17. Arachne
17
ARACHNE
W aves crash against the rocks, and the salty spray of the water splashes Arachne as she skitters away from the damp mist.
Hera sits on one of the rocks at the edge, her feet dangling into the water below. She does not know why she followed the goddess out here; it is not like Hera will be able to escape their isolation any more than Arachne.
“Do spiders not like getting wet?” Hera wonders.
I cannot speak for all spiders, goddess, but this spider does not.
Hera chuckles but says, “Noted.”
Gathering her coral skirts into her hands, Hera carefully stands on the rock, pausing to brace as a wave slaps against her.
Together, they walk back to the temple ruins they call home and linger for a moment in the overgrown gardens. The intoxicating scent of the blossoms fills the air, dancing around on the breeze.
“What is your favorite flower?” Hera asks Arachne.
That is easy, goddess. The bleeding heart is my favorite flower. My mother always called me one when I would rescue small creatures that got trapped in our home. Then when I found the flower, I was stunned by its beauty and the way the blooms cling so delicately to the stalk. My mother made bleeding heart out to be a bad thing, but then I find this beautiful plant by the same name, and it is anything but.
“That story is both beautiful and sad.”
Why sad?
“ Your mother should have recognized that part of you is special. It should have been nurtured and encouraged to flourish. Hearts like yours are the ones that will set this world right again, I know it. And it’s sad to me that you have been taught it is a bad thing.”
Hera smiles, but the warmth of it does not reach Arachne. Remembering her mother, her past, has her off-center. The world is shaky beneath her feet.
No, it is much easier when Arachne can shove it down and forget about it. It changes nothing regarding her current situation.
I don’t want to talk about this anymore.
“Alright.”
What’s yours?
“What’s my what?”
Favorite flower.
“Hmm,” Hera muses. “Lillies. They smell divine and come in so many types and colors. They are a good representation of people. They are beautiful, no matter which version you are looking at, but some are toxic.”
That doesn’t seem like a very trusting answer from the Queen of the Gods.
Hera frowns. “I never liked that title anyway. Besides, it is my position that has made it abundantly clear that more lilies are toxic than one would expect. If I hadn’t been so trusting of my husband and the other gods around me, I would not be here with you right now.
“But I will say that my time getting to know you has been a gift. If we make it off this Fates forsaken island, you will always have a place at my side should you wish it.”
Arachne is certain that every one of her arachnid eyes have bugged out of her head at that statement.
Thank you, goddess. Is there anyone you look forward to seeing if we ever leave?
Hera blushes, and Arachne wonders what is going through her mind.
Shouts carry up the hill from the water below, and Arachne cannot believe what she is seeing. A ship approaches the small harbor that sits on the end of the island, but it carries no Pantheon insignia or markings.
Every hair on Arachne’s body stands on end. Are they here to take Hera? Have they hunted her down to appease the gods?
Over my dead body.