Court of the Phantom Queen

by Liz Meldon

  The whispers of the court fell silent when the goddess knelt before Dagda and Morrigan, head bowed in reverence. This was their hall, of course. Their land. Their law. Athena might have prized herself loftier than the deities around her, but she still knew how to pay proper respects when necessary.

  “Hail Dagda, father of this house and this land,” Athena announced, her voice clear and firm as it sounded through the receiving hall. She touched a hand to her heart, then her forehead, then extended it toward the seated monarchs. “And hail Morrigan, queen of shadows.”

  The pair weren’t joined in marriage, but rather two lovers who ruled the pantheon together when necessary. It was Athena’s understanding Dagda had both a wife and many lovers—and plenty of children by them, too. In the mortal realm, she recalled his visage as being less appealing than it was here. Seated atop his throne, he had slicked his wild red hair back. His figure was muscular yet lean, covered by a short-sleeved tunic of gold and green, his skin clear of pocks and scars. Jade eyes beheld her, the god’s lips twisted into a smile beneath a well-maintained bush of facial hair.

  To the mortals, Dagda was a wide-set man who bore the scars of his lifetime. Crass and gruff, he traveled the lands hooded and cloaked, unless battle required him to squash his robust figure into his armor.

  Morrigan, on the other hand, was a creature of many faces—in this realm and the next. Athena knew the raven-haired deity shifted between the maiden, the mother, and the crone at will. Here, in the land of beauty, she wore the maiden’s crown well, skin milky white and gown a pale pink. Her lips, plump and full, were red as fresh blood. Emerald eyes surveyed Athena with a more calculating interest than the king’s.

  “A thousand welcomes, Athena Minerva, daughter of the great Zeus Jupiter,” Dagda replied, gesturing for her to stand. She happily complied; on her knees was not a position Athena ever wanted to be in for long. “We have been most eager for your arrival.”

  “And I too delighted at the thought of your company once more,” she remarked, then tactfully averted her eyes when Dagda’s legs suddenly splayed open, revealing another bush of red and a flaccid cock between his muscular thighs. Morrigan smirked and tilted her head to one side when Athena met her gaze.

  “You and your traveling companions are most welcome in this house,” Dagda told her, gripping his rather famous staff—named the lorg mór, said to be able to take life with one end and give it with the other—as it stood upright beside his throne. Magic pulsed from it, quickening her heart as the horn blasts of a rival might at the cusp of battle. “Tonight, we shall feast in your honour. In the days that follow, gracious Lugh will be hosting games to celebrate the friendship between our two great houses.”

  Athena smiled as the court cheered and clapped at the announcement. Games. Like the Olympics, perhaps. She stole a glance over her shoulder, brow lifting somewhat at Lugh’s beaming face near her among the throng.

  “We are honoured,” she told the monarch, placing a hand over her heart once more. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  While she longed to simply take Dagda and Morrigan aside and explain the dire situation at hand—as she had dozens of other pantheons to visit—Athena would respect their customs. If they wanted to feast and play games and sing songs to her and the others, so be it. But she would have the king’s ear, draft a representative of his choice, and be gone within a fortnight—that much was certain.

  Although her cheeks ached from her somewhat forced smile, Athena continued to exchange pleasantries with the king, all the while wishing he would close his legs. Their banter was for the benefit of the court, nothing more, and when it came to an end, an unexpected weariness took hold of her. After Dagda assured her that her companions would be received shortly, with boats already on the water, he instructed a dark-skinned serving girl, her flesh adorned with swirling knots of gold ink, to lead Athena up to her chambers.

  They traveled together through winding corridors and dizzying stairwells, each location more beautiful than the last. Windows made of a sundry of colours. Impossibly thick pelts on the floor to soften the trek, glittering tile to impress the eye.

  The serving girl led her to a sun-filled room off a hallway of closed doors—rooms for the rest of her party, she assumed. The quarters were quaint and comfortable, and Athena eyed the rather large bed, her weary bones eager for comfort.

