Chapter 3
My quarters on the mountain summit are just as I left them.
Zeus has kept his promise and dispatched two of the three Graces, attendant goddesses of Olympus, to wait on me.
The sisters have been as deft as the Horae in filling bronze bowls with flowers which remind me of home.
No dust has dared to settle on the furniture, no creeping decay or signs of neglect sully the pristine floors and walls of this divine house.
I step out of my bedchamber to the starlit veranda, resting my hands on the waist-high wall and leaning out. Beneath me, the steep slopes of the mountain drop away, wispy clouds floating through the air, ethereal puffs of mist that drift through the darkening sky.
I hear the soft footsteps of the Graces, and I turn to welcome them.
They’re beautiful—so lovely that I would fear for them here on Mount Olympus within reach of Zeus and Poseidon, except that ordinarily they’re the handmaidens of Hera.
She might be Zeus’ wife and bound to defer to him like the rest of us, but even he knows better than to encroach on the women under her grudging circle of protection.
Now they have mine too, and I’m sure they’ll have an easier time of it in my house than in their shrewish queen’s.
They dress me in fresh robes, dab perfumed ointments into my skin and adorn me with jewels.
“All the gods are feasting tonight,” Pasithea says to me as she hangs Hephaestus’ glittering necklace around my throat.
“And you’ll outshine them all,” the other, Charis, adds.
I smile at her, glancing at my reflection. “Thanks to your efforts,” I say.
A rosy wash of surprise warms her cheeks and her eyes brighten. “Do you want us to accompany you there?” she asks.
I stand and link my arm through hers. “Of course,” I say, and we leave the house together, walking across the courtyard to the main palace.
When we enter through the magnificent throne room to the feasting hall behind, the rest of the Olympian gods are already seated.
Zeus, Poseidon and Athena are at the head of the first table, while Hestia and Hera sit at the far end.
Apollo, God of Prophecy, lounges in his tall chair, his perpetual expression of lofty amusement never detracting from his golden beauty.
Beside him sits his wild twin, Artemis, Goddess of Hunting, called from her forests and here under protest. I note the scratches on her legs, her calves exposed by her short tunic, and the leaves still stuck in her tumbling curls.
She makes no effort to fit in with the rest of us.
Hermes laughs with Apollo, casting me a meaningful glance as he notices my arrival.
I smile and take my seat among them, beside Demeter, Goddess of the Harvest. Hephaestus, opposite me, looks up, and, when he notices that I’m wearing his necklace, his cheeks flush just a little.
The other tables are busy with lesser gods and nymphs invited to feast alongside us.
The moon glimmers above the mountain, and the wine flows alongside golden nectar and ambrosia.
As it always does, the conversation soon turns to divine boasts—worshippers, conquests, favors granted or wrath inflicted according to the whims of the gods.
Hephaestus shyly describes how Helios has asked him to build another chariot, more magnificent than the one he already has.
I contribute my story of Phaon, blessed in old age with a second youth and good looks so that he can find a love that honors me.
All the while, I’m attuned to the sparks that fly across the halls of Olympus.
Apollo, catching the eye of a serving-boy.
Hermes, charming a nymph with his sharp wit, his eyes flickering briefly to mine to see if I’m watching as she leans over with her wine jug, skimming just a breath too close to him.
Pasithea, hands clasped under her chin and her bare shoulder gleaming in the torchlight; the god she’s talking to unable to tear his gaze away.
It hums underneath everything else: the meeting of eyes, the flutter of hearts and the stirring of desire as hands brush together and whispers are exchanged—teasing promises, murmured invitations among the throng of immortals who dine with us.
“Aphrodite.” Zeus booms out my name across the table. “Poseidon would ask something of you.”
I give him my attention, expectant.
“A love charm,” Poseidon grunts. “For a sea-god. I want him to be my charioteer.”
“Your charioteer?” I know exactly what he means by that. Still, it’s encouraging that he’s asking for my help. Poseidon rarely sees the need to engage in anything that could be described as courtship.
“Yes,” says Zeus impatiently. “Some shellfish god. Very handsome apparently.”
“Nerites?” I ask.
Zeus smirks. “What is it?” he asks. “You don’t want him for yourself, do you?”
