‘Perfect,’ she says, beaming at me.
I take a stick of kohl and haltingly draw an eye of Horus on my leg. She beams wider, her eyes filling with something like surprise, but sweeter. I hold the kohl out to her, but she shakes her head.
‘A mark of protection could be seen as an attempt to avoid punishment, should the judgement not go my way. I will not give the sea god any reason to name me oath breaker now.’
I want to argue with her, but I do not want to waste time. We will not have much more of it. I take my mother into my arms and hold her tight. She freezes as though it has been an eternity since she was held like this. And perhaps it has. She has no Achiroe. She has no Ceto. Or maybe she does, and she too guards her secrets. I wish it for her.
When I pull away her eyes have misted but she simply says, ‘Worry not, mylittle queen. I am not afraid.’ She cups my face and repeats, ‘Perfect.’
I am resolved now, as we emerge from the tent. Resigned might be more accurate but resolved is Meda and resigned is theirlittle queen, and it makes a difference, I have learned. I have played at blissful ignorance for years and it has bought me my best ones, the best ones anyone could have. I can play some more. If Artemis, with her quick feet, can outrun gods and men then I can out-think them. I will not be conquered.
We stand on the shoreline, a few paces away from our small camp, facing the craggy inlet. The day is still, humid, all the air a sweaty embrace. My father and mother sit a littleway off, elevated in sedan chairs borne on the backs of those loyal to them, for they can never be without their thrones. I am flanked by Ceto. She and I have not spoken much this morning, we have exhausted the occasion’s words, but I lean into her closeness. Now that I am here, facing this, it does not seem so terrible.I will be his wife, there are rules, I convince myself,and Ceto will be there.
Amphitrite arrives first. She is resplendent, dressed again in that beaded white dress. The sky is cloudy, the sun muffled, but her moon-bright luminosity is enough. She is sat astride a dolphin. I have never seen one before and feel a mad desire to look closer, to pet and inspect. I suppress a laugh when I remember that I shall be returning with them and will have my fill of such creatures. Poseidon’s arrival is nothing like the first time but the earth quakes still. This time he is not enraged – he is eager to claim his prize. Without the all-consuming fear of our last encounter, I can gaze upon his face properly. He is all lead and tin and could still turn my bones to dust. It could end now, I am so mortal before him that I see everything could be over in a heartbeat, with no time to struggle or protest. I focus instead on his too-small eyes. The inaccuracy steadies me. He is not so perfect, he will have a weakness. I smile guilelessly up at him, blithe and vacant, and bow. ‘My lord.’
‘Lady Andromeda.’
I do not allow the courteous tone to deceive me. They say he poured poetry into Medusa’s ear before he violated her. I watch him eye me hungrily, his gaze pawing at the curve of my stomach and hips, the abundance of my chest, the lush dark berry of my face, comparing me with the Nereid that flanks him at his left.
My mother steps forward, bows. ‘Our Lord Poseidon. It has been many years. The delay and my daughter’s ill health have, indeed, been unfortunate.’ She holds her hands up in supplication. ‘We are but the subjects of the gods and we are here now. We are ready and would hear your judgement.’
His eyes are bright with hatred, and it terrifies me to see him look at my mother this way. He is warring internally – I am sure of it. He would love to see my bold, scheming mother dead, oh, how he would love to humiliate her and deliver a lesson to those humans who dare to dream. But he wants me. I am sure of that too. I can see the decision in the focus of those too-small eyes, pinpricks at the centre of chaos. His voice, however, is level. ‘It is not my judgement we await. Stand forward, Ceto.’
I want to pull her to my side as soon as she leaves it. Indeed, I feel my fingers twitch, but I fight the impulse. And she obeys her orders.
‘You have served well these years,’ booms Poseidon. ‘You have been most diligent. Your sister especially commends how assiduously you have carried out your duties.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’
The blue of the Erythraean Sea blends to madder in places, red and brown and unsure.
It does not smell like other seas, it has a tang, like fish and wood and the rotting too-sweet smell of fruit.
‘So, loyal Ceto, deliver your judgement. I will have the best wife, the best of all the gods. Is the Princess Andromeda, whom you have watched to womanhood, more beautiful than your sister, Amphitrite, the Nereid of Salt?’
My mind is distracted. Will I be able to see my parents? Will I be able to visit my grandmother? How far away fromthe sun shall I be, will I grow as blanched and cold as Ceto when we first met? Perhaps this is why I don’t hear it, at first. The day is so still, there can be no other reason, though the sticky, heavy air is thick in my ears, and I almost shake my head to clear them. But I do not need to hear her, because I see her mouth form, know the shape of her lips.
And when she says the word again – I hear her then.
‘No.’
16
Aethiopia
The heavens open and retribution rains. Poseidon amplifies – he is a colossus. The fact that he wants me, that he does not agree with Ceto’s judgement, is irrelevant. He is no oath breaker, and her falsehood would not occur to him. Now is his chance at divine punishment and he will not waste it. The Erythraean Sea darkens to black, an oily basin foaming and bubbling. It rises up, thick and viscous. I have never known the sea to be so claiming, but claim it does.
And my mother is taken.
She is dragged away from her women, along with her throne. It happens before she can suck a scream and so I scream for her. I scream my denial, I plead, but still she scores the earth, pressed to her throne by some juddering force before being wrenched up, up, into the air. Ceto is before me, grasping my arms, trying to pull me away, back to the tent; she does not want me to see what will come next.
I face her, spitting with rage. ‘What did you do? What did you do?’
‘What I had to.’ She says it with intensity, and she does not look sorry. I do not know why I am so shocked. She told meshe would lie. She told me she would kill for me. She told me she did not care about my mother.
‘My mother! Your oath—’
‘I will bear my punishment.’ Her chin is set. But she will not bear it alone. I know it as I hear the beat of wings about me but see no bird. We are too entangled now and it is not justice Horkos deals in but vengeance. Demons do not discriminate. I feel the dark brushing of feathers and my skin is buffeted by their winds. They say the avenger of perjury is borne by his mother, Eris, winged and terrible and the purveyor of strife, who, in discovering that deception begets discord, comes to feed and be fed.
