by R. D. Brady
“Achilles!”
“I’m all right,” he said, even as pain lanced through his back. He pushed himself to his side, and Helen rolled from underneath him.
He saw fear on her features as she saw the arrows in him. “I’ll get help.”
“It will be all right. They didn’t go in very deep. I’ll heal.”
Dugal and four Myrmidons appeared at the entrance of the courtyard.
“Dugal!” Helen shouted. “Achilles has been hurt.”
The men rushed across the grass. The Myrmidons took up position around Achilles and Helen as Dugal dropped to his knees beside Achilles.
“Who did this?” Dugal demanded.
“Paris,” Helen said, her voice cold.
“Paris?” Achilles asked.
“I saw him just before you pushed me to the ground.” She pushed hair off Achilles’s forehead. “Just before you saved me.”
He smiled. “See? You do need me.”
“Always,” she whispered. She placed a kiss on his cheek. “Take care of him, Dugal.”
“Where are you going?” Achilles asked as she stood.
“To find Paris.” Helen said. And she took off at a run.
Achilles reached out to stop her, but his movements were too slow. He wanted to tell her that it was too dangerous. But he was so tired all of a sudden. So very, very tired.
Chapter 112
Helen pounded down the stairs. At first she had feared she wouldn’t be able to find Paris, but she had followed the sound of running footsteps, then spotted him darting into this stairwell.
She slowed as she neared the bottom. Her heart pounded, but not out of fear. No, fear was not one of the emotions coursing through her right now. Anger, disgust, and hatred were the top three when she thought of Paris.
He had shot Achilles in the back but Helen had no doubt those arrows had been meant for her. If Achilles hadn’t been there, she would be dead. He had saved her.
And Achilles would be fine—she knew that. The arrows had not gone in too deep. He would heal. But seeing him injured, it had frightened her, jarred her. She had always thought of him as invulnerable; he thought of himself as invulnerable. She shook her fear off. Achilles will survive, but Paris will not.
She reached the bottom of the stairs. A noise had come from farther down the hall. As Helen stepped onto the dirt floor at the bottom of the stairs, a sword swung at her head. She dove for the ground and rolled to her feet, bringing her own sword up in front of her.
Paris smiled. “You think you can beat me? You? A woman? All of this is because—”
“You talk too much.”
Helen feinted for his chest, then swiped low. Her blade raked across his thigh, and he let out a scream. But Helen was beyond caring about this man’s pain. This man had brought a world to the edge of disaster. He was nothing but a boy stomping his foot and demanding someone pay attention to him.
Helen was a blur of movement as she attacked. She sliced again and again, opening a new wound on Paris each time her blade whirled through the air. But by her design, none of the wounds were fatal.
Paris retreated, trying to get his blade in front of him to defend himself and failing. “Stop it! Stop it!” he shrieked. Finally, he crashed into a wall. There was nowhere else for him to run.
Helen’s blade was at his throat. “Goodbye, Prince.”
“Achilles,” Paris panted out. “Don’t you want to know about Achilles?”
Helen pressed the blade into his throat. Blood dotted his neck. “You shot him.”
Paris shook his head. “No. It’s more than that.”
Helen wanted nothing more than to run him through with her sword. But the look in his eye—a look of victory—stayed her hand. Burning with anger, she hissed, “What have you done?”
“I’ve killed the great Achilles.”
Helen laughed. “You can’t kill Achilles with an arrow. The arrows barely broke his skin.”
“They were dipped in poison. The first was designed to kill even a god.”
Helen went cold.
Paris smiled. “It was meant for you. But I think Achilles’s death might be even more painful for you than your own. Especially knowing it should be you and not him.”
Helen’s eyes flashed. “No.”
Footsteps pounded down the stairs. Two Trojan soldiers appeared. “Prince Paris!”
