I sincerely apologize to my followers for not updating in so long but life sometimes likes to kick you when you're already down. However, I did promise to finish this story and so I shall. Here begins the end of Troy...
There was something ominous about the giant wooden horse, which looked to be constructed of beach wood, and dread settled heavily in my stomach as I watched Priam's men roll it through the main street towards the courtyard. "Do not look so solemn, Lady Ismena. The enemy is gone and the war is over!" a young woman exclaimed as she passed, a wreath of flowers upon her head and a bright smile on her face. I knew I had seen her before but for the life of me, I could not recall her name and then decided that it did not matter who she was. She was wrong.
I turned my attention back to the horse and squinted at the gaps between the boards, noting that it appeared hollow. The heaviness in my stomach suddenly sprouted, sending branches upwards into my mind, where suspicion rapidly blossomed. Ignoring the revelry around me, I leaned forward to inspect the gaps more closely and, a second later, I swore I saw a glint of metal beyond the wood. I stepped back again, giving the structure another once over "an offering to Poseidon, they say" I snorted in disgust and, right at that moment, Paris stepped up beside me "father says" he corrected in a low voice "he believes the Greeks built it to ask for safe passage home".
The prince still wore his armor and was clearly annoyed, his eyes almost black with anger "indeed? I believe it is nothing but a clever ruse designed to convince us exactly of that" I remarked, gesturing at towards it "after all, what sort of arrogant sods build an offering to a god out of dirty moldy wood? Was there not a virgin left among the priestesses they stole from the temple of Apollo? I'm sure the chosen woman would have given herself willingly as a sacrifice rather than be used as a whore by filthy men for the rest of her life. Furthermore, if its purpose was to grant them them a safe journey back to Greece, why didn't your father leave it on the beach to ensure it would do exactly that?".
Paris eyed me seriously for several moments then pressed his lips into a thin line and I felt his fingers brush the back of my hand at my side, out of view of any onlookers. Had anyone actually seen the simple gesture, they might have had a heart attack or perhaps assumed that I had finally given into the prince's charms when it couldn't have been further from the truth.
Ares had been gone when I awoke the morning after our night together but that was to be expected and I had not allowed myself to feel guilty or upset by his departure. It had been made abundantly clear to me that his visits made me a living target for any of his kin who sought to ire him and, considering Zeus' confession regarding his son's emotional vulnerability, I did not want him to suffer on my account.
The irony of my having concern for a god's well-being was not lost on me but, unlike the immortals, I could not simply banish my instinctive emotional reactions. Nothing would change the fact that I would die someday and Ares would have to endure losing me as he had several others. For his sake, I hoped that there would be another woman wild and strange enough to attract his attention by then.
As for the lovemaking, aside from sore muscles and an ache in my groin that was not entirely unpleasant, the experience changed me little. When I finally rose and looked at myself in the mirror, noting an oddly attractive bruise on my shoulder where he had bitten me at some point, the woman I saw was essentially the same. Yet I felt different somehow. There were no epiphanies, no revelations about the meaning of life, no unwanted visions or the like. It was as though my senses had become keener and my thoughts more ordered.
For the week that had followed, when my cousin did not require my presence and my temple duties were complete, I purposefully kept to my rooms in order to do some much needed thinking and planning. The latter involved sewing the temple offerings into my traveling gown while waiting until everyone was abed in the evening so that I could slip out of my rooms unnoticed and retrace my footsteps to the hidden door behind the cellar. The former involved mulling over the mysterious things I had seen and heard since the beginning of the war. Many of which involved Paris. I was certain that I was missing an important piece of the puzzle that was our involvement. Paris had always been beautiful but he hadn't always gone after every pretty girl in Troy. After a homecoming that was far less welcoming than what a young prince deserved, he had been reserved and somewhat on guard, likely because of his parents' barely veiled despair at his return. Upon further reflection, I realized that the king had not once referred to Paris as his son in public the way he had Hektor, Helenus, and even young Polydorus. Priam and Hecuba had always called him by his formal name and had interacted with him very little, instead leaving their vulnerable son to a series of nursemaids who had treated him the same way a girl-child treated her favorite doll.
The more I thought on it, the more glaringly obvious it became that Paris and Ares were eerily similar, save the former's penchant for warfare. Both had been neglected by their parents, ridiculed and scorned by their peers, were emotionally volatile- though in different ways- and had taken a series of lovers though, as far as anyone knew, Paris had not sired any children. Then there were the complicated relationships that each of them had with me. Both had, evidently, seen me growing up but, until recently, only Paris had actually been in a position to become familiar with me without attracting unwanted interference.
As I looked deeper into the past on those quiet afternoons and evenings, I eventually came to understand that what I sought was when exactly I had developed such an intense dislike of him and, more importantly, why. It was true that he had annoyed me – chasing me around the courtyard, yanking occasionally on my long hair when I least expected it, blowing kisses when he knew I thought boys were disgusting - but no more so than the other boys I had met during my formative years.
One reason had been offered two days earlier when, while sitting with Briseis and Polyxena in the courtyard, I muttered something about incorrigible princes after Paris smiled and lightly touched my shoulder as he passed by us to take his seat beside the king. Briseis had quickly covered her mouth to stifle a giggle but Polyxena's expression turned to bewilderment and she had looked at me, clearly puzzled "what happened?"
"Your brother is making eyes at me" I informed her quietly.
