Page 173 of Where Darkness Bloomed
“You came to the palace,” Helen breathed. “That night.”
Achilles tilted his head slightly. “I told you I would.”
He folded his arms across his chest, a measured motion. The stern lines of his face shifted, almost imperceptibly. A flicker of regret passed through them, his mouth settling into a grim line.
“Though I was late. Odysseus’s creation surprised Trojans and Greeks alike.”
The wooden horse. The golden god behind Paris. The arrow.
Memories crushed in like the ocean closing over her head, dragging her deep. She was drowning in them.
Blood spraying. Bronze singing. His body falling—
Her knees buckled. With a harsh breath, she sank to the ground. One hand braced there, fingers splaying against the stone as the ragged whisper escaped her.
“I saw you d—”
The wordbroke against her lips.
Achilles didn’t move. He stood cloaked in silence, his gaze fastened to her. Something stirred behind his eyes, a quieter storm.
“So you did,” he said at last.
Helen’s gaze dropped. There, just above the leather strap of his sandal, she saw it—a pale scar, faint but unmistakable.
“The arrow,” she said, barely more than breath. “It struck your heel.”
A rueful smile tipped his lips, though his eyes were shadowed. “Paris’s arrow,” he said. “Guided by Apollo.”
The name lashed her, sharp and brutal.
Helen flinched.
Paris was dead, swallowed by Troy’s ruin. But his name still tore through her like a jagged blade, stirring pain so deep it stripped the breath from her lungs.
Her fingers flexed against the stone. Her breath trembled as she fought for air.
Achilles’s chin lifted, eyes sharpening watchfully on her. Beneath bronzed skin, his muscles tensed until he became terrifying in his stillness. A statue carved from memory and wrath.
Helen’s throat burned. Her mouth was dry as dust. “They said… you were immortal,” she finally managed.
“Immortality belongs to the gods alone.” His voice was like flint striking iron. Storm-filled eyes swept her face, still seeing too much. “My protection was something else. A gift from a goddess.” He paused, studying her. “Though different from yours.”
She looked away, unable to bear the weight of his gaze. Beside them, the river ripped around the rocks, wild and uncaring.
“Why do you stand on the riverbank?” she asked.
“I await you.”
Her pulse stumbled. Fear surged in her veins, cold and familiar, fathomless as the sea. Still, she summoned what courage she had left and slowly lifted her eyes.
His face revealed nothing. A mask of calm, though it veiled something deeper. Then he moved.
The distance between them dissolved like mist. Each footfall was purposeful, each stride echoing heavily with the memory of who he had been. The war he had waged, the ruin trailing in his wake. All the power he’d once loosed on the battlefield was now fixed on her.
Helen did not rise.
Her life had ended long ago, consumed by pain, eclipsed by war. What did it matter now if he delivered the final blow? Or perhaps—
