Chapter XXXIII
XXXIII
We rise first thing the next morning.
It isn’t difficult to gather the supplies we need.
The palace’s kitchens have remained well stocked thanks to many years of preserving fresh water and food.
We gather some apples and oranges from the gardens, too.
The shoreline is littered with the abandoned boats of men who’ve come to the island; we pick the largest, sturdiest one and load the rest of our things into it.
I am stronger, so I’m the one who pushes us off the shoreline, wading deeper and deeper into open water.
When the tides are up to my middle, Apollonia meets my gaze.
“Are you sure you don’t want to say goodbye to them?” she asks.
I know she means my sisters, just as I know instantly that I’m sure I don’t. I glance over my shoulder, then shake my head.
“If I try to say goodbye to them, we’ll never leave,” I say.
“They’ll understand.” Deep down, I know it will hurt Stheno and Euryale when they learn that I’ve left them again, this time without saying goodbye, but I know Apollonia is right.
I have to leave this place, and I pray that one day they’ll understand why.
Apollonia doesn’t press the matter, and when the tide finally rises, she helps me into the boat.
There’s a moment when the waves carry it over a break, and I wait for some resistance, as though I’m expecting the island not to let me go.
But nothing happens as we drift farther out, and I watch my island getting small again.
I turn the other way and begin to row.
—
It takes several days before we find land again.
When new shorelines come into sight—sooner for me than for Apollonia, thanks to my enhanced vision—I am relieved, but we quickly learn that the land at which we have arrived is not Athens or even Greece.
We trail along the coast for a few days more before finally deciding to beach our boat, and then we learn where we are.
There are several names for this new land, but the Greeks who have immigrated here call it Cyrene.
A traveling merchant shows me a map, and I see that it is not far from Egypt.
The land is hotter and more arid than both Athens and my island, but in time, Apollonia and I carve out something of a new life.
Cyrene is a city, but a slightly quieter one than Athens.
Plenty of Greeks live here, but more of the city’s women wear various wraps to cover their heads, so my own hardly sticks out.
We live on the city’s streets for a few days, and here Apollonia’s experience on Athens’s streets proves useful, but when an old widow learns we are both strong and able to clean with notable thoroughness, she hires us to manage her tavern in exchange for lodging.
The days soon become long. The physical labor under the scorch of Cyrene’s sun reminds me in some loose way of my summer as an acolyte in Athens.
But, in time, I grow to relish the new start this city has given me.
Apollonia learns to cook, and on the days the tavern isn’t too busy, we steal an hour to sit outside and drink wine while we watch the sun set.
For the first time ever, my life is calm, pleasantly mundane.
Every so often, some part of me thinks about home and my sisters, but I try to forget.
Your life is here now, an internal voice reminds me. You have Apollonia, and you have peace. That should be enough.
I tell myself that’s true until I believe it.
—
My days in Cyrene begin the same way most mornings.
I start by taking a vase down to the wells.
It is a job I can easily do alone, but Apollonia often joins me.
I enjoy her company. Sometimes we walk in silence, other times we talk about the weather or the things that make us smile.
It is a tradition as mundane as everything else here, but in time, I grow to like it.
I memorize the steps in the rocky path, and learn to hop over the ones that are loose.
I look for familiar faces as we amble along.
There’s a woman who always has fresh fish, a man whose olive oil is unrivaled.
I’ve begun to learn the cadence of this place, the way it breathes.
It’s why, on this particular day, I can tell something is wrong well before I see it. By the time we reach the market, my suspicions are confirmed.
Several women are gathered together by the well, their heads bent low. One of them, a middle-aged woman whose name I can’t remember, has tears in her eyes. I frown as we join their circle.
“What’s going on?” asks Apollonia. “What’s happened?”
The women avert their gazes.
“It’s all right,” I press gently. “You can tell us. We won’t repeat it.”
The women exchange looks, then seem to come to some sort of agreement. The oldest of the women takes a deep breath.
“It’s Ephemia.” She gestures to the crying woman before taking a deep breath. “Her daughter is pregnant.”
Apollonia’s brows rise. “Is that such unhappy news?”
The woman frowns. “It is when she’s unmarried and only fifteen years old.”
A shiver of utter revulsion crawls up my skin. “How did it happen?”
“Ephemia’s daughter is a chaste girl,” says the woman. “But there is a man who takes advantage. He looks for girls like her.”
“Who?” Apollonia asks. “We could report him.”
The woman shakes her head. “There are some men justice never reaches.” She lowers her voice. “He is a priest.”
I start. “Of the Temple of Apollo?” I’m aware the god has a rather large following in Cyrene.
The woman shakes her head. “It is a smaller temple, built for the goddess Athena.”
The very mention of Athena’s name is enough to make Apollonia and me stiffen.
