Chapter Text
The air is heavy with the iron tang of blood. Though its origins are of miles away, the South wind whips it through the land, laminating the streets, assuring no citizen of Troy rests at ease. Forever aware of the war that rages on and on, growing closer to their front doors.
In the distance, should she strain her ears, the clanging of swords, the whistle of arrows, and the shouts and screams of man echo.
Many brave men are dispatched daily from the battlefield. She knows of it. Hears of it from the whispers exchanged in the dark shadowy corners of the palace. She sees it in the dark circles that weigh beneath her father’s eyes.
There is no denying it. Not when the she gazes out of her bedroom window and sees Hermes Pyschopompus in the distance guiding a wave of shades, with his kerykeion in hand, to the land of Hades’ reign.
It gnaws at her. The inevitable. The push of the tides of war as the Achaean army seems to grow closer day by day. The marching of their feet pounds through her ears until her pulsing heart matches the rhythm.
All of the suffering, the years of toil and bloodshed, brought upon by the actions of a foolish selfish man she loathes to share blood with.
Alexander hides away behind their walls as the rest of her brothers risk their lives to defend his rash gratuitos actions.
And her she stands, leaning against the balcony, watching Helios finish his journey across the sky as Selene begins to paint the landscape with her softer rays that illuminate the night.
Her fingers curls inward until her nails are biting the palms of her hands harsh enough to draw blood. Useless. Useless useless useless!
For what is she to do? Her city suffers. Resources strained, stretched far too thin from withstanding a decade straight of war that has no conclusion in sight.
Her family is consumed by Ares’ lust. With Hector guiding them forward as Helenus and Deiphobus follow his foot. Wadding in a thick soup of blood that threatens to soon choke them.
And her lover grows angry, temper wicked as a whip, at the desecration of his temples and the deaths of his children. His light bright eyes have hardened to molten gold, a crease constantly present between them. The moments they spend together have become quick and chaste. Tinged with the violence breed from wrath. Haunted by the weariness that it leaves in its wake.
She all but waits for the fascination he holds of her to fade in the face of the madness before them. She’s unsure how she’s kept it for so long.
Although, her fingers fall flat, tension released, as she naturally moves a hand to rest against her lower stomach, she supposes now she is tied with him permanently. As permanent as a mere mortal can be to being tied to a god.
Suddenly the sound of the doors to her room bursting open fills the space as a flurry of voices shout after the figure that rushes to her and yanks her hand off her stomach, wrist held tightly in a shaking pale hand.
Her eyes lift to met her sister’s. Her sister’s eyes flash in a manic frenzy as they rake her form, lingering on her lower stomach.
She sighs as the grip tightens against her wrist causing pain to blossom across her skin, “Kassandra, dear sister, unhand me.”
Kassandra breaths heavily, ragged, as her eyes look both through and at her. All-seeing yet yearning to relinquish the gift from which they’ve been bestowed as nothing but horrors are revealed.
Kassandra whispers her name as if it is both a prayer and a curse, “Salicia”.
She grimaces at the usage of her full name, despondently speaking for only their ears, “Sali, you’ve always called me Sali…”.
Kassandra does not seem to hear her, too lost in her own mind, or perhaps she simply does not care. Angered at her family and her city for scorning her.
Kassandra’s hand moves from Sali’s wrist to clamp against her bicep. Nimble, thin fingers, hold more strength than they have any right to possess as they dig into her skin.
Kassandra hisses as though in pain, tears fall from her eyes as her mouth parts ever so slightly. As though considering whether or not it’s worth the pain to elicit further speech. More words to be dismissed. More words to be labeled as the machinations of a mad woman.
Though her love for her dear sister wins out.
She shakes Sali in her grip, tears running down her face as her words lash forth in a desperate plea to be heard, “Sali, Sali, Sali” name repeated akin to gasps of air, “danger strikes you as sharp as lightning. For a child you shall bear. A child more powerful than one who shares half a mortal line have right to be. Dimeter akin to Dionysos shall breed the strength which will dethrone the King of the Gods.”
Sali’s lips twitch. Unsure whether to frown or smile at the wild claims spilled from her sister’s lips. She had not thought it so obvious she was with child. Nor has she recalled alluding to her connection with a certain immortal. Yet, to truly believe she, a mortal woman, could bare a fruit whom possessed the power to overthrow Zeus himself? The King of the Sky? The very King of the Gods himself? The ruler of all the cosmos?
It would be amusing were it not so blasphemous.
