The Princess of Prophecy

by Aria Cunningham

  "It is uncertain. The wound was deep."

  A poultice of raw meat was applied to the gaping wounds in Seti's thigh. He was doused with a tonic of hemlock, just enough to dull the pain shooting through his body. Meryatum presided over his treatment. Hemlock could be lethal, if administered in the wrong amount, and, if access to the poison storehouses could be bought, then the men who administered them were most likely available for purchase, too.

  He swallowed a lump in his throat, fighting a sense of helplessness at the events spiraling around them—a feeling as unfamiliar to Meryatum as the embrace of a woman. "Tell me again how it happened."

  Setnakhte grew pale. The mountainous man was a veteran of many brutal campaigns. He had spilt oceans of blood in defense of the Two Lands. He had also witnessed the counter-stroke, knowing what Meryatum and few other Egyptians were privileged to share—how close Egypt, and Pharaoh, in their illustrious history, had come to defeat.

  The favor of the Gods balanced on a teetering scale, and the loyal general was a God-fearing man. When he spoke of the day's ominous events, it was with the tremor of one haunted. "A Nile croc, as massive as Sobek himself, took aim on the Trojan. He said something to it... I could not hear... and it passed him by, racing around the prince and straight for Seti. I... I cannot explain it."

  But Meryatum could. The multitude of omens manifesting in the past fortnight spoke of calamity. It could not be coincidence that the foreigners arrived at the same time.

  Paris of Troy was an enigma to him. When the prince first visited Egypt, Meryatum had sensed nothing special about him. He was a bright young man with a keen intellect. But now? There was a darkness in the prince, as black as the forces of Chaos Incarnate. It was as though the path he walked had corrected itself, that some crucial event had set him on a new course. Danger to Egypt, and perhaps even the world, surrounded him, and the Gods were screaming at Meryatum to pay heed.

  "It seemed like the prince commanded the beast," Setnakhte continued, the general still gripped by his powerful vision. "Had he not saved Seti, risking his own life in the effort, I would have brought him back to the capital in chains. Egypt owes him a debt of gratitude."

  That sobering fact gave Meryatum pause. The Gods gave him conflicting omens. Sobek, in sparing the Trojan, acknowledged some greater purpose in the man, choosing to attack Seti, the Defender of Light, instead. Yet, without Paris, Seti would have died. It was a riddle Meryatum could not fathom.

  Why would the Gods spare an agent of Chaos? It troubled him. Meryatum could feel the world shifting beneath his feet, moving inescapably toward ruin. The scales of ma'at were unbalanced, and it was his job to set them right. Should he aid the Trojan, or send him far from Egypt's shores? It seemed the Gods wished both. He had no clear mandate in either direction.

  "If someone is trying to kill our crown prince, we have larger issues to contend with than the presence of one Trojan prince," he reasoned, speaking more to himself than to the general.

  "He is a distraction," Setnakhte agreed, his dark eyes hardening as Seti's cries died off in the distance. "A dangerous one."

  A gong pealed out from a distant portico, signaling the midnight hour. Setnakhte turned to go, his habit of conducting a full perimeter check on the hour predictable but strangely comforting. Before his heavy boots took two steps, he turned back to Meryatum, his hand held beseechingly over his heart.

  "Forgive me if I trespass," he hesitated as though he knew his next words would do precisely that, "but you should complete the ritual with due haste. If the Trojan prince is not directly responsible for this attempt on Seti's life, then his presence here only complicates my efforts to find the culprit... and if something should happen to him, I don't fancy facing the swords of a Trojan army in retaliation."

  Meryatum studied the general, a man who defined the world in the absolute terms of enemy and ally. He liked Setnakhte. He liked the solid pragmatism the solider effused. Setnakhte sometimes saw details that Meryatum's spiritually-aimed mind missed.

  "Egypt, and Seti, are fortunate you are their vigilant protector." He nodded to Setnakhte, knowing the man was eager to be on his way. "I will consider your advice, General. The sooner the Trojans leave our land, the better for all."

