The memory of Anteia intruded into my consciousness. This was the same city where she had once lived, though it was almost unrecognizable after so many years. Psyche was nearly the same age Anteia had been when she ended her own life, a fact that made me heave a deep sigh. All mortals were the same in the end, indistinguishable from one another. All would pass into the realm of death soon enough. It was unfortunate that Psyche had become the subject of Aphrodite’s rage, but there was no reason to bemoan her fate. I unslung my bow and reached for the cursed arrow in my quiver.
In all the millennia I’d lived, I had never fumbled with an arrow – not once, then or since. Never had an arrow’s point so much as grazed my skin. But on that day, I felt a prick of pain.I looked down, not understanding how my hand had missed the blackened shaft and instead closed around the sharp tip. When I pulled back, I saw that the arrowhead had made a thin cut along the pad of my finger.
A single drop of golden ichor wept from my skin and fell upon a leaf. The cursed arrow, its purpose fulfilled, vanished as though it had never been.
My wound healed in an instant, but the damage was already done. I looked up, and my gaze fell upon the sleeping form of Psyche. Had I thought her merely pretty? No, she was the most radiant creature I had ever seen, god or mortal. Her tangled hair fanned out like the rays of the sun, and even the pool of saliva on her pillow was sweeter to me than the rarest honey—
‘Oh,’ I whispered. ‘Fuck.’
I fled at once from the Mycenaean palace, though I could not escape the horror that consumed me. I knew the symptoms, having caused them so often in others. Obsessive thoughts, racing heart, general malaise. All the elements of lovesickness. But I’d never experienced themmyselfbefore, and it was worse than I had ever imagined.
It felt like starvation, though I had never known hunger. It was like an itch I could not reach, like longing for a place I had never been. Every moment drove needles of the wickedest kind into my soul. My self-imposed solitude had been its own kind of oblivion, and that fragile peace was now destroyed. With the intensity of a lightning strike, the curse had destroyed the protective cocoon of isolation I’d built around myself for centuries. Now I wandered through the blasted wasteland, utterly exposed.
I hoped, as the days and weeks passed, that the feeling would fade. Sometimes desire did that, evaporating like dew on leaves.But the days went on, and the gnawing curse inside me only continued to grow.
My predicament was a dangerous one. There was no chance my affection would be requited, since the curse would separate Psyche and me should we ever come face-to-face. Lovesickness was a horrible fate, especially for a god who might go on yearning for all eternity without any hope of relief. I might end up like Narcissus, who fell in love with himself so completely that he had to be turned into a flower to be worth anything at all.
When ignoring the curse did not work, I tried to drown it. I charmed the oceanids in the seas beyond my cliffs and the dryads in the forests, and led them to my bed with giggles and coy smiles. They were flattered to receive the attentions of a primordial god – they would brag about it to their sisters, no doubt, showing off the golden bracelets I gave them as gifts. Such minor goddesses were always jockeying for position and would quickly seize any advantage they were offered. But I found myself cold in their embraces. The perfection of their immortal beauty did not arouse me, and our coupling was mechanical and uninspiring. I closed my eyes for much of it, dreaming up Psyche’s face instead.
It was like contenting myself with water when all I wanted was the rich taste of ambrosia, though even that fine vintage felt dead on my tongue. The pale imitation brought only a sharper sense of what I lacked. Eventually I resigned myself and ceased to summon any more companions to my seaside house. Without any release, desire wrapped like a noose around my throat and pulled tight.
I began to spend most of my time in sleep, which was the only reprieve I could find from this vortex of longing. I even removed the windows from my bedchambers so that the sun would not wake me. Only through the emptiness of sleep could I forget the all-consuming curse.
But then dreams of Psyche began to haunt me – her dark hair, the curve of her hips, the flash of her eyes – and I was pulled back into the waking world once more.
