Carrie Vaughn: Discord's Apple

“We found a Greek dog skulking on the beach,” one of the soldiers said, and shoved Sinon to the ground.

He struggled to his knees and got his bearings. The horse towered above, casting its morning shadow over the sand. The crowd that had gathered formed a circle around a tall man draped in a purple robe. He was old, but held himself proudly, and wore a silver band on his nearly bald head. This had to be Priam, King of the Trojans.

Sinon caught his eye. He would speak to this man alone.

He spat, scowling with hatred. “I am no Greek. Not anymore.”

Priam looked down on him. “Explain yourself.”

The story. The pain of betrayal. The wounds on his wrists. “They needed to make a sacrifice to bring fair winds for their journey. A human sacrifice of blood, since that was how they won fair winds for their departure. Odysseus—” He snarled when he said the name, as if it had a sour taste. “—has always hated me since I served his rival, Palomedes. He tricked the Greeks into murdering him, and now came his chance to kill me. He named me as the sacrifice. But I escaped. They had to sail with the tide and could not chase after me.” He gasped, short of breath, and bowed his head. “My lord, you are my only hope of shelter now.”

His guards shifted behind him, gripping weapons they didn’t dare raise. They weren’t happy with his story. But others of the crowd murmured, “Butchers!” and “Poor man.”

Priam’s frown deepened. His voice was gentle. “You have been ill-used. Do you truly hate them now?”

Sinon’s face contorted with pain. “I do.”

“Untie him.” The guards cut the ropes. Sinon slumped, relieved. “We can give you shelter here. If you tell us what they meant to do with this.” Priam gestured at the horse. “Is it truly an offering as the inscription says? Or is it another Greek trick?”

The bait was set. The trap must close. His story must be true.

He chuckled, wiping at saliva that dripped down his numb chin. “The oracles revealed that Pallas Athena was angry at the theft of the Palladium from her temple. And they thought that a good prank at the time. They built this to appease her.”

“Why did they make it so large?”

He did not have to pretend to wince in pain. The cut on his lip stung. He was still kneeling in the dust, his back bowed. “Because—because they did not want you to carry it inside the city. That would turn Fortune toward you and your city and away from them. They hoped that you would destroy it, and bring Athena’s anger onto yourselves.”

He spoke knowingly, wryly, as if to say, The Greeks are fools to think they could trick you so. You know the truth when you hear it. He spoke to convince them: I am truth. You believe they’d do this to me because you believe they’re treacherous dogs. I am easy to believe.

They nodded among themselves, whispering, glancing at the horse with covetous eyes. Sinon knelt before them, a broken man without pride, without hope, with nothing to lose by telling them the truth.

He should have been a bard.

A woman fought to the front of the crowd.

She was young and wore the white robes of a priestess. Her skin was pure, shining with beauty. Gold cords laced her black hair, binding back the thick curls.

“No! Father, no!” At last she broke free from the hands that tried to hold her back. She clutched at Priam, tugging his sleeve, clawing at his arm. “Father, it’s a trick! Don’t listen to him, he is lying, it’s a trick, the greatest trick of all! Centuries from now, our name will mean ‘trick’ because of this! Generations to come will think us fools!”

Priam’s daughter. Sinon thought her beautiful, even as her words chilled him.

Gently but firmly, as he might push away an insistent puppy, Priam took the woman’s wrists and held her off. “What do you mean?”

“The horse is hollow and filled with Greeks! If you bring it into the city, they’ll burn us to ashes! There will be nothing left!” She begged, her eyes wide and face taut with fear.

Sinon stared. His instinct was to jump to his feet and run away. It was all over, the prophetess had spoiled everything. As if she felt his gaze on her, she turned and pointed at him, her mouth open in a horrified grimace.

She knew—damn her, she knew! He could do nothing but keep his place and look confused.

Someone in the crowd laughed. “That’s ridiculous!”

Priam regarded his daughter sadly. “Cassandra, is this another one of your foolish dreams?”

“It’s true, it’s true! Everything is true!” She stomped in place, screaming. A nearby gentlewoman grabbed her arms and held her still. Priam closed his eyes, seeming suddenly weary.

The gentlewoman said, “Her madness speaks nonsense, Sire.”

Cassandra screamed until the woman took her away.

Madness. They thought her mad. Sinon tried to look pitying instead of relieved.

The murmurs among the crowd had started again: “It is a gift from the gods!” and “The war is truly ended!” And finally, “Bring the horse in! The magnificent horse must live in the city! May the blessing of Athena be upon us!”

At last Priam, either listening to the cheers or taking his own counsel, said, “Yes. Bring men to drag the horse into the city. We should have some trophy for all this hardship. And you.” He knelt and touched Sinon’s shoulder. “Take some rest within our walls.”

“Thank you, my lord. Thank you.”

The gratitude, at least, was genuine.

Frank dropped a spoon on the floor while lifting it from the drawer to his cereal bowl on the counter, and Evie jumped out of her chair, her heart racing.

“Dad, are you okay?” She rushed to grab the spoon and hand it to him before he could stoop to reach it.

He straightened, scowling as he took it from her. “I just dropped a spoon.”

Pouting, she clenched her hands.

He said, “I’m not going to drop dead in front of you. You’ll have some warning, trust me.”

Turning away, she pinched the bridge of her nose to stop herself from crying again, then stalked back to the table and her own bowl of cereal.

They’d kill each other before he could die of cancer if they kept this up. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

“No, I’m glad you’re here.”

It was just as well she had to rewrite the entire script for the May issue of Eagle Eyes. It would give her something to do instead of staring at her father, watching for symptoms.

She insisted on clearing the dishes, asking all the while if there was anything else he needed, if there was anything else she could do to help. Did the garbage need to go out? (No.) Did the dog need walking? (Mab had a pen out back and walked herself.) Cleaning? Cooking? Anything?

“Evie, I’ve lived alone for five years. I can take care of myself.”

This left her with her eyes watering, yet again.

He closed his eyes and seemed to be counting to ten. “Why don’t you run to the store? I’m almost out of eggs and bread. I probably need to stock up since there’s two of us.”

She jumped at the chance to do something, anything. And to get out of the house. She hadn’t even been back a day, and she was feeling claustrophobic.

He tried to give her money to pay for the groceries.

“No, I’ll get it.”

“Nonsense. You had to travel all this way, you’re staying here as a guest—take it.”

The starving-artist days when she’d struggled to make ends meet with a part-time data-entry job were still vivid in their memories. He wasn’t used to her being able to pay, much less offering to do so.

“There’s little enough I can do while I’m here—let me buy groceries for you.”