The makeshift arena stood inside the outer walls, where the altar would have been. I collapsed onto a boulder warmed by the sun. The crowd of young men gathered round as Lysander and another youth -- Hieron, I guessed -- stripped off their tunics. When it came to sport, they seemed to take no shame in nakedness. Phidias produced a small jar of oil. Lysander and Hieron rubbed the oil into their skin until they gleamed.
I watched as Lysander wrapped leather straps around his fists and crouched down to face his opponent. The audience hollered and hooted. They circled the contenders, calling out jeers and insults and encouragement. Sunset cast a soft glow over the scene. It burnished Lysander's skin until he looked a bronze sculpture.
The merfolk had athletics too, but we favored games and races. I'd never seen a fight before. I remembered the boxing scene on the amphora in the sea-witch's cave. When Phidias called for the boxers to begin, I held my breath.
For a long moment, nothing happened. Lysander and his opponent faced each other squarely. Neither moved. Blood pounded in my ears.
Hieron threw the first punch. I sprang to my feet, unable, in my excitement, to keep seated. I didn't even feel the pain in my legs.
Lysander ducked, still grinning. The two young men circled each other. Lysander's first jab caught Hieron on the shoulder. His second hit Hieron' chin and rocked him back on his heels.
I jumped up and down, screaming with the others as they cheered the fighters on. The contestants were well matched. Lysander was taller, Hieron more muscular. Lysander moved with an easy grace, but Hieron swung harder. When he landed his first blow, Lysander staggered back. Blood tricked from one nostril.
I let out a strangled cry and launched myself forward, as if to throw myself between the fighters. Phidias caught my arm and held me back. Wincing in sympathy, I watched as Hieron hit Lysander again. I could hardly bear it. The sound of leather smacking skin -- Lysander's skin -- drove chills down my spine.
Hieron swung again, hard, and Lysander danced away. He came back with a mighty punch that snapped Hieron's head around and sent beads of sweat arching through the air. Blood welled from a cut in Hieron's cheek. Lysander's opponent dropped like an anchor cast into the sea. At last, he raised one finger to signal his defeat.
I screamed and rushed to throw my arms around Lysander's waist. He smiled down at me and mussed my hair with dusty fingers. His friends closed in to slap him on the back.
"Still the champion," a boy named Cleomenes hollered. "Who will crown the victor? Here, girl, will you do the honors?" He handed me a wreath made of olive leaves and slender branches.
Lysander knelt before me. I settled the wreath onto his head and tenderly rearranged a lock of his hair under the leafy crown. "Thank you, little one," he murmured.
"Give her a kiss, Lysander," Cleomenes said. "Go on now -- won't you thank her properly?"
"Kiss her! Kiss her!" the others urged. Even Hieron, now mostly recovered, took up the chant. I felt the heat rise to my cheeks and knew I was blushing a deep crimson.
Lysander stood, caught my face in his hands, and tilted my chin up. I stared into his eyes. My knees turned weak and rubbery as seaweed stalks. I no longer heard the whooping, laughing crowd.
Lysander's lips brushed mine, a whisper of warmth in a cold world. It was a brief kiss, lasting less than a second, but it seemed like forever before I was able to draw my next breath.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The next few weeks melted away like foam on the waves. Gradually I learned to accept the roughness of cloth against my skin and the piercing glare of the sun. But I never grew to like the taste of charred flesh, or -- after a lifetime drinking seawater laced with salt -- the flat and empty water drawn up from the wells.
Soon I took to sneaking into the kitchen to gorge on raw tunny and sardines. I gulped down sweet shrimp and oysters glistening gray on their shells like fat, salty little tongues, seeking comfort in the flavors of home.
The stillness, too, began to unnerve me. On the bottom of the sea everything swayed and danced to the current's silent music. The same current once cradled me and rocked me to sleep at night; on Theros I lay in bed and felt terribly alone. Only the thought of Lysander, asleep a few doors down, could console me in those moments.
