Chapter XXVI
XXVI
The next time I visit the beach and call for Poseidon, he does not come. Nor does he come the time after that.
At first, I tell myself that it doesn’t bother me.
Poseidon is lord of the Sea Court, after all.
He has many demands, and though he promised he would never be too busy for me, I know that may not be a promise he can keep.
I tell myself that his absence is a result of his duties, and not because of what happened the last time we saw each other, but as the days grow shorter and autumn draws nearer, I lie on my pallet fighting off crueler imaginary voices in my head.
It’s your fault, one of those voices says. You’ve wounded him.
He cared for you, another says, and in return you made him think you don’t feel the same way.
A part of me wishes I could speak to Stheno and Euryale about all this, but another part of me knows that even if I were back on our island, I’m not sure I would. The last time I talked to my sisters about my life in Athens, they didn’t understand it, and I ended up feeling more alone than ever.
As the days turn to weeks, I decide to bury all my feelings about Poseidon and focus on my work.
Athenians still come to the Acropolis’s entrance sometimes, asking me for prayers, but with Poseidon no longer interfering, the stories of the miraculous foreigner priestess begin to fade.
I can’t say I’m sorry for it. I’ve done my best to try to win the priestesses over again, taking up extra chores around the temple, but they treat me with a wariness I fear is permanent.
I spend what recreational time I have alone.
The second time my parents send a summons that I return home, Athena does not deliver it.
Instead, I receive a simple missive with information about the autumn feast my parents are hosting, with a note that I am expected to attend.
I’m not surprised that my presence is requested.
Now that I am in a position to further my father’s political agenda, I am his pride.
The last time I had to leave Athens, I was sad to do it. This time, a part of me relishes the chance to go home.
—
On the night of the feast, my mother sends an entire fleet of slaves to my bedchamber, and I find myself being pulled in every direction.
One set of hands scrubs my skin raw while several others lather me with lotions and oils.
My lips are painted deep red; lines of kohl are drawn around my eyes.
But the real surprise comes when Euryale arrives with a tunic for me to wear.
I recognize it immediately. It is the yellow one I saw in her trunk months before, on the morning I first left for Athens.
She slips it over me, and I relish the feeling of the fabric.
She and Stheno arrange half my locs into an elaborate style atop my head, then Euryale holds a looking glass for me to examine myself.
I draw in a sharp breath.
The girl staring back at me is nearly unrecognizable because she isn’t a girl at all.
She is a young woman. Sometime in the months since I first left for Athens, the last of the baby fat left my cheeks.
My lips seem fuller, my neck longer. I realize with a start that I do resemble my mother and my sisters.
“Lovely,” Euryale says, grinning at me. “You look lovely, Medusa.”
I lift my gaze to meet hers. “So do you, Eury. Always.”
She puts the looking glass down and pulls me into a hug.
Stheno rolls her eyes. “Come on,” she says, gesturing. “We should make our way to the great hall.”
—
I thought my parents had been extravagant for the spring feast, but their autumn one proves me wrong.
Banners of gold, red, and orange festoon the room; enormous arrangements of yellow roses from the garden decorate every free surface.
Even the slaves have been outfitted in new white tunics with brown cords.
I know at once that the extra effort is for the imminent arrival of the Olympians.
Not long after the feast begins, they arrive.
I have heard of the gods of Mount Olympus many times, but seeing them in the flesh is different. First, I note Zeus, a powerfully built olive-skinned man with a shock of long dark hair shot through with gray. On his arm, as he enters, is his wife, Hera, queen of the gods.
“They favor each other,” Euryale notes.
Stheno snorts. “That’s because they’re not just husband and wife,” she points out. “They’re brother and sister.”
Hermes is next, looking as boyish as ever, but he’s traded his plain white tunic for a light green one that matches his eyes. When he winks in my direction, I can’t help but smile.
More gods come in—from Mount Olympus and the Sea Court alike.
