by Liz Meldon
Sia motioned to the lake, frowning. “You did not say there would be more water to cross.”
His grumbling came to her in an ancient dialect few were familiar with. Athena spoke it fluently, as she did most of the world’s languages, old and new. Normally Sia conversed in Greek or Latin, depending on the company he kept. But now, the god expressed his discontent in his native tongue.
“We arrive in this world at the mercy of our hosts,” he continued with a slight shake of his head. “We should always be in command of our mobility, Pallas Athene.”
“Peace, my friend.” Athena placed a firm hand on his shoulder and met his eye, the irises as black as the pupils. “We are welcome in this house. There will be no need to flee.”
“Only a fool approaches a warlord’s table thinking thusly,” he countered with a step back. Athena looked away and sighed, and his discontent faded to concern. “Make no mistake. The children of Danu are warriors to their marrow.”
“Satiated warriors, Sia.” She stepped around him. “There is no call to arms in Tír na nÓg.”
Dagda and his kin had conquered their foes, defeated their enemies. This was a time of peace in the four kingdoms of the Otherworld.
And what an age of peace it was…
Akin to the splendors of Elysium, Tír na nÓg was the kingdom of eternal youth and beauty. Its inhabitants thrived throughout the centuries, fueled by the love of their mortal worshippers and the essence of such a splendid plane. As Athena recalled, all were youthful and lovely when they visited the kingdom, growing only more youthful and more lovely the longer they stayed. Among the mortals, Morrigan appeared to some as a crone. But when Athena had seen the sorceress in the palace years earlier, back then just a member of the godly royal court, she had been the most splendid creature. All the Tuatha de Danann were.
Not only were its people beautiful, but the land was forever touched by grace. Thick, healthy grasses, never victim to drought. Glittering lakes and rivers. Mountains as old and sturdy as time itself. Food was never scarce, no hearth went without a flame, and music echoed from the halls of the palace out into the woodlands, mimicking the voices of the sweetest nymphs and muses. It was no surprise that Dagda and his people had gone to war with the Fomorians to lay claim to this land—only fools wouldn’t covet such bliss.
In the distance, across the glittering lake, sat the kingdom’s palace. Domed rooftops and pointed towers soared toward a cloudless sky. By now, the watchers in the spires would have spotted them. All they needed to do was wait.
Unfortunately, Sia wasn’t the only one distressed at the sight of the lake.
“What will we do with the horses?” Hebe asked no one in particular. The wisps of golden hair hanging loose from the braid wrapped around her head fluttered in a soft breeze, and her cheeks flushed a bright pink. That was Athena’s little sister—ever the delicate flower.
“I’m not sure you took my anatomy into account,” Pan said, tugging on Athena’s cloak as a child would a mother’s skirt. “My hooves aren’t made for paddling.”
“If the horses can do it, I’m sure you can too,” Athena countered, stepping out of the satyr’s reach. He didn’t follow, his curses growing faint as she approached Felix at the edge of the lake. While the man didn’t seem on the cusp of complaining as the others were, the expression he wore troubled her all the same. She crossed her arms, eyes wandering the length of the lake to the forests beyond. As the wind blew gently, the foliage rippled with magnificent colours: blues, purples, reds, greens. On her last visit, Athena had plucked a leaf so she could get a better look at its changing hues, only to scowl when it browned and shriveled in her hand. She tore her eyes away from the rainbow with some difficulty. “What is it?”
“This place feels strange. I don’t like it,” Felix told her, never one to mince words. Athena appraised him for a moment, then chuckled.
“It’s the human in you,” she said fondly. His expression tightened and it didn’t ease when she touched his arm. “Felix… You have been across the empire. You are world-wise and knowledgeable, but the realms of gods will make you feel as you’ve never felt before.”
“I’ve felt this before,” he insisted. “Right before an ambush of Gauls.”
“You and Sia think alike,” she said with a groan. “We are quite safe here.”
But then again, she kept Felix by her side because he moved through the world as if safety was a luxury he could never afford. Athena valued him for that, for a mind that was always working.
