by Liz Meldon
There was still time, of course, especially now that Dagda had stalled their meeting for five whole days. Sighing softly, she drifted in the direction of the regal purple tents, suddenly finding her day a little less pressing. Perhaps she would explore the forest, with its mesmerizing canopy that glimmered the hues of a rainbow. Perhaps she would ask Lugh if he wished to accompany her as a guide.
Athena blinked and shook her head. No. Not Lugh. Someone else.
With Dagda gone, his figure already no more than a silhouette along the tree line, Felix closed the distance between them until he was but a few strides behind her. Nocta hooted a soft greeting to the Roman, head swiveled back and bright wide eyes taking him in, and Athena stroked his stout little chest in response.
She was so wrapped up in her head—a place she frequently disappeared to—that she barely noticed the first purple tent until she was practically on top of it. It was the noise, however, the bawdy jeers of men who ought to still be feeling the effects of last night’s ale, that really caught her attention.
The tent housed servants readying tables of food and drink, with luxurious carpets and pillows scattered in the middle. A few heavy-lidded goddesses had already settled there, one with her head in the other’s lap while her companion finger-combed her hair. The men, meanwhile, congregated some distance away around what appeared to be a throwing competition. At the very least, a large wooden target, wide as an aged tree trunk, sat a good distance away from the group.
And in the middle of the men, most of them shirtless with no more than a plaid strip of fabric wrapped around their hips, stood poor Sia in his traditional scholarly robes, covered from the neck down in white, looking more irate than she’d yet seen. Athena grinned and let loose a soft chuckle, arms crossing over her chest. Nocta fluffed his feathers, the whispery tips brushing against her cheek, and dug his talons into her shoulder, clearly displeased with the commotion.
“Oh, stop it,” the goddess admonished, tapping his little beak twice before sauntering over to the crowd.
A few of the men had the decency to settle down once they realized the goddess was in their midst, but most were too focused on demanding Sia do something. She stood there for a moment, listening to cries for Sia’s compliance and demands for his participation, and then cleared her throat, willing her influence to touch each man present. They fell silent, as they always did. Some even looked sheepish, though no face held as much colour as her poor Sia’s.
“And why,” Athena’s eyebrows shot up as she looked each man in the eye, “may I ask, are you pestering my Egyptian?”
There was some shuffling around her, men shifting their weight from leg to leg, eyes searching out one another in the silence. But Athena waited, as one might wait on a naughty child caught misbehaving, until someone finally spoke up.
“We want him to play, wise Athena,” the man quipped. His youth shone through his gaze, as it did in the smirk on his face. Smugness. Sia rolled his eyes at the sight.
“Is that all?” she asked. “You want him to play?”
“He barely touched a drop of ale last night,” another cried, as though it were some great crime not to lose oneself in a bottle. “Spent the whole night with that serving girl, then had the audacity to snicker at us this morning.”
“Well, you are all quite a sight,” Athena said lightly, willing them to take her words as they may. Her intention was not complimentary. The land of eternal beauty had at least one blemish, and it was here, in the ruddy faces of men who couldn’t handle their drink without making fools of themselves—and looked down upon those who could.
“So, we wanted to prove we were better than him,” continued a third, a man with an immense scar slicing across his bare chest. “Even if we spent the night drinking and dancing and fucking, any one of us is still a better shot than the Egyptian scholar.”
Athena noted how Sia bristled at the way the man spat the term—like Egyptian was some great insult. She raised a hand, only slightly, just to her waist, to settle him. Clearly he was in over his head with this lot.
“Hmm,” was her eventual reply. Then she moved forward, weaving around the riled up men, past Sia and straight to the front of the crowd, where she found a silken blanket spread out on the ground, upon which lay a row of spears. The weapons varied in thickness, each originating from a different tree, their carvings all slightly different and telling of the western kingdom from which they hailed. As Nocta clung to her shoulder, talons sinking in, she bent over and retrieved the heaviest, largest spear, lifting it with ease. The little owl twittered noisily in her ear, displeased, but she ignored him. Instead, Athena made her way back to Sia, then held the spear out to him.
The look he gave her said more than words ever could; Athena held in a laugh, head cocked to the side.
