Goddess (Starcrossed)

woke him, desperate to tell him everything.
    She thought of their daughter and knew that Paris couldn’t be saved. That was the deal she’d made with Odysseus—all of Troy for her daughter’s life.
    It was a steep price to pay, but not an entirely selfish one. The Greeks didn’t believe her when she’d tried to reason with them. They refused to end their pursuit of the little girl who might or might not be the Tyrant. Helen had tried to tell them that if Atlanta died, all love in the world would die with her. They saw her pleas as a mother’s desperate attempt to save her only child, but that wasn’t entirely it. If Atlanta died, the Face would die with her, and Aphrodite would punish them all.
    Helen’s love for Paris and the rest of his family, no matter how deep, could not compare with that. She just hoped that Odysseus managed his side of it. If he didn’t imprison the gods as he promised he could, then all of this would be for nothing. They would simply wait a generation or two and start another war to kill off all the demigods. Strangely, Helen trusted Odysseus with this. She’d heard his plan and, as crazy as it sounded, she knew him well enough to know that if there were ever anyone who could find a way to trick the gods, it would be him.
    Helen leaned down over her husband and ran her lips lightly across his bare shoulder in good-bye. Maybe, someday, she would find him by the River Styx. There, they could wash all their hateful memories away, and walk into a new life together, a life that didn’t have the dirty paw prints of a dozen gods and a dozen kings marring it.
    Such a beautiful thought. Helen vowed that she would live a hundred lives of hardship for one life—one real life—with Paris. They could be shepherds, just as they had dreamed once when they had met at the great lighthouse long ago. She’d be anything, really, a shopkeeper, or a farmer, whatever, as long as they were allowed to live their lives and love each other freely. She dressed quickly, imagining herself tending a shop somewhere by the sea, hoping that someday this dream would come true.
    It was still early, an hour or two past sunset, as Helen stole out of the palace, taking her usual route down to the kitchens. As she crept through the herb garden on her way to the wall she saw Aeneas climbing the hill to the temple of the Oracle. Helen paused. No one visited the Oracle anymore, unless they were summoned. What did Cassandra want with Aeneas on this night . . . the night, Helen wondered?
    She couldn’t follow him just now, but she realized it was a stroke of luck that he was distracted. Out of all of them, Aeneas did not feel the influence of the cestus. He was Aphrodite’s son, and could not be swayed. This was more than luck, she realized. Again, Helen had the sinking feeling that she was just a pawn of the Fates. Aeneas was the one, the only one, who could give her trouble accomplishing her goal, and the Oracle herself had stepped in to remove him from his post on the wall. It was fated, then. Troy was doomed.
    In another moment, Helen was climbing the steps up to the turret. The soldiers manning that station parted and bowed to her. Helen looked over the side of the wall, down at the large wooden horse that the Greeks had left on the beach.
    “Bring it in,” she ordered.
    “Princess, may I speak?” asked the commander. Helen hated being called that, but as this was technically her title here in Troy she had no choice but to submit to it. She nodded her assent for the soldier to continue. “General Aeneas has ordered us to leave the horse. He thinks it’s a trick.”
    “How can it be a trick?” she asked innocently. “The Greeks have gone. Sailed away. Troy has won the war.”
    The men looked at each other, not knowing what to do. A young soldier, who probably didn’t remember much before the war, spoke in a wavering voice, “Excuse me, Princess. But my cousin’s nurse said her husband, the fisherman, saw all the Greek ships massed just up the beach.”
    “Well, I’m sure your cousin’s nurse’s husband the fisherman knows much more about politics and warfare than I,” Helen said jauntily, and the rest of the soldiers laughed while the young man blushed and looked at his feet. “But I think it’s safe to assume that the giant wooden horse is an offering to Poseidon. The Greeks are trying to buy safe passage across the sea. If we take the horse, then we take away their offering, and maybe