Hecuba was half-asleep in the chair beside Priam's bed when she heard him shift. She had learned to wake at the smallest sound from him—a cough, a sigh, the rustle of blankets. Forty years of marriage had trained her body to be alert to him, even when her mind was fogged with exhaustion.
"Priam." She straightened, reaching for his hand. "What is it. Are you in pain. Do you need Antiphus."
"No. I need you to do something for me." His voice was steady—steadier than it had been in weeks. That steadiness worried her more than pain would have. "In the alcove. Behind the tapestry. There's a loose stone in the floor. Lift it."
Hecuba stared at him. "What stone. What are you talking about."
"The stone in the alcove floor. Loose. Lift it. There's a compartment beneath. Bring me what you find there."
