Discord's Apple

He waited for the soldiers, standing by Cassandra as if he had captured her himself.

A trio of the Greeks reached the temple. One of them spoke to the others, then stepped forward alone. He still wore his helmet, masking his face and giving him an inhuman expression. His tunic, breastplate, and arms were covered with blood.

“Sinon! Sinon the Hero!”

Sinon raised his hand in greeting. He didn’t know him, but he shouldn’t have been surprised that this one knew his name. He supposed he was famous now—the man who cracked the walls of Troy with a lie.

Smiling broadly, the newcomer stared at Cassandra. “I hope you haven’t spoiled this one too badly. King Agamemnon has asked for her. She’s the most beautiful of Priam’s daughters.”

One couldn’t tell by looking at her now. Tears and soot streaked her face, which was still contorted from crying. Her hair was tangled, her clothing soiled. But her eyes still shone with spirit. Sinon remembered her from the day before—had it only been a day?—shouting, defiant: He is lying!

“She’s mad, you know,” Sinon said.

“Hmph. So she’s lost her mind. That isn’t what the good king wants her for.” The soldier moved to grab her.

Before he could reach her, Cassandra struggled to her feet, pulling herself up against the column. Sinon reached to help her, but she shrugged away from him. She kept her gaze on the helmeted soldier, glaring at him like she could peel back his skin with a thought.

“He is dead. Your King. Your Agamemnon. He doesn’t know it yet, but he is.” Scowling, the soldier again went to take hold of her, but she evaded him, circling the pillar, keeping the stone between them. “He doesn’t know what’s been happening at his home, but I do, and he is already dead. We’re all dead. All of us.”

Then she looked at Sinon, her dark eyes lit with madness. “Except for you.” Her gaze narrowed, her head tilting curiously. Wonderingly, she said, “You don’t die.”

She was mocking him again. Except she never lied. And she was a prophetess. But the phrase could mean anything. It could be a symbol. Men made careers interpreting the phrases of oracles. It could mean anything.

“Come on.” The soldier caught her at last, his fingers digging into her arm. She didn’t make a sound, didn’t struggle at all. He dragged her down the steps, and Cassandra stared at Sinon until they reached the street and traveled out of sight.

Slowly, Sinon followed, descending the steps carefully, as if he walked on coals. The world had changed this night. Language itself had changed, and he didn’t understand the sounds he heard on the air.

Before he could raise his foot to leave the temple stairs and start on the path down to the city walls, an arm closed around his neck in a lock. Sinon grabbed the arm, trying to pull away, but his attacker was too strong, unnaturally strong. He dragged Sinon back up the steps as easily as he might have pulled a feather. The unseen man—for he was unseen, Sinon craned his head back, rolled his eyes to try to gauge the stoutness of the arm that held him so tightly, and saw that nothing held him at all—gripped him firmly, locking him against his body. Sinon was trapped, immobile, his head tilted far back, his lungs struggling to draw breath.

A voice, taut with anger and sweet with power, said at his ear, “Hera promised Cassandra to Agamemnon. But I will be compensated for the loss of my priestess, and you have desecrated my temple with your presence. You are mine, mortal. I will have you, Liar. You will feel what is being done to the women of Troy. You are now a slave.”

The arm released him, only to grab the front of his tunic and slam him to the marble floor of the portico. Sinon’s head bounced, his teeth cracking. His vision flashed as pain seared his skull.

For a moment he saw the invisible one who attacked him: a man, thick golden hair crowning a beautiful, smooth-cheeked face and brushing perfect, sculpted shoulders. His glaring eyes were the pale blue of the sky.

Sinon winced. “Apollo!”

Apollo grinned and hauled him inside the temple.

5

When Evie was little, she used to think there was a rule book, some kind of golden understanding that enlightened you when you became an adult. “When I grow up” was a place, a real state of being, where one shed childhood like a worn-out carapace. Then she learned that if kids were cruel, so were adults. Not much really changed except the size and expense of the toys. There was no book, no magic moment of enlightenment, and she took a grim satisfaction in realizing that everyone spent most of their time being just as confused as she was.

But this was different. She could feel a key sitting in her hand, even though she couldn’t quite grasp it. She could sense the door about to open. The door to the Storeroom, and what it meant. And unlike that great false Grail of adulthood, understanding really would come. When her father passed away.

She was an heir waiting for the seal on the will to be broken. And she didn’t want anything to do with it.

Her father went out again the next day. Evie thought he looked paler. Had he taken an extra painkiller at breakfast? She didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to argue anymore about him going out. He could take care of himself.

She worked on the script. The team splits up. Talon can’t get the image of his long-lost friend out of his mind. The others have never seen him like this—agitated, obsessed. It makes them nervous. The Captain has always been their anchor. Sarge offers to go with him while the others continue on the original mission to rescue the captured spy.

Tracker feels like she’s betrayed Talon by insisting on going on without him. She feels disloyal and wonders if he’ll ever forgive her. The hint of her feelings for him have been there for the last two dozen issues. Will it come out in the open soon? The tension is fierce.

So Talon and Sarge are sneaking into the stronghold of the Mongolian terrorists. The other three race deeper into Siberia—

A knock rattled the kitchen door.

Evie’s heart started speeding—a Pavlovian response of anxiety. Not again, she thought. Not this again, please. She didn’t want to stand and move to the door. Her hands were sweating and her limbs felt stiff.