Page 41 of Odette's Vow

He fell with a gasp, clutching at the wound. I stood over him, my breath ragged as the reality of my betrayal sunk in.

“Forgive me, Diomedes.”

“Whatever for?”

Diomedes was standing upright, no blood pouring from him, staring straight at me.

The unnaturalness of it was jarring. I looked down at my hand, expecting to see fresh blood mixed with liquid silver. Instead, I saw the stone statue of Athena in my hand. I shook my head clear until I realisedthiswas reality.

“For taking a moment to say a prayer to Lady Athena.” I gave my voice a moment to steady itself. “We should focus on getting out of here.”

He let out a low chuckle in response. “Yes, there’s plenty of time for prayers. For now, we must return.”

I nodded in agreement, yet when Diomedes held out his hand for the statue, I refused. A look of surprise flashed across his face, but then the moment passed and he shrugged, and we both left the cool air of the temple for the warmth of the night. As wemade our way back to camp, the weight of the statue seemed to get heavier, the knowledge it had given me – what it hadtoldme I was capable of – weighing on my conscience.

“We did it! Troy’s fate is sealed,” Diomedes finally declared as we crossed back into Grecian territory.

I offered him a tight smile. “That it is.”

The men might see this as a sign of hope, the promise of an end to this endless war. But I knew the gods would demand retribution, and their wrath would find me soon enough.

1 A double-edged, single-handed sword, typically with a blade around 18 to 24 inches long.

14

Odette

“Odette, I will not leave you with one of the other men. I will return.”

Those were the last words he had said to me when he left the tent last night, wearing a threadbare wool cloak he had probably travelled to these shores with all those years ago. It looked like a beggar’s cloak, grey and moth-eaten. It had likely been sitting in the trunk since he got here. I couldn’t shake the idea that it was a metaphor for him – worn, frayed, still carrying the weight of his past.

I spent the whole night tossing and turning, warring between the woman who craved his return, who wanted to feel his warmth beside me again, and the one who could not forget the hurt he’d caused.

I woke to find him slumped against the tent’s centre pole, his focus fixed on something far beyond me, lost in a realm not of this world.

“Odysseus?”

“It holds such power. You can feel it, when you hold it. You can feel it take your life force and turn it into something … other,” he muttered.

“Odysseus?” I tried again.

“It’s like you are touched by the gods when you hold it. Like you can see as they see. No wonder we could not beat the Trojans while they still housed it. Their soothsayers could hold it and see. Do you see?”

This time, his eyes found me.

I crouched down beside him. “Yes, I see.”

No, I did not. I hadn’t any clue what he was rambling on about. Instead, I tentatively reached out and touched his arm, trying to form some kind of physical tie that would tether him back to this world.

“What happened? Did you find the Palladium? Where is it?”

Odysseus’ eyes turned glassy. “When you look into the statue’s eyes, if you are chosen, Athena looks back at you. The eyes, they turn silver like hers, like liquid metal, and she shows you what to do. She showed me how to kill Diomedes.”

I reeled at the confession. “You didn’t …?”

“I was slow, foolish. I disappointed her. I was so enraptured with being in her true presence that I—I let her down.” His eyes turned to me, pleading. “What do I do?”

I did not recognise this Odysseus. I knew two. There was the general everyone was afraid of, the suave shrewd man who made calculating decisions. The one who could make a moment last for eternity just by grounding you in his presence. Then, there was the one I was sure only I had seen these past few years. The one who could be brash, unthinking, wild. No one would ever believe me. But, I had never seen this one – pleading, scared, uncertain. And I’d be lying to myself if I said it didn’t unnerve me.

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