Psyche’s presence drew me like a lodestone. I found myself drifting back to Mycenae and its environs, hoping to catch sight of her. I glimpsed her at archery practice, all her attention focused on the target. Muscles moved like water under her skin as she drew back the string, her lovely eyes narrowing as she took aim. Her feet were planted firmly on the earth, sandals lacing up her delicate ankles.
When my eyes fell upon her, the howling of the curse eased into blessed silence for just a moment, though it came thundering back with even crueller intensity. Stolen glances weren’t enough; I wanted to know Psyche, to hold those delicate ankles in my hands, to hear the melody of her voice speaking my name. But I did not dare to push further. It was a mercy that the curse was only half-active, and to unleash its full power did not bear thinking about. If Psyche looked into my eyes, I would never see her again.
Months passed and my torture went on. I wondered if I should call in my favour from Persephone, who owed me for Adonis, but the thought of dying had lost its lustre. Death might have brought relief for Anteia, but it would do nothing for me. All I craved was Psyche, and I would go on craving her even in the lightless Underworld. Such was the nature of Aphrodite’s curse.
There was someone who might offer me assistance, who helped those beyond all other help. Hekate, goddess of witchcraft and sorcery. Older than the sun and moon, mistress of the crossroads. She lived beyond life and death, dwelling deep within the forest in a hut that rested on chicken feet. Hekate would know how to remove the curse. She must. But I thought of what she might ask for in return and shuddered.
Another idea lit upon me. Aphrodite had forged this curse, and as far as she knew, the blighted arrow had been delivered to its intended target. She owed me a favour, did she not? Perhaps she could offer a cure.
I visited Aphrodite’s abode on the slopes of Olympus, where the spires of towers lost themselves in a low wreath of silver clouds. I worried that she would smell the love sickness on me at once, but I had no other options.
The goddess received me in her bath, where she lay resplendent among the foam. I was relegated to standing awkwardly at the edge of the pool while attendant nymphs combed out her hair and kneaded the tension from her shoulders, all while sneaking glances at me from under their lashes and snickering to one another.
Aphrodite clapped her hands with glee when I relayed the news of my success. ‘Oh, tell me more! Who did the Mycenaean princess fall for? An elderly porter? A shit-caked stable boy? It must have been some months ago now, but I want to hear all about it.’
‘I did not stay to find out,’ I lied smoothly, trying to summon the bland disinterest she was used to seeing from me. ‘You told me to shoot the girl, not eulogize her. I’ve done what you asked. Now I want to claim the favour you owe me.’
She moved closer to the edge of the bath where I stood and propped her elbows on the lip of the tub. Her hair was slicked back, all the better to accentuate the sharpness of her cheekbones. She looked up at me with dark eyes, the curves of her breasts rising above the foam like twin images of the full moon over the hills. I thought of Psyche, and knew that if Aphrodite guessed what had truly transpired, the girl’s life was forfeit.
‘And what favour would you have me grant?’ Aphrodite asked.
I kept my voice steady. ‘I need an antidote for lovesickness.’
Aphrodite raised one perfect eyebrow, eyes slitted with suspicion. ‘An antidote?’ she replied with an uncertain laugh. ‘Why would you want that?’
My mind raced. ‘For Zephyrus,’ I replied. ‘He is still in love with a mortal who died.’
A flicker passed over Aphrodite’s face, but it was soon gone. ‘That’s a pity. But you understand, don’t you, that I can’t simply give away antidotes to lovesickness? The agony of love is what makes our power so strong. What use would our magic be if any fool could cure their broken heart?’ One corner of her mouth curled, as wicked as a fishhook.
‘You promised me a favour,’ I replied. ‘I upheld my end of our bargain. Would you break your word?’
Aphrodite drifted back to the other side of the pool, studying me through narrowed eyes. I felt as though all my secrets were scrawled across my skin. At any moment, I was sure, she would know what I had done. The death of Adonis, the markedlyuncursed state of Psyche, the feverish dreams that would not abate. Somehow Aphrodite would know of my deceptions and punish me for them.
