Warrior Rising (38 page)

They walked silently through a marble-floored hallway, past several lovely, airy rooms. It was as if despair walked with them. All around them sounds of women crying echoed in the magnificent palace. Finally they came to a silver-inlayed door and Paris stopped.

“I will send maidservants to see to you,” Paris said. His cheeks were still wet and his voice was rough with emotion. “I'm so glad they didn't kill you, little Xena.”

And as it had been for the brief time she'd been with Hector, she could tell that Paris had loved Polyxena, too. Impulsively she hugged him. “Thank you,” Kat whispered.

Paris clung to her. “It's my fault,” he said brokenly. “I caused his death. I caused all of their deaths.”

Kat pitied him. He was really not much more than a teenager— he must only have been thirteen or fourteen when he'd taken Helen from the Greeks. These two kids had started a war that had gone on for almost a decade? It hadn't taken meeting Agamemnon and his cronies for Kat to know what utter bullshit that was. She shook her head at the sad young man. “No, Paris, it's gone way beyond being your fault.”

“Come, love. Polyxena needs to bathe and rest. Come with me, sweetest one,” Helen coaxed in a voice like poured honey.

Still sobbing, Paris nodded and stumbled away mostly supported by Helen's arm around his waist.

Kat entered the chamber untouched by its splendor and stood numbly while she waited for the maidservants to come to her. They were there in minutes, grim-faced women who treated her reverently, but who kept breaking into sobs. Kat let them bathe, anoint and dress her in a simple silk robe. They left her wine and food and then, amid whispers and sobs, seemed to melt away.

Feeling detached and unfocused, Kat walked across the room to a huge, arched open window. Gauzy gold curtains picked up what was obviously the light from a fading sun, and shimmered evening colors of rust and orange and yellow. Sounds of fighting men drifted with the warm breeze and Kat stepped out onto a balcony that perched above the front walls of Troy, commanding an amazing view of the battlefield. She didn't let her eyes look at it, though, just like she didn't let her ears acknowledge that the one voice she could hear above all the other cries and clashing of two armies was the one that had possessed her Achilles. Instead she gazed beyond everything to the distant, watery horizon and the sun that was dying into the sea. She stared at it until the tears that blurred her vision filled her eyes, spilled over and ran down her cheeks.

Then through grief and noise and confusion Kat heard another sound. Her mind picked it up as it washed over her like clear, cool water over smooth river stones. Something about it reached her, soothed her and brought her subconscious the answer before her thinking mind understood it.

There was a clanking followed by many
click-click-clicks,
and then a familiar groan she'd heard only once before, when she'd ridden Hector's wounded stallion through the opening gates of Troy.

Kat stepped out to the edge of the balcony. Following the clicking noise, she looked down and to her immediate left. Built inside the thick walls was an indention, a niche large enough for a man to stand comfortably within, a single arrow-slitted window gave an abbreviated view of the battlefield. Beside the man was an enormous chain, the links of which were half the size of his body. Kat watched the links slither down in a hole at the man's feet like a waterfall of iron. There was a system of large iron levers in front of the man. His hands were on the levers, which were all pushed in a downward direction.

“Close the gates!” On the platform outside the niche a warrior suddenly called an abrupt command and lowered a scarlet flag he had been holding over his head. The man in the niche immediately tripped all of the levers, pushing each of them up. The chain stopped its slithering motion.

Leaning farther out over her balcony Kat peered down at the front gates of Troy as more than two dozen warriors rushed to close the gates while archers held off the bedraggled looking Greek army. The gates had been opened far enough for all of the Trojan warriors to retreat within the city, so it took a considerable amount of time to get them closed, but finally, with another eerie groan, the city was sealed.

Kat's gaze went back to the man in the niche. He and the soldier holding the flag saluted each other and then relaxed into a stance that resembled parade rest.

So it took a couple dozen men or so to close the gates of the city, but only one to pull down some levers and open them?