  “Goddess?”

  “Hmm?” Athena paused in the doorway, pinning the girl with an unflinching stare that made her tremble. “What is it?”

  “Rumours say that the god Sia travels with you,” she asked, switching rather brashly to an Egyptian dialect. “Is that true?”

  “Bold of you to ask,” Athena said sternly. The girl’s dark eyes dropped to the floor, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “But Sia is indeed part of my company, though I cannot promise you an audience with him.”

  “Of course.” The girl dipped her head, backing away with a bow. “Please call on me for anything you need.”

  Athena crossed her arms, holding back a smile. The girl’s boldness oughtn’t be rewarded, but she couldn’t help it: Athena appreciated a wily, fighting spirit. “I shall need to know your name in order to call on you, shall I not?”

  The gold ink across the girl’s skin seemed to shimmer at the remark, as if to blush for her. She cleared her throat, nodding. “It is Betrest, goddess. A thousand apologies—”

  “Off you go, then, Betrest.” Athena shooed her away with a wave, the bed behind her singing its siren song. “I shall remember you should I need anything.”

  “Yes, goddess.”

  And with that the girl was gone, scurrying down the hall in a flutter of yellow robes and thick, braided black hair. Sighing, Athena retreated into her room, taking a moment to study every inch of it, every stone and fibre, every window and door. Only a fool slept in a place she did not know.

  It was a small, rectangular room, its furnishings modest yet appropriate for a dignified guest of the pantheon. The bed sprawled out before her, inviting and soft when Athena pushed down on it. A gold washbasin. Wooden chairs for guests. Glassless windows overlooking the palace’s rear gardens, which seemed to go on and on into the horizon, a sea of colour rippling in the wind. A small room attached to hers housed a latrine, totally odorless in comparison to the public toilets in Rome.

  Rubbing her temples, Athena made her way back to the bed and settled atop it, eyes drifting shut as she sank into its comforts. While the day was far from over, she already yearned for night’s sweet embrace, wherein she could crawl beneath the blankets and sleep the long journey away.

  “Athena?”

  She bolted upright, eyes snapping to attention at the visitor in her doorway. Seconds later, she eased to her feet and smoothed her dress down.

  “Lugh.”

  The god grinned, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe. “Have you settled?”

  “I await my belongings,” she told him. As they studied one another, Athena’s feet itching to creep closer to him, an unwanted blush rose in her cheeks. “Is there a reason you’ve come to my private chambers?”

  “I wanted to see that you were taken care of.” The golden-haired god took a step in, but nothing more. “I know you’ve visited before, but the corridors here can be dizzying.”

  Athena’s pursed her lips momentarily, though not entirely in displeasure. “Somehow I’ve managed.”

  “I never doubted you, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Athena hastily tried to distract herself by unclasping her cloak and removing it, folding the thick material over her arm. Lugh’s eyes wandered her exposed skin appreciatively, lingering on the nape of her neck.

  “I suppose I had ulterior motives for seeking you out,” he admitted softly, to which Athena arched a brow. “I’d hoped you’d do me the honour of letting me escort you to the feast this evening.”

  She felt her blush worsening and looked away, settin
g her cloak on the bed and fussing over the creases as he continued. “There were whispers through the court, others wishing to have you on their arm. I thought you’d prefer a familiar face this first night.”

  “Did you?” The goddess straightened, hands resting fleetingly on her narrow hips before falling to her sides. “And why would you think that? I do so love to turn strangers into acquaintances.”

  His cheek sucked in on one side, as if he were biting it, before he nodded. “Perhaps I was too bold. My apologies.”

  “I don’t accept them,” Athena told him, “but I will accept your arm.”

  Lugh’s smile returned in a flash, accompanied by a faint pink stain on his cheeks, one to match her own. “I prefer that.”

  “Good. I thought you might.”

