Chapter 27
The prayers overwhelm me as I leave the Arcadian woods, rising from a world alight with love again. They buoy me up, a wave of pleasure that surges across Gaia’s earth, carrying me with it.
I feel a glow of satisfaction that has nothing to do with Adonis.
This is what I live for. This is what makes everything beautiful; this is why we all exist. I can still give this gift to everyone who praises the name of Aphrodite.
Whether my heart is broken or bruised, healing or scarred, my power flows again.
At the tip of Attica’s peninsula, where the sea is wild and the waves froth and churn, I pause. Behind me, a temple to Poseidon stands on the hilltop, overlooking the water.
I came from the sea, and I always come back to it when I feel the tides of my existence turn, when everything shifts and what went before is washed away.
I breathe the salt-tinged air and let the shallow water foam around my ankles, dampening the hem of my dress. I sink my toes into the sand, renewed.
A wave rears up, blue water twisting upward into a spiral that soon turns to flesh.
A girl steps forward, seawater coursing down her shoulders, the waves subsiding back around her hips and streaming down her thighs as she strides out.
Her flimsy dress clings to her wet body, almost transparent, her long hair plastered to her skin.
She dips her head, a humble gesture, then her eyes flash up to mine, confident and self-possessed.
I’m intrigued.
“Euryte,” she says, coming close enough that I can smell the brine on her skin and see the merging shades of greens and blues in her eyes.
“A sea-nymph,” I guess.
She nods.
“Well, Euryte, you have my attention,” I say. “What is it that you want?”
She smiles, playful as a dolphin. “Your help,” she says, “with Poseidon.”
Nymphs often ask for help with Poseidon, but usually how to dodge him, sometimes going as far as to transform into a bird or a river to escape his advances. Euryte, though, is almost quivering with desire for him. This is a novelty.
“I don’t think,” I say, eyeing the smooth curves of her body, “that’s likely to be a problem.”
She clasps my hand, wrapping both of hers around it, her fingers encircling my wrist. “Thank you,” she says. “I didn’t know if you’d even deign to hear me, much less grant me the attentions of the God of the Sea.”
“If you want him, you can have him,” I promise her.
“I do,” she says. “I’m destined to bear him a son, I’m sure of it.”
It won’t guarantee her any special treatment from Poseidon if she does. I lost count long ago of his numerous offspring, and certainly of all their many mothers.
But I like her. I’ll imbue Poseidon with fondness for her as well as desire—the latter not a challenge at all—so that he’ll remember her. I can sense all the hearts that beat under my dominion, and it’s easy to reach out for the Sea God’s and make it melt for this nymph.
“It’s done,” I tell her.
She’s still holding my hand. “I’m so grateful,” she says.
“I hope you get what you want.”
“Oh,” she says, “I will.”
She slides her fingers down my palm, gives me one last lingering look, and dives back into the sea.
I laugh. “Good luck, Euryte,” I say to the waves. She doesn’t need it. She has me on her side.
—
Two dogs run ahead of him, their noses high in the air, searching for the scent of prey. He catches sight of me and lifts his hand in greeting, his face transformed with a joyful smile.
“You’re happy to see me,” I say, and he wraps me up in his arms, swinging me around before kissing me hungrily.
“You’re here so early in the day,” he says. “A beautiful surprise.”
The sky is stained with pink and gold; flowers lifting their sleepy heads to the first rays of light spilling over the wide meadow.
“I couldn’t wait,” I tell him.
He takes my hand, and we stroll together, the dogs darting forwards and then circling back, alert and inquiring.
“Can I hold your bow?” I ask him.
He halts, shrugging the plain wooden weapon from his back. “If you want,” he says. “It’s nothing special.”
I take it from him, balancing its slender curves between my hands.
He’s right. I’m used to the craftsmanship of Hephaestus.
This was carved by a mortal—by Adonis himself, probably.
It’s unremarkable, but still I lift it the way I’ve seen archers do and I squint at the horizon, calculating the path an arrow would take.
Adonis waits patiently.
I lower it. “I’ve never shot one of these before,” I confess.
“Really?”
“You don’t have to pretend that I look like I know what I’m doing,” I say. “Aphrodite never trained us to fight.”
“You don’t need to,” he says. “I’ll protect you.”
Soon, I’ll tell him who I am. But, right now, I don’t want to jeopardize what we have by making him afraid of me.
While I pretend that I’m only a forest-nymph, it makes us equal.
I don’t want to see his eyes cloud over with apprehension or be anxious to touch me in case I burn him to ashes for impudence.
