‘They call Echidna the mother of monsters – well, Ceto ishermother. The monstrous matriarch, progenitor of all awful things.’
‘Have you ever met her?’
‘No. Though that did not prevent my sisters from making it very clear that I belonged more among Ceto and her line than my father’s.’
She says it offhandedly, with a shrug and forced humour, but I hear the unsaid things. The quiet alienation. I think of the loneliness of the palace and understand something of herpinched expression. And she did not have an Achiroe, she did not have the gentle tug of the river. In all my earlier taunting about her sisters’ mistrust, I had assumed the kind of swiftly forgiven malice that I often observed in sisters at court. I had not realized this. That she was, perhaps, truly alone. I watch her trailing her arms, fingers brushing reeds. I melt and it aches.
‘Do you worry that she, your aunt, will cast you into shadow?’ I ask curiously. What I know of gods is their dread at being outshone. Even the lowliest nymph wishes for singularity. But Ceto is like no other that I have known.
She shrugs again. ‘I do not really think about such things. Much of the future is beyond my control – it will not be up to me, how I am known.’
This sits jaggedly within my chest, but I cannot reply because my grandmother says, ‘My first husband was named Belus.Lord, ruler.’ She purses her lips. Huffs. I turn to face her. She so rarely speaks of this. ‘I heard this strong, fine name and picked him for it. I do not know if it was prophecy or pragmatism – he was a son of kings, the name was appropriate. He was a proud man, and he gave me proud sons. Aegyptus and Danaus. Two sons of kings who would go on to be kings. I remember teaching them to swim, feeding them from my body, watching them grow strong. I remember when they became strong enough to be men, to marry, to father fifty children each. I remember my pride. I remember when Aegyptus’ fifty sons married Danaus’ fifty daughters. And I remember when forty-nine of Danaus’ daughters killed forty-nine of Aegyptus’ sons on their wedding nights.’
I know this story, but I am still cold at its recounting.Achiroe’s voice is calm, flat, but she swallows with effort. It is still effort, even though centuries have passed.
‘My second husband, your grandfather, mylittle queen …he was also called Belus. He too gave me two sons. But he was a very different man. Humble, contented with his piece of the world. He fascinated me. He was the kind of lord and ruler with which I was unfamiliar.’ She sighs. It is weary, quite the weariest I have ever heard her. ‘Perhaps all names are tinged with prophecy and those of us closer to godhood are merely better at recognizing it. Perhaps not. Two rulers. Two very different men. Two Beluses. I wonder how their names will be known. It matters, how life is breathed into a word. Names are made by the mouths of men.’
It is not long after this that we visit the lake. Naturally, this is not a result of my suggestion, but Ceto’s goading.
‘Are you not even a little curious about what lies beyond the palace?’
‘Of course I am.’
‘Then why not?’
‘Because something might happen to me, and it would ruin everything.’
‘I would never let anything happen to you.’ My stomach pulses but then she says, ‘My master would be furious. I would not suggest it if I thought the oath was at risk.’
‘I still do not think it is a good idea.’
She sighs dramatically. ‘Are you that small,little queen, still? I was so sure you were making progress.’
I swear and shove and she laughs. It is like this for a few days. She asks, probes,just a little swim up the river, we don’t even have to go as far as the springs, just to the lake.Itis sport initially, she calls mesmallandclosetedandspoiledand I call hertyrannicalanddemandingandbullish. But I start to see something else, a hint at the flat darkness I have not missed. One morning she greets me, inhaling me as usual, nose to my cheeks, in my hair skimming my collarbone. She has been lingering longer than usual lately, precisely attentive, finding new places to check. I feel this bud between us turning this way and that, seeking her like stems in the sun.
I recognize the set of her shoulders, though, and when she says, ‘And today? You will not venture beyond the palace with me today?’ I turn and, beginning to walk, try at something softer than our old bantering.
‘My! First you press even closer than usual and now you are keen to have me all to yourself. Should I be flattered, worm?’
I am gratified by the heating of her face. I have tried at flirtation and it has wrong-footed her.
For a moment she forgets her mood. ‘You are flattered entirely too easily!’ Then she mutters, disgruntled, ‘I do not understand you. A whole kingdom and you are not interested.’
‘It is not that I am uninterested, I just do not think it is wise. And what need have I of the rest of the kingdom when I have you to play with?’ Saying such words elicits a riot of internal twisting. I am brushing a toe beyond what we have established, but it is working.
‘You are infuriating.’
‘Why, thank you.’
‘And you are beautiful.’ I stop short. We have just entered the orange grove and she is wearing her coolly amused mask, her eyebrow raised.
‘What did you say?’
She shrugs. ‘It is true.’
‘You are a plague,’ I say with a scowl.
Her palms are up, she smiles guilelessly but her tone is that low one that sends shivers of anticipation up my spine. ‘I don’t know what you mean. Everyone is always saying as much.’
