Goddess (Starcrossed)

startling blue—the same jewel-blue as Lucas’s eyes. Azure, Helen thought. Still clinging to consciousness, the other Helen moaned in Aphrodite’s arms as the goddess brought her down to the ship’s deck.
    As Aphrodite landed, frightened voices cried out. From the place of command behind the tiller, a large man stepped forward. Helen knew him instantly.
    Hector. He looked exactly the same, except for his hair and the style of dress. This Hector kept his hair longer than the one Helen knew in Nantucket, and he wore a brief linen garment tied around his waist with a leather belt. Leather straps were wrapped around his hands, and a thick, gold ornament encircled his neck. Even half-naked he looked like royalty.
    “Aeneas,” Hector called over his shoulder as he stared down disbelievingly at the bloody mess in Aphrodite’s arms. A carbon copy of Orion, minus the disfiguring scar across his bare chest and back, stepped forward and stood at attention at Hector’s right shoulder. “Go below and wake my brothers.”
    “Hurry, my son,” Aphrodite whispered to Aeneas. “And bring honey.” He nodded respectfully to his mother and strode off, but his gaze stayed on the other Helen as he moved past. His face was drawn with sadness.
    “Water!” Hector barked, and many feet marched off at once to obey him. Half a moment later, Paris ran up from belowdecks, with Jason one step behind. Like the other ancient versions of the men she knew, Jason looked exactly the same, apart from the clothes he wore.
    A strange, choked-off cry burst out of Paris when he realized what he was looking at, and he ran to the other Helen on unsteady legs. His hands shook as he took her from Aphrodite, his face blanching under his deep tan.
    “Troilus,” Hector said to Jason, indicating with his chin for his youngest brother to take the bucket of water that had just arrived. The other Helen pushed weakly at Paris’ chest when he tried to bring water to her lips.
    “What happened, Lady?” Troilus asked Aphrodite when it was clear that Paris wouldn’t, or couldn’t, speak.
    “Menelaus and his city turned on her when they found out about the baby,” the goddess said simply.
    Paris’ head snapped up, his face frozen with disbelief. Hector and Aeneas shared a brief, desperate look and then both glanced down at Paris.
    “Did you know, brother?” Hector asked gently.
    “I hoped,” he admitted, his voice hushed with emotion. “She lied to me.”
    All the men but Paris nodded, like they could understand Helen’s choice.
    “The Tyrant.” Aeneas barely whispered the word, but it was obvious they were all thinking it. “Mother. How did Menelaus find out that Helen was pregnant?”
    Aphrodite tenderly brushed her fingertips across her half sister’s shoulder. “Helen waited for your ship to clear the horizon and then she told Menelaus herself.”
    Paris started shaking all over. “Why?” he asked the other Helen, his voice high with the effort to hold back tears. The other Helen ran her bloody hand across Paris’ chest, trying to soothe him.
    “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and put her hand on her belly. “I tried, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill us myself.”
    Troilus leaned against his brother, propping him up, as they all regarded Helen with a mixture of awe and dismay.
    “Don’t mourn, Paris. Your baby lives,” Aphrodite said. “She will grow to look just like our beautiful Helen, and her daughter will grow to look just like her mother—and so on and so on for as long as the line lasts. I have seen to it, so that even after my half-mortal sister is gone, I may always look upon the face that I love best in this world.”
    The golden glow of the goddess brightened, and she regarded the men of Troy one at a time, her voice taking on the timber of quiet thunder rolling in the distance.
    “You must all swear to me that you will protect my sister and her child. If Helen and her line of daughters die, there will be nothing on Earth for me to love,” she said, her eyes falling apologetically on her son, Aeneas, for a moment before they hardened against him. He dropped his head with a wounded look, and Aphrodite turned to Hector. “As long as my sister and her line of daughters lasts, there will be love in the world. I swear it on the River Styx. But if you let my sister die, Hector of Troy, son of Apollo, I will leave this world and take love itself away with me.”
    Hector’s eyes closed for a moment as the