“Stay alert,” she ordered softly, crouching down to trail her fingertips through the water. “Tell me should your feelings worsen.”
He stood over her, ever the stoic Roman soldier, a twitch rippling through the toned muscle on his thigh. “Of course, goddess.”
“The palace houses the realm’s pantheon,” she told him. “At least, those who rule the land now.” Felix nodded, still tense, and she continued. “I will show you all the secret corridors that I remember. I know you’ll wish for dark places to find dark deeds, but this is the land of eternal youth and beauty. You’ll find none of that here.”
“Youth and beauty are precisely what cause dark deeds,” Felix muttered. Athena stood, unable to disagree, and wiped her damp hands on her traveling cloak.
“Sometimes, yes.” She patted his shoulder, hard as a man might, and beckoned him to follow. “But for now, all is well.”
“All is not well,” Pan countered, his voice a crass bark as Athena and Felix approached the rest of the group. “There is still the matter of the lake, Grey Eyes.”
She drew in a deep breath, willing herself to find the patience to deal with the satyr. Just as she was about to speak, ready to insist that a welcome party from the host would surely be sent in good time, a flushed Hebe pointed behind her, blonde brows knitting.
“Is that a horse?”
All eyes turned in the direction of her outstretched finger, and sure enough, a horse trod across the lake. Something fluttered in Athena’s heart; the white steed looked familiar.
“It is,” she said, then hurried to the edge of the water. Their own horses whinnied at the stallion’s approach, growing more excited with each passing moment until Hebe ordered the servants to drag them away. Off they went, with much protest, as the stallion slowed from a canter to a gentle trot a few feet from Athena, stamping large black hooves over the gently rippling water. She eased aside, allowing him to cross to land.
Pan scoffed. “Well, we can’t all fit on its back—”
“I will cross,” Athena insisted, swallowing the tremor in her voice. “Once I have been received, I will return with ships.”
“Goddess,” Felix started, but the soldier fell silent when she raised her hand to him. Someone had fitted the stallion with a plush riding saddle, which Athena climbed onto with all the grace and mastery of a seasoned rider. She took hold of the reins with the authority one needed to ride such a beast, noting the frilly gold embroidery on the tack. A royal horse now, it would seem. This had not been the case when she last met this creature. Would his master share the change in fashion?
“I will return shortly,” Athena told her companions. Sia caught her eye briefly before she turned away. The Egyptian preferred her company to anyone else’s—he would have climbed onto the horse’s back behind her if she’d offered. Over her shoulder, she issued a look that preached patience, to which the god gave a sullen nod.
With a faint nudge to the stallion’s sides, Athena was off, flying across the lake at a brisk clip. Glancing down, she noted the deep blue colour of the water, the hue hinting at its depth. Beyond the nearby shoreline, a lush valley of tall grasses and well-worn trails framed by forest on either side would lead her up to the palace. It beckoned her closer with the glint of sun off its colourful rooftops and the smell of fresh bread from its kitchens. She patted the horse’s side as he galloped, pleased to see him again—but knowing that the quiver in her lips and the twist of h
er stomach were not for the reunion of horse and goddess.
Only a few beasts could ride over the waves. Her uncle Poseidon had several to his name, but this steed of pure white belonged to someone else.
And upon the sandy shores, statuesque and familiar, stood his owner: a golden-haired god with new armor, startling and beautiful like starlight—the only god in this world and the next who had once captured a piece of Athena’s cautious heart.
Chapter 3
“Lugh!” Athena couldn’t quell her smile, so startled by his unexpected appearance in Tír na nÓg that she let the whole spectrum of her emotion show. “What a happy surprise!”
The god moved forward with a grin of his own, taking command of the white horse once those enormous hooves thundered onto the sand. The beast slowed to an easy trot as he approached his master, giving a soft whinny and reaching for Lugh’s outstretched hand with his snout. Once Lugh held the reins, Athena leapt out of the saddle, feet dipping into the soft sand, and skirted around in front of the horse, her heart pounding in her ears. Colour threatened to flush in her cheeks, but she refused to give the god before her more than her eager smile.
