Chapter 15 Imperial Purple
Objectively, Hera knew she was flawless.
As a mortal, she had been blessed with perfectly symmetrical features.
She could no longer remember how old she had been when she became divine.
Thirty perhaps? Time moved differently for her now; it was almost impossible to contemplate such a limited number.
She had lived endless lives, and she would live endless more.
She sat in her chambers in a gilded chair, appraising herself in the bronze mirrored wall.
Once satisfied with the shape of her hair, she lifted a golden headdress from the marble table in front of her and placed it on her oiled curls.
It was a simple design, just a band with rods of gold shooting from it, but on her it was spectacular.
The shining metal crowned her head just like the rays of the sun.
As she gazed at her reflection, she methodically recalled the wounds she’d suffered over the years, some at the hands of her enemies, some inflicted by those she loved most. She imagined what she would look like if she did not have the power to heal herself by consuming the life-threads of others, if Zeus ever denied her access to the lives of the mortals held in the Olympus vault.
She was plagued by a terrible fear that one day she would wake up with all the livid scars, burns and mutilations she had ever suffered visible on her skin.
Two weeks had passed since she’d overheard Zeus and Poseidon’s plan to send Hermes after the girl from Prometheus’ prophecy.
Two weeks of agonizing waiting. As far as she knew, the boy was still out there, searching.
If Hermes failed, she had no doubt her husband would send another child. Possibly one of her own sons.
She smoothed the silk of her gown, banishing the fear threatening to curl around her heart.
The colour was particularly special. The specific shade was imperial purple, the dye harvested from a rare species of sea snail.
To create one dress required tens of thousands of the little creatures.
The labour wasn’t easy either; the snails resided on the ocean bed and had a fondness for human flesh.
As a result, it often took decades to make a single garment.
Only the best for the Queen of Heaven.
A princess of Mycenae had once commissioned an imperial purple dress.
The mortal had debuted it at the unveiling of a new temple dedicated to Zeus, no less.
The bare-faced nerve of it. Hera had made sure the woman’s body was cold before the arrogant creature had the chance to wear the gown again.
Imperial purple was Hera’s colour and hers alone.
She traced the little stoppers of each of the potion bottles lining her dressing table, the glass chinking under her fingers.
Some were perfumes she’d concocted from flowers in the sky palace gardens.
Some were medicines to help her sleep and calm her nerves.
And some were poisons so deadly a single drop would asphyxiate an Olympian before they’d had time to grab the nearest nymph.
Her son, Hephaestus, chided her for keeping them all together.
It would be so easy to make a mistake, he’d said. She’d told him she never made mistakes.
The door to Hera’s chambers opened, and one of her nymphs entered.
‘Your son, Hephaestus, my queen.’
Hera nodded, and the nymph retreated through the door. Hephaestus entered the room and bowed to his mother. He was still wearing his forge clothes, his face smeared with soot.
Hera’s brow creased. ‘You could have changed.’
‘The nymph said you wished to see me right away.’
He lowered himself down onto the cushions at the edge of Hera’s vast bed. She winced as he rested a grubby hand on one of the draped pillars that stood at each corner.
She rose, snatched a tasselled shawl from one of the many beautifully crafted pieces of furniture that littered her chambers and strode over to him.
Hephaestus pulled away as she began scrubbing soot from his rich brown skin.
‘You should take more pride in yourself. You can’t walk around the palace like this, you’re a prince of heaven.’
‘Stop.’
Hera sighed and relented from wiping.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ grumbled Hephaestus.
‘Like what?’
‘Like you pity me.’
‘I don’t pity you,’ Hera said softly. ‘I just don’t see you enough.’ She placed a hand on his cheek.
He knocked her arm away. ‘Why don’t you summon Ares? You could wipe my wife’s pleasure off his lips.’
Hera flinched. She loathed it when he spoke so crassly. Almost as much as she loathed the copper-haired whore who’d poisoned her boys against each other.
She dropped the shawl and stalked over to the balcony, gesturing for her son to follow. Hephaestus grunted and heaved himself to his feet as a nymph darted from a far corner of the room to retrieve the shawl. He stepped through the billowing gossamer curtains and joined Hera outside.
