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."
"Yes," I reply briskly. "Leaves."
As if in another world, Adonis weaves a wreath of swamp reeds and mulberries in Caeneus' hair, and Caeneus returns the favor.
When we all tread back to the estate with it in sight, alongside the ghosts, alligators, hounds, everything--I step beside Adonis near the crab apple tree.
"May I speak with you?" I ask Adonis.
He beams. "Of course." After sharing a nod with his partner, Caeneus leaves us and follows Melinoë, flower crown still in his hair.
Facing Adonis, I start, "Did Melinoë . . . ?"
"Hm? Oh, no. She isn't like that. Any secrets you tell her will remain with her."
I cannot tell him all I gave to Melinoë; that was like excising a chunk of my own heart, and now I'm waiting for it to grow back.
"I'm one of Zeus' lovers, and I came here to spy on her."
His brown eyes darken, and I fear his disgust is directed at me, that he'll curse my name. Instead, he waves a hand and scoffs. "Typical. He has a way of starting off kind, and then the favors come in."
I duck my head. "I feel like such a fool."
His eyes shine with empathy. "Would you call me a fool?"
"No."
"Then don't call yourself one." I've never seen him so serious.
"You had no choice."
"He's the king of everything. All of us. I'm sure you blame yourself. I blamed myself. He told me I was so beautiful, so sweet, so innocent, that I made him act as he did. That it was my fault, since it's never his. So, I resented a trace of those qualities in me because he taught me they made me a victim."
"I'm sorry. That should've never been the case."
We spend the day lounging away, as Adonis sits on a stump and plucks at his lyre idly, and Caeneus stretches.
At the table where we continue playing our board game, after Melinoë's request to "study my military techniques," I ask her, "Are you comfortable talking about what we've discussed before, about somehow fighting back?"
She replies with deliberate steadiness, "I think the better question is if you're comfortable with it. I didn't want to bring it up."
I can tell she wants to get something off her chest, and I want to listen. "Go ahead."
She stares at the blue stones on the board, the "dogs" on her side, her "city." "For centuries, all I've had are ideas. I should've taken the time to prepare, to do something. It might've saved some poor souls the trouble. I don't have an army. I don't quite know where I'd get one. I'm no leader.
"But if you asked me frankly if I've thought about doing something to the King of Olympus, of succeeding where others have failed, I couldn't say no. Kronos, Zeus, it's truly the serpent eating its own tale, devouring everything. And we accept it because with destruction comes creation, everything we know to be true. But what if we slashed the serpent with a blade? Yet, Zeus cannot be felled with a blade."
The weight in Hedone's chest grew heavier. "I want to believe, but you're right, it's impossible." To have hope was cruel; it was cruel how badly she wanted to have and keep it.
"Hera almost succeeded. If he cannot be killed easily, he can be imprisoned."
I look over at Caeneus and Adonis, who have started talking; Adonis gives his tired partner an amphora full of water. "Perhaps they might also have ideas." When the warrior sees Melinoë wave them over, Caeneus nudges his elbow lightly against Adonis' arm. We make space for them as they take some of the extra chairs collected near the estate steps to join us. I imagine they've heard most of what we've said; privacy is difficult when, without walls between us, we can hear at a decent distance.
I frown at Melinoë. "But she didn't succeed. If we tried . . . it would need to be better. And if you dethroned Zeus, who would take his place, Hera? You?"
"Me?" Amusement creeps into her voice. "Would that be so terrible? Everything would be the same. The same order of things."
I press my lips together. "I suppose you're right. You can't simply replace one king and think everything around the throne will change.
"That's right." Caeneus leans forward, muscle-thick arm propped on his raised knee, his expression as serious as it always is. "Having someone else going through the same motions won't change anything."
Melinoë looks between the three of us. "I wouldn't . . ."
Adonis says, crossing one leg under his other one. "There are so many who follow Zeus' example. Even if Zeus is gone, that won't change them. It won't change what he's sown in the soul itself. Even the King of Olympus himself didn't invent treachery."
Melinoë shakes her head, rubbing a thumb on one of the stones. "I don't want the throne. I don't think I have the charm or patience for it."
I swallow thickly. "I want—if it were possible, I'd want you to topple Zeus. I would."
Melinoë leans forward. "And yet?"
I ball my chiton into my fists. "And yet everything is as it is for a reason. I cannot ask you to disrupt the equilibrium because of my own follies."
Adonis rubs his chin. "It wouldn't only be a war against Zeus. It'd be against Poseidon, Hera, Athena, Ares . . . we'd be vilified as much as a monster like Chronos."
Melinoë bows her chin. "Hera might be receptive."
Adonis hums, considering it. "As much as she despises Zeus, being his queen does offer her leverage."
Caeneus raises a hand and offers, "We could find a way to use that leverage. She did try to uproot him once."
I settle my elbows on the table, skewing some of the stones on the board. "No one would be able to simply conquer Olympus straight away. It might be better to take other territories first. Like Poseidon's realm. That way, Zeus couldn't call on his brother for assistance."
Caeneus asks, thick brows low, "But what of incapacitating them?"
