' had been her first word; next, 'bow,' after he'd hit a quail from two hundred paces.

The knock at her door made her heart swell.

"What brings you here at this late hour, brother?" She said, knowing the answer.

He was rosy with drink, highlighting the red in his beard. It was not his practice to fill on wine, and she could not tell whether it was celebration or regret that drove him to it that night.

"We did not get to finish our discussion, earlier." His smile was heavy. Perhaps it was regret after all, she thought.

Walking over to her bed, he sat down and leaned his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers between them.

"He will not admit it, but father is worried. Troy is dry kindling and the Achaeans flint, he says. A war may spark yet."

In the ten years since her dedication, their conversations had deepened. She'd become his counsel, imbued with some of Apollo's wisdom as she was.

The knot in her stomach had returned, its mate at her throat. She swallowed past it and tried to steady her voice.

"You've always told me the Achaeans are divided, fractious. Each city state has a dozen reasons to war with Sparta. Why would they rally behind Menelaus when this has nothing to do with them?"

Perhaps it was her own inexperience that kept her from understanding, or perhaps she'd become blind to the treasure surrounding her since birth.

"Greed is a powerful force." Hector's eyes were downcast, his voice gravelly from drink. "And a plump carcass draws many buzzards."

She smacked his shoulder, shaken by his gloomy words. "Troy is no carcass! Nor is it dried tinder! It is among the post powerful kingdoms in the world—we have an Olympian as our guardian. His walls have never been breached."

He looked back at her, face settling on an unfamiliar look.

"Yes, how is your Apollo, by the bye?"

She felt her face heat. Only Hector would dare refer to a god so casually.

"He is not mine, and saying so invites doom," she scolded, pursing her lips.

He leaned back on the heels of his hands.

"You are wise not to lower your guard with him, sister." He sighed, looking at the linen canopy above her bed. "The gods caress with one hand and rend with the other."

She turned her whole body toward him, shocked. He was pious enough, sacrificing on festival days and praying when required. But, over the years, it had become clear to Cassandra that Hector did not approve of her arrangement with Apollo. She could only imagine the horror on his face if he knew the full extent of it.