Kat's body flushed hot and then utterly cold. Everything fell suddenly into place. She and Jacky had missed the entire point—in the myth it wasn't about fitting the whole Greek army into a ridiculous, hollow horse, out of which they emerged and kicked Trojan ass. It was about getting inside the impenetrable, god-fashioned walls of Troy and opening the gates.

Kat stared at the levers and at the two men who guarded them. No way would they allow anyone to get close enough to them to trip the chain and open the gates. But a princess of Troy was not just anyone.

“I am the Trojan horse,” she whispered, and the words sent a terrible shiver through her body.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Kat lifted her hand to grasp the heart-shaped pendant that still hung from around her neck, but a movement just outside the city walls caught at the edge of her vision. Gold and scarlet flashed, drawing her eyes. The Greek army had already pulled back and was disappearing into the olive grove. Only one warrior remained.

“Achilles! Oh, god, no.” Horrified, Kat shook her head back and forth, back and forth. He was driving a chariot, lashing the horses into a frenzy as he drove past the city gates again and again, dragging the bloody, brutalized body of Hector behind him.

That terrible scene decided her. Kat was going to do whatever it took to end this. Resolutely she went back into her chamber, opened the locket and called to Venus.

“Venus, come to me.”

This time the glittering of the goddess's divine cloud was markedly subdued as she materialized.

“I know,” Venus said. “Hector is dead. I heard Andromache's cries of grief. They were very much in love.”

“Do you know about this?” Kat gestured to the balcony. The goddess walked close enough to gaze out. Kat saw the jolt of shock that went through her body as she realized what she was witnessing.

“Achilles is desecrating Hector's body.”

“It's not Achilles.”

“It's unthinkable.”

“It's
not
Achilles!” Kat drew a deep, steadying breath. “I need you to get Hera and Athena here. Oh, and Thetis, too. I know how to end this, but you'll all have to play a part.”

“I don't know if it's possible for Hera to come. She's keeping Zeus busy.” Venus's gaze briefly went back to the balcony before she continued. “And she needs to keep him busy. If he knew what was going on out there you would never have a chance at saving your Achilles.”

“But it's Zeus's fault that the berserker is here at all! He cursed Achilles with him,” Kat said angrily.

“Darling,” Venus said gently, “it was Achilles' choice—Achilles' responsibility. That's why this is so terrible for him. He picked this fate.”

“I'm changing it. Love is changing it.”

“Me?”

“Us. And by changing Achilles' fate I'm ending the war.”

“You figured out a way,” Venus said.

“I'm the Trojan horse,” Kat said.

“Darling?”

“Just trust me.”

“Implicitly. What do you need?”

“I'm assuming that Thetis, being a sea goddess, can conjure up some fog?”

“Naturally, darling.”

“Good. In the hour before dawn have Thetis make fog roll in from the sea. I need a lot of it—enough to hide the Myrmidons. Tell Athena to have Odysseus lead Achilles' men to the city gates. And I mean right up to them. I'll have them open.”

“You?”

“Trojan horse, remember?”

Venus nodded slowly. “You truly are.”

“I am.”
Or maybe a better analogy is that I'm Judas,
Kat thought, then shook herself mentally. That line of reasoning wouldn't help her or Achilles. “Be sure Athena tells Odysseus to have the Greek army waiting just out of sight—the entire Greek army. This is their only chance.”

“Done. And what do we do about Achilles?”

“Nothing. He's my diversion.” Kat retreated into her clinical persona—calm, dispassionate, free of clogging emotions like despair and guilt and fear. “If anyone looks from Troy, they'll be looking at him. The fog should do the rest. This is going to get the Greeks inside the walls of Troy—they should be able to end the war then, right?”

“One would think so,” Venus said. “And what will you be doing?”

“I'm going to be getting Achilles back.”

Venus hesitated before speaking. “I should probably warn you against trying to reach him. It didn't work today. It probably won't work tomorrow.”

“But . . .” Kat prompted.

“But I believe in the power of love,” she said simply.

“I'm finding that I have a newfound appreciation for the power of love myself,” Kat said.