Kassandra’s lips tremble as more tears escape from their rapid pooling in her eyes, “Do you not believe me, dear sister?”
Sali raises her hand to clasp Kassandra’s shaking one still grasping tight around her upper arm, “Ease, Kassandra, perhaps we shall fetch someone to draw you some water.”
A pained, sharp, ugly noise crawls from Kassandra’s throat as her hand falls away from Sali’s as though she had been burned from the contact.
Kassandra wraps her arms around her waist as she stares past Sali into the distance, murmuring under her breath, “My Lord your curse weighs heavy, for when will my sins be atoned for…”
Her muttering continues like the babbling of a stream as several guards flood into the room. Sali extends her hand in the air, only to allow it to fall unmet, as her sister does not bother fighting the hands that grab her seeking to once again lock her away.
Kassandra’s voice curls around them all, unheard, as she speaks of their doom, the fall of Troy, and the new order that will befall the gods.
A guilt settles upon Sali’s shoulders. She knows not what beings have plagued Kassandra to result in her current state. For every time she mentions her sister’s state to her lover, his eyes cast to the side. Never meeting her own.
A frown places itself firmly on her lips as her hand, a bit less steady, settles upon her lower stomach as she casts her gaze to Selene, wondering if tonight she will be graced once again with the presence of the divine or instead her room shall feel cold and devoid as it seems to grow more and more day by day.
As the hours pass and Selene moves in her chariot across the sky Sali’s eyes and heart alike grow heavy with exhaustion where she stands firmly rooted on her balcony, unwilling to retire to her bed.
She knows tonight will not be one in which her room will be graced with the light of her lover. Yet the memory of Kassandra’s flashing eyes and poisonous words burning her mind keeps her from accepting his complete absence.
She finds herself grabbing the vase of water from the nearby table and washing her hands. Hands that she soon lifts to the sky as a prayer to her god forms on her lips, “Phoibos, hear me for strange ailments weigh heavy upon me.”
Her lips twist in displeasure as her sister’s words, ones she knows are untrue and absurd, refuse to vacate her conscious, “Kassandra has spoken of something most outlandish. For she knows of our child, in means I do not understand, and claims that a heavy destiny shall fall upon them.”
Her arms ache from where she holds them up to the heavens, muscles strained and pulse thrumming as quick as a rabbit’s. Her voice quiets as to not be caught by the wind, “She speaks of the dethronement of your father by their hands as though it is the work of the Moirai.”
Sally laughs as the words are spoke aloud. Repeated alone in the open air there is no denying of the absurdity that encases such words. For why should she worry? Even if Kassandra should spread word of it, no one will heed such a warning.
Slowly her hands begin to lower as she whispers with longing, “Forgive me for unloading such foolishness upon you. I miss your presence beside me greatly and as such have allowed my emotions to slip.”
She finishes the prayer just as a sharp shooting pair of eyes flashes their burning gaze into her soul, “May prosperity find you my Lord and let this war end. And…may our child be born knowing the times of peace.”
With those last words Sali’s hands fall to her sides. Yet she cannot shake the sudden intense gaze that feels all too familiar and seems to search every corner of her soul.
She smiles half-heartedly, she supposes he has heard her. Yet why her words have spurred such intense emotions to flare from him she knows not. For everyone knows Kassandra never speaks the truth.
Sally awakens to the sound of screams as Helios has just barely begun his drive.
She groans as she rises from her bed, not bothering to put on proper attire as she walks to her bedroom door and peeks her head out into the hallway. The occupants in the palace rush back and forth frantically, holding sloshing containers of water. She narrows her eyes in confusion as she notes some of the water is blackened as though it was taken from Styx herself. Her eyes lift to see soot covering several of the servants’ faces, hands, and arms.
Sali calls out to a boy with the blackened water as he nearly trips from his hurried motions, “Why does ash encase you? Has a fire happened in the night?”
The boy lifts terrified stricken eyes to meet Sali’s surprised gaze, “No, Princess. Not a fire, but a punishment.”
Sali’s eyes linger on the soot that is dashed under the boys right eye to streak across his face, “A punishment of whom?”
The boy swallows thickly as his arms wobble under the strain of the large gathering of water, “We know not how it happened. But every inch of her room is covered in it.”
Sali hesitantly reaches out with feather light touch to caress the boy’s cheek where the soot lies against his skin. Her fingers brush against the grainy texture as they come away blackened and she knows the boy’s next words before he speaks them. He wears her upon his face.
“The Princess Kassandra is dead.”