As the wonder of the upper world wore thin, I grew more and more restless. It rained for three days and I was forced to stay in, though I laughed at the reason -- "You don't want to get wet," Corinna scolded, when she caught me standing out in the garden. "Come inside, dear, before your dress is soaked clean through."
Life for the women of Theros, I quickly learned, felt just as narrow and cloistered as life in Father's palace. Corinna was kind, but she had little time for idle chatter as she labored to run a bustling household and provide for the comforts of her husband and son.
One hot day, growing bored, I wandered down to the beach to watch Lysander and the crew load one of Philemon's ships. The men filled the salty air with shouts and grunts and laughter as they worked. Lysander hoisted an amphora of wine and lugged it to the ship, which stood on the shore propped up against a sand bank. A crewman took the jug and stowed it in the hold.
I watched from my perch on a rock above the beach, well out of the way. I particularly wanted to avoid Lysander's father. Philemon strutted around giving orders. His face glistened red and he sported a ferocious frown. I kept my eyes on Lysander instead. I hoped he would look up and wave to me, but he didn't.
In the weeks since the boxing match, I'd waited and hoped for another kiss. I ached to feel his lips on mine again, to have his arms around me. But he treated me with the same fond indifference as before.
The sun was fierce. I was afraid I might suffer from another sunburn, and besides, the afternoon dragged on and on. I slid down onto the ground, dusted off the back of my tunic, and crossed the beach to where Lysander worked stacking boxes.
I crept up behind him and slipped my hands over his eyes. "Guess who?" I sang out.
He peeled my fingers away from his face. "Not now, little one," he said. "Why don't you go back up the hill and help my mother? She'll miss your company."
I pushed out my lower lip. "Can't I help you here?"
He laughed and shook his head. "This is men's work." He lifted another box. "Go on, now. You'll only get underfoot."
I scowled but didn't protest. I could see that arguing would get me nowhere. Instead, I started down the beach, leaving Lysander behind. I hated the way he patronized me. Sometimes he treated me like an annoying younger sister.
I loved Lysander, but the human world was not what I'd imagined. I'd thought I could leave boredom, pain, and confusion behind in the depths of the sea. Escaping from myself was harder. I'd brought all my sadness and despair right along with me up into the air and sunlight.
I was homesick. I hadn't expected that. I longed for familiar things: my mirror with the statue of my mother, the paintings in the great hall, even the chatter of my sisters' voices in the tower room. Most of all, I remembered my strong, star-scaled tail flashing silver as I sped through the sea. Now I tottered about on weak, always-aching human legs.
Now I rounded a bend in the beach and found myself on a rocky bluff. It protruded into the sea, so the water came all the way up to meet the land. Scrubby patches of grass poked up from the dust. At the tip of the promontory, a flat rock, like a flagstone, made a natural seat. Recklessly, almost forgetting the danger, I crossed to the rock and squatted down to stare into the water. I found a fist-sized stone and flung it toward the horizon, just to watch it break the surface of the sea.
Suddenly I heard a plaintive squeak in the distance. Squinting into the reflected light, I made out a sleek blue-black head in the water. "Ios!" I called. "Ios, I'm here! Come closer!"
The heaviness in my heart lifted just a little as Ios' body cut a swathe through the waves. But she couldn't -- or wouldn't -- come too close to shore.
She stopped a few yards out and cocked her head, as if she meant to scold me. She squeaked again.
I spoke over the lump in my throat. "I can't come in the water. I'd love to, Ios, but I can't. Never again."
Ios just stared at me. She didn't understand.
The water was so lovely. I knew it would feel silky and clean against my skin. I longed to swim with Ios again, just one last time.
"I'm sorry," I said aloud. "Oh, great Poseidon, what have I done?"
Ios made another puzzled noise, then slipped under the water. I waited for her to resurface. She never did. She'd given up on me.
I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. I'd thrown away everything with barely a thought. I'd hoped for a place to belong, but I didn't fit in on Theros, either. Maybe I would have been better off if I'd gone straight home from the sea sorceress's cave. I could have confronted Father and the others and made them explain. Now the dark secrets I'd learned that day cast a pall over all my memories, even the pleasant ones.
