Eight

A frightening jolt struck me. I jerked upright in bed with a gasp, my heart racing, sweat drenching my bed sheets even though the room was cool.

As my heart started to settle, I couldn't remember exactly why I had awoken in such a panic. A memory from my past—or was it the future? I dragged in a shaky breath, the dream already fading away. Now all I felt was this nagging sense that I was supposed to remember something, but try as I might, it evaded me.

"You're just dreaming," I muttered to myself, wiping the sweat from my brow. "You're fine."

I glanced around the room. Well, as fine as one could be as a prisoner.

The room was still dark, my only indication that I was up way too early, but I was fully awake with no hope of falling back asleep. I pulled myself out of bed to wash myself using the basin of water left out for me. As I brushed the cloth over my face and across the back of my neck with the refreshingly cool water, I longed for a shower. What I wouldn't give to wash all this grime and memories off my skin and to smell like my body wash. Lavender and vanilla. It was so creamy and smooth and left me smelling clean. Now it was sitting at home unused and abandoned, just like everything else in my apartment.

I scrubbed my arms roughly, trying to combat the frustration surging through my chest.

Once I was done, I dampened my hair and dragged the brush Bacchus had brought me through the limp locks. It was amazing how not washing my hair as frequently as I had back home really changed its shape. It was frizzy and felt unclean, but it was still soft. The natural wave was prominent here, making it impossible to tame it. Unlike in Troy, I didn't have a servant or slave to help with my hair, so it was left to do its own thing. I squeezed my eyes shut against the wave of guilt. Relying on help to even dress...what have I become?

The only person who graced my presence was Bacchus. The young guard told me that Patroclus had been banned from seeing me, to which I eye rolled. You would think we were having a secret affair behind Achilles' back with the way he was treating our outing.

At the same time, I guess I was pretty clear that I needed to be left alone because Achilles didn't call on me. It suited me just fine, but I had to admit, I was growing a little stir crazy at being cooped up in my room all the time. For one, the room was so tiny I couldn't even manage decent pacing. I whirled in a circle in one spot endlessly as my mind mulled over everything. I quickly memorized the room's contents right down to that small crack in the wall near the ceiling. Or, the fact that there were thirty-two coloured squares embroidered into the soft blanket Achilles had given me to make me "more comfortable." As if that negated that I was still a prisoner.

A prison was still a prison, even if it didn't have bars.

Sighing, I set the brush back on the basin and turned to the window. There, in the distance, was Mount Olympus, in all its irritating glory. It was permanently etched into the sky as a blue silhouette, never changing, but always there. It was as if it constantly mocked me, especially since the gods were potentially right there. Achilles had warned me their home might not be on that mountain but it was nice to have a physical object to throw my resentment at.

Each time I stared at that mountain, my blood boiled.

After my first encounter with Peleus, I knew nothing of Achilles' plans for me. I waited for the day he interrogated me, or shipped me off to Agamemenon. Bacchus told me Achilles really wasn't all that interested in meeting with Agamemnon, so there was hope I wouldn't face the other Greek kings either.

The longer we stayed here, the more I missed Paris. He was alive, thankfully, and that's all that mattered. I didn't know what my role was in that story, nor how it would impact him but I missed him. His scent of sweat, sunshine and oils was a ghost fading as quickly from my memory as my memories from my own life.

The tentative knock on the door was Bacchus. He was shy with me ever since I slammed the door in his face. Okay, maybe jabbing a finger and getting all pissy at him when he didn't do anything wasn't nice, but hey, I was going through something. And I was trying to make amends with him, though it was possible he was still scared I'd bite his head off. So, our relationship was awkward.

Not that that stopped me from trying. He was far more amicable than Achilles, and if I was going to be stuck here for a while, the least I could do was try and make a friend—a friend who could help me out when the time came.

"Yeah?" I asked, barely glancing over my shoulder.

There was a pause before I heard the shwink of the lock, and the heavy door swung open. Bacchus shuffled around behind me, no doubt carrying lunch, but he didn't announce himself as usual. He was playing extra shy today, I supposed, which was surprisingly annoying.

"You really need to stop being so scared of me," I sighed, whirling around. "I'm not going to do anything... Oh..."

It wasn't Bacchus standing there, but it wasn't Achilles either. In fact, it was the last person I'd expected. I was so surprised that there was silence between us for about thirty seconds as I gaped at him.

"I came to check on you," Patroclus said, in the way of greeting, "since Achilles told me you were angry at him."

"Like he really cares if I'm angry at him or not," I scoffed with an eye roll. "But aren't you banned from seeing me? Or does your boyfriend even know you're here?"

"Boyfriend?"

Patroclus frowned at the unfamiliar word, but I made no attempt to explain it to him. I didn't want him to get in any more trouble because he felt some kind of need to check up on me. Or be friends with me. Or whatever it was he was trying to accomplish.

"You came here, out of the goodness of your heart, to check on me?" I asked, tilting my head. "I really doubt that Achilles would just let you speak to me."

"Achilles doesn't control me," Patroclus bristled, pink dusting his cheeks. "I thought you would have noticed that by now."

"Uh-huh," I smirked and crossed my arms. "You can tell him that his prisoner is doing just fine."

"Actually, I was hoping to show you something."

