The harbour was dark when the Kalliste docked, the watch-fires on the walls the only light. Paris stepped onto the pier and reached back for Helen's hand. She took it without a word. They had both stopped speaking an hour ago. There was nothing left to say.
The guard at the harbour gate recognized him. The man's mouth opened, but Paris cut him off before he could speak. "My father. Is he alive."
"Alive, my lord. The queen is with him."
"Send word to the palace. Tell my brothers I'm here."
The guard's eyes flicked to Helen. He knew. Everyone in the Greek world would know that face. He didn't speak. He simply turned and ran.
Paris walked through the lower town with Helen beside him. The streets were empty, but faces appeared at windows, drawn by the sound of footsteps. No one shouted. No one cheered. They stared at the woman in the dark cloak, and the whispers spread like wind through wheat.
