Twenty-Two
Paris staggered backwards as Hector's sword collided with his. It was like watching a bull ramming into a sheep. We all could picture how that would look. The younger prince tripped over his feet, sand splashing up around him as he hit the ground. Hector swung his sword casually, eyes narrowed.
"Get up prince of Ilios," he sneered, "you cannot defend your kingdom on your back."
I rolled my eyes as Paris climbed to his feet. "This really isn't a fair fight."
Either no one heard or they ignored me.
For his part, I could not see how Hector was taking it easy on Paris. He slashed and struck blow after blow while Paris only feebly managed to keep his sword upright. He put in a valiant effort though. He held onto his sword, and met each blow with a pathetic defense, but he was tiring quickly. Even from where I sat I saw the sweat dripping down his face. Hector barely worked up a pant.
Then he fumbled.
His sword slipped and Hector used that moment to elbow Paris hard in the gut. The younger prince curled over it before collapsing to the ground with a grunt. I winced. The fight finished as soon as it started.
Paris propped himself up onto his elbow, his other arm wrapped around his stomach as Hector knelt down in front of him. The older prince's voice was deliberately clear when he spoke. I couldn't see Paris' expression, but I imagined the humiliation and hurt in his soft eyes. This was not the welcoming he'd been expecting.
"It'd be wise to train," Hector said, "though you are too soft to be a soldier. You cannot be a true prince unless you have gone into battle for your anax."
He gripped Paris' chin and then said something that was too low to be heard from where us spectators sat. It couldn't be good, judging by the way Paris yanked his chin away from his brother. Hector climbed to his feet and turned to face the viewing platform. He waved a hand at Paris, who was still on the ground. I clenched my hands into fists so tight my nails dug into my palms.
"This is who we welcome home? This is who you want as a future anax, father?" he asked, "let him return to his humbled life as a shepherd. He has no future here."
Silence filled the grounds and I glanced at Priam. Hecuba's hands were clasped in her lap, a silent prayer to her gods to perhaps let Paris stay. She'd just had her child come home and now there was a chance she could lose him again. I mean, she didn't have to give him up in the first place but what can you do about it now?
A cool breeze drifted by, though it wasn't enough to cool down my anxious sweating. Overhead a large bird flew by, its shadow skimming the sandy surface of the ground. It didn't even make a sound, as if it also knew that this was a precarious moment.
Paris was still on the ground, back facing us. He was too embarrassed to face his new family. I wished he would. He shouldn't be embarrassed for failing in an unfair fight with Hector. Paris was a toothpick compared to the tree that was his brother. The fact that he agreed to do this trial was a big deal. It showed he wasn't a coward. But no one saw it like that. What they saw was a young man who wasn't fit enough to fight for his kingdom.
Finally Priam stood and glared down at his two sons. "I will not hear anymore talk about sending a son of mine away. We made that mistake once and he has come back to us, proving the prophecy wrong. Who are we to question the gods' intentions or spurn their gifts?"
Paris glanced over his shoulder, the shock apparent on his face, while Hector may have broken teeth with the way his jaw clenched. But Priam wasn't done.
"He will train with you, Hector, until you are ready to depart for Sparta. Get him ready, for things with Greece may turn at any time." His eyes drifted to Paris, who had climbed to his feet. "Regardless of what you may think, Alexandros is still a son of Ilios and will not be turned away again."
It was a moving speech, and kind of nice to hear, save for the part that Priam still insisted on calling Paris "Alexandros." It was frustrating beyond belief, but hey, baby steps, right? Paris had officially been recognized as a prince and even if he had lost a battle, he wasn't going anywhere. Even Hector couldn't deny his brother now. Though it didn't stop him from shooting daggers at Paris, who had gone glossy-eyed from shock.
The two princes moved away from the training ring as we all filed down the stairs to greet them. Andromache's warmth towards me had coolled once more, barely glancing at me as she led the way. I chewed the inside of my cheek, as if that helped bite back my irritation. I was relieved that Paris wasn't being turned away, but it was annoying that Hector thought he was better because he was built like a rock and could wield a sword. Big whoop.
And yet, somehow, I still felt like I was the only one in his corner.
"Are you alright?" I asked, approaching Paris.
"Fine," he shrugged. The glint in his eyes said otherwise but I didn't push him.