She leant against the marble balustrade, the clouds clustering around as though waiting to hear her secrets. As Hephaestus followed her, Hera’s umber eyes darted over his shoulder, then she whispered, ‘Has your father asked anything of you recently? Entrusted you with any special tasks?’
Hephaestus frowned. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary. Why?’
The knot in Hera’s chest eased slightly. ‘I just had a feeling. You know how secretive your father can be.’
‘Is this to do with Hermes?’
‘Oh?’ Hera smoothed her face into an expression of mild curiosity.
‘He came to me to fix his boots, said Father had entrusted him with a special mission.’
Hera laughed. ‘Zeus does enjoy creating games for you children. How is he getting along?’
‘Not well. He returned to the palace last night. I heard him playing his pipes up on the north tower. He hides up there when he’s unhappy.’
‘Really?’ He must not yet have found the girl.
Hephaestus scowled. ‘Why are you so interested?’
‘I take an interest in all the divine children.’
Hephaestus raised an eyebrow. ‘You hate Hermes.’
Hera’s jaw tightened. ‘That’s not true.’
‘You hate all my siblings that aren’t your blood. Stop trying to pry for information because Father is shutting you out.’
She pressed her lips together, wounded by the accuracy of the barb.
‘It is important, in the current climate, that we stay close as a family.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
She knew he loved her. She was the one who’d brought him into the world and nursed him back to health when Zeus flung him from Olympus.
But his father’s blood was potent. She could see the King of the Gods in the shape of his eyes and the movement of his lips.
Beyond the physical, Zeus held a power over his children that Hera struggled to emulate.
Even after what Zeus had done to Hephaestus, the pain her son would bear for the rest of eternity, he was still in his father’s thrall. She couldn’t trust him. Not yet.
Hera smiled and kissed her son’s cheek. ‘Never you mind.’
Hera ascended the twisting narrow steps leading up to the north tower. As she neared the top, she heard music echoing off the marble walls. A sweet, sorrowful tune. A smile tugged at her lips. She must admit Hermes had talent, despite his common mortal mother.
Hera’s birth parents had been textile merchants, murdered on the road for their wares when she was an infant.
With no other family to shelter her, she had been given to another woman in their village, Rhea, a fisherman’s wife with four children of her own.
It had been difficult at first, to be suddenly ripped from her comfortable life and forced to reside in a squalid hut that perpetually stank of fish.
Zeus alone had given her reason to rise each dawn. A blue-eyed star in the darkness.
Rhea used to say it didn’t matter that they did not share blood. ‘We are all the Mother’s children, and I love you as much as any babe from my womb.’ Hera wondered sometimes if that would still have been true, if she had been Rhea’s husband Kronos’ daughter with another woman.
Hera paused at the pinnacle of the staircase and lingered in the doorway.
It was beautiful up here. It had been so long she’d forgotten.
Between supporting stone pillars, the walls and ceiling were fashioned from mosaics of coloured glass.
Another of Hephaestus’ marvels. Swirls of light stained orange, teal and yellow draped over Hermes where he sat cross-legged on the floor, his helm next to him.
His eyes were closed, a set of pipes at his lips, his mind borne away on the wings of his song.
Hera took a step towards him, and his eyes flew open. He dropped his pipes with a clatter, scrabbling to shove his helm back over his face. His armour clinked as he hurried to his feet.
‘My queen.’ Hermes bowed hastily.
Hera tilted her head in return. She never ceased to find it unsettling that Zeus had chosen to give his youngest divine son a golden apple at such an early age. But then, he was only a couple of years younger than the mortal boys the King of Heaven installed in his chambers.
She brushed the thought away. After centuries her anger had cooled to a glacier, each new offence just another splinter of ice.
Her face bloomed into a radiant smile. ‘Don’t stop on my account.’
Hermes didn’t move, his arms hanging stiffly at his side.
Hera wandered into the glass room, bent down and retrieved the boy’s pipes, then proffered them to him.
He accepted with a trembling hand. She turned from him and trod a path through the rainbows scattered across the floor.
Beyond, the clouds swirled around them, every now and then a shaft of sunlight piercing the sanctum.
‘Please, don’t tell Father I’m here,’ he blurted.
Hera smiled. ‘I won’t breathe a word.’
Hermes swallowed, then made a move towards the staircase.
