“Of course, my most exquisite moonbeam.” Lycheron’s voice holds a subtle mix of both fawning and charm. “And may I express my most humble gratitude for the superb golden fleece. It is, without a doubt, my most treasured possession.”
My jaw unhinges. He sounds like a different man.
Horse.
Whatever.
Artemis frowns slightly. “I did not gift it toyou.”
Lycheron goes very still. I think he stops breathing.Ha!
The Goddess’s eyes suddenly twinkle with merriment. “But it does look stunning on you,moro mou.”
My baby?She could even mean that endearment literally—in the creationist sense. I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. These two know each other. Well.
Son of a Cyclops! Lycheron set us up!
The Ipotane Alpha snaps his fingers, and a pair of huge males rushes over with two luxuriously cushioned chairs, placing one just behind the other. Other Ipotane bring platters of fruit and cheese and goblets of wine. While Lycheron explains the challenge so far, Artemis and Atalanta recline on the plush furniture, nibbling on grapes and hard cheeses and sipping their wine.
Artemis accepts her role as judge for the third task, giving no outward sign of favoring Lycheron for any reason of long-term acquaintance or shared circumstance, although plainly both apply, and Lycheron obviously thinks they’ll work in his favor. She’s a millennia-old Goddess, and yet there’s nothing bored or apathetic in her manner. In fact, her blue eyes shimmer with interest as she sets forth the final task.
“I helped set this challenge in motion by giving up the Attican fleece. Now give me something in return, and I will decide whose gift pleases me more.”
“Anything,” Lycheron says. “Name your desire, and I will go to the ends of all worlds for it.”
I scowl.Now that’s just not fair!
“In the interest of fairness, and speed, since humans do not have eternity as we do, you must give me something now, something you already carry with you.”
I’d found myself rather admiring her until that last part. Since Lycheron carries nothing but his own hide, hair, and,um…impressive anatomy, I’m thinking he’ll go with the thick, hammered gold cuffs around his wrists—worth far more than anything Griffin is carrying.
Griffin must be thinking the same thing. Grim-faced, he shifts from foot to foot, his hand hovering over the flap of his satchel. I know for a fact there’s nothing in there except for food, spare clothes, and a bunch of hellipses grass. His sword is worth something, but I’d hate for him to give it up. There’s Hades’s cloak, but Griffin’s was ripped by the Hydra and has a chunk missing from the back—hardly a fitting gift for a Goddess.
As I suspected, Lycheron removes the heavy gold cuffs from around his wrists and then presents them to Artemis with a flourish. She runs her long, elegant forefinger over the ridges and hollows of the hammered gold, humming softly in pleasure. The metal reflects the setting sun on her face, giving her cool, pearly beauty a warmer, more radiant glow. Nodding her head in acceptance of the gift, Artemis places the cuffs beside her and then looks expectantly at Griffin.
For the first time ever, I see Griffin blush. “What I have in mind will take a moment.” His voice is gruff. He’s nervous. I suppose he should be. A lot is riding on this, and he is talking to a Goddess.
“How long?” Artemis asks.
He doesn’t meet her eyes. He looks somewhere lower. “Twenty minutes?”
Artemis inclines her head in assent before sweeping her gaze back to the Ipotane Alpha. Lycheron straightens. His tail flicks.
“Bring musicians,” she commands.
He gives the order, and a bevy of half-naked Dryads appears with flutes and lyres. Some play. Others sing and dance, moving with agility and astounding flexibility. I get why Lycheron keeps them around. Clearly, they provide all kinds of entertainment.
One particularly lissome Nymph twirls to the edge of the circle, her eyes meeting those of a male Ipotane tracking her every move. On her next swirl around, he grabs her around the waist and gallops off into the trees. They disappear, leaving behind the Dryad’s breathless cry of delight.
I arch a brow.Yes, clearly all kinds.
In the meantime, Griffin lays out the hellipses grass he took from the Chaos Wizard’s meadow. He’s going to make something, which doesn’t surprise me, and yet it does. What could he possibly create that Artemis would want?
With strong, nimble fingers, he separates the stalks and then begins to weave. Even though his head is bowed to his work, I can see the tense lines around his mouth and sense his concentration in the stiffness of his shoulders. I sit next to him and watch him work, supporting him in the only way I can—by quietly being there.
The circle Griffin makes turns into a cone. He extends it downward, each full turn around slightly tighter so that there’s a gradual but constant progression toward something narrower. I have no idea what it is, and I desperately want to ask. Being quiet is hard.
When the object is about eight inches long, Griffin ties off the ends and then neatly tucks them into the weave to hide them. I chew on my lip to keep my mouth shut. I’m worried. And I don’t understand. I saw the crown he wove for Kaia. It was beautiful and intricate. This is plain. The weave is tight and even, the form is regular, the grass is supple and strong, but it’s just an open-ended cone.
