13

“Will we take Hermione too?” Helen told Paris and me, “Hermione is our daughter.”

“As pretty as her mother,” Menelaus said.

“Prettier!” Helen dimpled and appeared even more adorable than before.

I wondered if she always knew just how she looked.

Menelaus said, “The road is too perilous for a nine-year-old. I won’t risk either of you.”

A fresh failure. Trying something else, I asked, “King Menelaus, have you ever visited Troy?” He might have before I was born.

He said he hadn’t.

“Our city is beautiful, especially its wall. The god of war loves Troy and has sworn that we’ll always be victorious. This is true, isn’t it, brother?”

He couldn’t know, and it would have seemed strange if he confessed that he didn’t, so he nodded. I’d lied about Ares, but we had never been defeated, which I hoped the king would remember when he thought about attacking us.

Since they believed me madful I could say whatever I liked, so I went further. “King Menelaus, your wife always longs for what she doesn’t have.” My heart seemed to boom loud enough for Eurus to hear. “Doesn’t she?”

His face reddened. I was right.

I went on. “My brother is foreign and very handsome right now.”

Paris choked on his food.

I hid my smile. “And he’s youthful.”

Menelaus’s face deepened to almost purple.

I rushed on. “Diswitted or not, I warn you: Don’t leave them alone together. Stay here in Sparta.”

Menelaus signaled to two female servants. “Paris, I admire your patience.”

I didn’t want to be dragged away! I raced around and between the couches and tables. “There will be war!”

A servant reached, but her hand found only air. I was agile!

“Spartans will die!” I shouted as I ran. “My brother is a wolf that snarls at kindness. He’s a snake! Beware!”

A diner could have snagged me, but astonishment seemed to have frozen them. My brother rose to pursue me too, but he didn’t know which way I’d go next.

“My words come from the god of truth!”

Menelaus lunged across a table and caught my hair. Ai! My scalp!

The servants took me away. I didn’t fight them. I’d failed with Menelaus.

As I left, I heard Helen say in her soft voice, “I’m sure she meant no harm.”

These women’s quarters had no screened-off nooks. The servants led me to an empty bed farthest from the courtyard light, where they pushed me down and stood over me. Their fingers left red marks on my arms.

Three women were weaving and two sat on a bed, playing checkers. A young girl stared at me from another bed, where she was carding wool.

I tried to go to her, but my captors held me back.

She came to me. “They say the gods made you formad. How did it feel when they did it?”

“Are you Hermione, daughter of Helen?”

“And Menelaus.”

“I have my wits.”

“Your wits are gone, and you don’t even know it.”

I wondered if Helen’s gaze had ever been as frank as her daughter’s. Hermione’s eyes were almost as big as Helen’s. Her mouth was small, like her father’s. Her lips were the color of a dusky pink rose.

She tugged me to her bed. The servants continued to watch me.

I foresaw that she’d grow up to be as lovely as her mother, but she’d never teach her expression to entice as Helen’s did.

Her thoughts seemed to be following the same track as mine. “You’re pretty, but you should try to look happy.”

What could I say to win this child for an ally? “Do you have a doll you love?”

She ignored this. “Did the gods curse you as soon as you were born?”

“Do you like brain-sick people?” I said.

“If they don’t poke me. If they talk to me.”

“I’ll never poke you, and we’re talking.”

“It’s interesting to talk to you.” She whispered, “Do you see things that other people don’t?”

“I see my city burning. It’s terrible.” Not meaning to, I shuddered.

She reached up and patted my disordered hair. “I once dreamed that I was chased by a monster. When I woke up, a spider was on my face. I screamed, and Pragora killed it.”

“Your mother didn’t come?”

“Pragora came. Her bed is still next to mine, even though I don’t need a nursemaid anymore.”

“Would you miss your mother if she went away from you?”

“Where would she go?”

“Perhaps to Troy, where I live.”

“Is it far?”

“Yes.”

“Who would take her there?”

“Maybe my brother would. Would you want her not to go?”

“Would Pragora go with her?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Mother can leave.” She touched my knee. “Talking to you is like talking to anyone the gods didn’t make extraught. It’s sort of a game. Oh! There’s the Minotaur in the doorway!”

I couldn’t help looking. “There’s no Minotaur.” The Minotaur had a bull’s head and tail and a man’s body.

