It was not coincidence, she realised with a chill, that the temple physician was laid up with a broken leg. His fall from the Shining Cliffs was a nudge, not a stumble, and her stomach churned as she remembered who it was who’d raced down the cliffs to sound the alarm—
“So that’s where you’re hiding!”
His voice broke the silence now, and as she turned, Cassandra’s limbs were shaking.
Ah, but she was a wonderful actress, her father said of her mother. But you. You are even better.
This was true. Her smile was wide as she greeted him brightly.
“Jason!” She injected relief into her voice. “I thought you’d gone back to bed! So now tell me. What symptoms did you find on Laertes’ body?”
“That’s what took me so long,” he said, and when he moved towards her, she backed away. “No matter how hard I pleaded, no matter what tricks I pulled, the Guardians of the Vigil would not let me near him.”
Cassandra wished she could have sounded surprised.
In the darkness of the inner sanctum, music that was a combination of Persian and Egyptian, Phoenician and Arabic filtered down from the temple. Behind the partition painted to resemble the rockface, the doves of prophesy cooed, and in the tripod, sweet-smelling herbs emitted their scents. Lemon balm, oregano, and mint.
She was a wonderful actress, but you, child, you are better.
In the past, whenever a sibyl had heard the true voice of Apollo, she had complained of smoke rising from a fissure in the floor that gave off a light, scented odour. The breath of the god. After which she fell into that fateful, delirious trance—
Wailing and thrashing in her created odour, Cassandra quickly attracted the attention of the priests and acolytes above. Jason burst through the false wall in alarm.
“What is it, my love? What’s the matter?”
When she didn’t respond, he called for “Water! Light! Give her air!” And when he tried to lift her off the stool, he found that he could not. A crowd gathered round, her father among them, his face a picture of agony.
I’m sorry, so sorry, she wanted to tell him. I know this is how you found my mother so long ago, but truly I know no other way…
The Oracle could not — must not — be discredited.
Even at the expense of her own father’s pain.
Soon the Council came running, the heavyweights who ran the administration, and the aristocrats who governed it. Through her twitching and groaning, Cassandra saw the face of her cousin, Hermione, at the edge of the crush. Familial concern tinged with more than just a little hopefulness, she noticed through her jibbering. Poor, sweet Hermione. Fated to be disappointed again.
“I see death which is not a death,” she howled, and there was no need to disguise her voice. This was Apollo speaking through Cassandra’s own voice, just as he had through previous sibyls’.
“Laertes,” someone hissed in translation. “She means it was murder.”
Her arms flailed. “From fruit which is not a fruit.”
“Poison,” whispered somebody else.
“I see the shadow of the Ferryman inside this chamber.”
Beside her, Jason’s frame had gone unaccountably still and, as her frenzy caused her to toss more herbs of prophesy into the eternal flame, she reflected again on how handsome he was. How funny. How virile. How cunning.
“Who?” one of the priests asked. “Who killed Laertes?”
But the Oracle was passing into convulsions, and as she thrashed, Cassandra noticed her father slip away from the sanctum, tears streaming down his bearded cheeks. She ached to go with him, hug him tight to her breast, show him that his daughter was not dying. But the Oracle could not leave. Rooted to her stool — to her destiny — Cassandra tore at her hair in grief and despair.
You are better than your mother…
She was not, she was not, this anguish was real. Here, before the Governing Council and the enterprise that was Delphi, she was betraying the only man she’d ever loved.
“Can you see in your flames the face of the murderer?” one of the elders asked. “Do you see the face of the man who sought to bring disgrace on this place?”
Not in the flames, she wanted to scream. I see his face here, in my heart.
“Zeus is the foundation of the earth and the sky.” She was supposed to be rambling. She might as well ramble from the hymn that had kept her awake all through the night. And the images that had tormented her with it. “Zeus is the breath of all things.”
“She means divine retribution will befall him,” someone interpreted.
“I see two heads in a womb and two quivers of arrows. And the bear will ride on the back of the dolphin and smite the beast that tried to kill him.”
“Twins!” an acolyte shouted. “She means twins,” and suddenly all the priests were chorusing at once.
“The dolphin is Apollo—”
“—his arrows are rays of light!”
It must be the shock of the Oracle’s trance, she decided. Otherwise they’d have realised instantly that the dolphin was Apollo’s sacred emblem, just as the bear was his sister’s.
“Apollo is telling us that sacrilege has been perpetrated against him, but that Artemis, the huntress, will strike down the assassin on behalf of her brother.”
Mutterings ran round the sanctum.
“The killer has already left Delphi—”
“—but we need take no action ourselves—”
“—because Apollo will have his revenge through his sister!”
“Justice is served,” someone pronounced.
But what was justice, if not a matter of perspective? From the corner of her eye, she glanced at Jason. His face might as well have been carved of stone. Tasked with ensuring Laertes’ death, the assassin had been true to his mission, and in so doing he had saved a crown and a dynasty. To his king, crushing rebellion was righteous. The assassin would be a hero when he returned — but what justice for the man who fed Laertes the poison?
With a final shriek, Cassandra threw her arms into the air, then collapsed onto the floor. This was the sign that the Oracle had stopped prophesying. Visions were only possible when seated upon her sacred stool. The crowd gasped.
“It’s a miracle!”
“The trance hasn’t claimed her life after all.”
Even Hermione appeared relieved.
“Apollo has spoken without killing his mouthpiece—”
“—he wants us to know that this sacrilege will be avenged.”
As they trickled out — the Council, the priests, even Jason, who she noticed was shaking — four words echoed inside her head. Sacrilege will be avenged. Yes, it would, she thought dully. Sacrilege would be avenged, but not in the way they imagined.
Only she, Cassandra, had the power to do that…
Alone in her sanctum, the Oracle wept.
“I’m so sorry, Cassandra.” The priests bade the stretcher-bearers lay down their burden. “You have our deepest sympathy.”
The body was covered by linen, but the red stains told their own story. She stared with a heart that was broken.
“It was the will of the gods, Cassandra. Apollo needed a sacrifice, and since he spared your life, he took the life of someone you loved.”