Twenty-Eight.

The sun was rising from its slumber, the dark started to fade. The sky was a royal blue, velvet and soft. Twilight was the quietest moment, that peaceful time when all were sleeping, giving the world a chance to take a breath. That time of day had always been a favourite of mine. The silence was permeating and calming.

If only peace found me.

With the adrenaline and the guilt churning relentlessly in my gut and the lurking nightmares that haunted my nights, sleep evaded me. I found myself staring at the ceiling, unable to organize the chaotic tangle of emotions and thoughts.

Imprisonment was a horrifying notion. If I escaped on my own accord I risked getting caught again. I'd spent enough time wandering the halls of the palace to know where I was going, but I didn't know the city that lay beyond the palace walls. If Cassandra didn't hold up her end of the bargain, I was trapped. Doomed to be a bride or a slave. Or exiled. My fate was at the mercy of Priam's whims and Cassandra's deal.

And if she did help me escape, I would travel with Paris and Hector to Greece, triggering their downfall.

Paris.

I pursed my lips against the well of emotion that surged through me, like an electric current sparking my nerves. His gentle smile, those warm eyes that melted my insides like butter. He didn't deserve what was about to happen, nor did he deserve me. I was leading him straight to a path that would soil his name.

When the sky turned gray, weak trails of sun trying to get into my room, I heard the lock click. A soft knock announced a guest, and I lifted my head as the door eased open.

Cassandra glided into my room with silent grace, her blue veil concealing her features. Behind her, treading cautiously and carrying a bundle of cloth, was Zoisme. When our eyes met, a secret smile lifted her lips and she ducked her head with a quiet greeting.

"We are here to rescue you," Cassandra said, "and we've brought you a change of clothing. Something more suitable for the journey. Dress quickly. We must be swift to avoid the guards."

Despite the veil covering her features, her excitement rang clear. I wondered if my escape was the most rebellious thing the priestess had ever done.

Zoisme handed me the bundle of clothes and helped me dress. The dress was light to combat the heat and a rich blue, the edges stitched with gold embroidery. A darker blue travelling cloak was cinched over my shoulders to protect me from the sun and cooler evenings. Hardly discreet for sneaking out of the palace, but comfortable enough. As a finishing touch, Zoisme fastened a veil over my face, and I was relieved by the additional measure. With short red hair and pale skin, I stood out among the dark-skinned Trojans. In the palace, they all knew what I looked like. Hidden behind the veil, there was a level of anonymity I had never considered.

The veil tinted my vision, rendering Zoisme a bluish shadow, but when she was done, I grabbed her hand.

"Thank you," I said, hoping the sincerity seeped through the material.

"There is no need to thank me," Zoisme replied, her hand sliding away from mine. "I'm only doing what I was instructed—"

"Hurry," Cassandra cut in. She was a sentry at the door, watching the hall for guards or slaves.

I glanced at Zoisme, but she was already moving to the door, the moment over.

Sneaking out of the palace and into the city was as easy as Cassandra had promised. We moved through the halls, ignored by the guards. Just two women of noble birth, taking a stroll. I was supposed to be locked away in the bowels of the palace. The guards never would suspect me free and with my veil, I was a spectre. Invisible and ignored.

We made it to the other side of the palace walls when we were stopped. He had been using the clinging shadows for cover, catching me by surprise when his hand wrapped around my wrist. I barely managed to stifle a scream as my body went rigid from shock. Then I saw who it was and the breath I'd been holding rushed out of me in a sigh of relief.

"Paris," I whispered. He pulled me close, pressed his forehead to mine. Then I pulled away, anger surfacing. "You let them lock me away. You did nothing while I was dragged away by guards."

His brown eyes were round, like a lost puppy and he slumped his shoulders. "I apologize... I know I should have fought more but my parents..." He sighed and reached for my hand. I let him, the anger cooling as quickly as it had boiled over. "I knew I wasn't going anywhere without you, though. Fortune was on our side, however, for Cassandra also wanted to help.

