Siren Daughter

by Cassie Day

  The tight walls of the servant offshoots remind me of my mother’s cave. I dredge up a smile but say nothing. Eventually, we stand on the stairs outside the palace doors, staring down at bustling Athansi.

  Hermes opens his arms. “Are you sure?”

  My smile wilts. “No.” I step close. His lithe arms wrap around me. “But I’ll go anyway.”

  His sandal wings flap. We’re airborne in moments.

  He grins. “I’ve heard many heroes say the same.”

  I set my head on his chest. It’s warm but nothing like Charon’s. “No questions, please?”

  He nods, chin jabbing the crown of my head.

  We hover above Athansi.

  Time passes.

  A cool mist. A strong wind. Salt fills my senses; we’re above the Akri Sea already.

  Wind loosens tendrils from my braid, whipping them into my face. Like this, with the breeze and salted air, I imagine myself flying. Just like the three sirens once did.

  I crack my eyes open. Then slam them shut. A glimpse of the sea whooshing by has vomit rising in my throat. Everything is a blur. How does Hermes manage? His godly parentage? I can’t ask. The wind will steal my words.

  When the sun is at its highest point, we slow. Then drift to a stop. I squint against the searing light. The gulls, the rock outcroppings, and the boats floating in the distance. All of this could be anywhere in the Akri or Synoro.

  But I know that rock jutting like a gaping eel mouth. Know that shadow near the horizon as our underwater ruins.

  Home. I’m home.

  Then why does my heart ache?

  “Hermes.” I try to add humor to my tone and mostly succeed. “Why didn’t we travel this way with Persephone? Even taking one of us at a time is quicker than Arion’s chariot.”

  He laughs, chest moving beneath my cheek. “The palace gods are stuck in their traditions, I guess. Besides, Arion likes to feel useful.”

  The palace gods. The court. He’s not quite one of them, is he? Always running and flying away. Forever traveling between the realms. Never belonging anywhere.

  He lowers us onto a flat rock jutting from the waves. I step out of his arms. Although he’s not Charon, I miss the comforting warmth immediately. Will Aunt or the twins or Eudoxia hug me? I hope so.

  “All the best. May we see each other again.” He lowers into a flourishing bow. Gulls screech along with him. He turns, scowling at them.

  He doesn’t say goodbye. I don’t either. Saying goodbye is final. A grand adventure ended with nothing more than words. But while he might hope for more adventures, I don’t.

  I’ll die with my family in this sea. Nieces and cousins will care for me if I survive to old age. I’ll visit Eudora’s bones or my mother’s cave. Tell my memories as stories to the children born year after year. There’ll be no children of my own.

  Not a terrible life.

  “May we see each other again,” I say. My voice is hollow.

  He bows once more, sandal wings flapping. Then he’s gone in a blur.

  The sun beats down on my shoulders. On the water too, turning the blue depths clear as the cloudless sky above. Summer will arrive soon. A whole season went by while I traveled the realms.

  When I can stand the sun no longer, the beams searing against my skin, I straighten. My sandals slip against the damp rock. They’re the first piece of clothing to go.

  I’m fighting with my shoulder pins when two heads surface from the waves. The twins. Their faces are gaunt, filled with hunger. The fish haven’t returned to our stretch of sea with the warm tides after all.

  “Agathe?” one asks in mind-speak.

  The other watches, mouth gaping open.

  “Yes,” I say. “Hello, Iris.”

  She shakes her head. “I’m Meda. Have you forgotten so quickly?”

  The other—Iris—grins.

  Shadows dart beneath them. Our scales blend well with the Akri water but our skin, no matter what color, never quite manages. The shadows draw nearer. Aunt’s top half bobs free. Yet there are more, so many more, who surface. Except for Eudoxia skirting the outskirts of the group, I’ve forgotten all their names.

  Three months ago I knew most of them. Their names, wants, and faces. Now they’re nothing more than a hazy stream of memory I can pluck nothing, not even names, from.

  Iris and Meda. Not so long ago I could instantly tell them apart. Now they’re identical.

