Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1)

by Janell Rhiannon

  “Then, you are pleased?” Thetis asked.

  Peleus grabbed his wife playfully and pulled her on top of him. He placed both hands on either side of her sweet, soft hips positioning her legs so she straddled him. He growled, “Ride me nymph. Ride me until I can take no more.” For the first time in years, he felt sure that the unfortunate marriages of his past could not touch his love for the nymph.

  Thetis grinned down into his face. “As you wish.”

  Sing Muse, Sing of the Golden Men

  their lives entwined by

  iron threads of Fate

  bound together by love and hate

  One immortal

  One high born

  thirsting for

  the blood of the other

  Sing Muse, sing of the Golden Warrior

  and the Golden Prince

  two mighty lions

  ...and their dance of death

  THETIS HELD HER sleeping son to her bare breast. She looked down into his cherubic face framed by golden hair. She traced the strong jaw line he inherited from Peleus with her finger. Surely he would be the most beautiful mortal man who had ever lived. For the past year her love for Achilles consumed her waking moments because a terrible darkness chased the sea nymph’s joy for her young son. The second prophesy revealed by Themis threatened his very life. She had no desire to lose her golden son to war, and she lamented that Achilles would have to die at all. She had pleaded with Zeus to spare her heart this pain, but her pleas fell to nothing.

  Achilles’ blue eyes, as bright as lapis lazuli, blinked and he looked up into his mother’s face. The child smiled widely at her. Thetis returned the loving gaze and bent her head to kiss his forehead. His small hand grabbed her naked breast pulling her nipple into his mouth. “You are forever hungry, Achilles.” She hugged the weight of him closer to her chest. Soon he fell back to a quiet slumber still nursing softly, even as his arms and legs hung slack across her lap.

  The words of Themis haunted her. Your son’s renown shall surpass his father’s, but his future is not sealed in that honor. A great war is coming and in it he must choose from a double Fate. If he refuses to go to battle, he shall rule after his father and die forgotten without glory. If he chooses battle, he will become the greatest warrior the world has ever known. His name will be sung on the lips for generations to come, long after the gods themselves have been forgotten.

  The only remedy within her grasp was to enchant Achilles’ flesh, burn the mortal shell away replacing it with immortality. She knew what she must do. The ritual was as ancient as the gods themselves. If she could wield the powerful conjuring of flames, Achilles would be spared a bloody death in the dust and gore of some great war.

  “My lady?”

  Thetis turned, lifting a finger to her lips. “The prince sleeps,” she whispered. “What is it, Chara?”

  “The king awaits you, my queen.”

  “Tell him I will be there shortly. The baby...” Chara nodded and backed out of the chamber. Thetis cradled Achilles careful not to wake him as she stood. She laid him in his cradle, tucking a linen blanket around him. She bent to kiss his cheek and sighed. Yes, she thought, tonight I will begin the ritual.

  The deep hours of night pulled Thetis from her bed, that and the ache of breasts engorged with milk. Peleus lay snoring in sated slumber. Thetis ensured he would not awaken by exhausting him with hours of vigorous sex and a small concoction in his drink. She slipped quietly from the bed coverings. Her feet moved silently across the cool stone floor to Achilles’ bed. He had kicked his linens off. She gently wrapped the soft blanket around him as she scooped him up in her arms. He nuzzled his face into her warmth without waking. She walked to the chamber door opening it so a sliver of light from the hall lit her face. The household slept. Thetis slipped through the door, balancing Achilles’ weight in her free arm.

  She made her way into the great hall moving in the shadows of the red marble columns until she reached the entrance to the lower level. Thetis removed a torch from a heavy iron sconce and descended into the darkness. The stairs wound deep beneath the palace leading to the king’s private temple dedicated to all the gods. Servants were forbidden in this sacred room so she had little concern for interruption. Achilles stirred in her arms as she quickly made her way deep into the tunnel. When she reached the chamber, she placed the torch in an iron bracket set into the wall. She shrugged out of her chiton and bunched it into a pile with her feet. She placed Achilles on the pile of soft clothing while she prepared the silver basin for the sacred fire. Thetis removed a wooden box from an alcove and opened it. The pungent aroma of holy herbs wafted into the still air. Frankincense. Ambrosia. Herb of Moria. Medusa grass. And the rare prize of a few strands of Zeus’ silver hair. Thetis pulled out the frankincense and set it in the bottom of the wide rimmed basin with kindling. She took a thin reed from the box and used it to catch a small flame from the torch. She knelt before the basin and lit the dry matter until it smoked and caught fire. Then she added the other elements except for the hair of Zeus and the ambrosia.