I see a young, waifish-looking goddess with fair skin and a mane of wild brown hair and learn that she is none other than Artemis, yet another of Zeus’s children.
A heavyset god with darker skin and curly black hair saunters right up to my mother and kisses her cheeks with great fervor.
“Dionysus,” says Euryale before I can ask. “As you can imagine, he and Mother get along well.”
Eventually, my uncle Nereus joins the fray, and just as before, he brings the Nereids with him. Amphitrite walks a few paces behind him, looking much more tranquil than the last time I saw her, but I find I cannot meet her gaze. Soon, there are only two noticeable absentees from the festivities.
“Did Mother and Father say anything about Poseidon or Athena coming?” I try to make the question sound casual and offhand as I pose it to Stheno.
“No word from Poseidon,” says Stheno. “But according to Mama, Athena declined. She said she didn’t have time for such frivolities.”
In truth, that sounds exactly like something Athena would say, but I’m still disappointed. I’m pulled from my thoughts as my father stands, and the hall quiets.
“Gods of Olympus, gods of the Sea Court!” He holds up a wooden goblet. “Tonight we celebrate the onset of the harvest season. As we honor Demeter, I encourage you to drink, feast, and enjoy this night of festivity!”
Many goblets rise in the air, clinking against one another. I feel a nudge against my shoulder, and when I look up, Stheno’s eyes are bright. She shoves a different wooden goblet into my hand. It’s filled with a curious golden liquid.
“Here, drink this.”
I give her a dubious look before bringing the cup to my lips and trying a sip of its contents. To my surprise, the golden liquid is sweet to the taste. I take a second longer sip. On my other side, Euryale laughs, and I feel a warm sensation flood my entire body.
“Is this wine?”
Euryale beams. “Not just any wine.” She leans in, and I smell the sweetness of it on her own breath. “It’s Olympian wine, made by Dionysus himself.”
I’ve had red and white wines before, but never wine from the Olympians’ home.
At once, I can tell it is different, more potent than any wine I’ve ever had.
I take a third sip from the goblet, then, to Euryale’s delight and Stheno’s amusement, down the rest. Everything around me begins to take on a vividness—the colors seem brighter, and the hall’s noise fades into one pleasant buzz.
Euryale takes one of my hands and Stheno takes my other as they lead me to the center of the festivities and begin to dance.
At first, I worry that I might trip, that my brain won’t be able to keep up with my feet, but the opposite happens.
I’ve never felt this graceful before. As a child, I always wished I could move like my sisters, that I could imitate their grace.
Now I find I can. I sashay, holding the hem of my tunic as I twirl, and let my locs fly out behind me with each move.
Euryale and Stheno dance with me, clapping in time with the beat. Stheno grabs my arm and leans in. “They’re watching,” she whispers.
I lift my gaze, glancing over her shoulder to see whom she means.
The Olympian wine has blurred the edges of my vision, but between smears of color, I see them.
Everyone is staring at us with undeniable admiration.
There are the usual gods from the Sea Court, but also new ones—the ethereal, white-haired moon goddess Selene, and a bleary-eyed, blue-skinned god I think might be called Morpheus.
I even think I catch a glimpse of Queen Amphitrite, standing among her sisters.
Only when the soles of my feet begin to ache do I step off the dance floor for a rest, though my sisters have more stamina and keep going.
I’ve just stopped to lean against a wall when I feel a tap on my shoulder.
“Meddy?”
I turn and find myself face-to-face with Theo. Like the other slaves of my parents’ household, he is wearing a newer tunic, one that properly fits him, but he still looks painfully underdressed among the lavish gods and goddesses filling the room. His eyes are intent as they meet mine.
“I wondered if…if I could speak to you,” he says in a low voice. “Alone?”
My sisters are still dancing and no longer paying attention to me. The Olympian wine coursing through my blood draws a smile to my lips, and I offer Theo my hand.
“Of course,” I say lazily. “Lead the way.”
