Achiroe rises from the pool in the central court and strides towards us. Inside she is incongruous. She erodes the crowd as she walks, clearing a path to my mother. She snatches me up on her way, pressing me close, her skin smelling of silt and soil, a scent that usually comforts me. She stops in front of the dais that sets the paired thrones of my parents above us. My small throne is but a chair comparatively, empty beside them. Phineus has followed in his mother’s wake, taking care not to trip over the reeds that robe her. My father has frozen at the sight of his mother, stuttering, his hands full and halfway to his mouth. My mother, to her credit, does not quail at the look my grandmother gives her. She levels a glare of cool authority back as the goddess intones, ‘What did you do?’
My mother does not answer. She does not have to.
The storm breaks overhead. The wind is still no more and what begins is a squall, the likes of which I have not seen before. It rages the length of the palace, it roars in my face, sending salt spray through the open doors, upending ewers and sending platters of food clattering to the floor.
Berries roll as though the palace has been tipped on its sideand shaken. This thought has a tinge of prophecy – I taste it, swallow the dread that follows, and throw myself to the ground. A second later the world beneath me quakes. I feel a weight on top of me, warm, reassuring, and turn my head just enough to note that Phineus covers my body with his. My grandmother is the only one who stands tall, shielding the pair of us, facing the lashing winds.
Then the rain comes. And the rain is not alone.
5
Aethiopia
I know the giant is Poseidon, as I know that water means wet and shelter means dry. The stories have not done him justice, but how could they? I can speak to the otherworldly beauty of my grandmother, but she is a nymph – she is the stars, not the sun. Even Nilus, ancient and reaching with his skin that shines darkly as the beginning of all things might once have shone, seems withered and pale in comparison. I cannot articulate the vastness of the Olympian. The raw, brute force of the sea cannot be contained by words. I do not dare look into his face, his eyes. I do not dare breathe in his direction. I cower beneath Phineus and behind my grandmother. The palace trembles around the sea god and I know that he could crush it if he so wished, could grind us into mud as a child shatters a snail’s shell and watches it ooze from beneath their toes.
Two figures, much smaller and slighter, stand behind him. I note the one to his left first. I have never seen a Nereid before but there is no mistaking her. Her skin glows silver as if lit by the moon. Her hair is a startling shade, the vivid hue of coral reefs, stark against her face, and wildly curling in the wind. She is unfathomably pale and the room is so lit by their presence that I, at first, think she is naked. Then I see that she is drapedin something like my beaded overlay, but with no linen dress beneath, a robe of connected shells and pearls, as white as she is. It hugs her form, clustering at her breasts and the meeting of her thighs but revealing the ample curvature of her body beneath. She is so beautiful that she outshines even my mother and I know at once that she is the reason they are here. The only face I have ever heard of being as lovely as hers is my own.
It takes me a few moments to contemplate the second sea nymph, standing to Poseidon’s right. My eyes are so drawn by her lovely sister, and she is partly obscured behind the enormous trident the Master of the Sea wields. They do not resemble each other at all. If it were not for their shared luminescence, I would not have believed them to be related. Where her sister is full figured, soft bellied, luscious cream, she is slighter and firmer, harder, muscled like a warrior. Her black hair hangs in a waving sheet down her back. She is not beautiful – but her face is a force and I am struck by it. She looks to be about my age, maybe a couple of years older, but younger than her sister. Nymphs age strangely, their lives and looks affected by the passions and caprices that drive them. Indeed, some say nymphs age alongside each lover – Achiroe certainly does not look to have passed the five decades that my grandfather reached when he died.
‘I have been insulted.’
The rain and winds die down, as though they too wish to hear how Poseidon’s words crash around us. There are pants and muffled whimpers from where our guests flatten themselves to the floor.
‘We meant no offence—’
‘Hold your tongue, daughter of Nilus. My quarrel is not with you.’ My grandmother presses closer to Phineus and me.
The silence beats like a war drum. ‘Why bow and make yourself small, Queen of Aethiopia, when you speak such big words?’
My head snaps around. Between Phineus’ arm and knee, I see my mother. She does not rise but speaks into the marble of the dais. ‘I meant you no offence, oh great Master of the Sea.’
He scoffs. ‘Enough of this performed piety. Stand. You do not fool me.’
My mother rises slowly to her feet. Her face is a mask. She does not tremble.
‘You think I do not hear you praying to your hippo god? She does not answer you.’
‘Does she not? Did she not give me my daughter? Whose name rings with prophecy and whose face will be known throughout the ages for its beauty.’
The cool neutrality of her voice terrifies me. This is not how one addresses an Olympian.
‘Your womb is dry and empty now. You shall bleed for your hubris.’
‘Is it hubris, to be a mother who knows the worth of her child?’
The coral-haired Nereid hisses. ‘You dare?’
‘You are Amphitrite.’ My grandmother does not ask it. Her voice is careful, but I know it well enough to hear the contempt there.
Amphitrite’s piercing eyes flash towards my grandmother. ‘Cousin,’ she spits the word like a curse, ‘has our Uncle Nilus’ power so waned that his mortal relations do not know their place?’
I feel my grandmother tense before me. ‘Has my auntDoris sold you so thoroughly that the great sea god must be called to defend your vanity?’
Phineus inhales sharply and raises himself slightly to place a hand on his mother’s back.
‘Careful, daughter of Nilus,’ Poseidon warns. ‘My respect for your father is not boundless. I am not here on account of a nymph’s honour.’
‘Then why are you here?’ demands my mother. I do not know how she can be so bold.I carry hubris so you don’t have to.Amphitrite hisses again.