Paris shoved Helen away. With a growl, Helen swung her sword. It sliced his neck, and he dropped to the ground. She then whirled to meet the advancing guards. She kicked the first man in the ribs as he tried to rush her from the side, while the other advanced from the front.
“Enough.” Helen sidestepped the second man’s lunge, stabbing the first man through the chest as she did. Her quick move caused the second guard to stumble forward, off balance, and she brought her sword down on the back of his unguarded neck. He fell to the floor, unmoving.
Helen then turned back to Paris, to make sure she had finished him off.
The hallway was empty.
Damn it.
She followed his trail of blood to a heavy wooden door. But it was locked. She pushed at it but it wouldn’t budge. She slammed her shoulder into it and then kicked it with all her might. It had no effect.
Paris had escaped.
Gods be damned. She turned and ran back to the stairs, then stopped suddenly. Just beneath the stairs, in the shadows—no doubt where Paris had been hiding before he ambushed her—lay a small box. You don’t belong here.
Helen knelt and opened it. Twelve vials lay on velvet. She ran her hand along them. Then her breath caught. Two intertwined triangles were engraved a small piece of metal adhered to the glass of one of the vials.
The Omni.
She slammed the box shut, tucked it under her arm, and sprinted up the stairs, her heart pounding. The arrows. Achilles.
Chapter 113
They were dipped in poison. The first was designed to kill even a god. Paris’s words ran through Helen’s mind as she sprinted through the halls of the castle. When at least she reached the opening to the courtyard, she flew through it.
It seemed that all of Achilles’s Myrmidons were here now, and they had set up a protective circle around him. Some of them raised bows toward Helen before recognizing her. Surprise flashed on their faces, but they stepped aside to allow Helen through.
Dugal stood at Achilles’s side. The arrows had been removed from Achilles’s flesh, and two men were placing him on a stretcher. “He’s not healing,” Dugal said.
Helen dropped to her knees and placed her hand on Achilles’s forehead. It burned. “He’s been poisoned.”
“Do you know what poison?”
“No. But it’s one of the poisons in this box." She knelt down next to Achilles and opened the box, pulling out the Omni.
Dugal grabbed her arm. "What are you doing?"
"Hopefully, saving him. Tilt back his head."
Dugal stared into her eyes before doing as she instructed. Helen uncorked the Omni and emptied the contents into his mouth. This will work. This has to work. He swallowed it and Helen let out a breath. It would be all right. He would be all right.
She corked the Omni and slipped it into her pocket. Only a small amount was left but she would not let it out of her possession. Then she handed the box to Dugal. "Give this to the healer. Perhaps it will help her figure out which poison was used."
Dugal handed the box to one of his men, who took off at a run. Then he turned to the Myrmidons. “Let’s find a more comfortable spot for him to rest.”
The Myrmidons picked up the stretcher and set off. Helen walked along next to them, not wanting to let Achilles out of her sight. He was too still. She could not recall him ever lying so still. She gripped his hand. Do not leave me again.
“Queen Helen.” Dugal’s voice was low.
She looked up at the warning in his tone. Standing in the open doorway ahead of them was a man with his legs braced, his armor stained red with blood. Helen
met his gaze, her hand slipping from Achilles’s grasp.
“Menelaus.”
Chapter 114
Menelaus stepped aside to allow Dugal and his men through. They all tipped their heads to Menelaus in passing. Helen stayed behind with her husband.
Together, Menelaus and Helen watched the men carry Achilles out of view. Then Menelaus turned to her. "I did not think Achilles could be harmed."
“Neither did I,” she said softly.
Silence descended between them before Menelaus broke it. “You are all right?”
Helen nodded. She had not seen not seen Menelaus since before her abduction. He looked so strong, so confident. He looks like home, she realized. His hair was the same color as Hermione’s, and she could see their boys in his strong build and clear eyes. In that moment, she loved him so much she ached. She wanted to throw her arms around him, forgetting this whole nightmare.
But she held herself back. “I did not go willingly with Paris.”
