The small ferry boat Patroclus had hired slipped through the Scaean Gate during the wee hours. Briseis looked up. Troy's white marble walls gleamed in the rising sun. Above them loomed the azure domes and dazzling golden spires of the royal palace. Behind those graceful parapets was the terrace garden where Briseis used to observe the Plains of Illium below and dream of adventure.

Briseis smiled. After what seemed like a lifetime, she was returning home from a journey her old self couldn't have imagined. 
The sentries on duty ordered the ferry boat to stop and made a half-hearted search before letting Briseis and Patroclus go free without so much asking them to remove their hoods. It was too early in the morning to care who they were. As long as they paid the toll, it didn't matter. So, the portcullis rose and let them into the city.
The boat hit the dock with a bump. "Here we are," Patroclus said. He helped Briseis onto the quayside, then handed the ferryman a small pouch of coins.
Briseis pinched her nose. It was low tide, and the river stank like a privy. Patroclus grabbed her free hand and led her up the quayside steps, then through a stone passageway.
He brought her into a courtyard in the center of the palace kitchens. Wispy plumes of smoke wafted out from the chimneys. The smells of bread baking and meat roasting tickled Briseis' nose and made her stomach growl. She'd been in too much of a hurry to leave the camp to have time to break her fast.
Patroclus let go of Briseis' hand and pulled away. "Now go," he said.
Briseis let her eyes linger on him before turning to leave. Any longer, and her strength might falter. She lifted the left sleeve of her tunic. Her fingers traced the strange letters woven into the band tied around her wrist: either with the shield or on the shield.
This goodbye wouldn't be permanent, she told herself.
Two spit boys carrying logs for a roasting fire approached Briseis. One blinked at her, and the other furrowed his brow. Briseis smiled and lowered her hood. She produced the gold and enamel icon of Apollo she wore around her neck, which would prove her identity. On the backside was an impression of her father's seal.
"Tell them Princess Briseis has returned," she said.

The kitchens were a part of the palace that Briseis wasn't familiar with. So, she followed two maidservants bringing breakfast trays to the harem. Her eyes had to readjust to the colorful riot of tiles, mosaics, and glass panes that made up the apartments where she'd spent seven years of her life.

The maidservant's' destination was a suite of rooms Briseis didn't recognize. In an anteroom leading into the bedchamber, a young man lounged atop a cushioned sofa by the latticed windows. A white angora cat had curled up in his lap and was purring contentedly.

"Aeneas!" Briseis approached her brother. Fortune had smiled on her and led her to the person she wanted most to see.
Aeneas stared at her as if she were a ghost. "Is that really you?" He said.
"The one and only."
After placing the cat on the sofa, Aeneas rose and swept Briseis up in his arms. Briseis leaned into his warmth. He still smelt like the salt, vinegar, and olive oil used to clean armor. When her feet were back on the ground, he asked her, "what are you doing here?"
Briseis sat down on the sofa. "Let me catch my breath first," she said. The cat nuzzled her head against Briseis' shoulder, and Briseis scratched her ears. "Hello Gül, did you miss me too?"
Aeneas and Briseis had cared for Gül since she was a kitten when their father found her under a rose bush in Lyrnessus and brought her back for them. Briseis had missed Gül as much, if not more, than she had Aeneas. Only the presence of dear little Hagne made the separation bearable.
"Aeneas..." a female voice called from the bedchamber.
Briseis shot her brother a look. These weren't Aeneas' rooms. A man would only be in the harem this early in the morning if he'd spent the night with a woman.
Aeneas flushed crimson. Briseis' lips curled into a smirk.
A pale, slender girl approached them, clad in only a smock, her almost-black hair falling loose like a veil. Aeneas put his arm around her waist, and she rested his head on her shoulder.
"Creusa," Aeneas said. "You'll never guess who's here."
"The god Mercury?" Creusa replied, referring to Briseis' dusty cloak and boots and travel-worn appearance.
Briseis deepened her voice. "You are correct, madam." She stood up and swept a masculine bow.
Creusa giggled. "Then maybe we should offer Mercury some refreshments."
The two maidservants curtsied and went to fetch another breakfast tray.
"Briseis, this is my betrothed, Princess Creusa of Lydia," Aeneas said.
"My dear sister." Creusa kissed Briseis' cheek. "I was afraid we'd never meet."
Princess Creusa of Lydia looked about Aeneas' age. She was tall, only shorter than him by a thumb's-length, but so delicate that a strong wind might blow her over. Briseis feared crushing her like a seashell if she hugged her too roughly.
But that didn't stop Briseis from embracing her. "Allow me to welcome you to Troy," Briseis said. "Though not as warmly as my brother has." She shot a glance in Aeneas' direction.
He couldn't wait to enjoy his lovely bride, couldn't he?
Aeneas rolled his eyes. "Did you escape from the Greeks, Briseis, or did Achilles send you away because he's sick of you?"
Briseis bit her lip. It was a long story. Where should she begin?
"Aeneas, at least let your sister have a final meal before you put her on the rack." Creusa gestured for them to sit down on the sofa.
One of the maidservants had returned with a third tray for Briseis and placed it on the table. Briseis bit into a fresh-baked pogăca, whose heavenly aroma had been what tantalized her nose as she walked through the kitchen. Melted feta seeped into the warm pastry. Her mouth savored it.

Creusa poured teaming çay into Aeneas' cup. Aeneas blew on it before taking a sip. "Now are you ready to explain?" he said.

Briseis took a deep breath and then told the whole story, starting with Chryses, Cressida, and the plague, then Cressida's escape, and Briseis running afoul of Agamemnon and being accused of witchcraft. She ended the tale with two chivalrous knights rescuing the persecuted heroine and bringing her to safety.
"Chivalrous knights, my foot," Aeneas said. "Was it gallant of Achilles to put you in danger in the first place?"
"That's unfair," Briseis replied. Aeneas hadn't been there. He had no right to judge Achilles.
"I always knew you'd end up on the ducking stool, but..."
Creusa nuzzled Aeneas like a turtledove, making him blush. "Your sister is back safe and sound. That's all that matters. Please don't start trouble."
Briseis smiled. Perhaps she had an ally in her new sister-in-law?
But Aeneas wouldn't be pacified. "...and if Achilles thinks he can have you back when all this blows over, I'll run him through with my sword."
"You would shed the blood of your own brother-in-law?" Briseis said. Like it or not, Aeneas was related to Achilles by marriage, and shedding his blood would be a shocking crime.
"As I told Achilles at the banquet," Aeneas said. Violating my sister doesn't make him my brother."

Briseis' bedchamber hadn't been touched since she left. No one had tucked in the velvet coverlet, straightened the brocade cushions, or swept the gold-painted hearth.  Her henna set and kohl brushes were still on the dressing table, and her tapestry frame was still by the window, the box of embroidery silks next to it.  The smock Briseis had worn her last night in Troy lay forgotten on the floor at the foot of the bed.  

Perhaps they hadn't expected her to be gone so long?
Gül stretched in the sunlight coming in through the latticed screens. Briseis stroked her warm fur. "I missed you, pretty girl," she said. She picked up the purring cat in her arms and walked over to the window.
It was well past sunrise, and across the Plains of Illium, the Greeks would have noticed her absence. Achilles and Patroclus were probably dealing with Agamemnon at that very moment. Briseis prayed that all would be well.