‘You did not look for me. You did not tell me she lives still.’
‘You have not changed,’ she says. I show her my teeth. She rolls her eyes. ‘I believed it better if you believed her dead. She cannot be helped, and you cannot best my husband.’
She is not terrible, I know this. But she is in my way. I look at her and find my most glowing smile. ‘Oh, howsmallyou are, my little queen.’
I am received by the God of the Sea on a bed of bones and shells, dead and broken homes of ones who have been here before, now passed. Amphitrite brings me to him with the air of a guard accompanying one doomed to die. But I will not be stolen from again.
He is seated on a throne of white marble streaked with grey and green. My memory did not fail me, I remember him perfectly. The dark grey of his skin is the colour of steel,the metal favoured by my husband’s people for working weaponry. It emits its own light down here, even brighter than Amphitrite, the colour of shields and swords. His hand clutches his trident, he is his most here, preternaturally vast, scenting like a shark. No matter. He will smell my blood and not my secrets. Around him, his court watches, silently whispering. I note the faces of the Nereids, some curious, some eager, keen eyes acuminate with cruelty. I do not see her, but I did not suppose that I would. It would not be so easy. But I imagine her here, withering in this cold, distant place, and I am resolved.
I fling myself to my knees, arms outstretched in supplication. ‘Forgive my intrusion, oh great lord.’
I do not look up but hear his rumbled laughter. ‘Why, it is the pretty princess. Or is it queen, now? Or better yet – it is niece, is it not?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘So you gained a throne after all. Your mother would be proud.’
I tremble but still do not look up. The moment must be right. ‘Yes, my lord.’
‘So why are you here? I am married and so are you. Or does my nephew’s small cock leave you so unsatisfied?’
The sound of laughter is strange here, it does not echo, it is swallowed up by the water and dark. ‘No, my lord.’
‘Then what?’
Slowly, I turn my face up to him. I am not sure if the effect of my tear-streaked cheeks and full eyes is realized but I see enough surprise at my piteous expression that I feel some small vestige of hope. ‘My lord. Although I lost out on the honour of your hand, I have been fortunate in marrying yourkin. There am I thankful. I have healthy children and a prosperous kingdom. There too am I thankful.’ I swallow, allow my lip to wobble. I do not look at Amphitrite, who leans on Delphine and is, I am sure, resisting the urge to scoff only because she is interested to see what I do next. ‘But my lord, these blessings I cannot enjoy under the weight of my heavy conscience.’
‘Oh?’
‘I have learned, my lord, that the one who served as my companion, the one that we called Ceto but many knew as the Cetus, lives still. And that as a result of breaking her oath, she lives a life of slavery here, in the Coral Kingdom.’
‘What of it?’
‘My lord. It is my fault. My fault and the fault of my family’s arrogance.’Forgive me, Mama. They are words only. Peace will be ours, in the end.‘The throne was rightfully Amphitrite’s. Ceto acted only out of loyalty to her sister. I cannot but weep to think that because of this, and because of me, she will face an eternity on her knees.’
Poseidon considers me. ‘Ceto swore an oath. She then broke that oath. Such punishments are not merciful.’
A touch of impatience now. I am careful with what I say next.
‘You have no reason to enter into covenant with one such as me. I have caused you a great deal of trouble. But I am kin to Athena and cannot be easy when I have caused injustice. I would right the wrong.’
He peers at me with those too-small eyes. ‘You did indeed cause me a great deal of trouble. But your contrition is appreciated. And what is the freedom of Ceto worth to you? Bear in mind that she is not as useful as she once was. When sheshifts, she becomes foam. Nothing but surf and current. She is the Cetus no more.’ His small eyes narrow slightly. ‘Your husband saw to that.’
‘Yes, my lord. But it is worth my conscience and so is invaluable.’
‘Then make your offer, wife of Perseus. But remember,’ his smile is sly and sharp, ‘you will be robbing me of an immortal servant and so I would require a return in longevity.’
I pretend to ponder. I furrow my brow and purse my lips. I wring my hands. I allow the slow unfurl of an idea to open across my face.
‘If you are so gracious as to agree, great lord, you would lose the benefit of Ceto’s immortality.’
‘I would, indeed.’
‘Then how about mine?’
‘Yours?’
‘My immortality.’