Chewing the inside of my cheek, I shake my head and watch a butterfly lazily swing by in loose circles. "I don't know yet."
Melinoë crosses her arms. "You cannot kill a god easily, but you can petrify them, perhaps into stone."
My eyes widen. "Medusa."
She nods as our eyes meet; we are on the same page.
"Are we speaking of a spell or a Gorgon?" Caeneus asks. "Because I'll admit I have little knowledge of either. I only know of Gorgons from the stories; I never had the misfortune of meeting one. The centaurs were bad enough."
Pressing her palms together between her knees, Melinoë thought about it. "Caeneus, do you know what happened to Medusa's head when Perseus slew her?"
"No, I don't." A faint horizontal line formed on his brow. "I can't believe we're truly discussing this."
"Have you ever wanted vengeance for what happened to you?"
Caeneus shook his head. "I've fought, yes, and I've shed blood, but I only wanted to get away. What Poseidon did, it isn't me; it's only something that happened to me. Certainly, an important event that doesn't simply leave my mind or my bones, but I've tried to live my new life as best I can. In the tapestry of my life, that part of it was so small, barely a square of color in thousands of days."
"I'm glad, truly, to hear that."
"That said, I loathe to think what happened to me has happened to so many others without intervention. Without the god taking some sort of pity on them or fulfilling a whim to release them as unharmed as possible when he grew bored."
Zeus wasn't all-powerful. He had his designated powers and his limits. Even he couldn't fight the Fates, and he didn't even try; without Zeus' consent, Hades never would have taken her.
What we're speaking of is impossible, and yet I want to try it anyway for the sake of making everything better. But what if they increased suffering by disrupting the equilibrium of the cosmos? She didn't know how far she could go. Her family history was war and betrayal, but she never wanted to indulge in it, to witness it; Mother had turned her away from all that.
If she was given a chance to sublimate the Olympians, she'd say yes.
And so would I.
I wrack my head, thinking of the legitimate children of Hera and Zeus, who might sit on the throne without a fuss. I couldn't think of any, especially with Zeus' iron grip on power. Many of their children who weren't Olympians merely went off to engage in revelry. There were, of course, other children. Hera conceived Hephaestus alone, as Zeus conceived Athena from his head. It made sense, as Hephaestus could be as petty and jealous as his mother. One needn't look any further than what he did to poor Aunt Harmonia.
I say, "Persephone is Zeus' daughter, and Demeter is quite important, isn't she?" The Iron Queen would have the support of the chthonic gods and her mother, at the very least. Hades, on the other hand . . . I don't know what to expect.
Melinoë replies, "Yes, but she would still have less claim than the others."
I tilt my head. "Zeus is the youngest of all his siblings, and yet he became king. The gods have never followed succession well if it didn't suit them."
Adonis murmurs, "Zeus will do whatever pleases him."
She says, "But, as arbitrary as it is, they will when it suits them. And though Demeter was the oldest, since Zeus was regurgitated first after their father devoured them, he's considered the firstborn, or first reborn."
"That's true, but I doubt Mother would want to confront Zeus."
I give a nod. "Yes, I can understand that."
Eventually, we come up with no solutions, and the discussion lapses, though it hangs in the air. And as it suspends over us, my stomach is tight in both anticipation and excitement. Anxiety and, finally, hope. Better to try and hope.
We lapse into a less fraught matter. Adonis looks at the leaves above us. "Autumn seems to be almost here."
I close my eyes, a weary sigh easing past my lips. "Imagine if we had a land of eternal spring."
When I look at her, Melinoë offers a dry grin. My heart skips. Why does that expression do things to me? I should know. If only I could collect her smiles like water. "I quite like autumn. The red leaves and the harvest moons."
I hum, sucking in my bottom lip in thought. "Isn't that when your mother would come home?"
"Yes. I imagine she enjoys the spring, the reprieve from queendom. And now, somewhere, she must be looking upon something similar, among rows and rows of wheat and corn. Before going back."
"If you saw her again, would you embrace her?"
"That's never quite been my style. There's so much shame and misunderstandings between us." Her eyelids lower. "She's suffered and struggled enough. The Underworld is her home now, as this is mine."
"I wish I could stay here for an eternity."
Softly, she replies, firefly lights in her eyes, "Why can't you?"
I blink slowly and, too late, realize I'm holding back tears. Not of regret or fear or grief. Or, not entirely grief. I am thankful. It is as if I've already stepped into the future, where I am on my own, and though it hurts, I no longer feel weak. I've never been weak; I doubted myself, held back, but with her, with them, everyone here, I've realized what I am capable of. What I will be capable of.
What I've always been capable of, but because it was inconvenient to the gods, they didn't speak about it, so I never acknowledged it.
Right now, I have her, and I feel safe. Even as I realize that time will end, this bliss won't last, I carry that comfort in me. That no matter what happens, even if she, Adonis, and Caeneus aren't by my side, I'm not alone. I'm not the only one who's felt broken, who thought I was the one who didn't fit, didn't deserve to be here. Now, I know it's wrong. Zeus, all the abusive Olympians and gods, they're the cruel ones, the wrong ones.