"The docks are that way," he continued, pointing to the opposite end of the city. "Hector's boat is tethered at the farthest end. There is a red bear painted on the sail. We do not plan to leave until the sun is out, so you have plenty of time to get down there and conceal yourselves before we board."

"We understand." Zoisme adjusted her travel bag and glanced at me. "Are you ready?"

He paused and took my hand. "Be careful and be swift. They will notice you've escaped soon. Do not come out of hiding until I fetch you."

A surge of emotion welled up as Cassandra stepped closer and removed her veil, a small smile on her perfectly sculpted lips.

"Take care of yourself, Alexis, and may the weather be in your favour on this journey," she said, pressing a hand to my veiled face. "And remember our bargain." She stepped back and glanced at Paris, whose eyes remained on me the entire time. "We must return before they notice we are gone, Paris."

The priestess drifted away, her duty done. Paris flashed me a reassuring smile before disappearing back into the safety of the palace walls. I watched them go, then jumped when I felt a hand fall on my shoulder.

"We should go," Zoisme muttered.

I glanced at the palace again, something strangely resembling homesickness churning my gut. The palace hadn't exactly been a warm, welcoming place, but it had become familiar. With its bleached walls, its striking statues and tropical plants, the Trojan palace had grown on me.

I heard a sharp whistle and whirled around to find Zoisme at the corner of the street, impatiently waiting. I scrambled to catch up, my hands wrapped around the strap of my satchel. I was surprised to find people bustling about even though the sun barely reached above the walls around the city. The smell of fresh bread wafted through the air, the heat from the metalsmiths already burned hot and fierce. There were some women about, collecting water and lingering in clusters together. Given that the morning air was crisp and cool, it made sense that people ventured out early.

I wondered if there was a Trojan equivalent to an agora, the central hub for all Greek cities and towns. Everything happened at the agora, and to see it in person would be incredible. But Zoisme seemed to be taking us through the back roads, and I was forced to accept this as my tour. She moved with ease, as if she had been through the city before.

"My first time out of the palace walls and we're not even sightseeing," I lamented. Then I added, "you seem awfully confident in where we're going. Have you been through here before?"

Zoisme placed a finger over her lips and I sighed. She probably had to go to the market or to fetch cloth, or whatever she did when she was not with me. It wasn't that big of a deal... and yet, my curiosity itched.

We continued, silent phantoms in the stirring city. It was eerie, considering how loud the cities were in my time. Sirens, dogs barking, car tires screeching, subwoofers shaking walls. There were no street lamps or neon signs. We used the light of the moon to guide us, though it was cold and weak among the walls of Troy.

And then we heard the music. Lively, plucking music that enchanted your body into dance. Laughter and singing seeped through the silence and I noticed a glimmer of firelight to our right.

There was a band of performers, by the looks of it, setting up in a courtyard. One—a young man with glossy, black hair that curled around his handsome, olive-toned face—plucked at the strings of a miniature harp-shaped instrument. The tune was lovely and graceful, though the young man's dark eyes glinted with amusement. He said something to his companions, and they all laughed when, suddenly, his eyes found me.

A bolt of electricity jumped between us, and the young man's features shifted. The change was subtle, and he winked, his sunny smile dazzling in the watery morning.

I frowned. He looked familiar...

I was pulled away abruptly, Zoisme's fingers wrapped tightly around my arm, snapping off that electric current.

"We cannot delay," she whispered.

When I looked back, the young man and his instrument were gone, though the troupe was there, setting up for a small production, acting as if the man had never been there. Zoisme tugged on my arm once more, dragging me out of my stupor.

Before long, the docks loomed into sight and I sighed in relief. We made it.

Try as we might to remain sneaky, we encountered more and more people as morning bloomed. The docks traced the edge of the shoreline, the beach open, leaving us exposed. Fortunately, we were pretty much ignored, save for the few wandering eyes as we trailed along the sandy shore.