They clasped hands as brothers-in-arms might, but before Athena could pull back, Lugh dragged her in and wrapped himself around her. She winced at the feel of his armor digging into her decidedly softer frame, yet she didn’t withdraw. Athena stood quite still instead, breathing him in as she once had. Lugh. A god of many talents—in both combat and the arts. His scent made her think of sunny days, where the heat dragged on well into the evening and one’s only shelter came from the protective shade of a tree. She closed her eyes, briefly recalling the many afternoons they’d spent under many different trees—talking, laughing, drinking.
Flirting.
Lugh was a merciless flirt and she knew it, yet somehow he had won her over. They’d met during her travels, when Athena, on a whim, decided to walk from one side of the Roman empire to the other. She’d wanted to learn the people, the language, and the gods of her lands in this new age—and halfway through she had found Lugh, a nomadic god from the western isles who had set out upon a similar quest. She recalled the way he thirsted for knowledge, eager to better his rather impressive set of skills by listening and learning from every house they visited. For months and months, she’s had only Lugh and Nocta for company.
Athena couldn’t remember a time she had been happier.
“It’s good to see those eyes again,” Lugh murmured in her ear, silken voice stirring the hairs on the back of her neck. After one last squeeze, they parted, and although neither were panting, each wore a breathless look.
“And these eyes are glad to look upon you too,” Athena told him. Her arms fell to her sides as her fingers pulsed with power, eager to touch him again. “It has been some time.”
“Too long,” Lugh agreed; indeed, a century and a half had passed since she’d had the pleasure of his company. He turned away momentarily to quiet the needy horse at his side, giving Athena a chance to admire his handsome profile. The warrior’s garb suited him.
“Now, I feel as though I remember this creature…”
“As you should. Enbarr.” The god kissed the beast’s nose, which seemed to subdue him, then flashed Athena a pearly smile. “I thought him a fitting welcome for my favourite Greek.”
“Thank you for sending him,” Athena remarked, stroking the creature’s thick neck with growing affection. She pressed her lips together for a moment, the desire to brush Lugh’s golden curls from his face stronger than she would have liked. With a soft clearing of her throat, she added, “And for meeting me here.”
“I practically had to lock the gates to keep the others from joining me.” He offered her an impish smirk before taking the horse’s reins in one hand and leading them both away from the lake. “The court is abuzz in anticipation of your arrival.”
Athena fell in line beside him, having walked thusly many times before, and gave a dry chuckle. “Really?”
“Of course!”
The merciless fog that had accosted her party suggested otherwise, but Athena kept that to herself.
“Before you take me to the others,” she said instead, “you must tell me of your position in Dagda’s house. You were a stray hound when we parted ways.”
A god with no family, no land, no house to call his own. She shouldn’t have been so taken with him, but his charm had left its mark.
“I grew weary of wandering,” Lugh said with a sigh. “The court wouldn’t have me at first, but I managed to persuade them.”
She hummed, lips pursed and eyes shimmering with amusement. “I’m sure you did.”
“But you see, it was Nuada who ruled the house then, not Dagda.” They climbed the gentle slope between sand and grassy field together, hands brushing occasionally. “I had to offer a service to gain entry to the palace, yet when I listed my skills, they told me they already had someone who could do everything I do.” He laughed, the sound clear and warm. “I told them I was an expert smith, a swordsman, a hero, a poet, a historian, a harpist, a craftsman, and a sorcerer, yet each time, the gatekeeper told me that they already had a man or woman who provided such services.”
Athena noted the mirth in his sky-blue eyes, the way the telling of his tale gave him such childlike joy. “So how did you get in?” she asked, knowing he was just waiting for the question.
“Well…” Lugh glanced over his shoulder, then ducked down to whisper to her. “I asked if they had a man or woman who was an expert in all those skills at once.”
