But instead, Aphrodite raised a graceful arm above the water, revealing a small crystal bottle in her hand. Without warning, she threw it towards me, and I watched the only object that could save me arc through the perfumed air. I scrambled to catch it before it shattered against the stone floor, sagging with relief when it landed in my outstretched palm.
Heart pounding, I bowed in thanks and made my exit. I knew I should wait until I was safely within my own home, but the temptation of relief was too strong. I made it to the relative seclusion of a hallway outside Aphrodite’s chambers and stared down at the object in my hands. The glittering vial was no larger than my thumb, filled with a liquid as clear as waterand corked with a jewelled stopper. In it lay the remedy to the torment that had dogged me for months, a balm to break my fever. I pulled the stopper from the bottle with trembling fingers and swallowed its contents in a single gulp. It was sweet, with a finish that fizzed on my tongue. Tension unspooling from my shoulders, I leaned against the wall, and—
Felt no change in the warmth that bloomed in my chest whenever I thought of her. Psyche.
I threw the bottle against the stone wall, watching dully as it fragmented into a thousand shards. I should have known that the antidote would be useless. It might have worked on the pain of ordinary heartbreak, but not a curse from Aphrodite’s own hand. My misery had no cure.
Aphrodite may not have noticed the change in me, but my old friend Zephyrus did.
Zephyrus had welcomed himself into my house with the western breeze, and we sat together on the wide terrace that overlooked the ocean, beneath a sunset that painted the sky in wild shades of red and gold. Zephyrus, though, was not looking at the sunset; he was looking at me. He crouched on the chair next to mine, forearms resting on his knees, staring at me with the same intensity as the cats when I was about to offer them food.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ he demanded. ‘You’ve been acting odd for some time now, but I’ve never seen you like this. All wilty, like a dying flower.’ He grimaced. ‘Are you ill? Sometimes Hyacinthos acted like this when he was ill, but I never imagined it could happen to a god. I can’t catch it, can I?’
I glared at him dully. ‘No. It’s just …’ I waved a hand. The curse was like a poison draught in my limbs, thwarted longing weighing me down like a millstone.
The intensity of my suffering was too much to bear in silenceany longer. I had to tell someone what had happened. I would go mad if I didn’t. I had known Zephyrus since the beginning of the world. Surely I could trust him.
‘I’m in love,’ I told Zephyrus.
He screeched like an owl and nearly fell off his chair.
I relayed the series of events that began with Aphrodite’s request for a favour and ended with the destruction of the useless vial. When I was finished, Zephyrus pinned me with an expression better suited to his brother Boreas, god of the frigid north winds.
‘So youdidhave an antidote to lovesickness,’ he said very slowly, chilling the air between us. ‘And instead of giving it to me, your dearest friend, in my hour of terrible need while I mourn my beloved Hyacinthos, you drank it yourself. Knowing that you were cursed by the goddess of love herself and there was no help for you.’
‘Didn’t you hear anything I said?’ I implored. ‘I am in misery. I cannot sleep, or taste anything that touches my tongue, or feel joy at any touch that isn’t hers. And I will never have her, because the curse will only force us apart.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Zephyrus replied, crossing his arms. ‘How horrible to never see your beloved again.’
I glared at him, enraged at his dismissal of my suffering. ‘Stop being so selfish. You might have lost your mortal pet, but this one still lives. Help me!’
I was familiar with Zephyrus’s many moods – his pranks, his pettiness. If I hadn’t been so thoroughly consumed with my own anguish, I would have known the provenance of that mischievous glint in his eyes. But on that day, I was distracted by thoughts of Psyche. I did not notice the wicked smile that crossed his face as he replied in a silken tone, ‘Fear not, I know just what to do.’
7
Psyche
A year had passed since the slaying of the drakonis, and I had very little to show for it. Now and then a nest of griffins needed to be cleaned out or a deer hunt held to fill the palace tables, but such things did not make a hero. I rose every day to move mindlessly through the exercises Atalanta had taught me and waited for the day my destiny would come.
One day, my parents summoned me to their chambers for a private dinner, and we sat at a small table set just for the three of us. I watched them over the rim of my goblet as I drank my wine. Both my mother and father were sneaking quick glances at each other and hiding smiles behind their hands, seeming more like excitable children than august rulers. I puzzled at the reason for this behaviour. Had a monster been sighted? Had the day to fulfill my prophecy come at last?
‘Dearest daughter,’ my father said, beaming. ‘It is my pleasure to announce that we have found a husband for you.’
The wine nearly slipped from my grip. ‘What?’
‘A royal husband,’ my mother echoed, the smile enlivening her pallid face. ‘Nestor, King of Pylos. You have known him since you were young.’
My mouth hung open and cold panic rang in my ears. ‘Nestor? But he’sold.’
My mother winced but did not disagree. Nestor was in his fifties, while I was only eighteen. I had seen him at several dinners of state throughout the years, and even when I was a child his hair and beard had been grey. While Nestor might have been a virile man in his youth – and he was renowned for droning on at length about his past exploits – those glorious days were long behind him.
‘Besides, does Nestor not already have a wife?’ I asked. ‘He has a dozen children.’
My parents glanced at each other. Clearly, they had anticipated a more enthusiastic response. ‘Nestor’s wife passed into the realm of Persephone last year,’ my mother finally said. ‘But he seeks to marry again, to ease his loneliness.’
I remembered Helen and her bitter tears as she was carried away to her husband’s bed. My flesh curdled at the thought of Nestor’s wrinkled fingers touching me in such a way.
‘I’m not going to be a sop to some old man’s loneliness,’ I snarled.
