the temple mural, a luminescent cluster of jellyfish with a trailing fringe, shines like freshly spilled blood in the dawn light. Soon, probably in another day’s time, the paint will dry into a muted red-pink.
My fingers twitch at my sides, aching to trace the mural lines. The pungent scent of wet paint holds me back.
Bion, crouched nearby with a paintbrush in one hand, acts as another deterrent. Gods know the flashes of anger that flooded through me when my aunts dared touch my work. Bion won’t feel any different.
But I miss the smooth texture of paint beneath my fingertips. Miss colors splotched and crusted underneath my fingernails. With all my travels, all the new sights I’ve glimpsed, there’s so much more to paint.
I could capture Thanatos’ sharp angles and soft eyes, the towering dunes spreading shadows across Kyma’s coastline, the furrow of concentration on Bion’s face as he works, or even Dionysus’ grin this morning when I trekked out of the town to visit him.
There’s no time for being the girl I once was, not now with Nyx and Zeus after me. Not with the hope Hera or her sisters will answer my message nestled in my chest like a baby bird starved for warmth, constant and overwhelming.
Am I even capable of painting anymore? It’s been months, two whole seasons, and so many events between me and that girl, lonely and painting beneath the summer sun.
“Miss!” a woman says, voice laced with irritation. Not the first time she’s called for me, judging by that tone.
I half turn, shaking my head to clear my thoughts. “Sorry. What is it?”
Strands of gray hair fall into her wrinkled face. She swipes them away, deftly tucking them into her braid, her eyes never leaving me.
I shift on my feet, nervousness prickling across my skin.
“There’s something familiar about you.” She squints, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening.
My breath catches in my throat. I cough, offering a wobbling smile, then duck my head to hide my face.
Too late. If she has any brains at all, she’ll know I’m part god. Mortals always seem to know that I’m other. That I’m not them, at least not fully.
She sighs. “Well, I can’t remember who you look like, daft old woman I’ve become. Now come inside, the cold won’t do you any good, not with how thin you are.”
I follow her, stepping through the open temple doors. For all my suspicions of how much she’s guessed, my curiosity to see inside where my mother once lived wins out.
We travel down a narrow hall, stone rough against my palms where they rest on each side. Down and down we walk, past doors closed and open, past alcoves with small statues of gods, until the hall abruptly opens into a vast room.
I squint against the light streaming through windows high on each wall. Gossamer curtains flutter over them from the crisp breeze outside. No glass, no heavy tapestries; nothing to keep out rain or snow.
“Well, here we are. Warm up by Hestia while I return to my duties.” With that, she strides off, ducking through a nearby opening and shutting the wooden door behind her with a quiet snick.
Despite the lack of protection against the outside elements, the space is pristine. Gray marble streaked with white shines in the morning sunlight, the white close to glowing beneath the onslaught of sunbeams.
A scent of something herbal, something sweet yet bitter, hangs heavy in the air. Smoke curls from a low stove carved straight into one of the goddess statue bases.
I stumble forward, hands in front of me to seek the fire’s warmth, and huddle at the base of the towering goddess. She’s rendered in stark white marble, draining all the warmth from her skin and eyes, but it’s unmistakably Hestia, goddess of the hearth. One of Hera’s older sisters; one I sent a message to days ago.
If Agathe keeps her word, if Hermes is as discreet as the stories say, the message should be with them by now. My stomach roils, bile crawling up the back of my throat. But what if someone discovers the scrap of paper before it reaches them? What if they question Hermes?
If it’s Zeus questioning Hermes…
There’s no guessing how Hermes would respond. No telling exactly how his loyalty might swing between his friend, Agathe, and his father, Zeus. Besides Thanatos, Zeus is the only one capable of killing another god, another immortal. Would Hermes betray us to save himself?
I shake those thoughts away, then tuck my trembling hands into the folds of my borrowed tunic. No point wondering about the future. Only the fates themselves, the Moirai, know what will happen next.
For long minutes, I idle beneath Hestia’s statue, warming myself. But before long, thoughts threaten to overcome me yet again. Heart thudding overloud in my chest, I force slow, measured breaths. Then I walk along the rows of statues, the bittersweet scent of burning herbs coiling around me.