“Each night, he makes himself available to those who would offer prayer,” the woman continues. “Men pass without incident, but…the girls.”
My jaw clenches. “He takes advantage.”
Ephemia finally looks up. Her eyes are blazing. “My daughter went to him to ask for prayers to the Goddess. But she forgot to bring offering money. He told her there were other ways, other things she could do to make an offering.”
I thought I had left the rage behind when I left my island.
Now, as it rises to the surface again, I realize it’s been there all along.
Fury blazes through my bones as I think of the little girl, of all the little girls that this man likely exploited in his time.
A roaring fills my ears, even as Ephemia continues to cry and the older woman goes on with her tale.
“He is wealthy, and popular with the king,” she says. “He will not be punished. Meanwhile, the girls here are prey.”
All men are cruel. I imagine what Stheno would say if she were here. Some are just better at hiding it. I don’t trust myself to speak anymore, but Apollonia steps forward.
“I may be able to help your daughter,” she says. “There are…medicines, herbs that can stop a woman who doesn’t want to be pregnant from carrying to term.”
Ephemia lowers her voice. “You know of such things?”
A shadow passes over Apollonia’s face. “I once had to. If we act quickly, we may still have time to help your daughter.”
Ephemia thanks Apollonia, and she agrees to visit her later. I remain too angry to speak. After we part ways with the women, she turns to me.
“Meddy.”
“What?”
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
The problem is, I don’t know how to put what I’m feeling into words. My insides are a maelstrom of grief and nausea and, above all, righteous fury. Apollonia takes my hand.
“I can see the anger in your eyes,” she says gently. “I can see it there, hurting you. Don’t let it consume you, my love. Don’t let it hold that kind of power over you.”
Her voice is a raft; I cling to it so I don’t drown. I screw my eyes shut and force myself to take one deep breath, in and out, then another. When I open my eyes, Apollonia meets my gaze.
“What happened to Ephemia’s daughter really affected you.”
“Of course it did.” I stare at her, bewildered. “Didn’t it affect you?”
“After I was dismissed from the temple, I saw many terrible things,” she says sadly.
“I saw horrific things happen to people who didn’t have the power or the means to protect themselves.
” She briefly lays a hand on my cheek. “I’ve seen you angry before, Meddy, but this…
” She gestures to me. “This is different. This is bothering you for a specific reason.”
I flinch. The truth is, the priest reminds me of Poseidon.
He is yet another man in a position of power, yet another man who has never been held accountable for the harm he’s caused.
I’ve talked with Apollonia about almost everything that happened in our time apart, but the rage I feel—the anguish I still feel—when I think about what the sea god did isn’t something I’ve found the language for.
It feels like a door I don’t want to open, a door I’m not even sure I can open.
Apollonia looks at me, expectant, but I shake my head.
“There’s no special reason,” I say brusquely. “I just think he’s vile and disgusting.”
Apollonia nods. “It’s terrible. I wish we could do more for Ephemia’s daughter, for the other girls, too.”
Something ignites in my mind. “Maybe there is,” I say darkly.
Apollonia pauses, uneasy. “What do you mean?”
When I don’t answer, her eyes widen.
“Meddy, no.” She takes my wrist and squeezes. When she speaks, her voice is low enough for only me to hear. “You cannot kill him. Cyrene is not like your island. People know each other here; you wouldn’t be able to cover it up.”
My eyes flash. “And if I don’t want to cover it up?”
“The city’s king will have you executed,” says Apollonia, desperately. “He’ll drag you through the streets, and then he’ll take your head. Don’t make me watch that. It would kill me.”
Her words twist inside me like a blade. It’s been so long since I felt helpless, unable to do anything at all. “So, you would ask me to stand by?” I ask, pained. “You would ask me to do nothing?”
Apollonia takes my face in both hands. There are tears in her eyes. “I would ask you not to throw away everything we’ve built,” she says. “Our love, our life here, it’s good. We are happy, finally. I want to keep being happy, with you.”
There’s an earnestness in the way she looks at me that threatens to undo me. In that moment, I want nothing more than to sweep Apollonia up in my arms and hide her from the world, from its evil, from every real monster that would hurt her.
Words my mother said to me come back in an echo. That’s the curious thing about monsters. The worst ones don’t bother hiding in the dark.
The priest is a monster, of that I am certain. And if there’s a chance—even a sliver of a chance—he could ever hurt Apollonia, I already know what I must do. I school my features and kiss my love’s forehead.
“You’re right,” I say calmly. “Our life together here is beautiful.”
Every muscle in Apollonia’s body seems to unclench all at once. She’s still holding my face in her hands. She smiles at me and we resume our walk together through the market’s streets.
Apollonia gathers the herbs she needs for Ephemia’s daughter, while I begin to plot.