Destined

by Jessie Harrell

  I found my parents and sister entertaining our guest in the courtyard. He looked about father’s age, but was far leaner. Although bald, his long, angular face was grounded by richly dark eyebrows and a well-trimmed beard. The effect made him look distinguished, in a harsh, old-person sort of way.

  When I crossed the threshold into the courtyard, everyone stopped talking and fixed their eyes on me. Attention being nothing new, I did what was expected of me: I radiated a smile and curtsied.

  My father cleared his throat. “Psyche, I’d like you to meet King Andreas of Corinth.”

  Lowering my eye lashes, I nodded my head in greeting. “It gives me great pleasure to welcome you. Thank you for coming all this way.” Of course, Corinth wasn’t far at all (I’d been right!), but that wasn’t the point. My intent was to charm and flatter him.

  He looked me over from head to toe. His gaze passed like a winter chill over my body. After several seconds, he turned back to my father.

  “Darion, she’s every bit as lovely as the rumors made her out to be. How much are you asking for her?”

  That’s it? That’s as much as he needs to know about me before trying to purchase me for his wife? Andreas hadn’t even bothered to speak to me.

  “Sire,” I cut in, stepping between him and Father. “Forgive me for interrupting, but I thought you might like to get to know me first before proposing marriage.”

  His calculating eyes bore through me. “There is nothing more I need to know other than the price. Either I can afford you or I cannot.”

  I staggered back a step, feeling suddenly queasy and mortified. Embarrassment burned my cheeks like I’d been slapped. My sister had been right to be afraid. This was worse than anything I’d ever imagined. They were discussing my purchase price right in front of me.

  My pulse felt like it could stampede its way free from my veins. I’d learned my lesson about shoving important-but-insulting guys, but my blood pressure responded to Andreas with the same hostility I’d felt standing before Eros. Leaving before I did something equally as stupid seemed like a good idea.

  “I assume someone will tell me if you win the auction, Sire. Happy bidding.” Giving a quick bow, I turned and fled into the courtyard.

  The rush of humid spring air didn’t provide the relief I was looking for. And entering the dark of dusk from the brightly lit foyer made my eyes strain, like the sinking sun was bleeding all the colors from the sky.

  As I passed through the gardens, totally absorbed in my own thoughts, my hip collided with a man bent over a bush. He jumped and whipped around to face me as I staggered back a step.

  Through the dim light, I noted that the stranger’s face was lean, his teeth just a bit too large, and his hair flopped into his eyes. Between that and the whole nose-in-a-bush thing, he struck me as out-of-place here.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to crash into you like that.”

  “Not at all,” he answered. “I was just studying this unusual flower. I’ve never seen another like it.”

  “Do you often look at flowers?” I asked, trying not to smirk.

  “Actually, yes. I’ve been studying them at Athens.” He brushed the hair from his eyes, revealing invitingly dark brown eyes.

  “Oh.” I laughed nervously, suddenly glad I hadn’t assumed he was Andreas’ servant. Servants do not study in Athens.

  “I know it’s sort of a strange interest,” he continued, “but I get bored only thinking about war or sports. History never changes and I never get better at sports. Flowers are different though. They’re pure and fragile, like life I guess.”

  Was this guy a second suitor? I was pretty sure Father’s servant had only said one suitor was here, but what else could this guy be? He was well-educated, well-rounded and obviously a pretty good catch. Would it be selfish to want him for myself? Maybe letting Chara have him would be a better peace offering.

  “Sorry, I have a tendency to ramble. Probably spending too much time studying philosophy. That’s the rage in Athens and all. I’m Rasmus by the way. Rasmus of Mycenae.” He extended his hand and I offered mine.

  He was a suitor then — had to be. Silence hung between us as my brain tied to work through my options. What could I possibly say that would interest him? How would I appeal to him with more than looks? And did I want to appeal to him or should I let Chara have him? Then I realized, I hadn’t even introduced myself. And I was still holding his hand!

  I dropped his hand too quickly to be subtle. “Oh, I should have introduc… I mean… I’m Psyche.” I mentally kicked myself for not being able to spit out a coherent sentence. Then I added, “I’m sorry you were out here all alone. It was rude of us not to be more hospitable.”

  “That’s all right. I’ve been enjoying myself.” His tone told me he meant it. Some other nobles would’ve been put off by not being doted on, but he wasn’t. If I was being truly selfless, I knew that Chara deserved this man. Still, my mind wasn’t quite made up.

  After looking over my shoulder to ensure my family hadn’t decided to chase me down, I turned my attention back on Rasmus. “I can show you around the gardens if you like. There’s an area a little ways off that I’ve always loved. Perhaps you’ll see some more new flowers before the sun fully sets.”

  “I’d like that,” Rasmus said. “But I’m not sure the flowers will be the loveliest things in the garden.”

  Wow. Maybe they teach the art of giving compliments in Athens too. I could really get to like this guy.