  Helen stared at a speck in the ceiling above her bed, unable to sleep. The soft breath of the women sharing her blankets should have lulled her into dreams long ago, but with all the events of the day she could no more sleep than grow wings. Glaucus almost died today, and Paris with him. It could have happened in an instant, and she was powerless to stop it.

  Perhaps it was her imagination, but the speck seemed to grow larger, a black spot that threatened to consume the white plaster surrounding it. She took a deep breath and tried to center herself, her mind racing back to her morning lesson with the high priest. Meryatum was teaching her about the foundations of destiny before news of Seti drew him away. He spoke of the patience of the Gods, how a thousand years would pass, and a hundred-thousand men would live and die before one was born who could shake the foundations of the earth.

  She knew he meant the lecture as a means to delve into Helen herself, to understand the prophecy Aphrodite revealed at her womanhood ritual. What he did not know, what he could not know, was that it spoke of Paris. Her love would shake the foundations of the earth, that was what the Goddess had foretold.

  He cannot die without me knowing. I would feel it...

  A small sob escaped her lips. She had never felt so alone as in these past few days without Paris. She cursed her weakness for the pathetic display that it was. She was surrounded by people morning, noon, and night. Her host saw she lacked for nothing, but the company of beautiful Egyptian women was a pale candle to warmth she felt in Paris' presence. She was complete with him, and without, she felt like an empty shell of herself, walking through the world with no purpose.

  She must have disturbed the bedding. Merit rolled over, wrapping an arm around Helen's waist. The young queen was fast asleep, but her grip was surprisingly strong. With only one husband to satisfy their needs, the wives had grown accustomed to finding comfort in each others' arms. Some even went further than that. Her first night in the harem, Helen had been shocked to encounter their amorous advances.

  She pushed Merit off her, and the girl slid back into Talia's arms on the other side of the bed. Settling back into her pillow, Helen took to gazing at the speck again, the jumble of emotions boiling within her refusing even a moment's peace.

  A dark shadow, the unmistakable shape of a man's head, blotted out her view. She nearly screamed, but a rough hand pressed over her mouth, silencing the attempt. The man lowered himself over her face until the dim moonlight lit up his features. It was Iamus.

  Helen sighed, her muscles unclenching as she recognized her guard. He slowly removed his hand, raising it to his lips to signal her to keep quiet, then waved for her to follow him.

  The bulky Trojan had the agility of an alley cat as he led her between pillars, always keeping to shadow. His caution bled into her, and she crept forward on tip-toes, using every bit of skill her father had taught her in approaching prey. The soft moans echoing throughout the harem indicated not all were at rest, and Helen doubled her efforts to remain silent. It seemed best not to draw the women's attention from their nocturnal pleasures.

  They crept out onto the empty portico and into the moonlight-dabbled gardens along the Nile. "Iamus?" Helen's heart thundered in her chest, her mind racing with a hundred dire reasons the Trojan would seek to converse with her in private. "What is it? What's happened?"

  He stepped aside, and the reeds parted behind him as Paris stepped into the path. She nearly cried in relief and threw herself into his arms.

  "You are safe? Unhurt?" She pressed her lips to his neck, his cheeks, his lips... any piece of exposed flesh that she could reach.

  Paris clung to Helen with equal fervor. The long hours on the road back to Heliopolis, and those spent in the infirmary beside Glaucus, had done litt
le to settle his nerves. His muscles refused to unclench, and any sudden movement was apt to make him jump. He hadn't felt this exposed since he was a child and at the mercy of the Apollonian priests. "I'm fine." He tried to reassure her, pulling her hands down between them, kissing them tenderly. "But someone is trying to change that."

  A deep fear took hold of Helen and she gripped his hands tightly. "Paris, what happened? The rumors at court are horrible. They say someone tried to kill Seti!"

  Paris cased out the portico, his eyes darting across the empty space, alert to any movement or shift in shadow. Once, he might have thought this behavior paranoid, but not anymore. He pulled Helen deeper into the gardens, wrapping his arm around her protectively.

