Warrior Rising (Goddess Summoning #6)(82)

“My wish?”

“You know, as soon as the war’s over the goddesses owe us each a wish.”

Kat blinked. “Well, shit. I forgot all about that.” Then she raised a brow at her friend. “You want me to squander my wish on champagne so you can drink it, too, without having to wish for it.”

“That makes me sound very shallow, Katrina.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yes, definitely.” They’d reached the receded shoreline and Jacky started tying up her skirts, motioning for Kat to do the same. “Okay, this is easy. We just feel around with our toes out there where the low tide has exposed all that naked sand to find the clams. Then we dump them in the bucket and take them to a menial to cook.”

“All right, but if something tries to eat me…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll press your panic button or scream for Achilles. But don’t worry about it. His mama said she’d make sure nothin’ from the sea attacks you again. Hey, now that I think about it, it’ll probably be very cool having a goddess for a mother-in-law.”

“You’re right. Sadly for you, I hear Patroklos’s mom is a Harpy.”

“Jesus wept! Are you kidding me?”

Kat grinned at her and started digging around in the smooshy wet sand. “Would I do that?”

Jacky had been right. The clams practically leapt into their bucket, which made them wonder if Achilles’ sea goddess mom might be lending them a little unseen hand. So it was barely a couple hours past dawn when the two of them, well fortified by swine sandwiches and an abundance of wine, started to meander slowly back to camp.

And then the day exploded.

“Wonder what’s up with him?” Kat asked, pointing to a warrior who was coming in a flat run down the beach.

Jacky shaded her eyes and squinted to get a better look. She shrugged. “Patroklos mentioned something about the men training early today. Maybe they’re starting a new sprint-down-the-beach drill.”

“Training early? Really? Weird that Achilles didn’t say anything.”

“Perhaps his mouth was too busy with other things last night,” Jacky said.

Kat opened her own mouth to agree totally, with some juicy girlfriend details added in, when the runner caught sight of them and instantly changed direction to head straight for them.

“This doesn’t feel right,” Jacky said.

“Crap,” Kat said in agreement.

The warrior reached them. Kat recognized him as Diomedes, Aetnia’s man. He was gasping for breath, but his words were still sickeningly clear. “Princess, you and Melia must come. It’s Patroklos. He is dying.”

Jacky grabbed Kat’s hand. “Take me to him. Now,” Jacky said.

The warrior reversed his path, slowing his pace so that he wouldn’t outdistance the two women. Kat wanted to ask what had happened, but she didn’t have any breath to waste on words. Obviously neither did the silent and stone-faced woman who ran beside her. It seemed to take forever, but they finally got back to the Myrmidon camp and Patroklos’s tent. Kat looked at the somber, blood-spattered men surrounding the tent and her heart sank.

She and Jacky entered the tent to find Patroklos lying on the wide bed, drenched in fresh blood, with Kalchas hovering over him like a carrion bird.

“Get away from him,” Jacky snapped, shoving the skinny old man aside. “Oh, god, no.” Was all Kat heard Jacky say, and then her friend was all business. She glanced up at the two warriors standing bedside. “Help me get him out of this armor.” They obeyed her automatically, pulling off armor that had turned from gold to a damp scarlet.

Kat felt a rush of sickness as she got a clearer view of Patroklos’s nasty neck wound. He was bleeding from several lacerations on other parts of his body, but it was his neck that looked particularly terrible. Jacky bent over him, prodding and poking. Without looking up, Jacky spoke to her. “You have to find me something like a straw. It can’t collapse, but it can’t be too much bigger than a straw. Hurry, Kat.”

“I’ll find something.” Kat paused only long enough to squeeze her friend’s arm and then she ran from the tent.

When she saw Odysseus approaching she could have cried with relief.

“Is he dead?”

“Not yet, but I’m afraid he will be unless you help me with something,” Kat said.

“Anything.”

“I need a reed, or anything about this long and hollowed out like this.” Kat showed him with her hands. “It can’t be flimsy or too flexible—it can’t collapse. Do you understand?”

“Yes. This way.” He turned on his heel and Kat scrambled to keep up with him as he hurried toward the dunes. “Lucky it’s midsummer. They’re too weak during the spring, and too brittle during the winter, but this time of year they may work.” Odysseus seemed to be talking more to himself than to her as he searched through the grasses. “We thought it was him, you know.”

“Him?” Kat was barely listening. She just wished she knew what the reed looked like so she could help him.

“Achilles. We thought Patroklos was Achilles—even I believed it. That’s what Athena had told me.”

Kat looked carefully at his face. Odysseus appeared uncharacteristically angry—almost like he was pissed at his goddess. She touched his arm and his attention went from the reeds he was pawing through to her. “You didn’t know about this ruse, did you?”