Goddess (Starcrossed)

entrance.
    A moment later, a woman who looked just like Ariadne appeared and wrapped the disguised mother and daughter in a warm hug.
    “Briseis,” Helen said softly to the woman. The sisters-in-law kissed each other warmly on both cheeks.
    “There isn’t much time for a visit,” Briseis said as she led Helen and Atlanta into the tent. “Achilles will be back soon.”
    “There is an easy remedy for that. One that allows us to spend as much time together as we wish,” Helen said leadingly as she allowed her real face to appear.
    “Don’t start,” Briseis warned. “I won’t leave him.”
    “I know.” Helen put Atlanta down and gave her a small wooden figurine to play with before handing Briseis the bundle of food. “Have you thought about what will happen when Achilles joins the battle lines again?”
    “He may never join them. He detests Agamemnon and refuses to do his bidding anymore.”
    “He didn’t cross the sea with his army for nothing, Briseis.”
    “I’m aware of that.” Briseis’ eyes sparkled with anger. “But he’s different now. He told me he has no quarrel with my brother.”
    “It doesn’t matter if he has a quarrel with Hector or not. This is war. Don’t let your love for Achilles blind you.”
    “I haven’t.” Briseis looked away. “But I know what side of the wall I’m on.”
    “And what side of the war? What about her?” Helen pleaded quietly, gesturing to Atlanta. She saw Briseis’ eyes widen with worry, and knew that the risk of bringing Atlanta was worth it for this reason alone. Helen pressed her case while she had the chance. “Achilles came here to kill the Tyrant. That was the one argument Agamemnon made that convinced him to fight.”
    “Atlanta has nothing to fear from him, I swear it,” Briseis said, glancing down at Atlanta protectively. “He would never kill a child. You don’t know him.”
    The two sisters-in-law glared at each other. The only sound in the tent was Atlanta whispering to her doll.
    “Do you like the pretty garden I made? The sun never burns and the bees never sting and the stones stay out of your sandals,” Atlanta cooed, completely lost in her game of make-believe.
    Helen rolled her eyes comically and spoke under her breath to Briseis. “She spends all day imagining a perfect world where no one suffers. Terrifying, isn’t she?”
    Briseis looked away again, her face falling into a frown as her thoughts turned dark. “It helps that she was born a girl. No one suspects her to be the Tyrant now. Not really.”
    “Then why does Achilles stay here even though his men starve?” Helen asked desperately. Briseis had no answer. “Sister, I believe you when you say he’d never kill a child. Achilles is a man of deep principles—principles that brought him to Troy. Have you ever considered that ridding the world of the Tyrant is so important to him that he might be willing to wait for her to grow up first before he kills her?”
    “You must go,” Briseis said suddenly, waving at the air like it had filled up with flies. “He’ll be back any moment.”
    Helen sighed and dropped her head in defeat and then reached down to scoop up her daughter. “I’ll be back with more food in a few days.”
    The two women embraced, cautiously at first as if they were still at odds, and then with true tenderness before Helen and Atlanta assumed their disguises and left the enemy camp.
     
    Helen woke up with a thick tress of Ariadne’s hair in her mouth. She spat it out and mentally apologized for drooling all over it before rolling over. She rolled over onto something that squeaked. It turned out to be Andy, who batted at her and made protesting sounds in her sleep. Wishing Noel would get even just one more mattress for the girls to sleep on, Helen scooted down to the end of the bed and crawled out as quietly as she could without crushing anyone.
    Helen hugged herself as she left the room, trying to shake off the memory. That one had seemed closer to her than the others had, like she was more than just a spectator this time. In fact, halfway through it had started to feel like it was Helen of Nantucket, and not Helen of Troy, who was in that tent. She could still feel the warm, squirmy weight of her little girl (correction—Helen of Troy’s little girl) in her arms, so of course she ran into Lucas in the hallway. She ached to hold one of them, either the little girl or the little girl’s father, so desperately she actually groaned.
    “I