  Achilles began to whimper in his makeshift bed. Thetis rose to gather him to herself. He clung to her in the dimly lit unfamiliar room and found her engorged naked breast. He latched on hungrily gulping his mother’s milk. The nymph sat before the flames licking the rim of the silver bowl, her precious son comfortably cradled in her lap. She reached into the box and pulled out the vial of ambrosia. As Achilles suckled, she undid his blanket exposing his bare skin. She poured the ambrosia elixir on her son and began to rub every inch of his skin with it. She applied the golden nectar to his entire body. When she rubbed the soles of his feet, Achilles kicked at her hand and bit down on her nipple with his front teeth.

  She put her finger in his mouth to break the latch on her breast and switched him to the opposite side. “Sorry, my little Achilles. I must cover you entirely if I am to save you at all.” She continued to massage the god’s nectar into his skin. When she was satisfied with the ambrosia, she placed the hair of Zeus into the fire. Blue then red flames licked around the silver basin until thin fingers of silver rose from the heat. Thetis pulled Achilles from her breast. He squalled. “Hush, my golden boy. This will be quickly over.” She held him over the dancing flames that licked his feet and curled around his ankles. Achilles began to cry. Tears filled Thetis’ eyes as the pain of Achilles’ mortality began to burn away and his pathetic cries turned to agonized screams.

  “What the fuck are you doing to my son?!” roared Peleus behind her immediately followed by a handful of royal guards.

  Startled, Thetis jerked Achilles from the fire. Words failed her.

  “Answer me you witch! What treachery do you perform? Roasting my son to death like an animal?”

  Thetis stood hugging Achilles to her naked breast trying to explain her purpose. “You do not understand, Peleus. I am—”

  Peleus took several long strides toward his wife. “I do not give one fuck why you wish to burn my son.” He ripped the child from her embrace.

  “I love Achilles more than any other mortal. I do him no harm!” Thetis finally yelled in her defense.

  Reeling from what he witnessed with his own eyes, cursing the gods for giving him yet another wife who ripped his world to shreds, his heart broke beneath his leather cuirass. Peleus couldn’t believe the wife he adored above all others would try to kill his only son and heir. He couldn’t fathom a purpose, a reason for such action. She would have to go. He would protect his son at all costs. “No harm? Putting a child into burning flames? Get out! Get out of my palace nymph!”

  Thetis watched the enchanting flames cool to embers. Her heart sank knowing the ritual was not completed. She would never have another chance to gather strands of Zeus’ hair. The duality of Achilles’ fate, foretold by Themis, was now sealed. Achilles would in all likelihood die in battle and it was all Peleus’ fault.

  “You have no idea what you’ve done, Peleus. You have set our son on the path of doom.”<
br />
  “He is safe from harm as far as I can tell. His destiny to surpass me is no small task. And I shall see his Fate to the bitter end without your meddling craft.”

  Thetis noted the angry twitch of her husband’s jaw. He would never understand that the physical pain the child endured would be but a flash compared to the prized immortal years. Her husband’s eyes burned through her.

  “Get out of my sight nymph. Go back to your pond,” the king seethed.

  Thetis picked up her garment from the floor and slipped it over her head. “Let me at least kiss my son.”

  “You’ll not touch him ever again.”

  The nymph’s eyes filled with heavy tears. She fled with her grief back up to the main hall and out the palace gate. Her feet carried her to the inlet pond where she threw herself on the grass and wept for her son. She wept for his dark future. She wept because she knew her husband would keep her precious joy from her. She wept because her love for Peleus was now broken. He was a mortal who would never accept that the pain Achilles must bear now would bring a glorious prize. She wept because she knew this time even Zeus would not help her.

