Helen of Sparta by Amalia Carosella

of his food away and rose. “I suppose that I should dress and make an appearance at this dedication to show our al legiance.”
    Theseus smiled, breaking off a large piece of the bread. “It has only been one sleepless night, Pirithous. Surely you cannot be tiring so soon.”

    Every potential suitor seemed to have arrived to see the sacrifice made to Zeus. No doubt they hoped the god would send some sign in blood of who might be favored as Helen’s futur e husband.
    Or else they had hoped she would dress in the Cretan style, with her breasts bared for the ritual. Theseus had been relieved to see she had chosen otherwise, but the red gown she wore was still stunning. The bodice was a brilliant poppy shade, with the tiered skirt fading into deep purple at her feet. A practical choice when dealing with animal sacrifice or any amount of blood.
    Theseus frowned. Perhaps he should have spoken to Tyndareus the previous evening and made his intentions known. Theseus still wasn’t sure he should be intent upon anything, but he could not seem to stop himself. Helen was charming and brilliant, and she did not look at him as though he were anything more than a man. She did not fear him, or simper, or offer him any undue honors simply because his father was Poseidon. The last woman who had treated him in such a way had bee n Antiope.
    But Helen was no Amazon. Unlike Antiope, Helen would be capable of returning his love fully as an equal, without the disdain of years spent among a people who would rather spear a man than marry him. If she wanted him. If she loved h im at all.
    Aphrodite, I beg you. Smile on me, now. Let her retur n my love.
    From where he stood, Theseus could see Helen’s hand shake as she held the knife to the bull’s throat. Tyndareus noticed, too, and his hand covered hers, steadying the blade. Helen’s brothers stood beside her, ready to offer two more victims to Zeus. The priests droned on as they scattered the barley, taking advantage of such an audience to remind those gathered of their duties to the gods.
    Theseus did not listen to the words of the priests, but he said his own prayer to Zeus, his uncle. Give me your blessing, Zeus. Let Helen be mine, if you will it. You will find no man more capable of guarding your daughter, no man more fitting to be he r husband.
    Helen, with Tyndareus, made the cut across the animal’s throat, and blood poured out, steaming in the morning air. The priests pressed golden bowls to the skin to c ollect it.
    Someone touched his elbow, and he glanced down to see a woman near Helen’s age. He had seen her in the palace. She was one of Tyndareus’s servants, almost certainly. She gestured him closer, and he ducked his head that she might speak without disturbing the others ar ound them.
    “My lady Helen wishes to speak with you, my lord.”
    He grew still as stone, and his gaze leapt to Helen at the altar. She watched him closely as her mai d went on.
    “In private, if it might be arranged without drawing attention. She trusts you will not betray her confidence in thi s matter.”
    The woman released his arm and he straightened. Helen met his eyes and inclined her head as if confirming her maid’s words. The motion was so slight and smooth, the gold and silver ornaments in her hair did not e ven chime.
    Is this your sign, Zeus? Or is it onl y Helen’s?
    It didn’t matter. He could not deny her either as he ro or man.
    These us nodded.
    Helen’s posture relaxed almost at once, and she turned her gaze back to the priests as they spoke the final words of the ritual, carving the thighbones and fat from the carcass to burn for the gods.
    Theseus glanced down at the maid, but she had disappeared. Pirithous arched an eyebrow, following the girl’s movement as she slipped back through the crowd. Of course Pirithous would have made it his business to overhear.
    Tyndareus led Helen away from the altar. A few men stepped forward to make their own offerings, but most followed