Mother laughs sharply. ‘Hilarious, Kore. I know you think I’m sending you off to a fate worse than death but I wouldn’t send you to the actual realm of it.’
‘Okay,’ I say, not wanting to continue this conversation and cursing myself for even bringing it up. ‘Can I go see my friends now? Before Father gets here?’
‘Oh,’ she says, a little wary. ‘I really don’t want you to muddy your dress.’
‘Oh please, Father’s the one who made me the goddess of flowers. He can hardly be surprised by a bit of mud, can he?’
‘I’m the goddess of the harvest and you’ve never seen me with straw in my hair, have you?’
Yes, actually. Once. She was two bottles of wine into a ‘mothers’ evening’ with Selene and Leto. Mother loves inviting other goddesses over to regale me with horror stories aboutthe men she’s protecting me from. They would gather round, tell me the worst things I’ve ever heard in my life and then give me tips for staying safe. ‘Don’t wear a gown if you have to travel,’ from Aphrodite. ‘Disguise yourself as a man if you can and at the very least travel as part of a group.’ Or Athena patting my head, telling me the places to hit a man to break free of him if, gods forbid, one ever made it on to the island and took me away. Hestia isn’t much older than me, but she would harp on about how it was always safest to stay at home – though admittedly, I assumed she’d say as much as goddess of the hearth. She’d say that if I ever found myself stranded I should march straight to the nearest palace or estate and request xenia, a bond of hospitality of her own creation that would make anyone there unable to hurt me without consequence. They could still hurt me, of course, but there would be consequences. Before xenia, men could do whatever they liked to those foolish enough to be unprepared for their advances.
‘I’ll be gone in a few days,’ I plead. ‘Who knows when I’ll next see my friends.’
‘You know I don’t like you spending time with those girls,’ she says, gnawing on her lip. ‘Oh very well, I can hardly say no, not with … everything else.’
Which I suppose means if she’s forcing me to bind myself to a man I’ve never met, then stopping me from talking to my friends is a moral line she’s unwilling to cross.
‘Cyane!’ Mother calls and the nymph appears at the foot of the stairs. ‘Go with her to the river, but if the girls start corrupting her I’m counting on you to stop them.’
Oh, Mother, they corrupted me long ago. And a good thingtoo, or I’d be heading off to my wedding night with no idea of what goes where.
‘Be back soon,’ she calls when I’m already halfway out the door. ‘Your father will be here in an hour.’
An hour. I can practically hear sand trickling through an hourglass – counting away my last moments of the only life I’ve ever known.
IFEEL BETTER THE SECOND I’Moutside. My ever-present itch soothes, calmed by the gentle hum of the flowers around me: carnations, snapdragons, crocuses, marigolds, fuchsias, the buttercups and daisies nestled in the grass. And that’s just in the clearing our cottage is tucked into. When I venture to the meadows, that feeling swells until I’m giddy.
Cyane is in front of me before I can take another step towards the nature calling to me. Her golden eyes search me for some clue to my unease, fine lines creasing the russet skin around them, which is impossible because nymphs don’t visibly age but apparently I’ve worried her so much I’ve caused wrinkles.
I want to break down in her arms. I want her to hug me and tell me it will be okay. Who knows when I’ll next have that? Whatever happens today, whatever choice I make, no option contains comfort.
Instead I smile. ‘I’m okay.’
‘I know it’s hard.’ Cyane rubs my arm.
‘Let’s get away from here,’ I say, in no mood to pretend she could comfort me and unwilling to risk tears again so close tothe house. My whole life I’ve found it too small, something to run away from. Especially after seeing the impossible heights of the buildings of Olympus, built by gods of craft rather than desperate nymphs seeking to shelter a pregnant goddess in the middle of a war. The very roads in Olympus are gold, and our roof leaks. But now … now I’m not sure. I love it and hate it in equal measure.
We head through the grove and I let the smell of the pine and oak and cypress trees wash over me. I strain my ears for the humming insects and whistling birds. I glance around like if I look hard enough I’ll be able to take it all in, to carry it with me wherever I go.
‘Your mother argued with him, you know,’ Cyane says. ‘She pleaded for another few years. He refused. Apparently, there’s something of a competition for you.’
‘Great,’ I mutter.
‘The mythic Kore? Not seen since she was a girl, raised on a mystic island to keep her purity intact? You’re a legend among the other gods, and a prize above any other.’
I might be sick.
‘That’sgood, Kore,’ she insists, her worried eyes flitting across me. ‘With everyone vying for you, your parents will be able to choose the best of the best. You’ll have a great match.’
That’s what all of this is for, right? All the accomplishments, the styling, the holding my breath and keeping my mouth shut. Be perfect, get a larger pool of options, increase your chances of a nice and decent husband.
Then keep being perfect to keep them nice and decent once you’re tied to them.
‘Why didn’t Mother tell me she didn’t want this either?’I finally manage, guilt twisting in my gut. ‘I wouldn’t have fought with her.’
‘Yes, you would,’ Cyane says with a glance at the house. ‘Because you can’t fight with Zeus, can you?’
No, I can’t.