I turned around and walked slowly back toward the village, my eyes on the stony ground. The sun slowly broiled my in my own sweat. It was too late now, too late for regrets and second thoughts. If only Lysander would say he loved me. That would solve everything. I knew it would. But how? How could I turn Lysander's friendship into something deeper?
I knew Lysander must have feelings for me. He'd nearly said as much to Phidias that day on the beach. He was in love with the girl from his vision -- from the dream that wasn't really a dream, that was actually our meeting under the sea. I didn't understand why Lysander never spoke of it, or acted out his love.
The answer struck me like a spear hurled by one of Father's guards.
Lysander didn't know I loved him back. He was too much a gentleman to offend me with passionate declarations. Or perhaps he thought me too young, and was simply waiting for me to grow up. Suddenly, the world was bright and lovely again. I laughed aloud. The way Lysander treated me -- it was respect, not indifference!
It was all so simple now. I couldn't believe I hadn't seen it before. All I had to do was let Lysander know how I felt. I had to tell him I loved him, and that would make everything all right.
Back on the beach, I found the day's work done. Lysander and his friends whooped, splashed, wrestled, and hollered in the surf as they washed away the dust and sweat. Lysander saw me and called to me from the water. I waved back, shyly, blushing a little because I was still rehearsing in my head the words I would use to confess my love. I swallowed my disappointment at not finding him alone.
"Little one! Fetch my tunic, will you?" Lysander called.
His tunic lay crumpled on the sand. I shook it out and folded it, then carefully laid it out over a cluster of rocks. Lysander had taken to asking me to fetch and carry for him, to bring him food or take messages to his mother. For the most part I welcomed his requests; the small tasks brought us closer, I thought. Still, I sometimes felt a prick of irritation. I was born a princess, not a servant. But I brushed my reservations aside and did as he asked.
Now I sank down on the rock beside Lysander's folded tunic. My legs ached. I was learning to live with pain, to push it away and ignore it, but after a long walk it grew almost unbearable.
"Come in the water, little one," Lysander called. He scooped up a handful of water and splashed it in my direction. I shrank back, though I sat well away from the sea. The sea sorceress had warned that salt water would act on me like poison. I wasn't eager to test her theory.
"Lysander, please. I'd rather not," I called back.
Like an eager puppy, he bounded from the water. Droplets sprayed from his hair as he shook his head. I stood up and took several quick, nervous steps toward the village. "I don't want to go in."
"Leave her alone, Lysander," Phidias called from the water.
But Lysander wouldn't take no for an answer. "Just come wading, then. Just to your ankles." He strode toward me. "What's wrong with you, little one? Do you want to spoil my fun?"
I took another step back. "I -- please don't --"
Lysander overtook me and dug his fingers into my upper arm. Where his wet hands touched my skin, leaving beads of seawater, I felt a burning pain and then sting of rising blisters. I cried out with such anguish that Lysander released me. He blinked in surprise. "I didn't mean --"
Phidias appeared at my side. "Are you all right, Nyx?" He shot an angry glance at his friend. "What did you do to her?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all." Lysander frowned down at me.
I clutched my arm and bit back tears. "I'm fine. Really, it's nothing -- I just -- Please, Lysander, will you take me home?"
Lysander glanced back at the other boys wrestling in the waves. "If you're all right -- can't you walk on your own?"
"I'll take you," Phidias said.
"Thank you," I said, but my eyes were on Lysander. I needed him, and he'd let me down. He must have sensed my dismay, because he gave me a tender smile.
"I'll be up within the hour," he promised. "I'll come and check on you, little one. In the meantime, I'll trust you to Phidias. Take good care of her, my friend." He leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the forehead.
Just like that, I forgave him.
I longed to tell Lysander how much I loved him, but I knew I had to find just the right moment. It wouldn't be easy. Lysander and I were rarely alone. When he wasn't with his friends, he studied his lessons and kept his father's accounts.
