86. A Plan
A Plan
We met later that night
on the golden sands by the sea.
Perses showed me the dock
where Pallas had his forge.
‘If you bring her here tomorrow,’
he said, low-voiced, ‘I’ll bring
the wine. We will stay and keep
them company awhile,
then slip away.’ I recalled
Styx’s sorrowful face when
she shut the doors of her chambers,
readying herself for Pallas’s visit.
Only a moment later, he had left
her rooms and I understood.
Pallas was not the kind of God
to force himself upon a nymph.
And this, if nothing else,
made me sure of the kind of God
he was, and how, perhaps,
just perhaps, he was worthy of Styx.
‘Perses?’ I asked him as the wind
blew my hair across my face.
He turned to look at me, and as though
on instinct, brushed the strands of hair
away from my cheek.
My breath caught for a moment,
his touch leaving a trail of warmth
on my skin cooled by the wind.
‘Apologies,’ he said quickly.
‘I did not mean to… overstep.’
We were quiet, unsure for a moment.
The ghost of his touch lingered on my face
and I tried to focus on our task at hand.
‘Do you… do you think this may work?’
Perses looked out at the seas,
the waves thrashing against rocks.
‘I do not know,’ he said finally.
‘But we must try. For their happiness.’