Alkaios straightens upon seeing me. Like Odysseus, he comes bearing new scars. They crisscross over his chest, red, glaring lines that shimmer in the firelight. He’s haggard and unkempt, his beard long and hair threaded with wispy braids that glare with oil.
None of this surprises me so much as the pattern on his chiton. It’s bright blue and decorated with the crest of Ithaca.
My brother notices my gaze. “For what you did, Menelaus had Pyrrhus and me removed from the army and flogged. It would have been until our deaths, but Achilles claimed our brother and Odysseus took me in.”
My knees buckle and I’m grateful for the stools in Odysseus’s tent. Helen covers her mouth with a trembling hand. Her pale gray eyes are wide.
“Spartans and their melodrama.” The Ithacan looks to Helen as he says this. “It would have been a waste of a perfectly good soldier, especially one with a potential foothold into Troy.”
I open my mouth to press, but Odysseus cuts me off. “Alkaios was the first to notice the peculiarities.”
“Peculiarities?” Helen asks.
“In the kings,” the Ithacan says, waving an arm. “Some, like myself, seem untainted. Achilles has the protection of his mother, no doubt, and I of Athena. But Menelaus, Ajax, and Agamemnon. Even Nestor.” He shakes his head. “I’m ashamed that I did not notice sooner.”
“The desecrated temples. The refusal to have funeral games. The dead animals and chariots. Killing the paidonomos. All of them are things no mortal Achaean king would do.” Alkaios sighs and runs a hand through his hair before taking a seat across from me. The oily knots catch on his scarred fingers. “It struck me as odd when Menelaus rode a chariot to battle instead of a horse, or marching alongside his men. A Spartan anax would never ride a chariot, even one from another kingdom. But then the battle formations he led were nothing I had ever heard of.”
I remember the day, that first battle when King Menelaus had called me out in front of the entire battlefield from atop his glistening chariot. The way my enemies had been endless while other sides of the field had cleared within mere hours.
“But then Ligeia’s words rang in my ear that night”—a small smile pulls at his lips—“as it always does. Of a battle to the east called the Kadesh.”
“You always had the best memory of us three,” I say softly.
He ignores me and I try not to think about the twist of sadness in my gut as he continues, “They used chariots to create chaos, surrounding their enemies and sacrificing a few to exhaust the Egyptians. The assailed king at the time called upon his god, Amun, for help, and the god answered. Despite all odds, the Egyptians managed to beat back their enemies. Though they did not win the battle, they still managed to survive.”
“And this is relevant because?” Helen raises her narrow brows. Exhaustion paints dark circles beneath her eyes.
“Because the gods themselves intervened.” My brother’s shoulders are hunched, but his gaze is sharp. “The king went back to Egypt and the love of their gods grew. They proclaimed a victory though there was none, and the people revered the gods for it. The king went on to be quite powerful.”
“What gods help the Achaeans?” Helen’s voice is high-pitched, balancing on the edge of hysteria. “And what hope do the Trojans stand of holding them at bay?”
“Well, you can thank that wall for keeping you safe.” Odysseus points over his shoulder. “It is magicked to keep those who wish Troy ill from breaching the city unless invited in. But a combined might of gods might be enough to tear it down.”
Alkaios crosses his arms. “That is not the only advantage the Trojans have. Daphne is touched by the favor of Apollo and Artemis.”
Both of whom have been incapacitated, Apollo bound by his father, and Artemis flounced easily by Hera.
Odysseus continues, “As for which gods control the Achaean kings? Your Shield probably has the answer to that question.”
Everyone in the tent turns to me expectantly.
“Ares fights for the Greeks.” I grimace. “As do the Erinyes, likely Eris and Nemesis, and”—I hesitate, my throat dry—“anyone else who supports Nyx.”
A heavy silence blankets the tent. It’s broken only by the mournful camp army beyond the canvas walls, the wails of wounded men, and the wretched coughing of the sick and weary.
Odysseus stands after a long, tense moment, breaking it. “That explains things. It’s no wonder Zeus does not end this squabble. If the stories of Nyx’s hatred toward him are true, then this war will have the opposite effect of the Kadesh War. It will not inspire love for the gods, but rather hate. Zeus and his family likely wait until the exact moment to turn the tides and win the favor of the people.”
“We are nothing more than pawns to them.” Helen’s eyes are far away.
She’s not wrong. Despite always knowing and proclaiming as much, the truth of her words stings no less. I rub my arms as a chill suddenly sweeps over me from head to feet.
Alkaios coughs, straightening and crossing the distance between the two of us. “What of Hermes?”
I blink. “What about him?”
“He was your enemy.” My brother takes another step. “Does he fight for the Achaeans or the Trojans?”
I answer honestly. “I don’t know.”
Alkaios squints, as if trying to see through my words. He takes my chin between his fingers. “You’re not lying.” He releases me as if stung. “But you’re not being honest, either.”
“Hermes has visited me.” A shuddering breath escapes me. I swallow, unable to look at Helen. “Once or twice.”
Alkaios’s lips curl back from his teeth. “Does he kiss you as sweetly as Apollo?”
My fist cracks against his jaw. His entire body jerks back.
When he straightens, rubbing his chin, he says, “You two should return to Troy. Nyx will soon know you are here, and that Athena protects something in this tent.”
Odysseus lifts an arm toward the entrance. “My men will see you to the edge of camp. May whatever gods you answer to protect you from there.”
I wrap an arm around Helen’s trembling shoulders and guide her toward the entrance of the tent.
I turn to face Alkaios. His impressive height now claims the space in the tent. I clench my teeth as he walks toward us. War has engraved his face with weary lines.
“When you fled with Helen, you didn’t just betray Sparta. You betrayed Pyrrhus and me.” Hatred laces his words. “I bet you didn’t even think of us. What would happen to your own blood?”
Bile climbs up my throat. “There wasn’t time, Alkaios. Another moment and they would have killed us both.”
“You faced all the odds last summer and bested them.” He shakes his head. “You’re not our sister anymore. But I guess you never were. Olympian bastard.”
“Then she will be my sister.” Helen tugs on my hand. She glares up at Alkaios.
“Before this war ends, ask yourself, Daphne, who you answer to. Your people or your queen?” He looks down his narrow nose. “Your family or the gods?”
Helen and I flee wordlessly back to Troy. Away from the Achaeans or the accusation in my brother’s words, I cannot say.