“—for the invincible warrior Achilles.”
Greta smiled a small, mysterious smile, kind of like the one Smith used to see on Arden. He hated—well, loved—no, hated that wise, womanly smile. “I like to think it could somehow be true,” she said, “but external logic would imply not.”
“But this is his sword.” Ancient. Precious.
Amazingly powerful.
He fisted his hand, resisting the urge to slide a finger down its fuller, the groove that divided the flat of the blade. Don’t touch it. If you do, you’ll be lost….
“So says my family legend.”
Smith’s own family hadn’t been that big on legends. Sure, they traced back to investors of the Peters Colony, some of the earliest white settlers of central Texas. Before that, they went all the way to Jamestown.
But Troy? Not so much.
“Your family the Hapsburgs. Of the Holy Roman Empire Hapsburgs. Aren’t some of them still running around, heading the family in Austria?”
Dido flopped back onto her tummy, watching them through spaniel eyes.
“In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, many of the royal families of Europe experienced schisms, even complete exile, as did the Stuarts of England. The Stuarts who even now head the Comitatus, yes?”
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