The gods are too careless with mortal lives.
This new romance is precious; beautiful and fragile like a crystal vase I fear to shatter. It’s better to cradle it close for now, to nurture and protect it, keep the two of us cocooned in the dream I’ve conjured just for us.
I hand back the bow, and he slings it over his shoulder again, putting his arm around me. “I’ll teach you if you want,” he offers.
“Yes,” I say, “I’d like that. But first…” I slide my hand up his arm, giving him a meaningful glance under my eyelashes.
No one else is around. The woods belong to us.
That’s how it feels as I beckon him under the shade of a spreading oak, leaning up against the bark as he kisses me.
I run my hands down his back, feeling as though I can’t ever get enough, wrapping myself around him as the sun rises above the canopy that hides us from prying eyes.
—
“Tomorrow?” he asks.
“Tomorrow,” I agree, slipping my tunic back over my head. I could get used to this forest-nymph outfit, I think. It’s freeing to be unhindered by a long flowing dress.
“I thought it was only Artemis’ nymphs who dress like that,” he comments.
A chill descends on our sunlit glade at the mention of her name.
“Is something wrong?” he asks. He leans up on his elbow, his brows creasing slightly.
His own tunic is still lying rumpled in the grass, his skin like warm bronze sculpted into perfect proportions: long muscular legs and a torso honed by lifting his bow and throwing spears.
Soft curls fall across his face, and when my gaze lands on his lips, I want to taste them again. “Is it something I said?”
“No,” I say. “It’s just that you reminded me. We need to be careful of Artemis.”
“I’ve hunted in these woods the past three years,” he says, taking a long, luxurious stretch. “I’ve never seen her.”
I kneel down beside him, stroking my fingers down the side of his face. The grass tickles my bare shins. “If you don’t cross her path, she keeps her distance,” I say.
“Then what’s the problem?”
I glance around us. “She has little patience for men,” I tell him. “She forbids her huntresses from taking them as lovers. I’m not one of hers so I can do as I please, but she wouldn’t take kindly to this if she saw us together in the place she considers her home.”
He takes my hand in his. “There are other forests,” he says. “If you’re afraid of her—”
“I’m not,” I interrupt.
“But we can go,” he says. “Anywhere you want.”
Lightness bubbles up in my chest, a fizzy rush of excitement. “Anywhere?” I ask.
His eyes are wide with sincerity. “There’s nothing to hold me here,” he says. “I want you and only you. That’s if…if you feel the same.”
I lean down to kiss him. “I do.” My mind is alive with possibilities.
When he says anywhere, he has no idea how true that is.
I can spirit him to any corner of the world that I choose, and, if this lasts, there could be a future for us.
Zeus took a mortal boy once and brought him to the heavens, gave him immortality and made him his cupbearer.
Apollo made his mortal son Asclepius a god of healing.
It has been done before, when a god has loved a human.
I’m getting carried away, it’s too soon for fantasies like that. He’s young and there are years ahead of us still to enjoy…but there’s nothing to say I couldn’t keep Adonis for eternity, if that’s what we wanted.
At the very least, I can get him away from Artemis. I can take him to Cyprus, where he’ll be under my protection. “Tomorrow,” I say, “when I come back—be ready to leave.”
He nods, intent and serious. “I will be.”
—
I’m reluctant to tear myself away from our tryst, but I’m not going to neglect my responsibilities.
The Horae and I have left Lemnos now, but I sense Dysis returning to the island.
When I pass overhead, I see her with Kedalion down among the volcanic rocks, their quarrel forgotten.
My altar in Paphos is piled so high with offerings, it’s set to topple over entirely.
That night, the world slumbers peacefully; Hypnos and Pasithea are reconciled, and the God of Sleep is happy once more.
I come back to Adonis as dawn breaks. He’s waiting for me, dogs at his feet again.
“You don’t have much with you,” I say.
He shrugs, disarming. “I don’t have much,” he says. “Only my dogs and my bow. That’s all I need.”
His dogs rush into the woods, intent upon something.
“That’s all?” I ask, my tone a little arch.
He laughs and takes me in his arms.
I let him kiss me, but then I pull back, taking a deep breath. I’ll tell him now who I really am. But his lips are on mine again, sure and confident as he slides my dress down over my shoulders and I surrender to the moment. I’m in no hurry.
We sink to the ground together. Somewhere in the distance, I hear the sound of rustling branches—the dogs no doubt.
But then it gets louder, whoever it is close by, and I sit up, breathless. “What’s that?”