Chapter VI #2
“My lord!” he says breathlessly. “Forgive me!”
My father looks up, alarmed. “What’s this? What’s happened?”
The slave’s chest is rising and falling; he struggles to speak. “We had no warning,” he says. “We received no word that she was coming. She just—”
“Good morning, Phorcys.”
My eyes snap to the great hall’s entrance, along with the rest of my family’s.
In it stands a fair-skinned woman I’ve never seen before.
She is notably tall, and her thick red hair, braided down her back, reminds me of a fire’s dying embers.
Her ankle-length tunic is crisp, white, and perfectly pressed.
She is beautiful, but that’s not what holds my attention.
It’s the spear in her grasp. Both its shaft and blade are golden; it’s easily the length of her body, but she wields it like it weighs nothing.
I now understand why the slave was so frightened.
Only gods and goddesses carry this kind of natural confidence, and there is something undeniably formidable about this one.
She doesn’t feign extreme youth, like so many of the goddesses I’ve grown up around; she could be in her forties, even fifties.
She inclines her head toward my father, and I see a challenge in the gesture.
I also think I know who this goddess is.
My father stands so quickly that the legs of his chair scrape the floor.
“Athena.” His voice is uncharacteristically hushed. “This is unexpected.”
Athena enters the hall in self-assured strides, a light smile upon her face. She stops before our table. “Forgive me,” she says. “But the matter I have come to speak with you about is urgent. There was no time to send a message.”
Across the hall, I look to Theo, who has been helping serve our breakfast. We both have read about Athena in scrolls, and suddenly everything I know about her is rushing to the forefront of my mind.
She is not just an Olympian, she is among the highest ranking of them, the goddess of wisdom, war, and craft.
I have even heard other gods of the Sea Court whisper that she is the favorite daughter of Zeus, a sort of Olympian princess in her own right.
She is known to be powerful, intelligent, and, beyond all things, shrewd.
If she did not inform my father of her intent to visit, I know it was no accident.
“I am here on behalf of my father,” Athena continues. “It has come to his attention that a mortal bastard of my brother Ares died here recently, while in your care.”
My father is still standing, eyeing Athena the way a mouse might eye a snake. “Prince Maheer was to marry my daughter.” He gestures toward Euryale. “He died in a tragic accident. We have been in mourning ever since.”
“Be that as it may”—Athena’s voice is still light and offhand—“Maheer’s envoy brought a different account back to his mother. That account was relayed to Ares, and then to Zeus. Of course, normally the death of a mere mortal would be inconsequential, but Ares is angry.”
“Ares is always angry,” my mother mutters.
Athena pretends not to hear her. Her silver eyes are bright. “The circumstances surrounding Prince Maheer’s death seem…peculiar.”
“Peculiar?” my father repeats.
Athena nods. “Evidently, Prince Maheer was found on the floor of his bedchamber soaked in wine and blood.”
“Yes,” my father says, “it seems he had been drinking.”
“It seems he was,” Athena continues, “but apparently there were two cups of wine found in his chamber. There was also this.” She reaches into the fold of her tunic and withdraws a sapphire and a ruby.
The breath leaves my body, and now the cause for that tickling sensation in the back of my mind becomes plain entirely too late.
“Precious gems,” Athena explains. “These are notably larger than most, and Maheer’s envoy had no recollection of them. Do they mean anything to you?”
“They’re mine,” my mother snaps, “but I have no idea how they came to be in Maheer’s bedchamber.”
“You understand how this looks, Phorcys.” I notice again that Athena has pointedly ignored my mother. “We Olympians may be young by your standards, but we still adhere to xenia, and the old laws.” She gives him a significant look. “In particular, we honor the law of hospitality.”
My mouth goes dry. The law of hospitality is an ancient principle of decorum dictating that a host must offer certain courtesies to those who visit their home, including assured safety under their roof.
My gaze flies from my mother to my father.
They exchange a look, and I don’t miss the new shared unease in their eyes.
“Maheer died while he was a guest in your home.” Athena clasps her hands together. “In Zeus’s view, this violates the law of hospitality. He is displeased.”
The temperature in our hall seems to plummet. Euryale, who I have seen only glimpses of in the last week, begins to weep softly into her hands. From her place at the table, Stheno’s lips grow drawn and thin.