"You don't need a fight to prove your strength," I pointed out, nudging him playfully with my shoulder.
Paris shot me a sharp look, cutting through my optimism. There was something lining his brow, trying to cut its way through his gentleness. Being a prince waged war with his upbringing and he was just as bad as fighting it as he was fighting Hector. Which side would win? I had no idea.
"Just saying," I mumbled, just as his father spoke up again.
"We will have a celebration," Priam declared, "to welcome our son back and to have him officially declared a prince of Ilios."
His brown eyes, still bright and keen, met his youngest son's. For a moment, I saw the resemblance between them. Paris had his father's face, one that was soft at the edges, but sharpened when their chins lifted. His smile he got from his mother, though Paris' was less cautious and controlled than Hecuba's. His eyes, though, were the perfect blend of both his parents. Priam's colour but Hecuba's round, doe-eyed shape. It gave him the right amount of softness that neither Priam nor Hector could ever dream of accomplishing. Paris stood out starkly compared to his adoptive father, but standing among his biological family, he blended right in. A missing puzzle piece that had found its place.
Cassandra had disappeared, and Hector plucked his son out of Andromache's arms. He tossed him playfully in the air, eliciting an excited giggle from the baby. Priam and Hecuba watched their son and grandson with open adoration, and it was all so sickeningly picturesque. Like the credits should be rolling after ending on a happy note.
Paris wandered away and, after a moment, I followed.
"I'm sorry if what I said earlier made you uncomfortable," I said, catching him by the elbow. "But I'm not sorry for saying it. It's true, you don't need to prove your strength by fighting."
"That's not the point." Paris pulled away and ran a hand through his perfect curls. "It is a point of honour to fight in battle. Even more so as a prince." He glanced at me. "It is exactly what I need to do to prove my worth. How can I be a ruler if I can't even handle a simple test?"
"Your strength doesn't lie in your muscles," I persisted. "You're smart and you want to explore the world. You are willing to take on challenges without even batting an eye, even if it means failing." I stepped closer and placed my hand on his arm. "You aren't your brother, Paris, no matter how hard you try."
And you, Alexis, needed to stop getting so close to him. That was not going to help either.
"Maybe not, but I still need to do this." Paris turned to me and gave me a small smile. "Enough about that. You shouldn't have to worry about such things. I hadn't had the chance to tell you how lovely you look."
My cheeks flushed with heat and I shrugged, trying to act casual. I prayed he couldn't hear the way my heart fluttered in its bony cage like a frantic hummingbird.
"Oh, this old thing? I just threw it on."
He crossed his arms and his eyebrows raised with amusement. "It is good to see your humour is still intact."
"What can I say? Humour is the best medicine."
Paris had succeeded in distracting me. It was easy to forget where we were and all the pressure of my plan and his new role. It was easy to get lost in each other's orbit—I had to stop. Focus on the task at hand. Unfortunately, that meant using Paris. The least I could do was not toy with his emotions.
I stepped back a bit and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Right, well, I should probably go do whatever it is that women do around here."
Only when I turned had I noticed that everyone else had gone. Not even Zoisme was around. The training grounds were eerily silent, though I couldn't help feeling relieved that we were the last two there. It felt like walking around on eggshells around the royal family.
"Wait." He hurried to step in front of me, the gesture reminiscent of what he did the first day we met. "At least have lunch with me first."
"Paris you should really go be with your family," I sighed but he shook his head.
"I'll have plenty of time to be with them," he said, "the only company I want right now is yours."
How could anyone possibly say no to that?
That and I actually was quite hungry.
"I could eat," I relented.
Paris' smile was bright enough to light up an entire city. It was hard not to smile back. There was no way he didn't realize what kind of draw he had.
We walked side by side in silence, the occasional slave cleaning, birds chirping or water fountains the only sounds floating around us. There was a magical quality to the palace. It wasn't as bustling as I thought it'd be. We never saw anyone roaming the halls except for the palace slaves. Paris had said that there were other wings that were busier, but the living quarters were more private. Women weren't expected to be seen in the other wings, which I gathered were for governmental affairs. I was expected to stay in and around the living quarters, much to my annoyance. Being in an ancient city provided a unique opportunity to get an insider look into how life worked. But, I couldn't really go anywhere without being pestered. There was a pesky little thing called gender standing in my way.