  HECUBA ARRANGED HER daughter’s long dark tresses into braids beaded with gold and tied with silver cords. She’d known that this day would arrive, but the moment that should be joyous had begun to slowly rip her heart from her chest. I am losing another child to Apollo...

  “Stand my sweet girl,” Hecuba said.

  “Mother?”

  “Yes?” Hecuba wrapped the golden belt of coins around her daughter’s hips arranging the soft pleats to perfection.

  “Were you thinking of him just now?”

  Hecuba’s hands never stopped arranging Cassandra’s gown. “Who my dear?”

  Cassandra placed her hands gently on her mother’s busy fingers. “Mother, you know who I mean.”

  Hecuba stood without meeting her daughter’s inquiring gaze.

  “The Forgotten Prince,” Cassandra spoke aloud the only name she knew for the brother she’d never known.

  Hecuba’s regal bearing straightened. “No.”

  “Mother, I can feel your sadness.”

  Hecuba turned facing Cassandra. She sighed in defeat. “That snake of Apollo’s has made you too wise for one so young.” Hecuba shuddered as she recalled the sight of her beautiful twins entwined with a giant snake licking at their ears. As horrified as she was, it was more frightening to think that now she would have to turn her daughter over to the god. The union with the snake had sealed their fates as seers. There was no turning back. Apollo had spoken.

  “I will pray that the god answers your prayers,” Cassandra said.

  “What prayers can bring the dead to life? Not even the gods have that power. The dead are to dust and their souls to Hades.”

  “I will pray that your sadness is lifted. That you will smile and be joyous.”

  Hecuba shook her head. “Pray for no such thing, daughter. That pain is my love for him. I would not abandon the only way I have to love him. My heart aches for the loss of that sweet face. My breasts ache for his mouth to suck life. No, dearest daughter, do not pray that my grief is lifted. I need it to survive.”

  “As you wish it, Mother.”

  “This morning is your day. Cease this unhappy discourse and let us rejoice in your joining the order of the god. Are you frightened?”

  “A little,” Cassandra admitted.

  Hecuba embraced her daughter. She inhaled the sweet essence of her hair and the gentle shoulders of a girl not yet a woman. Tears stung the queen’s heavily kohl lined eyes, clinging stubbornly to her lower lashes. She pulled back holding her daughter’s shoulders in each hand. “I have never been more proud of you than this day. I think I have not loved you so much as this moment.”

  “I am glad I make you proud, Mother.”

  The queen took her daughter’s face between her hands meeting her eyes. “No matter where the god leads you, where this journey shall take you, I will always remember my little Cassandra splashing in the fountain, giggling with me at noon naps, and her sweet, gentle kisses on my cheek. Know this my love. And forget it not. Forget me not.”

  “I will remember. I promise.”

  THE COOL MORNING light gave way to the warm afternoon as the procession to Apollo’s temple wound through the maze of the stone paved streets of Troy. Throngs of citizen came to watch the Princess Cassandra make her pilgrimage to the god. Flower petals like soft rain fell upon her head and their fragrance filled the air. The people rejoiced that a royal daughter would serve the most revered god and by default serve them with her beauty and influence. Cassandra counted each step with growing anticipation and fear.

  There were exactly seven platforms of seven stairs each leading to the main entrance between seven rows of enormous pillars.

  APOLLO WATCHED FROM his immortal seat high above the clouded peak of Mount Olympus as the procession brought the woman to his Trojan temple. He deemed her mortal flesh beautiful, pleased she’d grown as he’d expected. Soon, he would claim her body and possess her mind, elevating her among those who served him.

  ATTENDANTS LED CASSANDRA to a dimly lit private chamber. A bowl of flames licked the air at the feet of a golden statue of the god.

  “Remove your clothing,” the high priestess commanded.

  Cassandra’s heart raced. Her tongue nervously passed over her lips. “Why?”