Surprise flashed across Menelaus’s face. “I know that. I never doubted that.”
The truth of his words was in the timbre of his voice and the look in his eyes. She loved him all the more for that trust. And she felt guilty that she could not completely give him her heart, or even her full attention, at this moment. Because Paris’s words and the thought of Achilles’s injuries played on a loop in her mind.
“There is more going on than I know, isn’t there?”
“Yes.”
Menelaus sighed looking away before turning back to Helen. “Is Agamemnon part of it?”
Stunned by the question, Helen nodded. “Yes. You knew?”
“No, I—I don’t know. Maybe I knew. Maybe I suspected. I know you think I don’t see him. And it’s true, I have been blind. But I’ve seen enough.”
“I’m sorry.” Helen wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for: the pain of realizing who Agamemnon was, the pain she had caused him… or the pain she was going to cause him now.
He took her hand in his and turned her toward him. “Go to him.”
She looked into his eyes. “What?”
“He loves you. I know how that feels. And from the look of him, he doesn’t have much time.”
“But you’re my husband.”
“Yes. But it doesn’t stop the heart.”
Helen’s chest heaved. “I love you.”
“I know. But you love him too. I knew when I married Helen of Sparta that I married a woman of exceptional strength, character, and love. You love him, yes. But it doesn’t place a shadow on our love.” He leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips. Helen nearly shattered right then and there. “He loves you as I do. And I know I want your face to be the last thing I see in this world; I’m sure he feels no differently. Go.”
Helen placed her hand on his cheek. “I do not deserve you.”
“You deserve the world, Helen. Now go.”
She stared into his eyes for one more moment. Then she turned and walked away from the man who held her heart—and toward the man who held her soul.
Chapter 115
Helen found the Myrmidons gathered outside one of the guest bedrooms. One man stepped forward as she approached.
“How is he?” she asked.
“He—” He shook his head. “The healer knows it was the winter rose poison. But there is no cure for it."
"But, he was given a potion that should have healed him."
"I am sorry, Queen Helen. But it had no effect. The healer believes the poison had already worked its way too deeply into his system. He— I’m sorry, my queen. He will not last long.”
Helen reached out a hand for the wall to steady herself. Achilles was dying. She hadn't saved him. The whole way here she’d told herself Paris was wrong. Achilles would be fine. He was Achilles, after all. No one could take him down—and certainly not someone like Paris of Troy. But now that false hope had been ripped from her. “Is there nothing they can do?”
The man shook his head. “No, my queen.”
For the first time, Helen really looked at the gathered Myrmidons. These fearsome men, men who had terrified both sides of the Aegean Sea, now looked shattered. Achilles was their heart—she could see it in their eyes. Among these men, Achilles had finally found the home he’d always wanted.
She moved toward the door, taking deep breaths to help control her emotions. A Myrmidon opened the door for her, and she stepped inside. The drapes had been drawn on the windows nearest the bed. Dugal sat vigil. When Helen approached, he stood.
“How is he?” she asked.
“The poison, it—” Dugal wiped at his eyes. “I cannot believe this has happened.”
“It hasn’t happened yet,” Achilles grouched from the bed, his breathing labored. “So quit moping.”
Dugal laughed. “Who’s moping? I’m crying with joy at the thought of all the women I will now have when you are gone.”
“That’s more like it.” Achilles smiled, but even in the dim light Helen could see the sweat on his face, the paleness of his skin. He looked at Helen but spoke to Dugal. “Give us a moment, would you?”
“Of course.” Dugal bowed to Helen and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
Achilles reached for the water on the side table but missed, his hand falling short. Helen rushed forward. “Let me.” She poured the water and held the cup to his lips, pretending not to notice how much effort it took him to just lift his head.
When he had taken a few sips, he fell back against the pillows. “How goes the battle?” he asked.
“It is done. There are a few soldiers still fighting, but Troy is defeated.”