Stare bouncing from one marble face to the next, I mouth their names. The entire Olympian court stands here: Zeus, Poseidon, Hera, Hestia, Demeter. Then Zeus’ children: Artemis, Apollo, Dionysus, Hephaestus, Hermes, Ares…
And there, in the middle of a row, stands Athena, the goddess of wisdom.
The goddess who cursed my mother years ago, transforming her from a young woman to a snake-haired creature capable of turning others to stone with a single look. For what? Poseidon raping my mother at the foot of Athena’s precious statue?
“Athena,” I say, or maybe snarl.
During my time in the Olympian Palace, I made myself ignore her presence. Made myself ignore the weight of her eyes lingering on the back of my head. Anything to exact revenge against Poseidon.
Not that it did me any good. Hades, look where I ended up, stuck in a small coastal town, hiding from Zeus and Nyx, biding my time until someone, anyone, thinks of a better plan.
The stove fire wavers, then jumps. The incense smoke ripples oddly, shaping into an owl’s silhouette for a single blink, so quick I’m sure I imagined it.
“You called,” a woman’s voice says.
At first, I assume one of the temple attendants has returned. Yet there’s no creak of old hinges, no closing of a wooden door.
I spin, hand tight around the hilt of a short blade strapped across my waist.
Behind me stands a woman, hands folded neatly in front of her, thin auburn eyebrows raised. Her hard gray eyes assess me from toe to head, lingering on my hand on the knife for a long moment.
“Athena,” I gasp, breath whooshing out of my chest with that single word.
My hand slackens on the knife, then clenches so tight the grooves in the rough wooden hilt dig into my palm. She’s a member of Zeus’ court. Worse, she’s found me hidden away.
“Yes, we’ve established that that’s my name,” she says, inspecting the hem of my pants.
I don’t dare blink, afraid she’ll whisk herself back to Zeus to report where I am.
She sighs. “Take your hand off the knife, please.”
“How did you get here?” I ask.
Only Thanatos moves so freely through the realms, though his ability takes a toll on his energy. Meanwhile, she stands perfectly poised, eyes clear and bright.
“I come when someone says my name beneath my statue. We all should, but I believe I’m the only one left with the habit of truly doing so.”
At my face remaining twisted in confusion, she adds, “Most children of Zeus have some ability in teleportation, though I’ll admit I’m more skilled than most. He often travels through his lightning striking the earth. I chose something quieter.”
You don’t say, I’m tempted to snark back. Instead, I clamp my mouth shut, flexing my hand on the knife hilt as a silent threat.
She smiles. “Don’t bother. We’re both immortal and I’m more experienced, besides. You must be about eighteen now, correct?”
I stumble back a step, glancing around. No lightning. No Zeus. Nothing but us in the cavernous room, only statues for company.
She nods as if I answered her. “Yes, just turned eighteen. What name did your mother decide on? Dionysus called you Chloe in the palace but you could have given a false name.”
“Don’t you dare mention my mother,” I say, close to snarling, though my heart isn’t in it. Confusion clouds my mind, rendering every word, every glance a threat and question both.
Stam presses closer to my neck, tongue flicking in anger. She knows who we are, I imagine her saying.
Reaching into my hair, I pet along her head with a shaking finger, covering the move by pretending to tweak pieces of my hair.
Athena tilts her head. “Do you have snakes, too? I wasn’t sure how the transformation would impact her pregnancy.”
My breaths rattle in my chest, lungs straining against my ribcage. You’re falling apart, I warn myself, clenching my hand around the knife hilt until my knuckles ache. The pain grounds me for a single moment, one where my breath eases and my head clears.
“I apologize for asking so many questions.” Her stare lowers to the streaked marble at our feet. “Answer only what you’re willing. After all, I’m in your debt, not the other way around.”
“Debt?” I croak.
Her eyebrows furrow. “Yes. I owed your mother a debt and with her gone…” She trails off, something like genuine grief marring her stern features. “With her gone, you’ve inherited it.”
“Inherited what? You cursed my mother!”
I spend a torturous minute flailing my hands, floundering on what to say next. All the anger, all the swears I once wanted to throw at her have disappeared in the face of her sincerity.
She exhales, long and low, and rubs a hand across her forehead. “I prevented Poseidon from raping her again. As much as he’s a monster on the inside, he typically dislikes his victims looking like monsters themselves.”