“And they did not,” Athena finished for him, her gaze straining not to flick down to his lips. He’d kissed her once—in the heat of battle, in the farthest lands to the east, as they were forced to separate and lead two different charges, battalions of humans at their backs. A sweeping, passionate kiss, one that had actually stolen her breath, even though it had started and ended in the time it took her to blink twice.
Lugh shook his head and straightened with a grin. “They did not. I was offered a seat at Nuada’s table that night, and every night since then, even when Dagda took Nuada’s place. I do almost everything here.”
Athena recalled that the old King Nuada had fallen in combat. Her whisperers kept her informed on all the shifting powers in different pantheons as best they could.
“You do not seem as impressed with my persuasive prowess as I’d hoped,” Lugh teased. The palace unfurled before her with each step they took upon a well-used path, vibrant grasses and towering trees, whose leaves still shimmered like the crest of a rainbow, growing on either side. In the shadows of the forest, Athena had noticed dark shapes tracking her movements—soldiers from the palace, no doubt.
“Perhaps it is because I know how talented that persuasive tongue of yours can be,” she fired back, eyes on the trees, “that it takes a little more to impress me.”
“Well, I shall have to try harder, then.” Lugh caressed her palm, sliding down purposefully to curl his fingers around hers for a moment before pulling away. Athena looked up at him, an eyebrow lifted.
“Yes,” she said. “Perhaps you shall.”
They exchanged the briefest of looks, his of curiosity and hers a mild warning, before carrying on along the trail. The silence didn’t last long, however, and soon enough they were regaling one another with stories of their travels, Athena reminding him several times that her companions were still stranded on that little island in the middle of the lake. Lugh assured her that the palace escorts would attend to them after the court received her.
The palace of the Otherworld was beautiful, though not necessarily to Athena’s taste. Its rounded roofs made her think of the temples in the far east of the Roman empire, though the array of glittering colours within each stone, sparkling like a proud peacock in the sunlight, was a wonder to behold. When their walk brought them in range of the others—servants, stablehands, soldiers—Athena made sure to lavish compliments about every little detail. T
entative smiles steadily replaced the unsure frowns on the faces of those around her, and by the time Athena and Lugh crossed the courtyard in which the stockrooms and animal pens sat, she was sure she’d indirectly charmed anyone within earshot.
Dagda’s court, however, would not be so easily swayed. Just because Athena had met many of the Tuatha Dé Danann during her previous ventures into the realm certainly did not mean she needn’t make an effort to present herself well. As she and Lugh strode through the halls, the floors of marble and walls of frescoes as far as the eye could see, Athena loosened her hair and combed her fingers through it, then pinched her cheeks to draw the pink out in them.
“You look lovely,” Lugh murmured in her ear, which only hastened the colour’s appearance. She shot him a quick look, one that insisted she wouldn’t be swept up in his flattery, and continued to fuss with herself.
While Dagda’s people were warriors at heart, this was the land of beauty. Swords were currently cast aside in favour of lyres and harps. Gowns chosen over armor. Dancing over sparring. When the gods of this palace returned to the realms of mortals, all this beauty and grace would be forgotten. But here, Athena was a scholar and a weaver, not a strategist and a combatant, and she had dressed herself for her introduction to Dagda’s court accordingly—a soft purple gown and a grey traveling cloak, her weapons stored elsewhere.
Or, at the very least, out of sight.
Her approach would be different with Odin’s kin. When she was through with Dagda and Morrigan, Athena would sail north, on to Asgard at the canopy of Yggdrasil, the world tree. There, she would don her armor and feast in Odin’s great halls. She would curse and drink and laugh like any man. But in Tír na nÓg, she would embrace the artist within—until the time called for the diplomat to appear.
As in the past, Athena was presented to the godly court in its entirety in the king’s grand receiving chambers. Gods and goddesses lined the path to the twin thrones, one slightly larger than the other, and Lugh melted away into the crowd. Although, as Athena approached the monarch and his mistress, she could have sworn she caught a flash of gold and starlight moving alongside her still.
