Chapter IX #2
“Athena is among the most powerful of the Olympians,” he says finally, without preamble. “To have garnered her attention and favor is no small feat.”
I realize detachedly that that praise should mean something to me, but it doesn’t.
There was a time, years ago, when I desperately wanted my father’s approval.
There was a time when this morsel of it would have elated me.
But I now know my father better. I understand that it is not me who brings him joy, but the new opportunity I have presented him.
I am, I understand, nothing more than another avenue by which he can politick for power and clout among the Olympians.
“You have done well,” he says.
“Thank you, Father.”
“When you arrive in Athens, you must always remember that you represent more than yourself,” he continues. “You represent our family, our kin, and our court.”
I know he means himself, my mother, and all the gods and goddesses of the Sea Court.
He means my blue-haired aunt Eurybia and my quiet but kind uncle Thaumas.
He means harpoon-eyed Amphitrite and her Nereid sisters.
I’m old enough to understand that we are all part of a court that is considered lesser by other gods and that my small elevation is, in some ways, an elevation of us all.
Under that weight, I stand straighter.
“I understand, Father. I will represent the Sea Court well.” I want to sound confident and strong, but all I can manage is a whisper. “I promise.”
His eyes crinkle, and I see the hint of a rare smile, a real smile.
Its warmth disarms me, and I try to turn away from it.
I want to categorically hate my father. I want to hate him for the way he treats my mother, not just that night two weeks ago, but so many nights before.
I want to hate him for the way he uses my sisters and me, like disposable game pieces on his board of ambition.
I want to hate him, but I can’t quite manage it.
“Mortals are strange creatures.” My father adds the point as an afterthought, and I find myself wondering with some humor if he remembers that I am mortal.
“They are fickle beings, easily frightened.” He gives me a serious look.
“You are not to tell anyone in Athens that you are the child of gods. Nor are you to tell them where you are from.”
I nod. In truth, I’ve already expected this. “Yes, Father.”
“I’ll leave you now,” he says brusquely, eyes cast toward the sky. “He will be here soon to retrieve you.”
“He?”
In answer, my father squeezes my shoulder, then turns on his heel and heads back up the beach.
Suddenly, I am alone. My eyes fall to the sea.
It is still, for the most part, but I think I see an undercurrent brewing beneath the surface.
Perhaps that is my mother’s doing, a kind of quiet send-off of her own.
In the end, she didn’t come to say goodbye.
I look over my shoulder, hoping against hope that she might still appear at the last moment.
Something in me wilts a little with disappointment when she does not.
I don’t know exactly when I feel it, the press of eyes on my back, but the longer I stand on the beach alone, the more keenly I’m aware of it. I turn slowly, squinting into the thick tangle of vines and trees that make up the island’s small jungle. A pair of large golden eyes meets mine.
Ah, so that’s where you went.
I keep my eyes on the lion, but the fear I felt the first time I saw it doesn’t come. I’m respectfully wary of the creature, but it’s far enough away for me to feel safe.
You should be able to have your fill of food now, I think. As long as you don’t mind gulls and fish.
The lion stares at me for a few moments longer before disappearing deeper into the bush.
I turn my gaze to the sky. My father said that a he would take me to Athens, but as I pan the surrounding sea, I see no ship anywhere on the horizon.
I study the clouds, cotton-thick and still, and wonder if my escort has been delayed, or if he is playing some sort of cruel game.
That’s when I see them.
At first, it is only two tiny winks of golden light, brief enough for me to dismiss them as gulls.
When they appear a second time, though, brighter, my eyes narrow until I make out something peculiar.
It looks like a man striding toward me in midair.
He is indistinct at first, but as he draws closer, his silhouette sharpens.
The god approaching me is undoubtedly an Olympian.
His skin is pale, but still beautifully illuminated with the subtlest glow in the sunlight.
He grins, revealing a set of gleaming white teeth.
“Daughter of Phorcys.”
I retreat as the god descends from the sky with all the ease of a person walking down a flight of invisible stairs.
Now I know where the winks of gold came from.
Tiny iridescent wings attached to his ankles flutter like two frantic hummingbirds.
He comes to a stop on the sand, and I give him a quick once-over.
The god standing before me has wavy, golden-brown hair and a constellation of brown freckles dusting his face and wiry body.
He regards me with a decidedly haughty expression.
“They did say you were plain-looking,” he notes. “I see they weren’t wrong.”
I do not know what disarms me more: the comment or its brashness. I see they weren’t wrong. Who are they?
“You know me.” I take a step forward. “But I do not know you.”
The unnamed god grins again, and it strikes me how deceitfully young he looks, almost boyish.
“I have many names,” he says genially. “I have been called the Luckbringer, the Traveler…”
My mind connects the pieces. “You’re Hermes, the messenger god.”
Hermes tuts. “That is both my most apt and least imaginative name.” He inclines his head. “My sister has asked me to escort you to Athens this morning.”
I blink, remembering. “Athena is your sister.”
“A half sister,” Hermes corrects, “and arguably one of the more well-tempered ones.”
Confused, I look from him to the clouds he has come down from. “You have no chariot?”
Hermes pouts, feigning hurt. “You wound me. My brother Apollo drives a chariot,” he says. “I am afraid my preferred method of travel is less conventional.” He extends a hand, and suddenly I understand his intentions.
“You mean for us to fly to Athens?”
“I do,” says Hermes. He is bouncing on his heels, and there is no mistaking it now: I see a streak of pure mischief in the god’s pea-green eyes. “Do you trust me?”
I know at once that I do not. My knowledge of Hermes, like every other Olympian I have read or heard about, is mostly informed by Sea Court gossip.
I know he has a reputation for deceit, that his other monikers—the Prince of Thieves and the Trickster God—are well earned. Trusting him would be foolish.
Hermes’s hand is still extended, and I see the silent question in that look.
How badly do you want this?
All my life, I have dreamed of leaving my island.
I always thought that, if given the chance to see the greater world, I would not walk so much as run to it.
Now the moment has come, but my feet feel as though they have been rooted to the ground.
Some part of me understands that whatever I do next will change my life forever.
I take a deep breath in, steadying myself.
“Very well.” I square my shoulders. “To Athens, then.” To adventure. To freedom. To a new start. Those are the hopes I cling to as Hermes clasps my hand, as, together, we soar up and into the clouds.