“No,” I mumble. Then, louder, “No. Nyx said—”
Her eyes sharpen, turning a seething gray like freshly forged blades prepared to strike. “Nyx says a lot of things, few of them true. What else has she told you? That she’s loyal to you? To the realms?”
At my stunned silence, she adds, “Have either proven themselves to be true?”
Nyx’s haughty disdain in the stifling heat of my prison cell beneath the palace. Actions always centered on her, always her. Did she ever ask me what I wanted? What I desired? Or did she see my anger and twist until what I wanted became what she wanted for me?
I was nothing more than an opportunity—a way of getting rid of Zeus without her facing any of the consequences. If it had been Zeus I was caught hovering over, knife poised to kill, I would’ve been killed. No, worse. Executed.
She wouldn’t have saved me.
She wouldn’t have saved me.
Her words from my room on the island: sometimes you must save yourself.
Not advice but a warning.
How much of my mother’s history was true? How much was a lie?
My aunts only knew her when she was exiled to the islands alongside them. Nyx most likely never met my mother. But there’s someone who did, someone who knew her before and after.
“Athena,” I croak. “My mother, Poseidon, your involvement—what truly happened?”
She inhales, seeming to steel herself beneath the incense haze. “Your mother was born in Kyma, raised close to this very temple. She was a great beauty, even young, and her parents did what they could to shelter her from the worst of the attention.”
She pauses, frowning. “Her parents died, one after the other, during a hard winter. It struck Kyma worse than any other town, for every other town had the advantage of a sooner spring or greater food stores.”
“So Medusa was alone by the time winter thawed to spring, and with it, men’s minds went to populating the town with children, much like the ones lost to the bitter cold. They fought over her like starving cats. But she was clever, demanding only the one willing to pay the highest price would marry her. And who could refuse? As desperate as these men were, they knew all she had lost, and it was a fair demand besides. Of course only the wealthiest man could marry the greatest beauty! It rankled their pride as much as it solidified it.”
“And? Who paid the highest price?”
She quirks a smile. “In her own way, Medusa. Her parents had left her a sum of gold coins, hidden away in the walls of their house. She alone knew where to unearth them. But clever as she was, she knew she couldn’t buy herself. The men would never allow it. Instead, she went to this temple, a plan in mind.”
“To the highest attendant, a happily unmarried woman herself, Medusa offered all her coins in return for the temple bidding higher than the rest.
‘Alas,’ the head attendant said, a twinkle in her eye, ‘But that won’t be enough. The wealthiest man has bid twice this amount.’
‘This is all I have,’ Medusa responded.
‘Not all,’ the attendant said. ‘You have your cleverness and your servitude. Offer both to this temple and no mere man will buy your hand. In the name of this temple, the gods will purchase you. You’ll remain unmarried but never alone.’
The men protested as their pride insisted they must, but solely among themselves and never where the gods might hear. And so spring shifted to summer. The sweltering heat found Medusa cloistered away in the temple, devoted to her new purpose.
Years passed. Her clever mind found use in the temple, pouring over stories and legends, histories and bestiaries, learning all she could. Her favorites, even then, were stories of me. She’d whisper them to herself, a balm against the long nights listening to the snores of the other attendants, and pray to my statue first each day.”
“Why you?” I ask.
“I never thought to ask her why I was her favorite, though I wish I had.” Her frown deepens into a scowl. “The other attendants had their own tasks, of course, and they were often apart for much of the day. She would tell me tiny snippets of gossip, or a new version of an old legend, to pass the time. I’d listen when I could, though my duties to the court called me away often.”
“Once, she happened upon Poseidon’s name. He noticed, venturing into the temple under the guise of night, when the lanterns had burned low and Medusa had slumped, asleep, onto the base of my statue. I’d let my attention slacken by then, body and mind firmly in Athansi.”
“He woke her, glimpsing her beauty at once. He tried his poor attempts at seduction, and when that failed, he raped her.”
“She prayed to me. With my attention in Athansi, I heard so little from faraway Kyma. Nothing more than faded fragments, the gossamer echo of her voice.”
Tears burn in my eyes. “You didn’t hear her in time.”