Theo takes my hand and leads me from the dance floor. We weave together through the crowd and out of the room, and it is only once we are down the hall and well obscured in its shadows that he drops my hand and turns to face me. His expression has grown softer.
“You look beautiful, as always,” he says.
Another pleasant wave of warmth rises in my cheeks. “Thank you.” I know there is nothing romantic in the gesture. Theo is as he’s always been, honest to a fault.
He fidgets for several seconds, as if searching for his words, then says: “Meddy, I want you to know that I’m really sorry for what I said to you last time you were home.”
“Theo.” In my head, my voice sounds too playful and light, but I can’t stop it as I step forward and place a hand on his shoulder. “That’s all okay now, really. You don’t have to apologize for—”
“No, Meddy.” Theo’s tone is gentle but firm. Carefully, he moves my hand from his shoulder, but holds on to it. “Let me finish, please. I apologize for what I said. You’re my friend, and I never want you to feel that you can’t come to me, that you can’t talk to me.”
Even under the influence of the wine, I hear the sincerity in his voice. I blink hard and make myself focus. “I’m sorry, too,” I say, hoping the words aren’t too slurred. “What I said, that wasn’t fair. You’re my friend. You’re my best friend…”
Suddenly, the corridor begins to spin violently. I lean against the wall again and close my eyes, pressing my forehead against the cool stone.
“Meddy?” Theo’s voice sounds worried. “Are you all right?”
I force myself to crack one of my eyes. “I’m fine,” I say, feeling anything but. “I just…I think I need some fresh air and maybe some water.”
“Come on.” I feel more than see Theo slip one of my arms around his waist. “I’ll take you outside.”
We make our way slowly to the end of the hallway, out a set of double doors, then onto the veranda.
Carefully, Theo eases me down onto the stairs leading to the gardens.
I can still hear the sounds of the feast inside, but they’re all blissfully muted now.
I delight in the brisk night air as it fills my lungs.
“I’m going to find water for you,” Theo says, crouching beside me. “Stay here and don’t move, all right?”
“Trust me,” I say, holding my head in my hands. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that.”
“All right, then,” he says. “I’ll be back.
” His lips graze my forehead before he stands again.
I listen to the fading sound of his footsteps a moment, then close my eyes.
I take a deep breath, relishing the cool and wishing the world around me would stop spinning.
I wonder how long the effects of Olympian wine last, compared to those of normal wine.
I look over my shoulder as I hear a footfall again, hoping Theo has come back.
But when I turn, it isn’t Theo standing before me.
“Medusa.”
A set of blue-green eyes flecked with gold shine in the darkness, unnaturally bright.
“My king.”
I rise and try to bow, but nearly stumble down the stairs. Poseidon catches my upper arm at the last moment and rights me. An amused smile tugs at the corners of his lips.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he says in a low voice. “I was hoping you’d look for me.”
My cheeks warm, and I can’t tell if that is the effect of the Olympian wine or of his words.
“Forgive me, my king,” I murmur, “I was with my sisters. I didn’t see you.”
Poseidon chuckles. “I must be very unremarkable.”
“Not at all, my king.”
“My king?” One of Poseidon’s brows rises. “I thought you and I were beyond that kind of formality.”
“Apologies, my—” I stop myself. “Apologies, Poseidon.”
The sea king smiles, and my stomach swoops. “It’s been some time since I’ve seen your father’s palace at night. I’d forgotten how splendid it is.” He looks around, thoughtful. “I wonder…if you would be so kind as to show me the grounds?”
I know what my parents would say if they were here. Poseidon isn’t just an Olympian; he is the sea king. In the Sea Court, he is the most powerful god. My parents would want me to honor him, to be a good host.
“Of course, my king.” The world tilts as I try again to bow.
“Poseidon,” he murmurs. “I wish for you to call me Poseidon.”
“Very well.” I nod. “This way, Poseidon.” I take his hand in mine and lead him into the garden.