  I did this. I grasped and clawed for immortality. At what cost? So single-minded, so selfish—I forgot my family. Aunt and her gentle hugs. The twins’ endless mischief and ready smiles. And more of them lost to my journey.

  I can stay here among them. I’ll remember.

  But there’s Nyx and her empty words. Zeus and his cruelty.

  I won’t pretend to know what Molpe wanted. I don’t know what my mother would say, not anymore. But I know my own heart. Know my own mind.

  Both say this: fight.

  In the stories, heroes follow a path laid for them by the gods. Yet I’m no hero. I’m Agathe, daughter of sirens, and I will carve my own path.

  For me. For my family.

  I turn, shouting into the wind. “Hermes!”

  Moments tick by.

  My family chatters on in mind-speak. Something tugs the hem of my dress. I turn. Iris and Meda. Gods, they’re so thin.

  “You’re leaving again,” one of them says. Their smiles match.

  Aunt watches, silent.

  “I have to go.” I grip their hands, tears building at how four of their spindly hands can fit in two of mine. They starve while I dine like a goddess in the Olympian Palace.

  “Why?” Aunt asks, voice flat. From hunger or grief, I’m not sure.

  “I left to seek my immortality.” I shudder, shame rippling across my skin. “But don’t you see? We deserve better than this. We deserve to live, to dream, to love. We deserve to do more than survive.”

  The twins gasp, eyes alight.

  Finally, Aunt smiles. “So?” she asks, leading me into a grand story all over again.

  “So.” I take a breath. My heart races. Words burn at the tip of my tongue. “I’ll bargain and fight for us. All of us.” Another breath. “I’ll bargain for our wings and immortality.”

  The chatter stops. If not for the gulls and the waves, the sea would be silent.

  A flock takes flight, shooting themselves up into the sky in a clatter of feathers and displaced air. My family startles into action, talking over each other until my mind aches with all their voices at once.

  “We should find her food,” Iris or maybe Meda says, clutching the hands of her twin.

  “Wings!” The other twin swims in circles, trying to get a look at her own back.

  Aunt grins, each wrinkle creasing deeper. Her expression radiates joy and acceptance. Everything I’ve missed about her.

  “That’s a lot of naked ladies,” Hermes mumbles.

  When I turn, his cheeks are stained bright pink. His gaze, averted to the sky, flickers down for a moment. “Change your mind already?”

  “Shouldn’t you be halfway to the palace by now?” I ask.

  He rubs the back of his neck. “I may have stuck around.”

  I lift a brow.

  He grins. “I had a hunch you’d want to come back. You and Charry have gotten awfully close.”

  It’s my turn to blush. The twins and the rest of my family are thankfully too busy chattering to notice. I’m not sure they’ve even noticed Hermes despite his thin golden belt glinting fractured light across the water.

  “Who’s this?” Eudoxia says, hand on her stomach where the child grows ever-bigger, stretching the skin taught.

  Spoke too soon.

  “Hermes, this is my family. Family, this is Hermes,” I say in a rush, already edging closer to the far side of the rock. I’m tempted to jump into his arms.

  The book in my bag jostles. If Charon doesn’t accept my apology, I’ll at least have something to remember him by in the coming
years.

  If I successfully bargain for immortality and those endless years yawn wide open before me, will remembering him be enough?

  My heart sinks. It won’t.

  I’ll live. I’ll experience joy. But with him? I’m more. Better, maybe. Or kinder.

  Now I must become someone who makes him better. Yet somehow I don’t think being a nebulous someone is enough. I need to be myself. Need to be how he sees me: kind and brave and good.

  Change doesn’t start with becoming immortal.

  Change starts with me.

  Mind-speak flutters in my head, errant bits of speech and thought. I inhale, taking in the saltwater air, and reach for Hermes.

  He gathers me close. I say my goodbyes.

  I’ll see my family again. Win or lose, they’ll be waiting.

  Chapter 30

  “IS THIS A MISTAKE?” I ask the closed door.

  The etchings of gliding boats shift but don’t answer.

  Body tense, I finally knock. The door is too thick to hear footsteps approaching.

