Destined

by Jessie Harrell

  And there it was.

  No flash of lightning or puff of smoke followed. Just the silence that hung in the air after I finished making the longest prayer of my life. Would Vesta give me a sign that she’d heard me or would help me? I waited a few minutes by the shrine for some indication the goddess was listening, but nothing happened. No birds flew overhead. None of the offerings on the shrine suddenly fell over. Even the wind was stagnant and unmoving.

  There was nothing else to do except keep moving. I nudged Xanthy to move faster as we neared the gates of Corinth. I was still worried someone would recognize me, but the only person we passed was a shepherd moving his small flock of sheep to another pasture.

  As we crossed the Isthmus of Corinth, the narrow stretch of land that separates the Peloponnese from the mainland of Greece, I exhaled a relieved sigh. We were still so far away, but being on the mainland made me feel closer to Eros.

  From high atop the jagged, craggy cliffs, I looked down at the azure waters of the Aegean Sea. The waves pounded mercilessly at the base of the rocks, shooting crashing white waves up the stones like fingers grasping for something just beyond their reach.

  I recoiled as I watched, moving Xanthy further away from the edge of the cliff. The sea was Aphrodite’s domain; where she was born, where she played. I had the paranoid fear that the waves might actually try to reach up and tear me from my horse. Without spending time to rationalize away my fears, I urged Xanthy into a gallop so that we could quickly pass the ocean’s edge.

  We traveled on at trot for the rest of the day and as we neared the city of Megara, a cloud of dust rose up from the road in front of us. The shapes of four riders emerged from the haze, galloping wildly and barreling down on us.

  Something about this band of riders made me uneasy. Maybe because they were moving so fast, maybe because there were four of them and only one me, maybe because these were the first people I’d encountered on the barren roads other than the shepherd, but something made my heart race as the riders approached.

  I maneuvered Xanthy into the dry, crunchy grass beside the road to clear a path. The first three riders went tearing by so quickly that their following breeze pushed my shroud back from my face and my curls spilled down my shoulders. The fourth rider, catching sight of my face and hair, drew in his horse and called to his companions.

  “Hold up!” he yelled, turning his horse back around and quickly closing the distance between us.

  I fingered the handle of the knife that was still tucked away at my side and willed myself not to look back as the man rode up behind me.

  “What’s a pretty, little thing like you doing out here all alone?” he asked as he cut off my path with his own horse. The other three riders trotted up to his side, encircling us and backing Xanthy further into the brittle grasses. If their shields and cloaks were any indication, the men were Spartan soldiers, minus a commander.

  My eyes flicked nervously from face to face. Their young eyes sparkled with menace and their lips curled up in snarling smiles. One of the men had an angry scar running from his ear, across his cheek, and down to his upper lip. Another had his left arm bound in a sling. They looked battle fresh and ready for another fight.

  “You’re Spartan warriors,” I stated, using my most commanding voice. “Your men were friends to my great grandfather, King Alcander of Sikyon, in the Trojan War.” I hoped my history knowledge would win some favor with the men. And also that they would have been too preoccupied with war training to have heard of me.

  The man with the scar swung off his horse and grabbed a fist-full of Xanthy’s mane. She snorted and tried to back away, but the man held her firmly as he bored his eyes into mine.

  “You’re a daughter of Sikyon?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  Before I could blink, the man grabbed my forearm and wrested me down from Xanthy’s back while shouting. “Don’t lie to me.”

  I landed on my knees in the grass, with my arm still held painfully above my head. The other men laughed raucously from their horses.

  “Princesses don’t travel unguarded,” he accused. I had to agree with his logic. Royal women didn’t travel alone. Still, I scrambled for something to say that would make him believe me. And loosen his hold on my arm.

  “Please, ask me anything,” I begged. “Ask me about my parents, the City, anything.”

  He jerked my arm, making me wince. “What do I care about Sikyon? You could tell me more lies and I wouldn’t know the difference.”

  “Please,” I squealed. “There’s got to be something.”

  The man yanked me to my feet and spun me around to him, leaning in so close that I could smell the stink of his breath. “What’s your name?” he hissed.

  Anything but that.

  I didn’t answer and he shook me, making my head jerk even though I was bracing myself against him. “Your name,” he repeated, louder, harsher.

  I bit my lower lip and took a deep breath while glaring at my captor. “Psyche,” I finally answered between gritted teeth.

  The men erupted in laughter. The one with his arm in the sling used his good hand to steady himself on another man’s shoulder. The one with the scar, who was holding me, laughed in barks. He turned back toward his fellow soldiers. “You hear that, men? This girl thinks she’s Psyche!”