I ask them, "Today would be the end of the Thesmophoria, wouldn't it?" The celebration of the end of summer when mortals honor Demeter and Persephone, mother and daughter, who will soon part.
"Yes," Melinoë says, "when the summer harvest is done, seeds are sown for autumn, and mortals send fertility prayers." Harvest and mourning, birth and death. "But only adult women celebrate it."
I look over at Adonis and Caeneus. "Surely, we can make an exception." It shouldn't be contingent on only women to uplift women; men should play a part, too.
"Yes," Melinoë says, "after all, only married citizen women were traditionally allowed--no maidens or slaves. I would say we can afford to be not quite so exclusionary."
"Oh." I clap my hands. "Thankfully, we've skipped the entire fast. So, who will make the cakes?"
"Which ones?" Adonis asks with a smile.
Melinoë shares a wicked look with him. "The ones that look like snakes or the ones that look like phalluses?"
"Or vulvas," I offer.
"Just give me honeyed dates and pig meat, and I'll be happy," Caeneus replies.
***
An owl with a moon-orange glow in its eyes hoots above us as we sit by the growing fire. Around the flames are fir cones we've carefully arranged atop a circle of humus. I sit beside Melinoë, the men across from us.
I don't partake in drink, remembering how it bittered on my tongue that tempestuous night when I ran off and had nightmares. When I awoke thrashing, Melinoë coaxed a palm on my brow.
The ghosts also lounge outside on the walls and in the trees, while others wander the grounds, some playing with the hounds, including Carya, who laughs when one gets on his hind legs to lick her face. They do not eat or drink, but some take up fretted lutes and play. The night is both raucous and calm, like a dance between Pan and his maenads.
"Isn't there often a ritual?" I ask Melinoë, as she glides a thin-toothed bone comb through her hair. "Some sort of retrieval?" The rites of the Thesmophoria were often kept clandestine, and yet celebration was so widespread some things sneaked through.
"Yes, we could do that if you wanted. A challenge." Her eyes flicker over to Adonis, who grins. "One I'm better at than board games." She closes her lidded gaze and, after a few seconds, says, "There."
Caeneus leans forward. "What did you do?"
She guides us into the swamp, to a vine-covered cavern, and she explains the ritual to us: We must descend and find a sacred object.
Melinoë finishes, "It pantomimes Mother's descent into the Underworld. Caverns are also the wombs of the Earth."
"What is the sacred object, usually?" Caeneus asks.
"Rotting piglets, for increased fertility." Yes, right, pigs are Demeter's animals because they signify fertility. I'd always enjoyed pigs; they are affectionate and sociable. But while sacrifice is crucial to worship, seeing a carcass of their tiny babies. . . . Even when we cooked that lamb on the spit, I was nauseated. Overthinking, as usual when I don't have something to distract myself. I suppose it's easier having distance when I forget the meat on the plate comes from a living thing. I can pretend it came from thin air because I didn't see the corpse or the killing.
"Splendid," I say.
"I've put something else in there with my magic," Melinoë says.
I offer a watery smile. "I'm glad."
Adonis sighs, lifting a lantern with a flickering flame. "I hope this isn't a trick, and we aren't truly finding rotting carcasses."
"Oh." Melinoë presses a hand to her chest. "I would never do such a thing."
"Right." He sighs. "Like that time you tried to win Petteia by levitating away half my pieces."
"It was the wind," she explains.
As we descend, the cavern yawning wide, we take separate paths, with Melinoë conjuring a flickering purple flame.
"Seems we have an advantage," I joke. "Your light can't go out."
"Yes," she says with a sly grin, "but don't tell them that."
As we descend into the damp place that smells of mold and earth, I swallow and take a deep breath. Indeed, the darkness consumes us.
I reach out into the shadows, and she reaches back, folding her hand around mine.
As if sensing my trepidation in the pulse of my fingers, she asks, "Does the darkness scare you?"
"No, if anything, light is scarier, but I still want to try."
She pauses. "Try to conjure it?"
"Yes."
At my nod, she extinguishes her own light. Though I can hardly see even her outline, I can feel her presence, close and warm. Something trickles in the far distance.
When I look down at my own hands, I can't see them. Even with the darkness surrounding me, I close my eyes, digging deeper in myself. For so long, I didn't like the quiet because it made me linger too long on myself. Think of my failures, ways I felt I was inadequate or incomplete. And when I reached out, I feared reaching too much. When I was hurt, I told myself it was because I'd gone too far.
It's not true. Melinoë, who has stood with me when everything I knew insisted she'd leave, grow disgusted and frustrated with me and my past duplicity.
Something bursts before my eyelids, dances in their shadows, and I open my eyes.
The flame is teal, flickering greenish-blue around a mercury ball of silver.
I can't help the giddiness in my voice. Shaking with excitement, I almost hop up and down. "Oh, oh, look, it's staying, I'm doing it!"
"I knew you could," she murmurs to me.
We continue on with my light until the cavern opens up farther. In front of my feet, I see something flash on the rocky ground, a bright scarlet. When I focus the light on that spot, I find our bounty: a ripe, halved pomegranate, its seeds gleaming like smiling garnets and rubies.
***