Venus smiled. “I knew I'd made the right choice in you.”

“Let's hope so. Okay, I need one more thing: a sleeping potion that works quickly. A really strong one.”

Without any hesitation Venus held out her hand, wiggling her fingers. Almost immediately a tiny crystal bottle filled with a clear liquid appeared in a glittering of dust.

“Careful with this. It's a little something the gods use when they need oblivion. It's made by nymphs from the Island of the Lotus Eaters. If it so much as touches mortal skin you will feel its effects.”

Kat took it gingerly, setting it down on the polished surface of a vanity desk. “Thanks, that's perfect.”

The wind suddenly increased, causing the gauzy curtains that framed the balcony to billow diaphanously into the chamber, bringing with it the berserker's insane roars. Venus stepped closer to Kat and cupped her face with a smooth palm.

“Katrina, I leave you with Love's blessing.” Venus kissed Kat's forehead softly, and Kat felt a delicious surge of warmth and tenderness rush into her body.

As the goddess raised her hand, Kat suddenly remembered to ask, “Venus, is Patroklos still alive?”

The goddess smiled. “Alive and recovering from surgery with Jacqueline nursemaiding him.”

“Don't bring them back unless I get this mess worked out,” Kat said, although it hurt her heart to think about Jacky being a world away from her.

Venus nodded solemnly.

“If—if something happens and I don't make it out of this, will you promise to take care of Jacky?”

“I will,” Venus said. Then she lifted a slim brow. “Anything else, my delightfully demanding mortal?”

Kat chewed the side of her cheek and then decided, what the hell, she might as well go for it. “Yes. If I die—this time for good— would you let me go wherever it is that Achilles' soul goes? He's going to be lonely without me.”

“You have my oath on it, Katrina. Should you die tomorrow I will personally escort your soul to the beauty of the Elysian Fields,” Venus assured her.

“Okay, well, that makes me feel better.”

“You won't die tomorrow, Kat, darling.”

“Do you know that for sure?” Kat asked hopefully. “Like did a goddess oracle thing show you my future?”

“Let's just call it Love's intuition. I see a happily ever after coming on.” Venus raised her arm again, flicked her wrist and disappeared in a puff of glittery smoke.

Kat sighed. “Great, and now I know the origin of the saying: Love is blind.”

Odysseus felt utterly hopeless. He'd failed the princess who called herself Katrina, the Myrmidons, his own men and Achilles. Disquiet ran deeply through the army. No one, not a single man, approved of what Achilles was doing to Hector's body. The desecration of any dead angered the gods—the desecration of an honorable warrior, a prince of royal blood, would doubtless cause retribution to rain upon them from Mount Olympus.

All of that was bad, but Odysseus had angered the gods before and never felt as he did that night. He knew why. It was Athena's betrayal that had sliced him to the bone. It didn't matter what Katrina had said. He recognized her words for what they were—a kind attempt to reassure him. He knew better. Of course Athena had known about Patroklos's masquerade. She was Goddess of War. How could she not have known?

Odysseus sat heavily on the simple chair in his sparsely furnished tent. He stared into the goblet of wine he'd poured himself, wishing he could divine answers from the blood-colored liquid.

The air in the tent changed, got warmer, sweeter, right before she materialized. It didn't matter that Odysseus braced himself before he gazed at her. His reaction was still the same as it had been since he'd had his first glimpse of her when he was a young boy. Longing for her heated and sweetened his blood, just as it had the air around him.

“My Odysseus,” Athena said.

She came to him and offered her hand. Odysseus took it in both of his. Dropping to one knee before his goddess, he closed his eyes, pressed his lips to her skin and inhaled her scent.

“My Goddess,” he said. Then he opened his eyes, let loose her hand and stood. “I'm honored by your visit.” His voice sounded as empty as his heart felt.

Odysseus had forgotten that his goddess knew him very, very well. Her gray eyes narrowed as she studied him.

“You haven't washed or changed your clothes from today's battle. You look terrible. What has happened?”