  The door cracks open.

  I inhale and raise my chin. Or should I lower it? Try to look as pathetic as I feel?

  No.

  No more manipulation.

  Still, when Charon appears in the doorway, framed by the ink sky and pale stone behind him, the urge to hunch and plead needles. I square my shoulders and stare into his eyes. They’re fierce but not burning; cooled by what I’ve done.

  What do I do? What do I say? The silence drags out. Unease is an itch between my shoulder blades I can’t reach.

  Eventually, he nods. “Agathe.”

  Less than a day has passed since we argued. Yet already, my knees threaten to give out at him saying my name.

  “I need your help.” I inhale and try again. “Will you help me? Please.”

  I force my expression blank instead of pouting like my first instinct says I should. From Charon’s quirked brows, I must be grimacing more than anything.

  He’s going to say no. Hades, he should say no.

  “Yes.”

  I knew he’d say no! I deserve no better after what I’ve said and done. Pin your smile in place, I remind myself. Don’t beg or frown or cry.

  Wait.

  He said yes? He said yes.

  Wide-eyed, I try not to gape. “Yes?”

  He snorts a laugh but his eyes are flames snuffed to embers. “That’s what I said.” He steps back, beckoning me into his room with a wave. “What do you need help with?”

  “Thanatos.” I step over the threshold, heart swelling. My hands sweat and shake. “I want to ask him to return his protection against the sickness.”

  At Charon’s titled head, I’m compelled to add more. “After I apologize, of course.”

  If anything, he seems more confused. “Are you all right?”

  His hands raise, reaching for my forehead. I lean closer. He remembers himself halfway. His hands fall, twitching at his sides.

  “I’m fine.” I run a hand over my hair, grimacing when it comes back more sweat-damp than before. “Can you call for Thanatos? Will he hear?”

  I pause, heart in my throat. He won’t. He’s returned to Nekros by now, well beneath Nyx’s underground sky. Could I call on Nyx to find him? She would see right through me. Besides, can I trust her?

  Not anymore. She did nothing for Molpe.

  I touch a hand to the necklace. The gossamer fabric surrounding Charon’s bed rustles with a gust of sudden wind. Does she watch all the time? Were any of my moments with Charon truly private? I shiver, goosebumps rippling across my skin.

  I unclasp the necklace, the metal becoming like liquid in my hands. The ends spool over the edges of my palms, reaching for the floor after being as big as my neck moments ago. The jewel glimmers. Charon watches but says nothing while I set it on the window ledge, the jewel pointed out toward the sky instead of at us.

  “Charon?”

  He startles, raising his head. “I can call for him but I can’t guarantee he’ll show himself.”

  My rigid shoulders fall. “Don’t bother. He won’t hear you all the way in Nekros, anyway.”

  I sigh and rub at one cheek until it stings. What did I expect? Charon is many things, but he’s not one of Nyx’s children. He and Thanatos have no reason to keep in touch, let alone wait on the other to call for them.

  Perhaps I could ask Hermes? But as much as he ventures between realms, I doubt he knows where to find a god he almost never interacts with.

  “You truly don’t know, do you,” Charon says. Strangely, it’s not a question.

  “Know what?”

  He huffs a laugh containing no actual humor. “He never left the palace. I catch glimpses of his smoke near your room often.”

  My heart races. Breath comes in short gasps. Why would he stay? After I told him to leave, why would he stay? Nyx’s orders, maybe.

  “Thanatos!” I yell, then wait for his telltale smog.

  Nothing.

  “Thanatos!”

  “Why are you yelling?” he asks from behind me. “I can tell you’re calling for me whether you yell or not, idiot.”

  I whip around, batting smoke from my face. The acrid smell invades my senses, burning my throat. Coughing, I still manage a grin.

  Until I get a good look at him. Bruises mottle his right cheek, extending to his collarbone, then arm. They end at a finger-shaped bruise around his wrist. They don’t fade. Whoever hurt him did it deeply.

  Thanatos huffs. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Charry. Even you must admit she can be a bit of an idiot at times.”

