I did not sleep that night, and to calm my rattled nerves, walked ceaselessly up and down the silent corridors of the women's quarters; it must have been around midnight when Father found me. We stood, silently, at one of the windows for what seemed like forever; I could feel his discomfort, and I dare say he could feel my upset. Finally, he said, "I've decided to send Paris."

"Father, you didn't," I whispered, though I was so weary, and so resigned—almost as if I had known that he would—that the news came almost as a relief.

"He wore me down, Cass. And it is an honor, and one I want to give him."

"Deiphobus would have been a better choice," I said. "It seems to me that Paris has had too much of honor lately. Are we to gratify his vanity by our shame?"

"Cassie. Enough."

"I'm sorry," I said. "But, Father, I can't lie. I did see what would happen. I only got so out of hand because of it."

"We may yet thwart the prophecy," my father said, and he looked weary; in the moonlight, I realized for the first time that he was an old man. "Go to bed, Cassie. We'll talk in the morning."

I did not sleep that night, alone in my cold bed, waiting for dawn and half-hoping that it would never come.

He came to me just before dawn, there in my lonely chamber; I wished with all my heart that he had been only a mortal man, someone I could draw to me and beg for comfort, someone to share my burden. I wished that I had never been gifted so terribly, that I might not be so set against my own family, my own flesh and blood…

"You scorn my gift, Cassandra," he said, and although his eyes were dark, they blazed so terribly that I was afraid to look directly on him.

"No, lord, not I," I whispered, cowering and covering my head with the bedsheet.

"You're already an ingrate. Don't be a liar, too."

"I don't scorn it, exactly," I said, trying to equivocate, entertaining for a minute the glorious delusion that I could trick a god. "I was just thinking—"

"That your life would be infinitely better if only you didn't know what was going to happen next and people didn't keep asking you. Is that what you were thinking?"

As if he really had to ask.

"Very well. Let no one say that I have been ungenerous to you. You may as well have what you want." I waited; there was, surely, a catch. "I assure you, Cassandra, nobody will ever ask you what is going to happen again, because nothing you prophesy will ever again be credible. In plain language, no one will believe you."

"My lord!" I reached, desperately, for the hem of his chiton; he pulled me close, the fingers of his man's form digging into my shoulders. I thought that he might still forgive me when his lips parted over mine, but when he spat into my mouth, I could no longer lie—not even to myself.

"I warned you, Cassandra," he said hollowly as he faded into invisibility.

I became dull and listless; even things like rising from bed or bathing seemed to require tremendous effort, which I simply was not prepared to exert, so I shirked them. I no longer went to the temples, or sat for hours in my mother's quarters, or indeed went anywhere; I stayed in my room, nursing my splendid unhappiness.

Mother made me come out when Paris came home, bringing disaster with him; I shrieked and struggled, trying to tell her what we could expect now, but all she said was, "Don't be silly, Cassandra. Your father would hardly have sent Paris on such an important mission if he couldn't do the job. Now hold still—your hair is filthy. By Hera, it'll take forever to get you shipshape."

Whatever his other flaws, Apollo is not a liar.

I stood in Helen's receiving line, feeling my blood turn to ice; my sisters gasped and smiled, admiring and envious at once. She must have been quite beautiful; at least, that is what I have always been told. I have never gazed upon her true form myself (or perhaps I did gaze upon her true form, and no one knew it but my jilted lover and I). This is what I remember, only this: Creusa said, "This is my younger sister, Cassandra," and led me forward. And Paris led her forward, and she lifted her veil.

No one had told me what I would see: the grinning rictus of a corpse, bloated and greening in the hot Dardan sun, with the maggots already clustering in eyes and mouth. I screamed and jumped back, and longed to faint; my sisters caught me, and I remember hearing her say, "Is she all right? Paris, is she all right? Did I frighten her?" I laced my fingers together before my eyes, turned away from her.

At other times, unfortunately for me, I was quite sane.

"What," my father said later, when the slaves were cleaning the hall and the festival garlands had been taken down, "was that disgraceful exhibition about? I know you were against sending Paris from the beginning, and I suppose you were right that he'd only get himself into trouble, but nonetheless, Helen is our guest here. You had no cause to call attention to yourself and insult her in such an outrageous manner. I thought better of you, Cassandra."

"I'm sorry, Father," I whispered, and my tongue seemed tremendously bloated in my mouth. I could hear my own fate creeping up on me. "I…Apollo showed something when she lifted her veil, and—"

I was not allowed to finish.

My gentle father struck me so hard that I staggered backwards, clutching my cheek. "The next time you decide to stir up trouble, don't use the god to do it!" He signaled the slaves. "Take her away. Lock her up, and don't let me see her again for at least a sennight."

I was imprisoned in the women's quarters, within sight of the sanctuary of Thymbraean Apollo: holy of holies, irony of ironies. The clash of sword and shield reached me daily, though no prayers reached the gods, for none could help our need. Apollo visited me then, as now he visits me still, sometimes, and we consoled each other (can one console a god?), as we watched our city—the city of his toil, and of my birth—on its slow slide to destruction.

On some days, watching them battle in front of the Scaean Gates themselves, watching as my chamber faded slowly into a tomb, I felt an awful stillness, a terrible pride.

Alone of all Priam's daughters, I have had the honor of being ruined by a god.