  More laughter followed. I felt a warm flush of shock and insult rise in my cheeks. Maybe I wasn’t dressed in my finest clothes. Maybe I was traveling alone and unguarded. Maybe all of Greece thought I’d died last week. And maybe I didn’t have my hair done and makeup on, but I was Psyche. Two weeks ago these men would’ve said I was the most beautiful woman in the world, and now they laughed at the idea.

  In a burst of bravado, I tried to wrest my arm free, but he held on tight. My resistance actually brought him out of his fit of laughter. His eyes bored into mine, both threatening and mocking.

  “Fine, if that’s how you want it, Psyche it is.”

  I opened my mouth to protest that I was Psyche, but snapped it shut again. What could I say that would do me any good?

  “Men,” he announced to his three companions, “today we will have the good fortune of being entertained by Princess Psyche herself.”

  My eyes widened and I quickly searched their faces. My heart thundered in my chest as wicked anticipation registered in all their eyes.

  My attention was jerked back to the soldier holding me when he began dragging me further away from the side of the road, where the grasses grew taller and thicker. The burrs scratched at my ankles as I tried to walk against the direction I was being pulled. His fingers dug into the skin of my upper arm.

  I would’ve screamed, but only the other men would hear me. I was afraid it would just encourage them.

  The other men were hanging back at the side of the road. Probably giving their leader a little privacy. I decided to stop resisting and allowed myself to be led another few meters into the grass, which was now waist deep. When he was satisfied with our location, the soldier yanked and twisted my arm in one quick movement that sent me sprawling to the ground. I quickly rolled over and started crawling backward.

  The soldier undid his sheath, tossing his sword to the side. He was smiling down at me. The smile of a man with complete domination.

  “You’re no Psyche, but you’re not bad,” he hissed as he advance on me. He pulled his tunic over his head and kept walking. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

  Then he pounced, jutting his knees between my legs and holding my chest down with his forearm while he used his other hand to force up my dress. I used his distraction with my dress as an opportunity to pull out my knife from the folds of my waist.

  I stuck the pointed tip right against his throat and pressed deeply enough to just barely slice at his skin. “Let me go and I’ll let you live,” I panted, half-crazed with terror.

  The man used the hand that’d been pulling at my dress to wipe at the trickle of blood running its way down his neck. He examined the crims
on smear on his finger and laughed. Then he swiped the knife from my hands so quickly I barely saw him move. Faster than Zeus’s lightning bolt strikes, he had the blade pressed firmly against my throat.

  “You be a good girl,” he spat, “and maybe I’ll let you live.” He pressed the knife a little deeper for emphasis. I choked back a panicked scream, clamping my hand over my mouth to silence myself.

  With his free hand, the soldier grabbed at the top of my dress and yanked. The fabric sank into the flesh of my shoulders like angry teeth before it began to stretch and tear. His scarred smile widened over crooked, discolored teeth.

  And then he froze.

  The knife fell out of his hands as he scrambled to his feet. He stood too quickly while his feet peddled backward and he toppled over, catching himself with one arm, before righting himself. That’s when he started to sprint, pausing only to snatch up his tunic and sword as he ran toward the others.

  “Let’s go!” he called ahead to them. “Get out of here.”

  I watched the soldier run from sight before looking back over my shoulder, searching for any sign of the beast that had frightened him away. Pulling at my dress, I rolled over and laid low to the ground, hunkered in fear. I stretched my fingers out and gripped my knife, which lay forgotten in the grass almost beyond reach.

  My heart continued to hammer; I could hear the whoosh of blood throbbing in my ears with every beat. But no monster appeared. No griffin, no chimera, not even a giant boar.

  In the distance, the soldiers’ shocked cries and the pound of their horses’ hooves racing away called back to me. After those noises settled, I heard the breeze blow gently through the grasses. Then I heard a snort that I hoped belonged to Xanthy.

  Since I couldn’t see or hear anything that would cause me danger, I got up to a crouch, staying below the grass line. I remained scrunched down as I scurried toward the road, holding up my tattered dress as I moved. Before fully emerging from the cover of the grasses, I checked the road.

  It was empty again, except for Xanthy.

  I dashed up to her side, flinging my arms around her thick, butter-colored neck. She tossed her head and pressed her warm muzzle into my side. I’d never been so happy to see another living creature in all my life.

  “I don’t know what happened back there,” I told her, relaxing my grip on her neck. “I just thank the gods that it’s over.”

  Rummaging through one of the bags tied to Xanthy’s back, I found the extra dress I’d stashed away. I’d planned on saving it so I would have something fresh to wear when I reached Olympus, but I had no choice but to wear it now. The ruined dress fell to the ground as I shimmied the new one on over my head. All things considered, I could have a lot worse problems than simply having to wear my clean dress before I meant to.

  I dusted myself off, removing a few errant blades of grass and one spur that remained lodged in my skin. Then I looked around for something I could use to get back on Xanthy.

  But there was nothing.