  With a slight bow, he bid her a quick farewell, informing her he would come for her again that evening. Athena watched him go in silence, and in his absence noted the way his sudden appearance left her flustered. And Pallas Athena was rarely flustered. Taking a deep breath, she settled on the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees and head in her hands, brow furrowed.

  Perhaps she was supposed to be flustered. Perhaps there were ulterior motives to Lugh, a god who occasionally made her knees weak, showing up everywhere. She nibbled her lip. No. She was a friend in Dagda’s house. What purpose would it serve to throw her off-balance? Lugh’s appearance in court, in the pantheon at all when he was once a god with ties to no house, was just a happy coincidence.

  Perhaps. And perhaps not. Only time would tell—but she would not let herself be caught off-guard again. Nor would she let him see how he affected her. Athena pushed her fingertips against her cheeks, massaging the rush of blood out with a huff.

  “If you despise the stairs so vehemently, then perhaps they could find you a spot in the stables!”

  Sia’s annoyance from the adjoining hall brought a smile to her face, and at the sound of her companions approaching, Pan insisting rather pointedly that a goat is a preferable sleeping companion to an Egyptian, Athena was on her feet and hurrying for the door, all thoughts of Lugh gone.

  For now.

  Chapter 4

  “May I fetch you another drink, goddess?”

  “No.” Athena placed a hand over her golden goblet, its ruby embellishments sparkling in the light of the flickering candles. Wax had wept down the stalks all night, pooling and hardening on the long, rectangular table, in which previous diners had carved knots and rings. Athena had taken to tracing the little figures when she was bored. “I am finished with wine for the night.”

  The attendant bowed and steered herself toward another of the feast’s guests, of whom there was no shortage. And here Athena had been thinking that the boisterous, raunchy, rowdy partying would be reserved to Odin’s people—but clearly not, even the land of eternal youth and beauty. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Any time one combined strong wine, good music, and a sea of beautiful creatures, things were bound to get out of hand.

  The night hadn’t begun thusly. No, Athena had been escorted to the opulent feasting hall on Lugh’s arm, the gesture reeking of courtly decorum. It had all been quite calm, quite civilized, when she had first arrived. The domed ceiling above the great dining hall was but one giant window, allowing the setting sun’s rays to bathe the diners during the main course. Now, the brightest stars, the kind that belonged only in the realms of true immortals, glittered in a clear black sky above their heads. Athena had studied them at great length while fending off dance requests from drunken gods, yet she still couldn’t connect any known names to the constellations.

  When she and her party had been seated many hours prior, the great Dagda had launched into a long-winded speech about the honour Athena bestowed upon his house by her presence, going on and on until eventually he trailed off to something else entirely unrelated—drunken tales of love and war, much to the amusement of his audience.

  When he had finished, the feast commenced, and what a bounty there was. Four long tables with wide, backless benches on either side housed all the hall’s guests, with Athena and her band of travelers set square in the middle of it all. Dagda dined at the first table, with Lugh by his side. The golden-haired god had served and entertained Dagda for the entirety of the feast, much to Athena’s annoyance. She had hoped to at least begin discussions of a formal alliance tonight, but given that she was sat so far away with no hopes of catching the king’s attention—Lugh could bewitch an audience for days if he so chose to—it quickly became apparent she would have to keep such ideas to herself for tonight.

  Perhaps longer, she later decided, when Dagda reiterated, over the din of conversation, that the Tuatha Dé Danann would be hosting five days of games to honour Athena and her group. She and Sia had exchanged weary looks from across the table, the kind that are there one moment and gone the next. While Athena enjoyed games to some extent, five days of them was longer than she wished to endure. Still, she had never been one to turn her nose up at a foreign custom, particularly one hosted in her name.

  So here she sat, hours after she had finished eating. The candles burned low, steadily being switched out by various servants, although the wax remained. Many of the tables had emptied while the dance floor had swelled with gods and goddesses, the crowd padded with fairy folk and their ilk as well. Athena had noted the presence of two cat sìthes—witches in the forms of large black housecats—prowling between the guests, occasionally making themselves comfortable at the head of one of the tables. The white patches on their chests were an obvious giveaway that they were not just regular felines—not to mention the rather human-like intent to both of their movements.

