Alexis of Sparta (Book II) - Unedited, first draft*

κξ′ - Eíkosiepta

Twenty-Seven

The next morning, I was summoned to the Myrmidon training grounds. After attacking Achilles—if you could call that an attack—I retreated to my room and refused to see anyone. The tiny room had become a haven of solitude the past few days.

"None of it is your fault, either, Alexis."

I chewed a hole in my bottom lip as Achilles' words tumbled around my head. He was wrong. It was all my fault. If I hadn't been here, Zoisme would still be alive, probably with her mother and the other Amazons. I let my defences down just enough that Paris slipped through. Let my feelings for him grow. All that did was hurt me and everyone around me. War had come anyway, everyone's fates still exactly as they were supposed to be. Except for mine.

We were scheduled to leave to join the rest of the Grecian army in a few days time, once all we gathered enough supplies and the remainder of the Phthian army arrived. Then the great army would sail for Troy. And I would be with them.

The training grounds were empty. The Myrmidons were given time to spend with loved ones and prepare for travel. The midday sun sat high above, its rays warming the sand, which slipped through the cracks of my sandals, scratching the bottoms of my feet. With the towering walls of the palace sweeping around me, there was little wind, leaving the humid heat to fester.

I was wrong. The grounds were not empty. Achilles stood near the wash basin, wiping his hands on a tattered cloth. As I approached, he set the cloth on the lip of the basin and turned to face me, a spark in his blue eyes. I couldn't tell whether that spark was good or bad, but I was about to find out.

"You look like you haven't bathed in days," Achilles remarked, his snipe belied by the glimmer of amusement.

I didn't jump to the bait, forcing my expression into a mask of chilling indifference. The heat indeed did seem to diminish, freezing the glimmer in Achilles' eyes.

"Yeah, well grief can be a bitch," I bit back, "what am I doing here?"

The clench in his strong jaw was the only indication that I struck a nerve. He sauntered around the basin, coming close enough for me to see the etches of his mouth, the smudged beginnings of a beard across his jaw and under his chin.

"Training," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I decided to train you."

That was not at all what I expected. I tilted my head, forcing that coolness to stay in place. Grief did wonders for my ability to not care. "You want to train me? Why the change of heart?"

"You said Bacchus was going to train you, but he's missing." Achilles pursed his lips, the only indication that he was worried about the boy. The boy I'd grown to care about as well. I tried to recall the last time I saw him, but everything after we returned to the Amazon camp was a blur. "Perhaps I decided that I should show you a thing or two in the meantime."

I tilted my head and nudged my toes in the sand. "I don't know, I'm getting the impression you've been replaced by a doppelganger. A much nicer one at that."

"Alexis." My name came out tired, exasperated. As if training me was not actually Achilles' idea but, probably, Patroclus'. "You wanted this. Now grab a sword."

"Do we even have time for this?" I asked, even as I scrambled for a sword. A practice sword, more like it. Someone had carved it from wood, just like the children's swords I'd seen at a renaissance fair last year—

I blinked, my hand curling around the wooden handle. A renaissance fair? What was that? Ribbons, tents, horseback riding, elaborate costumes flashed in my mind but they were hazy. Unfamiliar. Like they weren't really my memories at all—