My father’s face fell. ‘Psyche, mind your manners! Nestor is renowned for his gentleness and wise counsel. He has promised to permit you to continue your training after marriage, provided it does not interfere with your duties as a wife. And he already has an heir from his prior marriage, so your sons would be able to ascend the throne of Mycenae unfettered. You could even stay here in Tiryns for part of the year. Isn’t that wonderful?’
I stared at my father as I contemplated the dissolution of my world.Is this all I am to you?I wanted to scream.A link in the chain of succession? You held me when I was fresh from my mother’s womb, you called me after your own soul and set me on the saddlebefore you during the hunt. Are you really going to force me into an old man’s bed?
My hands balled into fists. ‘I will not marry Nestor,’ I declared.
My mother gave a little cry of dismay, and my father placed his goblet down hard, sloshing the wine. He opened his mouth to speak but my mother held a hand up to stop him.
‘Psyche, my dear daughter,’ she began. ‘You are young and know little of the world, but Nestor is an excellent match. You will not find a better one. He knows of the prophecy and has promised that you will enjoy a level of freedom in marriage that few women do. Besides, all of Mycenae will benefit from the alliance with Pylos.’
‘Ah, now I see the true reason you made this match,’ I replied sardonically.
My father brought his hand down on the table, making the plates jump. ‘That is enough!’ he declared. ‘The contract is as good as signed. You will do your duty.’ I knew I must have pushed him very far indeed to provoke this rare display of anger, but I did not care. I pushed back my chair and stormed to my personal chambers.
Later that night, I sat by my window. Beyond the palace was the city of Tiryns, and past that was the road that led to Pylos. I tried to imagine departing down that road for the last time as an unmarried woman, never again able to remake the journey without the explicit permission of the man who called me wife, and I gritted my teeth at the thought.
Eventually, I heard the door creak open, followed by footsteps that came to a halt behind my shoulder.
‘I know you are upset,’ my mother said. ‘But you must understand that your father and I have your best interests at heart.’
I did not reply. Anger stuck in my throat like a chicken bone, though I did not doubt that my parents loved me.
‘I was afraid before my marriage too,’ she continued. ‘Terrified, even. Who wouldn’t be afraid, to leave her home and everyone she has ever known? But my match suited me well, and I only wish for you to have the same.’
I understood. Seeing my parents together, his head bent towards hers, you would think they had been made for each other. Even Atalanta had once been married to a man she respected. There were things about marriage that anyone would want – a companion to keep you warm at night, someone to share joys and sorrows – but there were other things in life I wanted far more. Could I only have one and not the other?
Longing twisted my guts like a rag, an undertow that pulled me towards some fathomless desire.
‘Just don’t let it be Nestor,’ I said at last.
My mother laid a warm palm on my shoulder and smiled conspiratorially. ‘I have some other candidates in mind. All shall be well, my dear daughter.’
After she left, I continued to stare out of the window as night laid its cloak upon the city, where a hundred cookfires sparkled like stars fallen to earth. I imagined fleeing from the palace and disappearing into the wilderness. Perhaps I would find Atalanta again. Perhaps Iphigenia and I could run away together, as we had dreamed as children.
But destiny has its ways of finding us, one way or another. The next morning, mine came for me.
The survivors claimed that the monster came on a gust of wind the likes of which no one had seen before, destroying one of the small villages on the outskirts of Mycenae. Houses were uprooted and thrown into the air like children’s toys. Families were scattered as they ran in terror. And yet, as the survivors staggered through the gates into the capital of Tiryns, no onecould explain what the creature looked like. It was as if the beast were made of air.
A letter arrived by messenger hawk at the palace, purportedly written by this very monster. An outlandish claim that might have provoked incredulity, were it not for the undeniable fact of the levelled houses, the ruined fields. My father locked himself behind heavy wooden doors with the letter, but I managed to discover its contents by bribing one of the palace slaves. I knew the price the letter laid out for freedom from future attacks: that the princess Psyche should meet the monster alone on a peak outside of Tiryns.
I strode to the room where my father met with his counsellors and threw open the door, which thudded against the stone wall. Alkaios and one of his advisors sat up like two boys startled at a game of dice. The advisor looked at me as though I had interrupted him in the privy, shock warring with indignation on his features. My father, on the other hand, seemed stricken. We had not spoken since our discussion about my engagement the evening before.
‘Let me face the monster, Father,’ I said.
Alkaios blanched.
The advisor looked thoughtful, hazarding a glance at my father. ‘It would be best not to stretch our troops too thin,’ he pointed out. ‘In the event of Dorian raiders. If we can eliminate this threat without losing warriors, that would be to the benefit of all.’
‘We don’t know who or what is responsible for this threat,’ my father began. He frowned, deepening lines etched into his face by a lifetime of care and worry. ‘It could be a trap or worse. We cannot offer up a member of the royal family like a lamb upon an altar, especially so soon after her betrothal. Besides, what kind of monster writes a letter?’
‘Some sphinxes are remarkably literate. And, Father,’ I said, trying to keep my tone even, ‘remember the Oracle’s prophecy.’
My heart beat like a drum of war. Here at last was the monster whose death would secure my fame – here at last was my destiny. I knew it as surely as I knew my own name.
Understanding dawned on my father’s face, though there was no joy in it. Exultation sung in my veins, and I already could hear the songs the blind poet would weave about me. But my father looked at me with desperate sorrow, as though he feared he would never see me alive again.
I decided to don the same armour I’d worn against the drakonis. It had served me well then, and it would be a fine choice for this new enemy – even if I was not yet sure what it might be. Securing the straps without Atalanta’s help was a challenge, but I managed. I slipped my sword into the belt at my waist and headed to the grand doors of the palace.
My mother and father were waiting for me. Despite my lingering anger at their plans for my betrothal, they seemed so tender and precious that I wanted to weep. When had my parents, always so strong and solid in my mind, become old? My mother bent against my father’s arm, frail as an autumn leaf. My father anxiously stroked his beard, where white hairs had begun to outnumber black.