“Perhaps we should speak with more candor,” my mother says sharply, and this time I know there is no way for Athena to ignore her. “What is your business here, Athena?”
The goddess juts her chin. “To appease Ares, Zeus wants Maheer’s death investigated,” she says, “to determine that it was, as you say, an accident.”
“What exactly are you implying?” my mother asks. Her eyes turn to slits, and my father shoots her a warning look.
“Ceto—”
My mother rises. “There is an accord. You are not to come to our domain without invitation. Now you do so with slanderous accusations on your lips—”
“They are only slanderous if proven untrue.” Athena’s voice has hardened. “But if you refuse to comply with my father’s command, I’ll be glad to tell him myself.”
My mother and Athena stare at each other for a long minute, and though they do not exchange any more words, I can feel a silent battle of wills raging between them.
I don’t understand their animosity, just as I don’t know what “accord” my mother is referring to.
While it’s true that she has never cared much for any Olympian, excluding Poseidon, her dislike of Athena seems to come from a deeper place.
Even my father seems unsettled. Despite my unease, a part of me is curious about the origins of their mutual enmity.
A few more seconds pass before my mother takes her seat, though she now looks as if she has swallowed a lemon slice.
I know why she has yielded. My parents are ancient, powerful deities, but even their combined might is inconsequential compared to the power of Zeus, the king of the gods old and new.
The stories of his might are nearly as infamous as the stories of what he does to those who’ve drawn his ire.
“You may conduct your investigation, Athena.” My father’s voice is courteous but clipped. “I grant you free rein of this island and its inhabitants. Utilize whatever resources you require to discern the truth and see this matter resolved.”
Athena eyes my father, then tightens her grip on her spear. “Believe me,” she says, “I intend to.”
I spend the rest of the morning and early afternoon in my bedchamber, pacing.
I began by counting my steps, tracing a path between my door and the foot of my bed, but as the minutes slipped into hours, my anxiety burrowed deep within me, then bloomed into something monstrous.
The gemstones. How could I have forgotten the gemstones?
It’s a question I’ve posed to myself a hundred times.
I cover my face, groan, then once again look to my bedchamber door.
I desperately want to go to Stheno’s room, but I dare not risk running into Athena.
Every time I think of the red-haired goddess and her cool silver eyes, I find it difficult to breathe. The truth is, she terrifies me.
At the sound of a knock at my door, I jump. The door cracks open, and Theo sticks his head into the room. I’m so relieved to see him that I don’t notice at first his drawn expression.
“Theo!” I close the gap between us and wrap my arms around him. “I’m glad to see you. I’ve been so worried.”
When he doesn’t answer me, I pull back, and then my friend’s strain is more obvious. He is tensed, as though every muscle in his body has been pulled taut like a bowstring. His mouth is set in a short, severe line.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “What’s happened?”
Theo looks over his shoulder, steps fully into my bedchamber, then closes the door behind him. I realize that he doesn’t just seem tense; he’s frightened. “I was forbidden from coming to see you,” he whispers, “but I had to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
Theo begins picking at his nails. “Athena’s summoning the slaves for interrogation.”
I draw in a sharp breath, remembering what the goddess said earlier. Two goblets were found in Maheer’s room alongside the gemstones. She must now suspect one of the slaves. I refocus on Theo. “Has she summoned you yet?”
“No,” he says. “But I have heard she intends to question everyone.” He swallows. “Meddy, I’m scared.”
“Why?” I ask. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”
Theo looks up at me, solemn. “No,” he says in a strangled voice. “But I was in the prince’s bedchamber just before he died.”
I go still. “What?”
“I wasn’t supposed to be attending to him,” Theo says quickly. “But I was walking past his door when he saw me. He ordered me to fetch him wine…”
My heart hammers so hard in my chest, I can barely hear the rest of his words. I think of the full pitcher of wine, recently replenished, that I saw in Prince Maheer’s bedchamber when I arrived there.
“I wasn’t there long, but I believe I was the last person in the prince’s room,” Theo continues, oblivious to the change in my demeanor. “Which means, I’m the last person who saw him alive.”
You weren’t, I think bitterly. I was.