  I led Rasmus down a limestone pathway and under a canopy of olive trees. As we walked, Rasmus told me about his family. He had two younger sisters, but his mother had died several years ago. When he wasn’t studying in Athens, he helped his father by traveling for him so the old king wouldn’t have to leave home.

  As he talked, I felt how relaxed and at ease he seemed with me. As my fame had grown these past few months, only my family seemed comfortable in my presence anymore. What was even more of a gift though was that we were having a conversation. Rasmus was talking with me like an old friend. And it wasn’t about eye paste or the latest silks. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this.

  We reached the end of the path and stood before a tall iron gate, flanked on either side by hedges higher than our heads. “I don’t know about you,” I said, “but the Trojan War has always fascinated me. Who knows,” I added, shrugging my shoulders, “maybe I’ve just glamorized it because of this place.”

  Rasmus’s eyebrows knit together. “I’m not sure how you can glamorize war.”

  I tipped my head toward the gardens and pushed open the gate, inviting him into the small courtyard. The floor was tiled in a colorful mosaic picturing a battle scene. In the center of the courtyard was a fountain sculpted in the likeness of the Trojan horse. Elaborate stone benches sat around the fountain, carved with images of our heroes: Achilles and Agamemnon, Ajax and Odysseus.

  “This is my family’s tribute to the battle of Troy. My great grandfather traveled with King Menelaus to win Helen back from Paris.”

  “It’s … impressive.” Rasmus drifted, as if pulled by the nectarine-hued flowers smiling at us from the hedges.

  “Our gardeners claim those flowers come from the shores of Troy.” When he didn’t answer, I added, “But they could be wrong. I don’t really know about flowers like you do.”

  Rasmus took in the flowers, and the rest of the courtyard, in silence. Finally he said, “Thank you for bringing me here. I can see why this is one of your favorite places.” His eyes continued to roam the courtyard. “Still, I can’t agree that there’s anything glamorous about war.” He leaning over to give my shoulder a playful nudge with his. “You maybe, but not war.”

  That was flirting, right?

  I had to bite my lip to keep the smile from bursting off my face. “I’m glad you like it. I haven’t had anyone to share it with in a long time.” ‘Cause I sure didn’t bring Aphrodite out here. I looked down at my feet, kicking at a little pebble. “M
aybe you can come back again. With me.”

  When I peeked up from under my eyelashes, Rasmus was looking at the purple sky. A sad smile played on his lips. Then he looked back at me, holding my gaze with his darkly intense eyes. “Psyche, there’s nothing in all the world I would like more. But I’m afraid that’s just not meant to be.”

  My mind reeled. How could that be? He liked me. I knew he liked me. He had practically just said he liked me, didn’t he? My jaw fell open. I could only form the word, “But…” It came out as barely more than a whisper.

  Rasmus took my hands in his and guided me to one of the benches.

  “I don’t know where to start,” he said. He gestured to the Trojan horse.

  “The beauty of a single woman started a ten-year war.” He huffed. “My father decided it’s not in the best interest of our City to marry the most beautiful woman in the world. Troy is still too fresh in his mind. He won’t make the same mistake as Menelaus.”

  “Your father?” I asked. “What about you? I … I don’t understand.”

  “Psyche, I’m not here for me. I’m here on behalf of my father. He sent me to bring your sister back to be his new wife. I’ve already arranged for Chara to return with me.”

  Tears welt up in my eyes and I struggled to hold them back. I didn’t want Rasmus to see me cry, but I’d just lost my hope for saving Chara. I’d failed her.

  I’m a failure.

  As I sat there in stupid silence, a thought came to me so quickly that my mouth started forming words before my brain was done processing.

  “But if Chara … your father … then you could still ….”

  Rasmus looked down at his hands as he shifted on the bench. “My father has already arranged for my marriage to someone else. It’s what’s in the best interest of our City.” He looked up at me. “I have no doubt my bride will pale in comparison to you.”

  Rasmus leaned forward and wiped away the tear that finally spilled down my cheek. “Please don’t cry. Tears do a disservice to such a beautiful face.”

  Sniffing, I managed a half-smile and swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’ll be okay.”

  Deep lines etched into Rasmus’s forehead. Apparently he wasn’t convinced.

  “What?” I asked, wiping at another tear with my finger. “You think I can’t get a husband or something?”

  At least that drew somewhat of a smile from him. I’d had enough guilt to last me a lifetime, I didn’t need to worry about whether I’d made him feel bad too. “Seriously,” I told him, “I’ll be fine. I just want to be alone for a little while.”

  Rasmus stood and looked down on me. “Of course. Thank you again for sharing your garden with me.” His lips pressed together like he was holding something back. “I’ll always remember … it.”

  Chapter 7 - Eros

  Eros might have mentally made his decision, but his body refused to execute on it. Instead, he watched the Pharmakos’s exile unfold like a sick tragedy. The sheer stupidity of it was almost mind-boggling.