“Come along,” she urged in his mother tongue, keeping her tone playful. “Silence them now or you’ll never hear the end of it.”
“I shouldn’t need to silence them,” Sia argued as he fidgeted with the skirt of his ankle-length tunic. The thick black waves atop his head caught in the breeze, and he immediately tried to smooth them down, much to the amusement of the other men present. At the chorus of new jibes, Sia’s jaw clenched momentarily, and he hissed, “I have no need to preen and prance for these simpletons. I am not ashamed that I prefer good conversation to drinking—”
“Well, I have no interest in spear throwing,” Athena said dismissively. “Either throw this now and leave with me, or stay. I’m sure they won’t keep me here against my will… I am the guest of honour, after all.”
Teeth gritted, Sia snatched the spear from her, stumbling a little under its weight. The flash of surprise across his face only made the men laugh harder, but Athena had faith in him.
Nudging his way to the front, Sia placed himself before the line of little polished stones that marked the throwing range and tested the weight of the spear in each arm, eventually settling on the left. Athena watched as he drew back, his form perfect, and loosed the weapon with a soft grunt. It sliced through the air, straighter than an arrow, and slammed into the center of the distant tree-trunk target—and split it in two.
In that moment, the laughter died, and Sia straightened with an almost too self-righteous expression on his face.
“Come along then,” Athena said, chuckling, and grabbed his wrist. Something on his metal bracelet bit into her hand as she tugged him out of the stunned crowd. When she released him, with someone behind them bemoaning the fact that they would need to find a new target now, a trickle of blood ran down the center of her palm.
“Pardon the spikes, Grey Eyes,” Sia muttered, twisting the jewelry around his wrist. Athena noticed the dagger-sharp spikes adorning the metal as she curled her hand to a fist, the pain temporary. The god beside her cleared his throat. “And thank you. I was worried it would come to blows.”
“They were mostly humans,” she noted with a glance over her shoulder. Bold and arrogant pets of Dagda’s children, they had overstepped their bounds by harassing a deity. Even if she was but a guest in this realm, had they taken their bullying a step too far, Athena would have thought nothing of embedding a spear in one of their skulls—just to send a message.
“The Otherworld gives them strength.” Sia tsked. “This is not the place for humanity. I fear if they stay too long, they will rival the demi-gods.”
She said nothing to that, his words tapping into a suppressed fear of her own. What would happen as more humans defected to the Cult of One? Deities thrived on their worship, drew power from their prayers and offerings. What if, in time, too many humans defected? Would that mean that, one day far in the future, a god’s strength would be no more than a man’s?
Shaking her head at the thought, Athena flinched when Nocta took sudden flight, using her shoulder to propel himself up into a gentle air current. As her forever companion fluttered overhead, she cast one last look at the spear-throwing station. Her heart hammered a be
at too hard at Lugh’s sudden appearance there. She hadn’t noticed him hovering before, nor was she sure just how much he had seen, but there he was, bold as day, arms crossed over some dull grey training armor—smiling at her in an appreciative sort of way that made her gut twist.
Athena turned away with a sniff, then guided Sia toward what looked like an archery arena.
“Don’t be silly, old friend,” the god chuckled when he saw the setup, “this will hardly be fair. You know I’m the better shot.”
Athena elbowed his arm and grinned, quickening her stride. “We shall see, Sia. We shall see…”
Chapter 6
“It’s not that I don’t understand the reason behind the games,” Sia stressed, pacing back and forth at the end of Athena’s bed so feverishly that it made her dizzy. Behind her, Hebe wove the grey-eyed goddess’s hair into two tight, thick braids, which she planned to wrap around her head like a crown. Athena had already vetoed the notion of decorating said crown with flowers, but she was fine with the pearl beads the younger goddess had threaded through as she worked.
“Sia—”
“It’s that they feel like a distraction,” the god finished with a huff. On the window ledge nearest to her bed, Nocta sat preening his feathers, oblivious to the Egyptian’s frustration. Athena, however, felt it rolling off him in waves. It had been mounting for the last few days, and, on day four of the games, had now reached its zenith.