‘Wait.’ Hera wafted between him and the doorway. ‘It’s you I’ve come to see.’
Hermes paused, unable to hide his surprise. ‘What can I do for you, Divine Mother?’ His voice cracked on the final word.
‘I thought it would be nice for us to spend more time together. Hephaestus always speaks so highly of your company. Come,’ Hera sank to the floor, ‘sit with me.’
Her stepson dithered for a moment, then lowered himself down next to her. Hera shuffled closer to him, fanning the hem of her purple dress over her legs.
‘Are you happy, Hermes?’
‘Y-yes.’
‘Good.’ Hera leant back and sighed. ‘I hope Ares hasn’t been too cruel of late. I know he can be difficult when brewing a war, and the invasion of Troy has been his largest undertaking yet.’
Hermes’ brow darkened.
Hera’s eyes softened with practised sympathy. ‘I love my son, but he can be awful when the mood takes him. He’s always been that way, I’m afraid.’
The corners of Hermes’ mouth twitched below his golden helm.
‘He would be furious if he knew I’d told you this …
’ She leant forward and lowered her voice.
‘When he was a child, he had a little toy horse called Horris. He used to sleep with it every night – refused to be parted from it. He’d even take it to bathe with him.
’ She laughed. ‘When he was twelve, your father destroyed it. He told Ares that he was a man now and should no longer play with toys. Ares cried about it for months.’
‘Months?’ asked Hermes gleefully.
‘Months. I think that’s why he loves war so much. All those horses.’
The stiffness eased from Hermes’ limbs as he gazed at her, cow-eyed. Gently does it, she thought.
‘Darling, I know it isn’t easy for you with the others. But I want you to know that you can always come to me.’
Hermes’ expression faltered. As much as she could tell the boy craved her approval, he was in thrall to his father. She must be careful.
‘I know what Zeus has asked of you.’
Hermes’ eyes widened. ‘You do?’
Her pulse quickened as she leant closer. ‘I have faced the girl. I fought her atop the Caucasus Mountains. I can help you.’
Hermes recoiled from her. ‘I-I can’t discuss it. With anyone.’
‘Of course.’ Hera sat back and folded her hands primly across her lap. ‘I’m sure your father has given you all the information you need.’
He stared at her, his face contorted with indecision. Then he whispered, ‘Hades said Father is a …’
‘Go on,’ Hera breathed.
‘Liar,’ Hermes mouthed.
‘Did he now …’ Hera’s heart beat quick as a hummingbird’s wing. ‘What else did Hades say?’
‘He said, if it looks like a lion –’
At the sound of footfall on the stairs, he abruptly fell silent.
Hera’s head snapped towards the doorway, and she caught the telltale shimmer of a shade lurking in the shadows. A shiver scuttled down her spine.
‘I won’t hear of it, Hermes,’ she said loudly. ‘You will play me another song.’
The boy’s face had turned grey with fear, but he rallied himself and lifted his pipe to his lips.
Hera’s breast heaved as he played, barely hearing the music as she watched the doorway out of the corner of her eye. Finally, the distorted air shifted and moved back down into the gloom of the staircase.
Her lips parted, breath hissing between them. The thrill of her transgression made her feel more alive than she had done in centuries.
Hermes abruptly stopped playing. ‘I must go.’
As he rose, Hera grabbed his arm. ‘Return to the Underworld. Press your uncle to tell you more.’
Hermes backed away from her, eyes stretched wide, then practically fled down the steps.
Hera remained where she sat, watching the shattered rainbow of light from the stained glass dance across the floor.
She had come so close to winning Hermes’ confidence.
Yet this might be the perfect solution. If he was to defeat the girl, and keep Ares and Hephaestus from being thrown into her path, he must learn her real identity.
Although Zeus had forbidden the elder gods from revealing Prometheus’ prophecy to the children, Hades did not always obey his brother.
He had almost cracked once. By the sound of it, he had been on the verge of telling the boy everything.
She hoped another visit from Hermes would break him open.
If the Lord of the Underworld was the one to spill the truth, neither she nor her boys would incur Zeus’ wrath.
Hera closed her eyes and loosed a long, slow breath. Her husband was their captain, their guiding star; he’d forged a path for them into the heavens, and never once had she doubted him.
Until now.