Unfortunately that hadn't helped clarify anything because she had looked even more confused then stated "but he has always looked at you thus. Even when I was small, I clearly remember that, no matter where he was, he smiled thus whenever he saw you".
"He smiled at every pretty woman in Troy" Briseis remarked, having composed herself, and we exchanged wry looks.
Polyxena, however, shook her head "not like that. You have always been special to him, Ismena" was her soft reply.
Her last comment had surprised me so much that I had almost swallowed my tongue. In a flash, I was taken back to the wedding dinner when I had been well on my way to being more drunk than I had ever been before. I recalled looking over at the dais, where Paris and Helen were seated next to the king, and wondering not only where the queen was but why Paris seemed almost distant and picked at his food while Helen leaned on his shoulder, casting adoring looks at him. It was a stark contrast to Hektor and Andromache's cheerful wedding dinner when my cousin had laughed through most of the evening, a near permanent blush on her cheeks because all of the teasing she'd gotten from her eldest female cousin about her impending wedding night. Hektor was no better than said cousin because he'd whispered something to her at one point – which Andromache later confided was a hint about what was beneath his robes- and she'd nearly inhaled her wine, turning even redder as she sputtered into her napkin, then glared at her much amused husband. Paris and Helen, by contrast, smiled very little and neither of them laughed. Not even once. He then had looked over at me just long enough to make eye contact before swiftly turning away and frowning as if he'd been caught doing something inappropriate.
Now, through sober eyes, the brief look was not so much a simple glance in my direction as it was an expression that asked "are you happy now?"...and not in a sarcastic way. He had been looking to me, of all people, for approval. For confirmation that he had done something right by getting married. The reason, while seemingly obtuse in the days immediately preceding the event, was actually very simple. Out of everyone in the palace, I was the hardest to please because I had not fulfilled the expectations of society and I had never tried to. I was outspoken, unpredictable, unmarried, and childless yet, because of my virtue, the goddess whom I served, and my loyalty to my country, my supposed faults went unmarked by the other inhabitants of the city. No parents ever tried to keep their sons away from me because I did not show any interest in the boys nor did I encourage their interest in me. If Paris had, as many odd occurrences and people suggested, been interested in me then he had indeed made a very foolish mistake.
Paris had tried and had come to his current status as a ladies' man by default when nothing else had worked. His beauty had attracted women to him from an early age and when his parents had not shown any inclination to have him trained on a weapon or in a trade of any kind, he'd turned to the only talent he thought he'd had.
Another jubilant maiden passed, her laughter bringing me back to the present, and Paris pursed his lips pensively "I should have asked you to accompany us to the beach, with your bow in hand" he finally said "perhaps father would have heeded you because he certainly would not listen to me"
One eyebrow rose towards my hairline "did you tell him to leave it there?" I inquired, wondering what had transpired between the prince and his father. While Priam had been smiling from ear to ear when they had returned from the shore that morning, after a breathless messenger had informed them that the previously Greek-occupied beach was empty, Paris and Hektor's military general had exchanged wary looks then withdrawn silently from the cheering nobles to speak in private.
Two nights earlier, when he'd come to my rooms to visit, I had decided to lay the past to rest. There was nothing that could be done to remedy Paris' and Helen's actions and, with the large possibility that our city would fall in the near future, I resolved not to carry a grudge to my death. Helen and I would never be friends because I didn't trust her, I couldn't trust any woman who ran away from her problems and abandoned her only child in the process. But I would not harm her unless she did something else stupid or was a direct threat to me or someone I cared about. Given how often I saw him walking alone around the palace, I suspected that not all was well with them and that was no surprise considering the circumstances surrounding their union.
Now I wasn't so much concerned about the couple as I was about Paris himself. The mischievous young man I had gotten used to had seemingly vanished after Hektor's death. The prince had readily taken on more royal duties in the past week, as well as attending archery training with the rest of the military's archers every afternoon, and sat to the right of his father, at the evening meal - where the still-missing Helenus had once sat.
The past three weeks have changed us all I thought darkly, looking over at my cousin who alternately cooed to her son and watching the festivities with a worried expression. We had spoken that morning, during which time I had expressed my doubts that the Greeks would just pack up and leave after the death of Hektor. Briseis, having spent time within the Greek camp, had agreed with my assessment, having stated that she had met the Greek king Agamemnon briefly shortly after being brought into the camp. She had described him as a lecherous beast of a man, unconcerned with how many men died in the war, and that Achilles had threatened to spit upon his corpse. The warrior, after saving her from being brutally gang raped by the rest of Agamemnon's men, had told her that the king intended to burn our city to the ground and that, if she ever escaped and Hektor died, she should get as far away from the city as she possibly could.
It was the first she had spoken of her experience there to anyone, save me, and Andromache had been horrified but took in the information and left the baby with us to speak with Priam's senior advisers, to advise readiness and caution. Now I was finding out that everyone in the royal family, except Priam and his high priest of Apollo, was suspicious about how swiftly and easily the war had ended. Including Paris, who shook his head then his eyes locked on mine, with a grave look that resonated through me like the city's alarm bell "no...I told him to burn it".
I would curse Priam many times later that night, as I fought my way out of the burning city, for not following what was possibly the only wise piece of advice Paris had ever given his father. But I would curse myself much much more in the following days, after the tensions between all of us came to a head, for realizing far too late that what I was supposed to sacrifice for my city was not my life...but, rather, my hand.