  "I don't know if the arrow Glaucus took was meant for Seti," he added after telling her of the events in the marsh. "It could easily have been meant for me. Whatever forces are at work here would think nothing of killing a Trojan diplomat simply to send a message to the crown." He began to pace, his feet moving with a manic energy, as though his body begged to be set in motion, to not provide a sitting target. "If they succeed, I need to know you will be safe."

  Helen watched Paris with growing alarm. He was clearly in shock. His closest friend had nearly died for him today, and now he spoke of his own death with casual ease. "What are you saying?"

  Paris paused mid step, the panicked note in Helen's voice piercing the chill numbness that had been his constant companion since childhood. People had been trying to kill him his entire life. To let fear take root would have ensured they succeeded long before now. He knew one day their blades would strike true. It was inevitable. But standing before Helen, her face tensed with worry, he could not claim indifference. He had never wanted to live more.

  That desire, however, did not dissolve the danger around them. He made a promise to Helen, one he intended to keep, dead or alive. "If something happens to me, go to Iamus. My men have standing orders to see you safely out of Egypt and on to Troy." He swallowed hard, trying to soothe over his raw nerves. "It's imperative you seek out Hector. Hector alone. Tell him everything. What happened in Mycenae and here in Egypt. He is the best of men. He will believe you."

  Helen shivered, her thin nightdress doing little to stave off the chill that soaked into her bones. Leave without Paris? A fire burned in her breast, defying that dark possibility. "No." He tried to reach for her, but she brushed his hands aside. "We are going to Troy together. It does not end here."

  Paris shook his head. "And if that's not possible? If I'm lying in a sickbed like Glaucus? What happens to you?" He grabbed her arms, the pressure to protect her mounting in his chest. "I cannot leave you alone in this pit of jackals. You must escape Egypt." His voice broke with the power of that need. "Please, Helen, promise me. If danger comes, you will save yourself."

  Helen was speechless. Paris trembled before her, his dark eyes begging for her to place her life above his own. How could she explain that without him she had nothing to live for? There was no future for her without Paris. His request was honorable, but it could never be.

  On impulse she threw her arms around him, crushing herself against his chest. "I knew the dangers we would face when I came with you."

  "But if you were harmed—"

  "I will defend myself." She grit her teeth, clinging to him with a strength she did not know she possessed. "You mustn't give in to this thinking. Whoever tried to harm you is a coward, striking from shadows. You are stronger than he is. Whatever he tries next, we will survive it."

  Paris tightened his arms around her. Her courage amazed him. He pulled back, lacing his fingers through her golden hair and caressing her cheek with his thumb. How many men looked upon her and saw only a beautiful face? They were blind fools who failed to see her greatest asset. She was so much more than the sum of her parts. She was a warrior princess, a vision of tenacious strength and fortitude.

  And she's given her heart and soul to me.

  He almost shook with disbelief. A cursed prince was not worthy of such devotion, but, as she gazed up at him with utter faith, he vowed he would be. He cupped her face between his hands, his chest constricting with emotion. "I love you, Helen." He kissed her, pouring a lifetime of longing into that embrace.

  Helen melted into his arms, returning his kiss with ardor. It had been too long since she last felt his touch. All the sweet wine in the world could not quench the thirst she had for this man. As he wrapped his arms around her, the kiss became deeper, pulling at her loins, awakening a hunger within her.

  Paris responded in kind, lifting her from her feet, his hands moving over her body as though they had a will of their own. The past week had felt like an eternity, and he desired her with a power that frightened him. When she pressed her body against his, he lost his ability to think. His phallus bulged beneath his kilt, and he gasped, the surging power pulling inside him nearly bringing him to his knees. If she touched him again, he would not be able to contain himself.

  One look into her lapis-blue eyes, eyes clouded over with desire, he knew they were both beyond that. Swooping an arm around her waist, he lowered her to the ground, the stone tiles of the garden path a welcomed cool against his heat-flushed skin.

  He lifted up the skirt of her night dress, lowering his hand between her legs, her soft folds tightening around his fingers. She moaned deeply as he caressed her, and he pressed his lips to her throat, savoring the vibration.