“All right. Ai!” She pointed at a window high in the wall. “A centaur is sticking its head in.”

While Hermione tested me on a succession of creatures, I tried to think of a way to use her to save Troy.

“I like playing with you.” She took my hand. “Will you stay here? Please?”

Ah. Excellent! “Yes, unless your mother leaves. If she leaves, I will too. You can help me by keeping her here.”

A servant snored from the floor alongside my bed while I lay awake for hours, missing Maera, home, and Eurus, even though he wasn’t far away.

In the morning, applause woke me. Everyone clustered in the middle of the women’s quarters.

“Come!” Hermione rushed to my bed and tugged me to the front of the bunch.

Barefoot, Helen stood behind a low stool. In front of the stool was a double-handled bowl filled with water and a ladle. Everyone was smiling.

Hermione said, “Mother hardly ever does this. Watch!”

Helen tied the hem of her peplos between her thighs. She bent at the waist, placed her hands flat on the stool, and lifted her legs so that she was doing a handstand.

Though I’d done handstands, I always toppled quickly. How strong she was! Her legs began to curl backward over her head, farther, farther. She achieved an almost impossible arch and stopped.

Was she stuck? She was panting. Should I go to her? Could I help Troy by rescuing her?

But everyone was still smiling.

She recovered and continued curling. Her feet neared the bowl, then drew level with it. She turned her toes inward. With the big toe and the second toe on each foot, she lifted the bowl about six inches without spilling a drop of water.

If I weren’t seeing it, I’d think the feat impossible.

“Come, Cassandra!” Hermione rushed to the bowl, crouched, dipped the ladle in the water, and drank. “Your turn.”

I bent down. The bowl was steady.

The water tasted fresh. I drank.

Women and servants waited behind me. I passed the ladle and backed away.

When everyone had a turn, Helen lowered the bowl back to the floor, raised her legs again, hand-stepped off the stool, and stood—on her feet. I clapped with everyone else.

She smiled around the room. “I’m hungry!”

Everyone left, except my two guardians. One gave me a comb and hairpins. I tamed my hair, twisted it into a knot, and fastened it to the top of my head. Then they led me to the dining room, where a knife seemed to pierce my heart.

There, looming over his reclining younger brother, Menelaus, stood King Agamemnon of Mycenae, the future general against Troy, the man who would enslave me and take me to Greece, where we’d both be murdered.

Don’t stare! Don’t draw his attention!

I made myself look around. Paris and Helen stood together. Each held a slice of griddle bread. Apparently, men and women breakfasted together here. My brother, even puffed up by Aphrodite, was less monumental than Agamemnon.

The villain turned and saw me. “Here’s the frenzied girl.” He walked toward me.

Ai! What might he do to me now, such a man! I fell back a step, which made him smile. His face was both handsome and terrifying: thick eyebrows; flaring nostrils; large, square teeth; and a jutting chin. He stopped a few inches from me.

Too close! I moved back again.

“Paris, you didn’t say your sister is pretty. A pretty girl doesn’t need good sense.” He chuckled. “Or any sense at all. She’ll be a beautiful woman soon.”

I wished for the courage to spit in his face. “I am a princess of Troy.”

He reported to his brother. “Look! She knows who she is. She doesn’t seem past herself.”

“Er . . . Er . . .” My knees felt wobbly. If he hurt me, my brother wouldn’t intercede. “I’ll never be beautiful. Facial warts are common in our family. Mother has seven. Father can hardly look at her.”

“I frighten you.” His smile sharpened. “I have informants who don’t lie. Your mother, Queen Hecuba, is a known beauty despite her years and her many children. You’ll have no warts, dear.” He dared to stroke my cheek.

“Don’t touch me!” Anger overcame fear. “You’re a creature that kills its young.”

The air seemed to turn solid.

Agamemnon would sacrifice his daughter to the goddess Artemis so that the Greek battle fleet could sail. Artemis herself would save the girl, but her father would believe her dead. He was a man who could do such a thing.

The daughter’s sacrifice is the reason his wife would murder him and kill me for being at his side.

His hand circled my neck. Squeezed. “I love my children, but perhaps someday I’ll make a meal of you.”

I gasped for air. “Remember my prediction when you carry it out.”