“So we won.”
“Yes.” Although Helen didn’t know what they had gained. The only one who had won anything was Agamemnon, who had regained his powers.
“Did Agamemnon get the Omni?”
“Yes. He restored his powers.” And he had her ring, which meant whatever that last safeguard was involving the instructions was no longer in his way. I have failed. But Helen shoved those thoughts aside. She would figure something out. Right now, Achilles needed to be her focus.
Achilles spoke again, but his words were mumbled, and Helen had to lean in to hear. “Will you go after him?”
Helen ran her thumb along her empty ring finger. “Yes. He has something of mine. And I intend to get it back.”
“You will defeat him. There is no one stronger in all the world.”
“I am only strong because of the people I have surrounding me.”
“I am the same, you know. I’m not sure my Myrmidons ever knew that. They gave me strength.” He closed his eyes. His breathing was slow. His heart was failing. Helen held her breath until he opened his eyes again and continued. “But you, Helen—you are the one who has always been in my mind through every battle. I remember every moment, every conversation, every touch.”
Helen took his hand. Tears wanted to burst forth, but she forced them back. “I remember as well. You have been with me every step of the way.” Her chest felt tight as she tried to memorize every detail of his face. “You should have let the arrows hit me. They were meant for me. And without my ring, the Omni would have given me powers so the poison would have—”
“No—you don’t know that. You have abilities, too. Who can say how the Omni would have worked on you? You could still have died—from the poison, or even from the arrows alone. And I could not have lived with that.”
“But I am to live with your death?”
“Yes, you are to live. You are to be the queen Sparta needs, the mother your children need, and the ring bearer the world needs. Your life is more important than mine.”
Helen gripped his hand tightly. One tear finally escaped and slid down her cheek. “No. It is not.”
He gently wiped the tear away. “Yes. It always has been. So live, Helen. For me.”
Helen’s heart ached. She wanted to scream and rail. This cannot be happening. “Don’t leave me, Achilles. Not when I have
just found you again.”
He smiled. She could see the effort it took. He took a stuttering breath and closed his eyes, swallowing hard. His words came out slowly. “But this… is the best death… I could ask for. By… your side. Feeling your… love. I want nothing more than… this moment. Better… to die in your arms… than live without… you by my side.”
Helen’s tears dripped onto Achilles’s chest, which had slowed its movement even more. Helen knew only his pure force of will was keeping him here. She gently kissed his lips, sending him all her love, all her emotion. “I do love you.”
“And I love you. In this lifetime… and every one yet to come.” His hand squeezed her hand one last time—and then went limp.
Helen gasped. She willed his chest to move. But it did not.
“Achilles? Achilles?” She shook his shoulders. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and her chest felt as if someone had cleaved a hole in it. “No, no.”
She laid her head on his chest, wrapping her arms around him as if somehow she could bring him back. I love you, too. In this lifetime, and every one yet to come.
Chapter 116
Helen informed the Myrmidon of Achilles’s death and then left them to pay their respects. More than a few of the incredibly powerful men had tears in their eyes.
Helen walked down the hall with no destination in mind, feeling disconnected from everything around her. Achilles is dead.
It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Achilles—he was life itself. He walked into a room and it came to life. His presence could not be stamped out. It was not possible.
But then she pictured his face, his hand going limp in hers, his life draining from him. By the gods. Her stomach clenched and her knees went weak. “Achilles.” Tears sprang to her eyes.
She stumbled down the hall, her hand on the wall the only thing keeping her upright. Soon even that wasn’t enough and she crumpled to the floor. Achilles.
Every moment she had spent with him flashed through her mind. All those times she had yearned for him over the years. She had survived their separation only because she knew that at least he lived, that he was somewhere in the world—that he was loving her as much as she was loving him. And that knowledge meant that her dream of them being together, the dream she harbored secretly, could live on. She had clung to that spark of love. It had kept her warm on cold nights.