  I turn back around. Charon’s glaring. Massive horns jut from his head in branching curves. They end in wickedly sharp tips.

  Thanatos chuckles. “Or not. Love makes even the best of us blind, I suppose.”

  “Thanatos,” Charon hisses, a forked tongue flicking from between his pointed teeth. His eyes are wide. Wild. They refuse to meet mine.

  Love? Could Charon love me?

  “What happened to you?” I ask instead.

  He waves away my concern. “I disobeyed a direct order. My mother felt punishment was needed.”

  Nyx did this? I step closer, eyeing the handprint. The skin surrounding it shines oddly in the light. Not just bruises. Burns.

  “What order?”

  He sighs. “What do you think? She wanted Molpe to live.”

  If Molpe lived on Nyx’s order, where would I be now? A bargain with Zeus rendered fair by using Molpe as leverage. Zeus would’ve killed her before the bargain could be fulfilled. She would’ve died not through her own choice but by Zeus’ command.

  And warm, motherly Nyx—how much of her was an act?

  I shake my thoughts away. Not now. I need to focus.

  “Well?” Thanatos drawls. “Got on with it.”

  “With what?” I ask.

  He sighs, looking toward the ceiling in a long-suffering expression. “Begging and pleading.” He snaps his fingers. “You may begin.”

  Jolting, I try to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. It dries into a shriveled husk as soon as I do. Should I beg, strewn out at his feet? Promise anything to get his protection back against the sickness already a constant ache in my bones?

  Desma is lost to me but suffering from her own sickness regardless. She has a week, maybe less, before she’s sick again.

  I bow close to the floor, my arms spread forward. My fingertips graze his cloak, billowing toward the floor in a storming gray tide.

  The hem is embroidered not with skulls or bones like I expect. Instead, there’s flocks of delicate birds. Captured mid-flight, their silver bodies are startlingly detailed. I focus on the shape of their feet, capped with pointed claws, and the individual feathers within their wings.

  I gulp once. Sometimes the best way to begin is to do just that: begin.

  “I was wrong about Molpe.” My voice cracks. “You thought of her and her needs, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” he says.


  “If Nyx ordered her to live, why didn’t you listen?”

  All the air is sucked from the room, replaced with his smoke and a charged tension. Sweat beads on my neck, then forehead, and droplets fall from my nose to puddle on the floor.

  “She’s my mother.”

  I stand, ducking my head but flicking my gaze upward. He stares straight ahead, his mouth pinched into a tight line.

  “But why didn’t you listen?” I ask. He needs to say it.

  He inhales, sharp. “Because her order wasn’t right.”

  I swear Nyx’s necklace rattles against the windowsill. The jewel lights from within. I blink and it’s back to a normal stone. No one else turns to look.

  Sickness warping my thoughts or something more? But all those times something similar happened in the Akri—I wasn’t sick then.

  “Agathe,” Charon says.

  I snap back to the present, shooting him a grateful smile. He doesn’t smile back.

  “I thought so.” For the next part, I look at Thanatos head-on. “I thought of my wants, not hers, and she suffered for it.”

  He tilts his head, staring at the wall over my shoulder.

  “Her last moments should have been peace or us wishing her well but she died with me squabbling over her instead.”

  I don’t dare look at Charon. I can’t handle his disgust.

  Wiping my sweating hands against my dress, I continue. “I can’t say sorry to her, not truly.”

  Thanatos finally meets my stare.

  “But I can say sorry to you. I’m sorry, Thanatos.”

  He hums, a smirk twisting his mouth. “And what do you want?”

  Swallowing, I rub a hand over my matted hair. What do I want? I want his protection back. I want immortality. I want Charon. I want Desma’s forgiveness and Hermes’ friendship. I want a home away from the barren sea.

  But what do I need?

  “Desma’s suffering with sickness. Will you help her?”

  “Why?”

  “She deserves better than what I’ve given her.” I wipe a hand over my damp cheeks. “All of my family and friends do. And I can apologize, and I will, but if I can help her in the meantime, I want that.”

  “That’s all?” he asks.