  No rock, no wall, no discarded clay pot. Nothing.

  “Well, I guess we’d better start walking,” I said to Xanthy. “I move slower than you.” The two of us set out toward Megara, and with each step I prayed to find some foothold that would get me back on my horse so we could gallop away from the emptiness of this stretch of road.

  Chapter 42 - Eros

  Since confessing to Aphrodite, Eros had spent his days in solitude. There was no one he wanted to see. Certainly no humans he wanted to help. He’d ordered everyone away, refusing to accept visitors.

  Most of his days he spent curled up on the couch, trying his hardest not to look in on Psyche. Although the hopeless, painful love he’d held for her had been ripped away when Aphrodite undid the arrow, something raw still tugged at his heart. Eros convinced himself it was nothing more than leftover emotion that would be gone soon enough.

  After several days passed, another visitor came to Eros’s door. If it was possible, she was even more unwelcome than his mother had been.

  Iris.

  She was descending on him like a vulture descends on fresh meat.

  “Don’t say it,” Eros sighed when she sashayed into the room. “You can’t tell me anything I haven’t told myself a thousand times.”

  Iris nearly pranced as she walked, with her long, overly-slender legs jutting out from under her indigo dress. When she reached Eros’s side, she flipped her raven-violet hair and pouted while blinking her sunken brown eyes. “I just don’t understand.”

  Eros rolled his eyes. “What?”

  “I don’t understand why you wanted that girl. She’s a mortal.”

  Eros slapped his palm against his forehead. “Oh, that’s what she is? Why didn’t anyone tell me?” He knew, of course, that Psyche was actually only part mortal, but he wasn’t in the mood to correct Iris.

  Iris thumped her hand down on her outthrust hip. “You don’t have to be such a jerk about it.”

  “You don’t have to act like you’re telling me something I’ve never thought of before.” Eros’s head fell down into his hands, where it remained upheld only because he was clutching fist-fulls of his own hair.

  Iris slid down next to him on the couch and wrapped her olive-tinted arm around his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t imagine being betrayed like you were. And by a human.” Iris paused a couple of beats before whispering in Eros’s ear. “I would never do anything like that to you.”

  Eros’s head flicked up and he glared at Iris as he pushed himself far enough away that her arm could no longer hold him. “Is that what this visit is about? You still think we could be together?”

  “Wake up, Eros.” Iris hopped to her feet. “Hera wants us together. Your mother wants us together. You can’t fight them.”

  “Yeah, except I love someone else, remember?”

  “She’s just a mortal. She’ll die soon enough.” Iris turned on her heel to storm out of Eros’s palace, when Eros caught her by the elbow and spun her around. His blue eyes burned with metallic ferocity and he pressed his nose in close to Iris’s.

  “You will not say things like that about Psyche,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

  Iris easily jerked her arm free from Eros’s grip and glared back, her eyes again dancing. “Fine. Then you won’t hear it from me that she won’t survive until nightfall.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Iris placed her hand on her chest in mock astonishment. “Oh, I thought you didn’t want me to say things like that about Psyche.” The edges of her lips curled in an involuntary smile.

  Eros reached out to rattle the lithe goddess again, but she easily avoided his grasp. “Don’t touch me. I’ll turn you a putrid shade of green for a month if you ever lay your hands on me again.” But as she spoke, her eyes lightened and she caressed her stomach, letting her touch run down to her thighs. “Unless I want you to lay your hands on me, of course.”

  “Tell me what you know about Psyche.”

  Iris took Eros’s hand in hers, forcing it to trace the sultry path from belly to thigh that her own hand had just explored. “Kiss me.”

  “And then you’ll tell me?” His brows narrowed to a point as he eyed her. He was unwilling to let his mouth mesh with Iris’s thin, violet lips unless she assured him information in return.

  “If you even still care afterwards,” Iris said, forcing Eros’s hand to her back as she pressed her mouth against his lips. She wrapped a leg around his waist and grasped thick clumps of his golden hair, drawing his body in closer to hers. Eros finally forced Iris away when she flicked her tongue against his lips.

  “Enough.” Eros wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What’s going to happen to Psyche?”

  Iris smoothed back her hair and straightened her disheveled gown. Then she studied her garnet manicure indifferently before finally answering. “Don’t blame me. Your mother found her and called in a favor with Ares.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I heard he
was going to have her killed, but that’s all I know.”

  Eros staggered back a step from Iris and his eyes glazed over. “She can’t die.” Eros’s words were barely a whisper. “She’s not supposed to die.”

  He thought back to how Charon had said he’d be seeing Psyche soon enough. Eros had been so enraged at the time that he hadn’t thought it through, but now he realized that his mom must’ve been planning on killing Psyche all along. Setting her up with someone hideous was just a temporary diversion. Aphrodite had always wanted her dead.