Chapter Eleven – Burning Blue

Troy is dying before my eyes.

Through my very own eyes I can see the city burning, and through my very own ears I can hear the screams of her children.

I was lying in my chamber, watching Theo fall asleep, thinking about my life since I left Troy. I couldn't sleep, and I didn't want to. I lost track of time.

Then, from somewhere far away and still too close, the sounds of shouting came. Then more, as well as screams, and the faint crackling of flames. I fastened Patroclus' shell necklace around my neck for no reason, it just felt right. I picked up Theo, careful not to wake him, and started off towards the palace gardens, where I knew I'd be able to see what was happening. And, by the Gods, I can. So I pray.

I pray for myself and Theo, who I'm holding as close to my chest as possible, and I pray for my cousins: Paris, Helen, Andromache, and for Troy itself. I try to take a deep breath, but the air is too smoky for deep breaths now. I'm so absorbed I don't even notice the footsteps behind me.

"Too late for prayer, priestess." A voice snarls. I try to stifle a cry as I'm pulled up roughly by the hair and turned round. Agamemnon continues, his voice heavy with contempt, "I almost lost this war because of your little romance."

I learnt three things from Achilles. First, that Agamemnon always keeps a dagger in his belt. Second, that it could be removed without him noticing by pushing it up from the bottom, so the leather didn't rub. I assumed that the leader of the Myrmidons had done it himself before, intending to use it, and probably more than once. And this third: what is morally right is hardly ever useful. I turn the weapon over in my hand.

But Agamemnon still thinks he's got me, and he hasn't noticed Theo. He's completely covered by a blanket; the King of Kings probably thinks the bundle I'm holding close to my bosom just contains my belongings, thank the Gods. Only they know what he would do to Achilles' son if he had the chance.

"You will be my slave in Mycenae. A Trojan priestess scrubbing my floors." He says, relishing every word, while he moves my face closer to his.

My grip on the dagger tightens.

"And at night…"

My hand shoots up and buries the knife in the soft spot where men are most vulnerable. I feel Agamemnon's blood on my fingers as he sinks to the ground. I hear a cry from the blanket as his guards grab both my arms; one pushing me to the floor and the other taking the bundle. The soldier looks inside. "Ah, Achilles' bastard." He smiles. "I'm sure he would understand that if a woman kills the king, she has to pay the price…"

Then time seems to play at half speed. The soldier pulls a sword out. I scream like I've never screamed. And out of nowhere, I see a head of golden hair, the flash of a sword as it slices through flesh. Achilles kills them both in an instant, and catches Theo before he falls. Then he comes towards me.

Even if it has only been twelve days since we last saw each other, it seems like moons, if not years. He looks the same; I don't why I expected any different but I did. For one fleeting second, he looks at me like he always did, then takes my hand and pulls me up. But as he does, I see a figure standing on a ledge behind him.

Paris.

And he has seen Achilles.

His eyes are narrowed, seeing not me or the baby, but only the man who killed his brother. And he needs revenge.

If time was playing at half speed, it has now stopped completely. Paris raises his bow and pulls back an arrow. He has his target right where he wants him.

"No!"

"Achilles' head jerks back as he gasps for breath. The arrow has hit the soft, tender area between his heel and ankle. His grip loosens on Theo and I catch him as he falls, then scream, "Paris!"

It is no longer my cousin and my lover now; it is Trojan versus Greek. A bloody battle that I am powerless to stop.

Achilles rises, starting towards Paris. The prince shoots and shoots again, hitting his mark every time. The soldier keeps going, pulling one arrow out and ignoring the rest. I am behind him, trying to calm Theo, hysterical, but if I could see his face I know, I just know I would see that hard, shut off look he had when we first met, the look that reappeared when Patroclus died.

The screams from the city grow louder.

"Stop, please!" Paris, don't!" I shout. But he is not listening. Any leverage I had as his cousin has gone – even if Helen didn't tell him who Theo's father was I'm sure he has worked it out by now – and this is the Greek who murdered his brother and dragged him by his heels across the plain. Justice must be done. Paris keeps firing.

Suddenly, Achilles stops, and in a second that feels like an age, he falls to the ground.

As I run to kneel beside him, Theo stops crying; he smiles and holds out an arm. It is heartbreaking and devastatingly bittersweet that all he knows is that he is seeing his father again. He doesn't realise the terrible price he has has had to pay just for saving us.

My hero brings his hand up to cup my face, and breathes, "It's alright." He's smiling slightly, as if he knew this was going to happen. "It's alright." He pulls me in slowly, picking up a section of my hair and breathing in its scent, like he did the very first time we met. When he leans back all I can do is look at him, taking in and remembering everything. He doesn't look… he doesn't look like he's dying. His hair is as golden as ever, his eyes are still sparkling. And I feel the same love I've felt every day for a year, without exception.

Achilles rests his thumb on my cheek. "You gave me peace, in a lifetime of war." He says. Then, placing a hand and a kiss on Theo's head, "And you gave me him, out gift from the Gods. He's grown." He returned his eyes to me and laughs weakly. "Love him, and tell him that his father loved him too. More than war, more than power. More than glory."

Just looking down into our child's beaming face is enough to send me over the edge and into tears. I feel them running down my face before I even realise I'm crying. Achilles kisses me, as if to try and stop the flow. That sweet, soft kiss that I have known for what feels like my whole life, the one I have dreamt of constantly since we parted. A goodbye kiss.

"Briseis, come." Paris calls from the ledge.

"Go." Achilles insists. I protest and shake my head. Theo has only just found his father again; he can not lose him now.

"You must. If only for our son. If only so he can live."

"No." I repeat.

"Troy is falling. Go."

I shake my head once again and lean into an embrace. If I can just be close to him, everything will be alright. My cheek is burning where it touches his.

I hear Paris' voice again. "We must go. I know a way out."

By now Achilles' eyes are filling with tears to, something I've never before seen them do. It's just further confirmation of what's happening. I can't bring myself to leave him.

"It's alright." He says again, his breathing ragged now. "Go."

"Briseis, come." Paris is directly behind me now.

"Go."

I take one last lingering look, swallow my fears and hold Theo tighter. I find Paris' hand. Go. And don't look back.

It's alright.

Achilles will be remembered, for dying in the thick of battle, dying for the Greek cause. He will be made immortal in the tales that are told, the songs that are sung.

It's alright.

Theo won't remember, of course, but I will, and I will teach him about the leader and hero he would have come to call his father. I will remember.

It's alright.

Finally, my hero's found the glory he has always wanted.

I look around as we leave the city; flames licking at every stone, dead men scattered like dolls.

Still all I can see are my Achilles' eyes, burning bluer than the ocean, and brighter than the sun.