‘It is a risk to let you go alone.’
We are each stubborn in our way. ‘You may accompany me to meet your sister and perform introductions. Then you must leave us.’
She wraps her hair round and round her wrist, thinking about it. Then she relents. ‘All right.’
I give her a slow smile and she registers the shift immediately.
‘What a good girl,’ I murmur. I use the voice I learned from her, low and devastating. Her breath quickens and her face heats. I reach for her wrist, strong with musclebut small, finely boned, like the rest of her. I untangle her hair.
‘Gently,’ I chastise. She nods. I smile again.
I wait for them early the next morning. We had decided it was best that my grandmother does not join us; Amphitrite is mistrustful of naiads. I am anxious and it does not help the fist that remains vice-like on my abdomen. I imagine this invisible hand wringing out my insides until I leak the long-awaited blood. I turn my face towards the sun and try to distract myself. The shadows gather and stretch about my home, which rouses and arches like an apricating cat. The wind steals droplets of water from my skin, blowing west from the Erythraean Sea, as though its journey across the barren stretch between the Nile and coast has left it parched, missing the moisture it has left behind. It pants, dry and heavy in my ear.
They emerge from the river, downstream of where Ceto usually arrives. Amphitrite’s hair is even brighter than I remember, lit from behind by the early morning sun, casting a halo around her. She is ablaze and I curse. I had been preoccupied by her beauty when we first met, I had forgotten how ferocious she is. She is draped in seaweed, thin and translucent, somehow making her appear even more naked than wearing nothing. But I know the ways of Nereids now to see it for the challenge it is. Desire is a weapon, I have always known this. I am learning that I too can wield it.
I am not dressed in white today. I am not playing the sweet betrothed of the Lord of the Sea, so I will wear my hubris this morning. Mykalasirisis dark brown, almost the colour of my skin, cut loose but with panels missing,baring my skin but allowing me room to move. The edges are trimmed lightly in gold. I had it made secretly, without my mother’s knowledge, and it is the best thing I have ever worn.
I walk towards them. Ceto greets me in her usual way. She is cool and close. I fight the urge to lean into her, her scent is heady and distracts me. Ceto’s gaze does not leave her sister’s face. Amphitrite raises her eyebrows in a silent question, examining the sliver of space between us. I stand straight, breathe deep, the salt and earth smell of Ceto’s hair whispering to me of the lake, and inhale the memory of the assuredness that filled me that day.
‘Amphitrite,’ I say.
‘Andromeda,’ she replies.
The scrape of her voice chills me. I am back in the throne room, cowering behind my grandmother, and she is there, glaring at me.
Ceto is still standing at my back. Now she rests her chin on my shoulder. It is casual but proprietary. She is here for me.
‘Meda,’ her voice is low, soft in my ear, though I am sure Amphitrite can hear, ‘I will be out of earshot. But your voice – I will hear if you need me. But you won’t.’
I believe her. I breathe her in again, reach for the river and feel it reach back. It holds its breath, the birds go quiet, they are listening to me. Rallying behind me.
‘No. I won’t.’
Amphitrite glances around, unnerved. Ceto addresses her. ‘I will be back shortly. And sister,’ she smiles, her features sharp as spears, ‘do not forget what happened the last time someone touched what is mine.’
Amphitrite rolls her eyes, but Ceto has turned to walk away. We wait in silence until she is out of sight.
‘So Ceto has found another attention whore to bring her woes to. That’s good.’
My eyes narrow. ‘Not all of us want the gifts we are given, nymph. It is not our fault that you fail at holding the attention you crave.’
‘How terrible it must be for you both,’ she huffs. ‘At least you have each other to play with.’
‘I am not playing.’
‘There’sa surprise. Pretty mortals are always boring.’
I am abruptly grateful that I am my parents’ only child.
‘You practisepharmaka.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Did your sister tell you why I wanted to speak to you?’
‘No, she was irritatingly mysterious about the whole thing, as usual.’
Her affectation reminds me a little of Ceto. Up close, eyes rolling and lips pouting, she is not as fierce as I had thought. Or maybe I too am fierce.
