Warrior Rising (Goddess Summoning #6)(35)

“No, I don’t. How could I? Odysseus explained what happens to you, and I witnessed the beginnings of it. What you were turning into is definitely not what you are now.”

For a moment Achilles bowed his head, as if such an enormous weight had just been lifted from him that he had to bend to bear the absence of it. Then slowly, meticulously, his shoulders straightened and his head lifted. Achilles met her eyes.

“You are the only woman I have ever known who has understood that. It is not me. It is something that possesses me. I cannot control it. I can rarely stop it. I cannot even summon it at will.” He made a derisive sound deep in his throat. “If I could I would not have had to make myself hideous with these scars.”

“They don’t make you hideous,” Kat said. Her fingers still rested on the ridge of the old scar on his bicep. “They’re a part of you. In my mind they’re just the physical evidence of how hard you’ve had to work.” She smiled at him. “There’s bound to be a price for everyone knowing your name.”

“You’ve said it correctly. It is my price. My penalty. My burden and, ironically, my choice.” He looked down at where her fingers lay gently against his arm. “When I was a boy I was given the choice of my fate. I was asked to choose happiness and love and a life that would be full, but forgotten, or a warrior’s life of battle and death too soon, but eternal glory. I chose glory. I wanted my name to be sung for untold generations.” Achilles’ deep voice was bitter with self-loathing. “Do you know that I will meet my death here, before the walls of Troy?”

“I’ve, uh, heard the rumor that you would.” Of course Kat had heard about it. She remembered that much mythology. Achilles, the warrior who was invulnerable except for his heel, was killed by an arrow through said heel, near the end of the Trojan War. Kat felt a jolt of panic. Why the hell hadn’t she thought more about that?

“How long have you been here fighting the Trojans?”

“Almost a full decade,” he said.

“Well, shit!” Kat grabbed his hand. “I don’t want you to fight anymore.”

His brow lifted. “Did I not just proclaim to Agamemnon that I have withdrawn from the fighting?”

Kat felt a ridiculous surge of relief that was extraordinarily short lived. Wait… in Homer’s incredibly boring Iliad hadn’t Achilles withdrawn from the battle, too? But then he’d rejoined it and ended up being speared through the heel. But why? What had made him fight again?

“Goddamnit!” Kat cursed, turning to refill the goblet again. “I so should have paid better attention in school.”

“School?”

She shook her head, brushing off his question while her mind raced. Okay, it was logical to believe the reason he rejoined the war, and was eventually killed, had something to do with his berserker rage. Fine. So she’d work on helping him break the triggers for the rage and then, voila! He wouldn’t be uncontrollable. He’d actually stay out of the fighting and wouldn’t be killed.

“Okay, yes. I’ve heard you’re supposed to die in the Trojan War. But I’ve been sent here by Athena to make sure that doesn’t happen,” she said boldly, shrugging internally. Athena and the other two goddesses didn’t want him fighting. Him not fighting and him not dying were practically the same thing.

He was watching her with an intent expression in his compelling blue eyes that she thought might be the beginnings of hope.

“I am fated to die before the gates of Troy after the death of your brother, Hector.”

Kat felt a terrible clutching in her stomach. That’s right—she remembered something about Achilles killing the King of Troy’s son, who just happened to be the brother of the body she was temporarily inhabiting.

“Well, then we will just have to be sure you don’t kill Hector, won’t we?”

“You believe a god-ordained fate can be changed?”

“I know a goddess who believes it. Actually I know several goddesses who believe it, and I’ve found that women are usually more reasonable about subjects like war and violent death than men. So let’s go with the goddesses’ version on changing fate, shall we?”

Achilles’ expression was absolutely serious. “There is little I wouldn’t give to change my fate, Princess.”

“Good. Then let’s get started.” Kat smiled and held the goblet out to him. “Have a drink with me. I’m going to talk to you about relaxation.”

An hour and two goblets of wine (mostly drank by Achilles) later Kat had the urge to grab his wide shoulders and give him a massive shake. And she would have, if she thought it would have done any good. Achilles was lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. His body was rigid and he was definitely not relaxed.

“Look, you’re never going to relax if you don’t believe you can.”

“I don’t allow myself to relax,” he said gruffly.

“Well, you’re going to have to learn how. All right. Try this. Think about each area of your muscles like they’re parts of you that need to be trained—individually. The training you’re giving them is to relax completely. So you’re really just ordering parts of your body to do something. It’s no different than ordering your arms to pick up a sword and then swing it to protect yourself.”