He leaned against the wall in such a way that I saw traces of Achilles' influence on him. With those round, doe eyes, wavy blonde hair and surfer dude complexion, it was easy to see why Achilles was so taken with Patroclus. He was no Paris, but he was easy on the eyes. Although standing this close to him, I wondered just how old he really was. It was hard to tell, given his youthful face and his solid, trained body.

"Do I have a choice in this matter?"

Patroclus shrugged and flashed me a tentative smile. An olive branch. "It's an invitation, that's all, I promise."

I wanted to hate him. God did I ever. He was the enemy, after all. And yet, even though, try as I might, he was way too genuine for his own good. I hoped I didn't drag him down.

"Fine, let me just check my schedule... oh, the only thing I had planned was self-wallowing after my nap," I said sarcastically. "As long as I'm back for that, then lead the way, Pat."

Through my whole rambling, Patroclus stared at me like a fish until I had to look away, embarrassed. You'd be surprised at how difficult it was to hammer the twenty-first century accent out of you. And the fact that I called him Pat? I winced. Pat was not a good nickname for him. Oh, help me.

"Patroclus," I amended quietly.

He didn't say anything as he whirled on his heels and led me out of the room. I followed close behind, chastising myself for being so modern. No matter how hard I tried, it still slipped out.

The sky was saturating blue as the sun rose. The palace was stirring as well. Servants and slaves bustled around the place, cleaning, tidying, carrying linens and trays of food. With all of the openings lining the halls, the sun seeped through freely, warming the white walls, though the tile floors were still cool.

Finely carved statues of the Greek gods lined the hall, each striking fierce poses as they loomed over us. Most of the statues I saw in my time were broken and softened with age, but these were new and in pristine condition and, no matter how many times I passed them, they still left me in awe.

Yes, okay, even the one of Athena, who glowered indifferently down at me as I walked by. She stood proudly at the end of the hall, her helmet low over her brow, her spear pointed to the heavens. Whoever carved her had been surprisingly accurate. They even got her little scowl line that was etched in her chin.

"Magnificent, aren't they?"

I hadn't realized I stopped walking until Patroclus stood beside me, looking up at Athena with a small smile.

"That's one way to put it," I replied drily.

"How would you put it, then?" he asked, watching me out of the corner of his eye. There were so many similarities between him and Achilles. It made me wonder if Patroclus tried to emulate the hero.

"I'd say she's a righteous, egotistical, goddess and all the gods should think before they ruin someone's life." Patroclus looked horrified, so I appeased him with an innocent smile. "Just my opinion, of course."

"You shouldn't let them hear you." He dipped his head in reverence at the statue before moving on. I hurried to catch up.

"Why not? They can't possibly do any more damage," I sighed. "They don't want to help me anymore." Can't, won't, whatever.

"You speak as though you know them."

"You could say that. Not that I ever wanted to."

"Achilles told me you were from someplace far away," he said. "Do you mean to tell me that the gods brought you here? For what purpose?"

I stumbled to a stop as we approached a pair of doors leading outside. Only then did Patroclus turn to face me properly. His question, so spot on... no one had ever asked me why I was in Greece or Troy before. By now, everyone knew I was a foreigner. That was a given. But they were only curious about my appearance, not the reason I was here.

Patroclus just threw me a curveball I was not expecting.

Nor was it one I knew how to approach.

"I... well... sort of?" I stammered. "It's not like I wanted this... nor did I ask for it... I-I just sort of..."

I'll be the first to admit that I have not been very secretive about my foreignness. I couldn't even fake an ancient Greek accent even if I tried (oh, and I tried). Not to mention I have a whole slew of words that the Greeks and Trojans hadn't even heard of because they were thousands of years behind my time. But, to tell them that I was a time traveller thrown into a legend that actually wasn't supposed to exist? Regardless of how badly I slipped up, I was careful not to reveal too much. Patroclus was smart, but even he would look at me like I lost my senses.

"It really doesn't matter," I shrugged, twisting the tassels on my belt. "I'm here now, and I need to get back home... before I'm stuck here forever."

"It's really not that bad here," Patroclus said, not unkindly.

"Maybe, but this isn't my home."

For the first time, I felt the sting of tears in the corner of my eyes. I hadn't really let myself think about home, not really, but the conversation had caused a crack in the carefully placed wall in my head. It was also the first time admitting it out loud that I didn't belong here.

That crack, however, showed me something I didn't expect. Holes. There were holes in my memory... at least that's how it felt. I could remember having a family but who filled those roles...? I had had a job, one I didn't mind. But what was it?

Terror wrapped its hand around my chest as I struggled to remember.

I felt Patroclus's eyes on me, but he said nothing. It would be foolish to think that, in a world of conquerors and prisoners and slaves, he'd take pity on me. I'm sure he's heard a lot more pleading and seen a lot more tears.

My throat thick from helplessness and fear, I rubbed my eyes clear of the tears that managed to escape and forced the other ones back. No more crying, Alexis. It was time to act.

"Maybe this might help ease things a bit," Patroclus said with a smile before throwing open the doors.

When I followed him outside, I realized he'd brought me to a courtyard, but it wasn't just any courtyard.

There were all kinds of equipment strewn across the sandy floor, from straw dummies, bow and arrows, spears and swords. Men lined up around the outer walls, standing at attention, all wearing leather armour and helmets. Their focus was directed to the centre of the sandy courtyard.

Where Achilles crouched, wielding a sword.