Chapter 15 #2
It comes and she is wracked with tremors.
It endures, as does she, each wave and surge.
She seeks air and I give her mine. All the while her eyes hold me still, and I do not look away as she inspects her fingers where they have paused between my thighs.
Salty divinity has eased my bleeding to a thin crimson, almost pink, as though I am dyed by the lagoon.
She dips her fingers into herself and mixes the flowing ichor of her pleasure with my blood.
Our bodies swear oaths that we do not dare voice.
We moan in harmony, the ritual of her gesture shuddering through me.
For a long while we are a sermon of kisses.
We whisper to each other, everything and nothing, answers to long-ago questions.
Good girl, I tell her, such a good girl.
She becomes pliant and open again, a different kind of thirst, and tugs me up and over her.
She wriggles and pushes until she is beneath me, head cradled between my thighs, mouth open and begging.
I hesitate, scared of my weight on her, feeling the beginnings of some new and foreign shame, but she does not allow me to inspect it too closely.
She runs her fingers through the hair that hovers just above her nose and pulls me to her, resting her palms on the mounds of my rear, kneading gently.
She devours me and watches as she does so.
Blood beads at her chin when she takes a breath and my Ceto and the Cetus become one, feral and savage and ravenous.
Her tongue is flat, it ripples against me, seeking hidden places, leaving no corner of pleasure ignored.
She is relentless and my wordless cries are hushed, caught in my throat.
My convulsions are a rush, all at once and total, they bunch and release with such force that I am sent to the stars.
They wish me well as I float there, promise they will see me soon as I return to earth, past the gods to whom I pay no attention, back to the only sanctity I know.
We hold each other close. ‘Thank you,’ she murmurs.
‘Thank you for all of it,’ I reply.
Dusk descends with desire, but it is not over. We will slide into the salt, soft blooded, and begin again. It is not over. Not yet.
In my father’s language we call it the Erythraean Sea, the Red Sea.
It is not red, it is not even pink like the salt lagoon, but it is occasionally muddied with silt and becomes a kind of cinnamon, which is supposed to count for something.
My mother’s people call it the Sea of Reeds.
I should prefer this. It is honest and the reeds remind me of my grandmother.
But I admire the not-quite redness of the Erythraean Sea.
It declares itself one thing and it is believed.
We pack up and move out the next morning.
It is my first time travelling on horseback like this.
I have trotted around the palace grounds but never so long or with such a convoy.
The Lord Poseidon sends two white mares, gifts for Ceto and me.
My mother coos over his generosity and my father delights to know that they will be his to stable if the day of judgement goes as is expected.
But I am nervous of these large, skittish creatures and they are nervous of me.
Their hooves seem made of stone and their teeth look as though they could crush my arm where they protrude from their mouths.
I am stiff and awkward on their backs. I clutch my hippos in my pocket and think of how I prefer the river horses, despite their far worse reputation.
Before we leave, I must say goodbye to my grandmother; I dread this most of all. When she embraces me, I try to drink the smell of her, earth and soil and violets and fresh, clear river water. She twines blue lilies in my hair and in Ceto’s, stroking the salt from my face.
‘I will see you again.’
But for the first time in my life, I do not believe her. She cannot journey into the sea. She can’t stray too far from her father’s river. Her godhood is a golden fetter about her neck; she is dazzling and lovely and kept here. I clutch her again.
All around is the opposite of my internal distress, with excited scrambling and anticipation of what is to come.
The court cannot believe its good luck. They had been so sure of my failure and consigned me to the sympathetic condescension they reserved for disappointments, outcasts and spinsters.
But now my time has come. Those not accompanying in my mother and father’s retinue stay to prepare the palace for the bounty that will surely flood their halls when their princess is named Queen of the Sea.
Given that, should this not occur, the price is the life of their queen, I expect more anxiety.
But in all the years they have doubted my body, my health and my womanhood, they have never doubted my beauty.
I cry all that first day. First Phineus and now my grandmother, I feel fragmented and scattered, lost without her steady nurture. Will everyone and everything that is mine, the meagre mine-ness that exists, all be taken?
I try to make the most of my nights with Ceto.
It is awkward and fumbling in the thin tents and we are so surrounded, but we work to find laughter here.
It is as if this is our first time again.
I do not act as if it will be the last time.
I make her tell me of the Coral Kingdom, of its winding, watery corridors and jagged crannies where we might secret away and be ourselves again.
Ceto answers me fully, teases my attempts at future planning.
But I notice the flatness returning to her eyes, the dullness I had sworn to banish for good, and worry that each lingering embrace is a goodbye.
My mother dresses me herself, early on the morning of the judgement.
She sends my attendants and Ceto away and I let her, though Ceto lingers just outside the tent.
I do not protest. I will not get this time with my mother again.
I will be Queen of the Sea and my mother will live.
I can sense her uncertainty. She does not know what to do with this woman before her.
I am almost twenty-two. This is not how she imagined it would be, but she will not give up.
I take pity on her and sit against her knees, like the old days, as she brushes, combs, oils and braids my hair.
There is silence for a while and then she says, haltingly, ‘I hope – I hope you can understand.’
‘Understand, Mama?’
She struggles. She is good at politicking, but she is not good at this. ‘Why I – fought so hard. For this.’
I remember her raging at my grandmother.
