“Semantics.”
“I’m not letting him make that choice because I’m not going to give anyone the option to hurt me,” Hecate growled softly, the holes that had been made in her walls beginning to patch themselves over. “I did that once before and it ended—badly.”
“So no one can choose to love you, either?”
“No!” Hecate snapped, her voice growing more agitated. “What does that even mean?” she hissed, Pelias’s words feeling like hot coals over her skin.
“You’re only hurting yourself if you won’t let love in, Hecate. If you won’t let love in because of something that someone did to you in the past, you give them power to keep hurting you.”
“I won’t be made the fool.”
“There is no one wiser than the fool.” Pelias countered quickly. “No one who is more open, more sage, more genuine than the person who lets themselves be foolish. Life is short, then you die,” Pelias chuckled to himself. “Well, some of us anyway. Alas. Let yourself be the fool for once, dear goddess, and you’d be surprised who will catch you.”
Hecate said nothing. Pelias knew that he had struck a nerve somewhere deep, a part of the goddess that she kept hidden. The only reason he could even see this side of her was because of her affection towards Aeëtes. It was confusing her, throwing her off her game. The pair sat in silence, an old sailor and the Goddess of witchcraft sharing a lousy jar of wine. Everything about the scene should have made Pelias feel awkward and Hecate indifferent, but it didn’t. She enjoyed his company. The ship moved gently and rocked them back and forth, and Hecate found her mind racing for any reason to deny Pelias.
She finally looked up at him with a smile that only looked sad.
“I would betray my acolytes.”
Pelias studied her, his brow furrowing only slightly as he took another sip. He paused before grabbing one of the small satchels on his waist. He opened it and took a quick sniff, making a grimace that made Hecate laugh, and poured it into his cup.
“I’m going to need something stronger before you explain this.”
Hecate rolled her eyes but indulged him, waiting until he tossed his cup back before she elaborated. “The women who pray to me… they’ve been hurt. They carry the cruelty of men like scars, and for some of them, that’s very literal. The chaste pray to Artemis and Hestia. The married pray to Hera, and the youth pray to Aphrodite.”
Pelias offered up a tension-breaking smirk. “If the married women are praying to Hera, no wonder there are so many unhappy couples.”
Hecate couldn’t help but bark out a sharp laugh before quickly trying to compose herself. She shook her head and tossed him a side-eyed glance in mock chastity before continuing.
“The women who pray to me, they respect my position in the pantheon. I am no vestal virgin, but I’ve taken no consort. I’m the only one in that position and to…to indulge this any further…” Hecate trailed off, and her voice started to break.
Everything that she had been suppressing was suddenly coming hurtling towards the surface like a bitter taste in the back of her throat. The underworld of her own broken heart was threatening to drench her daylights in darkness, to cannibalize her joy. Her hand went to her chest as if she could physically stop the pain in her soul. She bit back a gasp, afraid that if she opened her mouth at all, she would cry out for Aeëtes—call out for his eternal joy, that the son of the sun might warm the depths of her mind.
Pelias reached out to her. He gently covered her palm with his, and the gentle touch nearly broke the thin barrier of Hecate’s control.
“To indulge this any further,” she continued with a heavy voice, thick with buried tears, “would mean that I would threaten the respect of my acolytes. You can understand that, can’t you, Pelias?” She looked at him with searching eyes, desperate for the first time in her immortal life for someone to affirm her decisions.
Pelias studied her carefully, his eyes warm and full of caring, but there was an intensity to them. He had a way about him that was soothing and harsh like the sharpest blade that cut quickly to reduce your pain but went straight to the bone.
“You’re lying to yourself, Hecate.”
She swallowed thickly, fear now intermingling with the anxiety and heartbreak in her veins, sending pulses of red magic over her arms. She pulled away from Pelias and ran her own hands over her arms like she was cold, as if she could soothe the response away. She felt chastised although she was looking for an insult that wasn’t there. Pelias shrugged.
“Your acolytes, those women, they would want you to be happy. No one says that you have to become Hera or some pillar to the institution of marriage,” Pelias deadpanned, taking another sip before continuing. “You owe yourself happiness after heartbreak. Isn’t that what everyone wants to see after they bleed?” He shook his head slowly, staring her down with such fire that she swore he could’ve been a demi-god himself. “Thatis what your acolytes deserve from you. The strength to continue after you have been wounded, the courage to know that you deserve a greater love.”
Hecate let out a strangled cry, her hand coming up and covering her mouth quickly to stifle it. She felt like her pain was going to crawl out of her chest, like each heartbeat cracked her ribs. It took her a minute to compose herself and Pelias waited patiently, not offering another word. When Hecate picked up her head, her eyes were empty, and the tears were gone. There was a coldness to her expression that made Pelias feel like he was looking at a mere statue of the goddess. She shook her head once.
“It would never work between Aeëtes and I, Pelias. I don’t deserve that.”
He said nothing and Hecate stood, going towards the cabin door and opening it for him. She waited there, and it was clear that Pelias had been dismissed. He walked calmly to the door, sighing as he passed her.
“I certainly wish that you didn’t believe that.”
It was Hecate’s turn to say nothing, her power flying up around her body like an invisible shield. Pelias shuffled out of the cabin, making his way to the deck.
He didn’t notice Aeëtes, hidden behind the stairs, leaning back against the wall with his eyes screwed shut.
‘I don’t deserve that.’Aeëtes’s thoughts were the cruelest of tormentors, barking at him like baying dogs—dogs that reminded him of the goddess.That’s what she thinks of being with you, Aeëtes.His insecurities sneered, threatening to overtake his body with hot shame.She doesn’tdeservethat kind of disappointment.