  At the end of the table farthest from Athena sat a banshee. All things considered, she was a rather beautiful creature. Red waves of hair cascaded down her back, glossy yet wild, and her eyes matched the stones embedded in Athena’s golden goblet. Yet someone had fitted her with a muzzle, keeping her from eating, drinking—screaming. She sat in the same spot all night, looking dully from person to person. Some god’s pet they had refused to leave at home.

  Sia had long since moved on from entertaining Athena, and she spied the Egyptian holed up in a dark corner of the hall with the servant girl Betrest, who spoke rather animatedly while Sia nodded along, smiling. Felix prowled about much like the witch cats, turning down all offers of drink and women in favor of keeping a watchful eye on the whole bawdy affair. Hebe, meanwhile, had consumed far too much wine and was making a fool of herself, dancing amidst a crowd of smitten admirers—Felix seemed to be watching over her tonight as much as he watched Athena.

  Pan, of course, had disappeared with a giggling pair of fairies some time ago, and Athena did not expect to see him again until they broke their fasts in the morning.

  And Lugh…

  A hand smoothed over her shoulder softly, a whispering caress in a storm of perpetual harp and lecherous laughter, startling her from her study. Athena looked back, a smile crossing her lips before she could stop it. The golden-haired god grinned, crouching before her and beckoning her close. She pursed her lips, hesitant.

  “I’ve heard a rumor tonight,” he told her, his tone playful as sin. Athena reined in that smile of hers so as not to encourage him too much.

  “Oh? Have you?”

  He nodded. “About you.”

  “I’m hardly surprised.” She cocked her head to the side. “I am the guest of honour, after all.”

  A giddy sort of look passed across Lugh’s features, and he brought his chin to rest on his fist. “Would you like to know the rumor?”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m not sure. Something that makes you this pleased with yourself can’t be good.”

  “Come now,” he scolded, hopping up on the bench beside her, his back to the table, upon which he propped his elbows, and his legs spread wide. “Do you think I would revel in unflattering gossip?”

  “Perhaps.” Athena set her fingers to work on her chali
ce, picking at the rubies, just to keep them busy. “Go on then. Tell me.”

  Lugh’s sky-blue eyes swept the hall, lips still upturned in an impish smirk, then leaned in conspiratorially.

  “I’ve heard,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear, “that you’ve refused to dance with every single man who’s asked you.”

  Athena leaned away with a laugh, then finished the remnants of wine at the bottom of her goblet.

  “Is that all?” she asked, setting it down with a roll of her eyes. “I expected much worse.”

  “Of yourself?” He shook his head and scoffed. “Never.”

  “Your opinion of me is too high, Lugh.” Gathering the royal blue skirts of her dress under her knees, she lifted her legs up and over the bench so that they were both facing the same way, adding some healthy distance between them as she did. Even so, her skin warmed at his closeness.

  “You know, I think you refuse to dance because you don’t know the steps,” the golden-haired god continued, and when she laughed in disbelief, he bopped her lightly on the nose with one long, slender finger.

  “You laugh, but I know your thirst for conquering the unknown cannot go unquenched,” Lugh said, and suddenly he was on his feet, a hand extended to her. Athena felt the eyes of those seated nearby dart their way, and she was torn between outright rejecting him before he asked what she knew he intended to—and actually accepting. His eyes sparkled with mirth as he waited, ever the courteous courtier. “Allow me the honour of adding to your already alarmingly vast wealth of knowledge.”

  When she bit her lip, hands resting firmly in her lap, he added in another near-whisper, “I promise not to step on your toes.”

  Athena looked at the cluster of dancers and back again before finally placing her hand in his—if only to spare him the embarrassment of waiting any longer.