I remember her muted lessons, behind the doors of her apartments with her women.
I remember her stroking my hair as I cried into my pillow after Phineus laughed at my presumption of power.
‘You want to give me the world. Or at least, more of it than you have had.’
‘Yes. Exactly.’ She sags in relief against me and I am surprised by it.
It occurs to me now that our years of distance may not have been entirely born from her disappointment.
She has been afraid that I hated her. She called for me less and less until, one day, not at all, but perhaps only because she sought to avoid my rejection.
I think of Phineus and the bilious regret that I will live with, always.
She finishes my hair and stands me up to add my jewellery – silver. Always silver.
‘Perfect,’ she says, beaming at me.
I take a stick of kohl and haltingly draw an eye of Horus on my leg. She beams wider, her eyes filling with something like surprise, but sweeter. I hold the kohl out to her, but she shakes her head.
‘A mark of protection could be seen as an attempt to avoid punishment, should the judgement not go my way. I will not give the sea god any reason to name me oath breaker now.’
I want to argue with her, but I do not want to waste time.
We will not have much more of it. I take my mother into my arms and hold her tight.
She freezes as though it has been an eternity since she was held like this.
And perhaps it has. She has no Achiroe. She has no Ceto.
Or maybe she does, and she too guards her secrets. I wish it for her.
When I pull away her eyes have misted but she simply says, ‘Worry not, my little queen. I am not afraid.’ She cups my face and repeats, ‘Perfect.’
I am resolved now, as we emerge from the tent.
Resigned might be more accurate but resolved is Meda and resigned is their little queen, and it makes a difference, I have learned.
I have played at blissful ignorance for years and it has bought me my best ones, the best ones anyone could have.
I can play some more. If Artemis, with her quick feet, can outrun gods and men then I can out-think them. I will not be conquered.
We stand on the shoreline, a few paces away from our small camp, facing the craggy inlet.
The day is still, humid, all the air a sweaty embrace.
My father and mother sit a little way off, elevated in sedan chairs borne on the backs of those loyal to them, for they can never be without their thrones.
I am flanked by Ceto. She and I have not spoken much this morning, we have exhausted the occasion’s words, but I lean into her closeness.
Now that I am here, facing this, it does not seem so terrible.
I will be his wife, there are rules, I convince myself, and Ceto will be there.
Amphitrite arrives first. She is resplendent, dressed again in that beaded white dress.
The sky is cloudy, the sun muffled, but her moon-bright luminosity is enough.
She is sat astride a dolphin. I have never seen one before and feel a mad desire to look closer, to pet and inspect.
I suppress a laugh when I remember that I shall be returning with them and will have my fill of such creatures.
Poseidon’s arrival is nothing like the first time but the earth quakes still.
This time he is not enraged – he is eager to claim his prize.
Without the all-consuming fear of our last encounter, I can gaze upon his face properly.
He is all lead and tin and could still turn my bones to dust. It could end now, I am so mortal before him that I see everything could be over in a heartbeat, with no time to struggle or protest. I focus instead on his too-small eyes.
The inaccuracy steadies me. He is not so perfect, he will have a weakness.
I smile guilelessly up at him, blithe and vacant, and bow. ‘My lord.’
‘Lady Andromeda.’
I do not allow the courteous tone to deceive me.
They say he poured poetry into Medusa’s ear before he violated her.
I watch him eye me hungrily, his gaze pawing at the curve of my stomach and hips, the abundance of my chest, the lush dark berry of my face, comparing me with the Nereid that flanks him at his left.
My mother steps forward, bows. ‘Our Lord Poseidon. It has been many years. The delay and my daughter’s ill health have, indeed, been unfortunate.’ She holds her hands up in supplication. ‘We are but the subjects of the gods and we are here now. We are ready and would hear your judgement.’
His eyes are bright with hatred, and it terrifies me to see him look at my mother this way.
He is warring internally – I am sure of it.
He would love to see my bold, scheming mother dead, oh, how he would love to humiliate her and deliver a lesson to those humans who dare to dream.
But he wants me. I am sure of that too. I can see the decision in the focus of those too-small eyes, pinpricks at the centre of chaos.
His voice, however, is level. ‘It is not my judgement we await. Stand forward, Ceto.’
I want to pull her to my side as soon as she leaves it. Indeed, I feel my fingers twitch, but I fight the impulse. And she obeys her orders.
‘You have served well these years,’ booms Poseidon. ‘You have been most diligent. Your sister especially commends how assiduously you have carried out your duties.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’
The blue of the Erythraean Sea blends to madder in places, red and brown and unsure.
It does not smell like other seas, it has a tang, like fish and wood and the rotting too-sweet smell of fruit.
‘So, loyal Ceto, deliver your judgement. I will have the best wife, the best of all the gods. Is the Princess Andromeda, whom you have watched to womanhood, more beautiful than your sister, Amphitrite, the Nereid of Salt?’
My mind is distracted. Will I be able to see my parents?
Will I be able to visit my grandmother? How far away from the sun shall I be, will I grow as blanched and cold as Ceto when we first met?
Perhaps this is why I don’t hear it, at first. The day is so still, there can be no other reason, though the sticky, heavy air is thick in my ears, and I almost shake my head to clear them.
But I do not need to hear her, because I see her mouth form, know the shape of her lips.
And when she says the word again – I hear her then.
‘No.’