Warrior Rising (Goddess Summoning #6)(85)

In the center of the room a cloud of diamond dust exploded, and Venus stepped from the fading glitter. “Darling, what is it? I was sure Thetis said there wouldn’t be any more nasty sea surprises.” The goddess’s gaze traveled up and down Kat’s decidedly uninjured form. “But you look perfectly healthy. Katrina, you know I adore you, but you really shouldn’t waste—”

“It’s not me. It’s Patroklos,” Kat interrupted, pointing at the bed behind Venus.

The goddess turned and then gasped. “No! This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Kat stepped up beside her. “You knew he was taking Achilles’ place,” she said.

Venus’s beautiful eyes filled with tears. “It was a good idea. Patroklos leads the Greeks to victory pretending to be your Achilles. The war is over, and Achilles lives.” The goddess shook her head sadly at Jacky. “I didn’t mean for him to get hurt.”

“Save him,” Jacky said in a low, strained voice.

“Please,” Kat said. “If you didn’t mean for him to get hurt then you should save him.”

Venus approached Patroklos’s battered body. She pressed her hand on his forehead and closed her eyes. A shudder passed through her and she made a small, painful sound. “He’s going to die. This is beyond my powers to heal. It’s fate.”

“No!” Jacky yelled. “You changed fate before. Kat and I died, but you snatched our souls—you altered our fate. Do it again.”

“I cannot. There are some things beyond even Love.”

“No there aren’t,” Kat said firmly. “Love is stronger than anything—it has to be. You can save him, Venus. All you need to do is mix magic with the modern world, and you’ve definitely done that before.”

“What’s your idea, Katrina?” Venus asked, obviously intrigued.

“Give him a little of your goddess magic. Not enough to change fate, just enough to lend him some extra strength, and then send him to Tulsa. Let modern medicine change fate. They do it all the time.”

“My magic and your modern world… You may be right.”

“Saint John’s emergency room would be best. You know Tulsa—you could do it,” Kat said.

“It might work,” Venus said.

“Nothing will work unless you hurry,” Jacky said, lifting Patroklos’s slack wrist.

“Do you love him?” Venus asked her suddenly.

Jacky met her eyes. “Yes.”

“Then I simply must help you.” Venus smiled, kissed her palm and blew the kiss onto Patroklos, who shimmered briefly as if he’d been dipped in glitter. “Now, go with him and be sure you are the first face he sees when he awakens.” The goddess clapped her hands together and Patroklos and Jacky disappeared in a poof of glowing smoke.

Neither Kat nor the goddess saw Agamemnon, who at that moment backed out of the tent. They also hadn’t noticed when the Greek king had slipped within the tent, silently prepared to pretend regret at the death that should have been Achilles. Kalchas had brought him the bitter news of the masquerade after Agamemnon had already entered the Myrmidon camp, coming as soon as he’d heard that “Achilles” had fallen under Hector’s hand. By that time too many warriors had seen him. Had he turned back then he might have been blamed for the charade that had caused Patroklos his life.

But his irritation and frustration had vanished with the little scene he’d witnessed between the goddess and the two women pretending to be Polyxena and her servant. So the gods were actively orchestrating the war. He’d known it all along! Hera herself had probably whispered into his ear to hurry to the Myrmidon camp. Yes, he was sure he’d heard the goddess’s soft voice. And now he knew exactly what to do. Silently he left the tent and turned to face the Myrmidons who were keeping watch.

“Patroklos is gone,” he said solemnly, loving the irony in the truth he was only partially revealing. “Where is Achilles? He must be told.”

Diomedes stepped forward. “He has gone to the shore with Odysseus. We were to send word to him there.”

“Ah.” Agamemnon nodded. “He was trying to hold off the berserker in case Patroklos needed him. Well, that is of no consequence now. Your lord should be told.” Diomedes glanced over the king’s shoulder at the tent. “The women will be preparing his body. It is a house of death now, and no place for warriors.”

“But who will tell Achilles?”

“I am his king. I will tell him.”

Diomedes hesitated. “But, my lord, perhaps—”

“Perhaps,” Agamemnon cut in, “you should gather your men at the edge of the battlefield. What do you believe Achilles will do when he learns of his cousin’s death?”

“Sire.” This time it was Automedon who spoke. “Should we not prepare for the funeral games of Patroklos? Will he not be honored for his bravery?”

Agamemnon widened his eyes in exaggerated surprise. “Of course I would say he should be thus honored, but what do you believe Achilles will say? Or rather, what do you believe the berserker will say?”

The men muttered and Agamemnon smiled to himself.

“We will gather the men and prepare to return to battle,” Automedon said. Diomedes nodded in agreement.

“And I will give Achilles this grim news,” said Agamemnon.