  How long had the Greeks believed they could rid their cities of the major problems — famine, disease, plague, drought — by casting out a Pharmakos? It was ludicrous. Like just because some cripple left the city, everything else bad would follow?

  As Eros looked on, four men wrestled the Pharmakos forward, driving him toward the gates. The surrounding mob readied their stones. Dragging his right foot behind him, the scapegoat struggled to keep up with his captors.

  With a final, unforgiving surge, the horde jostled the man forward past the gates. He tried to run, but his crippled leg slowed him down. Two stones caught him in the middle of his back, nearly causing him to fall, before he managed to scramble outside of their range.

  Deciding he needed to get a move on before he lost track of the wretch, Eros hopped to his feet. He suddenly wished he could impose his mother’s sentence on the woman who’d basically chewed up his heart and spit it out. But, he reminded himself, there were certainly more painful choices he could’ve made.

  And at least this way, Psyche would never have the chance to destroy a man’s pride.

  When Eros arrived in Sikyon, he hid amongst the long shadows in a forest of evergreens. There, he disguised himself as a traveler, donning a pock-marked face, greasy dark hair, and covering his wings and quiver with a heavy cloak. As he looked in on Psyche with his second sight, he saw she was alone in an isolated part of her family’s garden. The time had come. Eros’s palms began to sweat as he silently crept forward.

  Eros told himself just to think of her — the one who’d shattered his soul. He would not let his facade crack. He’d accomplish his mission and move on with life. Once the task was complete, he’d never have to think about it, or Psyche, or her, ever again.

  When Eros approached the garden alcove, he saw Psyche sprawled face-down across a bench. Her shoulders visibly shook from sobs. Soft ringlets obscured her face, tucking her hypnotic green eyes away from sight.

  Soundlessly, Eros slid his bow off his shoulder. Pulling an arrow from under his cloak, he brought it to his lips and whispered, “Pharmakos.” Then, he repeated the familiar process of placing the arrow in the string of his bow and drawing back the missile. Eros took aim and prepared to release the arrow.

  But then he faltered.

  Something in the back of his mind - or perhaps the back of his heart - prevented him from actually following through. He’d been sent to destroy the second mortal who’d rejected him, but right then she already seemed ruined. He wondered why Psyche was sobbing. Had someone hurt her the same way his own heart had been crushed?

  In the seconds that he paused, Psyche raised her head. Wiping her tear-stained face with the back of her hand, she rose from the bench like smoke wafting from a fire.

  “I don’t know who you are, but if you think a guy with an arrow is my biggest concern right now, you’re wrong.” She squared her shoulders and tossed her hair behind her shoulders. “Get out.”

  If he’d been listening, he’d have heard Psyche kick him out of her home a second time. But her words weren’t registering. How had he missed it? She wasn’t like the first girl at all. On the surface, they were so similar, but underneath — their cores were completely different. He’d dropped his guard long enough to really feel her, know her, the way he could any mortal if he payed attention long enough. Even with tear trails still fresh on her cheeks, Psyche glowed from the inside out.

  As a soft breeze carried her heady scent to him, Eros vaguely heard her repeat her command to leave. The words didn’t carry her intended message, but instead bore her soul. Her emotions doused him; poured over him in soothing waves. Her anger and fear pulsed on the surface, but underneath those rhythms was the chorus of her spirit — love, tenderness, good intentions — a package that made Psyche far and away different.

  Without realizing he was doing it, Eros lowered his bow. “Psyche,” he muttered just before the arrow grazed his knee. The tip left only the tiniest of scratches, but it was enough.

  Eros rushed forward on instinct, grabbing Psyche’s arm and dragging her in close to his chest. Her lips froze in an “O” while her eyes went wide with fear.

  What was he doing? Eros shook his head as if the sudden feelings that had just overwhelmed him could be cast aside as easily as shaking off a few drops of rain.

  Dropping Psyche’s arm, he backed away. This wasn’t him. He didn’t fall for mortals. Wouldn’t fall for mortals. And certainly not his mother’s little minion….

  Aphrodite. Could she have set this up somehow? Was she forcing him to love Psyche so he’d change his mind about marrying the girl? His chest labored under ragged breaths as his anger rose. He would not allow her to manipulate him like this. He’d made his choice. Psyche had made her choice.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  And yet there it was: a need in his core that made it impossible for him to do anything but stare into the loveliest green eyes he’d ever seen. His breathing slowed as a calm washed over hi
m; knowledge that he could find peace again in someone’s embrace. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

  His eyes tore from hers and traveled down her arms until he found her hands. Psyche’s hands could give him the comfort he’d been denied the last time he’d tried to love. Why did she have them balled into fists at her side when all he wanted was her to stroke his cheek? How could she not be feeling their connection?

  Suddenly Psyche lunged, making a move for something just behind him. The arrow. He stomped on the tip before she could reach it, making it dissolve into a pool of light. Psyche sprawled forward, grasping for the missing weapon. Unable to leave her prone on the ground, Eros leaned down and gently lifted her to feet.