  "Please," she moaned over and over again, her hips pressed delectably tight against his pelvis. He fumbled at the strings of his loin cloth. In his haste he pulled them into knots.

  "Damn it." He sat up, tearing at the bothersome garment.

  From the corner of his eye a sudden flare caught his attention and he froze. Someone was on the patio.

  It was a small flame, certainly shielded and almost unnoticeable behind the lush foliage of garden plants between them, but Paris had been trained to spot such disturbances. Good reflexes were the best defense against silent killers. He knew too well that one man could be more deadly than ten.

  He pressed Helen behind him and crept back into the reeds. He thanked the Gods she did not question his actions. She moved as quietly as he did, her eyes wide with alarm. They waited for several tense minutes as Paris watched the portico from between the stalks, his hand clenched on the hilt of his sword. Only when the soft chatter of female voices carried across the distance, did he lower his guard. "A false alarm." He turned to Helen and forced a smile. "Are you all right?"

  Helen nodded, a blush of embarrassment creeping over her cheeks. Her eyes dropped to the ground as she dusted off her dress.

  Paris' gut twisted with shame. This behavior sickened him. Lying about his feelings for Helen, stealing kisses when no one was looking—it all felt wrong. This past week apart had been intolerable for him.

  What would it be like in Troy? Would it be a year or more before he dared to publicly seek her hand? He could never last so long, and each time he snuck into her bed, he would risk tarnishing her reputation.

  Paris buried that angst deep inside. First they had to reach the Golden City. He took Helen's hands in his, lifting her to her feet. "We're leaving Egypt as soon as I can make arrangements. I'm not going to wait for the Temple's permission. In the meanwhile, you must be extra careful. Trust no one."

  Helen nodded. She understood the need for urgency, but still her shoulders slumped with disappointment, her traitor heart reluctant to go. Did they really come all this way, risking their lives and those sworn to them, for nothing? After all of her preparations at the temple, surely Meryatum was ready to grant her petition.

  But was he really? Helen shook her head, unsure. She could not bet the lives of others on vague feelings. Nor the man she loved more than life itself.

  "When must we go?"

  "When Glaucus is released from the infirmary. The healers want to observe him another day to make sure he doesn't relapse." Paris prayed for a swift recovery. The stoic captain had earned a lon
g and luxurious retirement, and Paris was going to make sure he got it. "I have a man who can get us out of the city. The night after next, we're leaving this cursed place. Xenia be damned."

  For Helen, that delay was an unexpected surprise. Two days. Surely it was enough time. She gathered her courage as a spark of hope kindled in her breast. "If I can sway the priest, if he agrees to perform the ritual immediately, you will wait?"

  "Wait?" Paris paused, taken aback by her question. He had thought this ritual a passing fancy, a request she had made in error, but one glance into Helen's hopeful eyes, and there was no mistaking how desperately she desired it.

  Guilt swelled in his chest. He had asked so much of his princess, and every time she asked for something back, he preached caution and compromise. Time and again, she placed the plight of his mission above the desires of her heart. His resolve softened, and he studied her with quiet understanding.

  "You need this, don't you?"

  "Yes." The single word felt raw, as though the confession exposed her heart. She tried to turn from him, to hide behind a curtain of her golden hair, but he lifted her chin, pulling her back.

  "Why is this so important to you?"

  Helen hesitated, unsure of how to answer. Paris had sworn to protect her. He stood ready and willing to risk his life on her behalf. How could she explain that she longed to do the same? Her enemies were not flesh and blood, but something intangible, and this ritual was the only way she knew how to fight back.

  "If I do this, I start over. Everything that happened before would be wiped away. Menelaus will have no claim to me," she voiced the hope that before Egypt she scarcely dared to believe possible. "If the Gods purify me, I can come to you clean, unburdened by a sordid past. I'll belong to no one but you." Tears leaked from her eyes, and a small sob escaped her lips. "If I'm pure, you won't be ashamed to love me."

  Paris was stunned beyond words. Ashamed to love her? Was that what she thought? "Helen—"