Finding Hector's ship was easy. Most of the boats were already sliding across the crystal clear waters, casting out their fishing lines. Hector's was one of the remaining boats bobbing in the gently lapping waves. The masts were down, but the telltale deep red dye stood out in contrast against the lush backdrop of the Asia Minor landscape.

The ship was long, narrow and bigger than I imagined. It was so shiny and clean, it reminded me of a ship in a bottle. Dark, polished wood shone in the sleepy sunlight. Rows of thick, heavy oars jutted out from the middle and bottom of the boat. Both ends of the ship drew up in a sharp slope, giving it a formidable appearance. The masts were tall and looming. I wondered if the thing had been out to sea before, or if it had been built in honour of the diplomatic envoy.

We didn't see anyone on board, but Zoisme made me wait near a pile of crates while she confirmed. I stared at the boat as a sudden bout of nervousness washed over me. I had never been in a boat before, not even a canoe, let alone a ship of that size. Now that I stood in front of the Trojan vessel, reality started to weigh on me. I didn't even know how long the trip would take. All I knew was that we would be making stops at night on neighbouring islands. Was the ship safe to combat storms? What if we were marooned? Surely the Trojan rulers would send out a search party... right?

Those thoughts soured in my stomach and I clutched the fabric of my gown in sweaty hands. Zoisme trailed back to me and I must have looked distraught because she frowned.

"Are you well?" she asked. "You are awfully pale."

"I'm fine," I whispered, swallowing back a wash of nausea. "I've just never been on a boat before... will it survive the trip?"

Zoisme straightened, her smile tight and unconvincing. Her onyx skin was smooth and seemed to shine in the early morning. She had picked a modest outfit. A pearl white, light linen peplos with a modest gold scarf taming her dark curls. "We will be safe, but there is always a risk. It is the only way to Greece, is that not what you want?"

I nodded, though the answer lacked confidence. It was enough for Zoisme, however, who led me towards the boat. We moved swiftly, with our backs straight. There was a time a police officer came to our university to give a speech about safety. He said that if a person walked with confidence and looked like they had somewhere to be, they were less likely to be approached. I used that now, my back straight, eyes forward, as if I knew where I was going and that I had every right to be there. Everyone was too busy doing their own thing and the crew of our ship had yet to arrive, making our sneaking all the more easy.

We climbed aboard the gently rocking ship and Zoisme grabbed my hand with a surprisingly rough grip. Her hand was calloused and weathered. She pressed a finger to her lips and she dragged me towards the bow, where a tower of crates sat.

"We are not going to be hiding there," I whispered.

She shook her head, her expression much like that of an exasperated parent. She pointed to the floor. Tucked behind the crates was a trapdoor. It was embedded into the floor with only an iron handle to show where it lay. When she eased open the door, a small, narrow ladder took us into a store room. A dark, cramped store room. With only a square of musty light coming from the trapdoor, I squinted to make out the contents. The room was mostly empty, for a couple of crates and some jugs of wine and oils. The rest, then, were presumably in the crates above.

"This is where the supply is stored for our journey," Zoisme explained. She was nothing more than a ghoulish silhouette, gliding into the centre of the room. "They will bring the rest of the supplies down later, though Master Paris assured me they will not notice us down here as long as we are well hid."

"How reassuring," I mumbled.

The storeroom, while filled with dark edges and shadows, was still small. Zoisme and I stood in the middle of the room, and I could reach out and touch the wall. It would take a miracle to hide down there without getting caught.

"I promise, we will be okay," Zoisme said. She squeezed my hand before she fell away. "We will hide behind these crates. It will be a tight fit, but soon we will be out on the sea and there will be no need to hide."

As I slid behind the crates, I closed my eyes, hoping she was right. We huddled together in silence, her warmth a comfort I did not anticipate. What an odd feeling it was. Since arriving I had always felt like an imposter, but now I felt like a fugitive.

I pressed my forehead to my knees, begging for the journey to Greece to commence.