“No. That is my fault, and mine alone. Eventually, another attendant found her, and their combined prayers niggled at my mind until I switched my attention here. I found her, bleeding with the other attendants surrounding her like a shield, at the base of my statue. Within moments, I teleported to the temple.”
“It was not the first meeting I imagined, a friend meeting another. It was the aftermath of brutality. I asked what happened and, in fractured words and broken sobs, she told me. She was afraid yet not; afraid of his return, but not of naming him as her attacker.
‘Please,’ she pleaded. ‘Don’t let him come back. Don’t let him near me.’
‘I can do many things, but not that,’ I responded. ‘Poseidon has more clout than I.’
And, always clever, Medusa responded, ‘Then bargain with me. I’ll do anything, everything, to keep him away.’
‘What will you bargain with? There’s always a price,’ I asked.
Her eyes flashed. ‘I’ll give you anything you ask.’
‘Your beauty?’
‘Anything.’
‘The bargain is thus: a trade of your beauty for becoming a creature Poseidon will never touch.’
She took a trembling breath. ‘I accept.’
I shooed the other attendants back, leaving Medusa alone at my statue.”
“And then?” I ask, words a breathless mumble.
“And then I created your mother as you knew her.”
“How?”
“People often forget my place in the Titan War, a goddess of battle in my own right. I earned the title by fighting and creating both. Aside from Zeus, few others were so adept at transforming harmless creatures into snarling beasts.”
“Why the snake hair? The stone-turning gaze?”
“Poseidon dislikes snakes, simply put. The gaze was more…complicated. At first, it was to deter him should he try again. Should anyone try again. Then, it was to give Medusa her power back. No more waiting on gods to listen, no more praying to someone who scarcely listened. She lost her faith that night, but she gained her own protection.”
“And exiling her to the islands?”
She shrugs. “Something she asked me to do on Zeus’ behalf. Something I wouldn’t take payment for—Zeus would have expected me to exile her, anyway, with her new fearsome traits. I didn’t think to ask why, but when she started swelling with a child, with you, it made sense. She was protecting you even then.”
“She—” I begin, stopping to swallow a choked sob. “She insisted I never go near the sea. Never say any of the gods’ names. Never leave the islands.”
“It was the only way she knew how to protect you.”
“What would’ve happened? If he found me?”
“He would’ve stolen you, would’ve raised you into someone of his twisted vision. He has no children except you left alive for a reason: they all deserve Tartarus or beg for death by the end.”
A chill trickles across my skin, uncaring of the sunlight filtering through the windows or the blazing stove nearby. “And the debt?”
“He assaulted her on my statue, on my watch. I owed her. Now, I owe you.”
I should gasp for breath in the silence that follows. Should heave, knees pressed to the floor, until my stomach coils into a knotted ball. All I manage is a detached sort of calm. The quiet before a storm, or maybe the peace after.
There will be no killing Poseidon or Zeus, not anymore. Whatever chance I had at that is gone now, lost to time and the Moirai weaving their strands of fate.
“Don’t tell Zeus where I am,” I say, lifting my head to return her stare. “Keep me a secret, and your debt is fulfilled.”
“You want nothing else? No snakes removed?”
I curl a hand around Stam and Atia, each poking their heads from my hair with narrow-eyed looks. “No, never that.”
Her face remains somber, though her eyes flash with amusement. “You will remain a secret, no matter how direct the question.”
Her stare flickers away, toward the windows facing the town.
“Wait!” I clear my throat, forcing my voice quieter. “The people here—are you able to quell any suspicions about my parentage? One almost recognized me already.”
She grins, two rows of white, square teeth, more like a baring of teeth than a smile. “The townspeople? I’ll cloud their attention toward you as best I can. But the attendants here will aid you should you need help building the rebellion.”
I don’t shriek, but it’s a near thing.
She shrugs, unrepentant. “They lost their loyalty to the gods with Medusa’s assault. You’ll find their loyalty lies with those wronged by the gods, now.”
She glances at the windows again. Prayers filtering in from across the realm, prodding at her mind. Prayers like my mother’s years ago.
“Go,” I say.
She jolts like I’ve reached out and slapped her. Then her grin turns soft, almost motherly. “Good luck, Chloe. You’ll see the realms changed soon enough, fates willing.”
I bow my head. By the time I lift it moments later, she’s gone.