I notice Hephaestus going still, his goblet hovering halfway to his mouth as he listens. He’s sensitive to the prospect of any conflict. While many of the gods here would find it an entertaining diversion, it’s not in Hephaestus’ nature to relish discord.
“No,” I say. Nerites is a pleasant distraction, but there are many handsome gods to choose among. Our time together is probably drawing to a close anyway.
“Very sensible,” says Zeus. “I’m sure a shellfish god will make a fine charioteer for Poseidon, but he’s no husband for you.”
“Please,” I say, “not this again.” I smile sweetly as I say it. Zeus never fails to be distracted by a woman’s smile, and it tends to mean he doesn’t notice when his authority is being insulted.
“Five unmarried goddesses on Olympus is too much,” he protests. “And, of all of them, you should be the first to wed. It’s your realm!”
His eyes are clouded with wine, his cheeks flushed with warmth and his tone jovial, so I answer him with the same light-heartedness. “It’s not my realm. Marriage is Hera’s domain,” I remind him. “Love is something altogether different.”
There’s an appreciative rumble of laughter from the benches around us.
I’m glad, though, that Hera is at another table, deep in conversation with Hestia—one of the unmarried goddesses.
Zeus swore an oath to Hestia that she could remain unwed, and made the same rash promise to Athena and Artemis.
I think he rather liked the idea that Hestia would look after the Hearth of Olympus with no husband to distract her.
Her role is to provide comfort and warmth, and he sees himself as the most important recipient, so he was happy to grant her this exemption.
His graciousness to Athena and Artemis, however, was born of a more familiar emotion for him than benevolence: spite.
He loves to lavish his affection on his favored daughters: the children that Hera did not give him.
I’m sure, as Goddess of Marriage, she would have delighted in procuring the most hideous of all the gods and Titans as bridegrooms for her husband’s illegitimate brats.
He’s thwarted her by putting them beyond her reach, but never had the forethought to anticipate a time when he’d find it more useful to marry them off after all.
As I’m not Zeus’ daughter, he made no such promise to me. He’s been making these comments ever since he started looking around the throne room and realized some of his most valuable bargaining tools were untouchable.
Demeter remains unmarried too, but I suspect he allows it because she bore him a daughter long ago. Whatever agreement they reached, I don’t know. It’s certainly not a path I want to go down, and so I’m left to fend off his nudges with no oath to protect me.
Thankfully, I have other strategies. I’ve kept Zeus at bay for centuries, and I have no intention of that changing now.
As the serving-nymphs clear away plates and cups and the gods begin to disperse, I catch Poseidon before he can mount his chariot and drive his golden-maned, fish-tailed horses back to the sea.
He looks at my fingers wrapped around his brawny arm, then his gaze flickers down my body and back up to my face, a gleam in his eye. “Yes?” he asks, a smile curving his lips.
“I’ll give you that love charm,” I say. It’s a kindness, I’ve decided. In giving Nerites a new infatuation, he can forget me. I don’t like to leave broken hearts in my wake.
He leans in so close that I can smell the wine on his breath and the salt on his skin. “There’s nothing I want more…almost nothing.”
It’s not that he isn’t handsome, in his way. He bristles with strength and menace alike; he’s tall and powerful, his beard dark and full and his eyes black like a shark’s. But I know enough about Poseidon to quash any curiosity I might otherwise harbor.
“And if you did want him yourself,” he adds hopefully, “I’m more than happy to share.”
I don’t think so. I squeeze his arm, then slide my hand away from him, my touch slow and lingering. “No, thank you,” I murmur. “I’ll let you have him all to yourself. Perhaps you’ll remember this, if I ever want something from you.”
“Oh,” he breathes, moving in closer. “You only need to ask.”
I hold his gaze, my smile full of promises I don’t intend to keep.
“I will,” I say, and his lips part. He isn’t complicated.
I smile up at him. “Good night, and don’t you forget that you owe me a favor now.
” I pat his jaw, playful and teasing, before stepping back toward the waiting Graces, slipping my arm through Charis’.
As we leave, I can feel him watching me all the way to the bronze doors.
It’s a delicate dance, holding these gods at just enough distance for them still to believe I might let them closer.
Ensuring the rulers of heaven and sea are my allies, always willing to help and never plotting against me.
Trading favors with the gods and keeping them in my debt.
Being back on Olympus has reminded me just how important it is to play this game, and to play it well.
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