Ghost Queen in the House of Love

29. Hedone

Melinoë and I speak every day for the next month, but she doesn't broach the matter of Zeus to me. Or the phial, which I've returned to my pillow. I thought she might think lowly of me or throw me out. Or only see me as broken, but we have our easy talks like we have been. About art and games.

"I can't believe you talked me into this," she mutters, crossing her arms. "Personally, I don't think the first match should count, given my clear inexperience with Petteia."

"Clearly," I tease, taking a sip of lemon balm tea, relishing the flavor of mint. "First match. So, does that mean you want to have a second?"

She huffs, but it's all in playfulness.

With an affectionate grin, I say, "I like when you pout."

"Well," she says, swiping a coil from her brow. "You must be quite content most of the time."

"I am." I mean it.

Around us, the leaves are slowly turning to yellow, and a scaly dread curls in my stomach.

"You did very well against me. I was only kidding."

"Yes, I know." I look around for Adonis and Caeneus. "Where are our men?" Said with affection. Ours. I close my mouth, unsure when I started to see everyone and everything here as shared between all of us. They are mine, and I am theirs.

Which will make my departure burn more.

***

We find Adonis and Caeneus by a deep pool of green water. Caeneus dwells by a mossy log speckled with sun-yellow mushrooms, trying to capture the curves of the fungi, before going over to fish with Adonis with rods made of flexible wood and horsehair. They have a spare, and I fish with them, catching many little silver minnows in a large jar of ice Melinoë has enchanted.

Though the weather is still warm and somewhat humid in its sticky way, a cool breeze snakes through the drooping cypresses. With the three of them here, it's hard to feel the gloom churning inside me.

Once we've had our fill of fishing, I balance on a haphazard path of stones smoothed by the water. Arms out, step after step. In front of me, Adonis and Caeneus stay by the fish and talk in low, calming voices, and Melinoë kneels with her hands on her knees, watching the water. Her reflection refracts in the brimming water. Around me, the trees shed their hair.

When I wobble beside Melinoë, sitting beside her, she reaches out, but her hand is suspended.

"You can touch me," I say. "I trust you."

You can look, I want to say, and not be ashamed. The morning before, she came to see me but caught me while I was disrobed, inspecting myself in the mirror and ample sunlight. Our gazes held for a moment, and as pale as half her body is, I noted a clear flush on her throat and collarbone. With a snap of her head, she looked away and apologized, and I didn't tell her it was okay to look because if she didn't wish to, I wouldn't press her.

Though at times we'd laugh over the awkward moments, I understood her tentativeness was very real, so I didn't tease her. I wasn't humiliated as I let the stola fall around my shoulders. At the island, I wasn't afraid of my nakedness or the nakedness of others. I never thought, oh, that nymph glimpsed my backside, now I must pretend she doesn't exist.

I give her a nod, and she offers a ghost of a smile. Picking a fallen leaf off my shoulder, her fingers brush against my bare skin in delicious friction. Again, a fire between us. I breathe deeply through my nose, and she releases a soft but sharp sound, a gasp or a sigh.

Inside me, a flurry of need and uncertainty and anticipation, both a tight knot but loose and hot in me. Perhaps in us.

Melinoë clears her throat and says in a croak, "Leaves."