During the meal that evening, I hardly spoke. I washed my bread down with good wine, but my attention wasn't on the food. My eyes never left Lysander as he argued with his father about the upcoming trading voyage. Lysander was to accompany the merchant and his crew to the neighboring island of Kiros, where they would trade for pottery and spices.
"The winds are fair. We're sure to have safe passage," Lysander said. "I think we ought to leave in the morning."
Philemon grunted and shook his head. "The day after that. Today I thought I saw a dark haze in the sky to the west."
Lysander set his cup down with a thump. "It was only the sunset, Father. There's no storm brewing."
"We leave day after tomorrow. That's my final word."
Lysander didn't argue, but his expression was sour.
I slipped another pomegranate seed into my mouth and burst it on my tongue. The fruit stained my fingertips with its red juices. I'd have to wait until Lysander was in better humor before I made any confessions.
Corinna leaned toward me. "Are you all right? You're so quiet tonight."
"Fine," I said. "I'm just fine. A bit too much sun, perhaps." I touched my forehead. My skin felt warm, though I suspected my fever was due to excitement rather than sunburn.
"Perhaps you should go up to bed."
"Oh, no, I --"
Lysander finally noticed the discussion and graced me with a worried frown. "You aren't ill, are you, little one?"
"Not very," I said, trying to sound brave. I hoped he might offer to help me to my chamber.
Corinna stood up instead. "Come along now," she said, in a voice that left no room for argument. I took her arm reluctantly. As she helped me out of the room, I glanced back, but Lysander had already forgotten me. He and his father were arguing again.
Corinna tucked me in, then left me in my darkened room. She had to oversee preparations for the night's celebration. Half the men of Theros would gather in the dining room within the hour to celebrate the feast of Dionysos. I knew the men would stay up late and drink their fill. Surely a night of songs and jokes would lift Lysander's spirits. The wine would warm his belly and loosen his tongue.
Suddenly, I had a brilliant plan. I pulled my covers up to my chin and shivered with delight.
It had to work. It just had to.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Hours later, roars of laughter and the burble of pipes drifted down t
he hall to my bedroom. My bare feet tapped the floor in time to the music. I longed to join the celebration, but custom forbade it. Slave girls entertained the men with their dancing, flute playing, and acrobatics, but respectable women made themselves scarce during a drinking party. I'd have to wait for just the right moment.
Meanwhile, I splashed my face with cool water from the basin and pulled the pins from my hair. It cascaded down my back like a heavy blanket, lying flat when it should have floated about my face. Still, it wasn't too bad. Against my pale skin my hair looked dark as the rough side of a mussel shell. When I touched a drop of lavender oil to the base of my neck, I could feel the beat of my heart through my fingertips.
I paused for a moment to examine the place on my arm where Lysander's sea-wetted fingers had touched me that afternoon. Three heart-shaped burns, each the size of my thumbnail, bloomed crimson against my skin. I shivered to think of what might have happened had Lysander thrown me into the water. Now I knew for certain that I could never return to the sea.
I slid my best tunic over my head and adjusted the folds to cover my blistered arm. Around my waist, I wrapped and tied a strip of watered silk, also green but two shades lighter than the tunic. The garment fastened at the shoulders with silver brooches shaped like grasshoppers, which were adorable little land creatures I'd encountered in the garden. They tasted good, too -- crunchy and pleasingly sour -- though the slave who caught me sampling one gasped and stared at me with her mouth open.
Peering into the large oval mirror on the wall, I gave a sigh of satisfaction. I looked older somehow, more mature. I gave a quick twirl. My skirts flew up around my legs -- my long, slim human legs. How could Lysander resist me now? How could he help but find me beautiful?
The voices from the dining room grew hushed and drowsy, then died away. The party broke up. I knew Lysander would pass by my room on the way to his own. I slipped out into the narrow hallway. Moonlight filtered through a high window. My breath caught and burned in my throat like the first time I'd broken the surface of the sea.
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