  “The god commands it of us all,” she replied evenly.

  The princess, realizing this was no rare event, reached up and unfastened the golden pins holding her gown at the shoulders. It floated silently to the floor. Embarrassed, she wrapped her arms across her bare breasts and squeezed her thighs closer together in a futile effort to conceal her sacred cross from the high priestess. “What do I do now?” Cassandra asked.

  “Lay on your back before the god.”

  Cassandra looked down at her feet. “There is no covering or rug? I am to lie on the bare floor?”

  “Nothing of this world shall touch your flesh, only the hands of the god. After you are confirmed.”

  “Confirmed?”

  “For your virginity.”

  Cassandra’s eyes widened. “I am a virgin. I swear. I—”

  “All young women make such a proclamation. Who would admit their defilement at the feet of the god? Now, lie down before him.”

  Cassandra’s knees shook as she knelt on the cold marble, never once taking her arms from her breasts. She lay down as commanded. The high priestess placed a warm palm on her lower belly and used her other hand to spread Cassandra’s legs. Tears of humiliation burned behind the princess’s closed eyes. She felt the elder woman’s fingers pressing into her with difficulty. Her sacred cross burned with tension and the pressure of probing fingers. The woman withdrew her hand and wiped a small amount of blood on a piece of linen.

  “Apollo will be pleased. You are intact and smaller than most initiates.” She took the cloth smeared with Cassandra’s blood and placed it in the bowl of fire at Apollo’s feet. The flames hissed and spewed smoke into the air.

  The princess of Troy was aware that the high priestess had left the chamber and that she lie alone. Fearful of what was to come, humiliated by what had just occurred, she allowed her tears to slide from the corners of her eyes down her cheeks where they puddled in her ears. The marble floor cooled her bare skin. She shivered with chill. Time passed slowly.

  A warm breath against her shoulder startled her and she tried to sit up. A heavy, hot hand pressed her shoulder back down. A masculine voice whispered gently into her ear, “Close your eyes and do not open them unless I command.”

  Cassandra did as the voice commanded. She felt the heat of observation running over her bare skin.

  “You are confirmed?” the voice asked.

  “Yes,” Cassandra answered, her voice quivered.

  “I am pleased.”

  “You are Apollo?” she whispered.

  “Who else would I be?” Apollo said. “Do not talk
. I want to look at my offering. Make certain it pleases me.”

  Apollo’s warm touch covered every inch of her. He ran his fingers across her breasts, cupping each one. “You are well endowed.” Then he slipped his hand between her thighs to test her virginity for himself. Cassandra squirmed beneath his intimate touch. “You are...not ready to accommodate a god.”

  “Apologies...,” Cassandra’s thin voice vanished into the empty chamber.

  “There is no need for such mortal expressions to me,” Apollo spoke slowly. He moved over her naked body like a hot wave of air. Tiny tongues of flame swirled across her skin, burning and enticing her to writhe against them. Her body vibrated with the heat. She fought to keep her eyes shut. She fought to stifle a scream. Terror filled her. For the first time, she realized that being taken by a god would not be what the weaving women spoke of. There would be no gentleness or caressing her to shaking legs. The marble beneath her shook and slowly her body rose from the floor. Her head fell back suspended by nothingness. Her hair tumbled like a waterfall spilling onto the marble. Burning hands grabbed her thighs and spread them forcefully apart. Her arms were useless to help her. They weighed as two anchors at her sides. The heat of Apollo moved between her open legs. He slowly pushed a searing flame into her sacred cross. Cassandra howled with agony. Her body twitched and arched in protest of Apollo’s invasion of her most intimate part. When he was finished, she felt the hot liquid of their union seeping from her and pooling beneath her bare thighs.

  “Your reaction is most displeasing,” Apollo’s voice echoed in the chamber. As best Cassandra could judge, he had moved away from her. She pulled her legs closed and found she could sit up. The section of marble floor under her had risen as a large altar beneath her. The forces pulling her open to the god had released her. “Open your eyes,” he commanded.

  Cassandra obeyed, but kept her focus directed away from the direction of Apollo.