Typical.
"What made you decide to travel to Ilios?" Paris asked suddenly.
He glanced at me with that open curiosity he had every time he tried to pry open my life.
"I didn't have much of a choice, really," I sighed. "I made a terrible decision and this was the price. I guess. I don't know, it's complicated."
"Why don't you try and explain it? Maybe it'll uncomplicate things."
I glanced at him and, not for the first time, considered spilling the beans. But it was too risky right now. Maybe when we arrived in Greece.
"Like how you know the goddesses?" he continued. "Or how you have the most unusual way of speaking? And what about that outfit you wore when we met?"
"Okay," I said, waving his words away, "I know I'm being cagey and I know what that looks like but if I could tell you I would."
"Why can't you?"
A stray breeze drifted by, cool enough to make me shiver despite the stream of sun that came through the opening. A bird landed on a nearby tree. Someone had plucked that beautiful creature out of a painting because there was no way it was a real bird. It looked as though it had been carefully and precisely crafted with gold, blue and gray. Its beak was small and pointed, an elegant slope for an elegant bird. Along the side of its neck were four dashes, each framed with a blue border. Slowly, it turned its head and plucked at its feathers.
On instinct, my thumb twitched and I reached up to my hip. Only to find I didn't have pockets. Nor my phone. Nor anything from my world save my pyjamas, which I had to get rid of at Paris' farm.
That was the moment that I wished I had my phone with me. I could snap a picture and capture that image forever. Post it on Istagram, show off the gorgeous bird I was so lucky to see.
"Alexis?"
"Hm?" I turned to find Paris staring at me expectantly. He was still waiting for an answer. And I didn't have a good one to give him.
If there is one thing that always seems to be on my side, it's the timing of others. As we rounded the corner, we saw Zoisme standing at the entrance to one of the courtyards. Her back was to us though it appeared she was speaking to someone. Someone who was either blocked by the pillar beside her, or invisible. Whatever the case, she seemed agitated and not at all like the girl I've known the past couple of days. In fact, she looked quite fierce. Her back was rigidly straight, her muscles taut. For a slave she was quite fit and nourished. I'd noticed that before, but seeing her there before me, she was intimidating.
"You do not know what you are saying," she snapped.
"Ah, but I do."
Paris and I exchanged glances. That crystal clear, smooth voice belonged to Cassandra.
"I know who you are, though I still cannot see why you're here," the priestess continued.
"You keep to your business and I will keep to mine," Zoisme said, the snarling words low and threatening.
Cassandra seemed unperturbed by the slave's tone. "I have my eyes on you, savage."
At that moment, Zoisme felt our presence. Her head snapped around and her eyes widened as if caught doing something she wasn't supposed to. Instantly, there was a shift. As she staggered away from the pillar and scrambled to compose herself, her shoulders slouched, and it was as if her body shrunk back to its usual diminutive state.
When we approached the pillar, I peeked around it hoping to see Cassandra. But there was no one behind the pillar. No one lingering in the courtyard. It was as if Cassandra had just disappeared.
Not at all weird.
"Where is Cassnadra?" Paris asked, his eyes roaming the courtyard as well.
Zoisme looked up, startled although, for a brief moment, I swore a spark of irritation darkened her eyes. It was gone faster than a passing storm but I felt unease creep its way under my skin.
"Cassandra?" she stammered, glancing at me. Whether it was a plea for help or not I couldn't tell. "You are mistaken... I wasn't speaking to anyone, Despota."
"No, we heard her," I insisted, "didn't we, Paris? She called you a savage, what did she mean by that?"
Paris nodded, his expression troubled. His eyes never strayed from Zoisme, who hunched her shoulders with her usual meekness. Only now, I wondered if she was being meek for show. Paris had insisted something was up with Zoisme. Now, I wasn't so sure he was wrong.
"I-I'm sorry, I'm not sure what you mean, I was just admiring the view." She dipped her head, hands clasped in front of her. "Excuse me, I have to return to my tasks."
Zoisme dipped her head again and as she rushed out of the courtyard. I could have sworn I saw her peek up at us again, a dash of that darkness streaking across her eyes. It had to be a trick of light. I was reading too much into all of this. So many people have proven not to be trustworthy that I was searching for reasons not to trust her.
So, why did I still feel uneasy?