He had barely seemed able to contain himself while her party broke their fast—alone, as usual, while the rest of the palace nursed their sore heads—and afterward had followed Athena into her private chambers without an invitation. Felix stood outside the closed door, his opinion having no place in this discussion. The other human servants of their party had integrated with the palace servants these last few days; this wasn’t a time for rest and indulgence for anyone, Athena included.
Sure, she attended the festivities each day and drank a few goblets of wine each night. She danced with Lugh, their bodies growing ever closer with each song, and she went hunting with Aengus to mend his broken pride. But each day she sought ways to meet with Dagda, and each day he denied her. Patience was hardly the forte of the gods in her pantheon, but she could wait a few more days for the games to finish—though she knew she would regret any missed opportunity for conversation in the meantime.
“Sia,” Athena said firmly. “You must keep your emotions under control.”
“I cannot take another day of throwing or shooting or chasing or whatever else they have in mind,” he snapped. “Not when it is so painfully clear the Dagda does it to keep you at an arm’s length.”
“He has no reason to do that.” Athena winced when Hebe pulled a little too firmly on one braid. “I understand your concerns, but you must know that they lack merit.”
“This is a charade to keep you busy and docile,” the Egyptian remarked, ignoring the way her eyes flashed. “Just as Lugh is also a—”
Athena raised her hand sharply. “Enough.” The room went quiet for a moment, yet the tension remained. “We will indulge men like Dagda in each house. Some will be worse. Others will be more tolerable. I can assure you that I will not let him avoid me once the games finish tomorrow.”
“You let that golden-haired dolt distract you from our purpose—”
“And where is your proof of that?” the goddess demanded, turning to face him at the end of the bed, her hands in fists. “In all the vast history of our friendship, when have you ever known a man to distract me?” Athena waited, brows raised. Sia merely pursed his lips tightly in response. She nodded. “Just as I thought. Lugh and I have known one another a great many centuries. It is rare I see him, but he has done nothing more than make our time here enjoyable. My focus is firm as ever.”
Sia opened his mouth, inhaled softly, and then shook his head. “Good. At least my thoughts are known.”
“And appreciated,” Athena offered, though he didn’t return her ghost of a smile. Instead he gave a stiff bow before stalking out of the room, slamming the door so soundly that it made Nocta twitter in alarm.
“He’s going to be very trying if this is how he plans to behave for our entire journey,” Hebe said, her voice as sweet and soft as ever. She resumed working on Athena’s hair, twisting and pinning the thick braids threaded with pearls around her scalp.
“I can handle Sia.” Athena beckoned for a startled, alert Nocta to join her. Seconds later the little owl was on her lap, burrowing into the generous fabric of her violet tunic. “He is a man passionate about his opinions, that’s all.”
The bed shifted behind her as Hebe moved about. “Is there any merit in them?”
“Some.” Athena’s eyes dropped to Nocta as she stroked his head. “He echoes thoughts I’ve had myself.”
“About Lugh?”
“About the distraction of the games,” Athena insisted, annoyed that her closeness with the god had been so apparent. “I think they are a combination of the two: a desire to honour me and a desire to know me. I do not doubt that Dagda and Morrigan—” The Phantom Queen in particular. “—are using this time to assess my strengths and flaws. After all, we are to enter negotiations and a potential partnership. I cannot fault them for that.”
Though she did not enjoy being toyed with, especially by those who thought her oblivious to their true intentions.
“Well, only one day of games left after today,” Hebe said happily, her hands falling from Athena’s hair. Then she shuffled off the bed and stood before her to assess her handiwork. “And then we can leave, right?”
“Yes.” Athena tentatively touched her hair, knowing Hebe had done her duty well. “Then we travel northward.”
“I hope we will meet Valkyries,” Hebe mused, her cheeks flushed as Athena rose. “I should very much like to see them in my lifetime.”
“I’m sure you will,” Athena told her. She carried Nocta to the window, the glassless frame perfect for him to come in and out at his leisure. Athena ruffled the feathers on his back before thrusting her arm outside. The little owl blinked lazily in the sunshine, swiveling his head back to study her. She nodded. “Go. I will be attending the search and retrieve task at the edge of the forest shortly.”
And off he went. For some reason, the owl behaved poorly within the palace walls, as though the place unsettled him. It was just easier to have him meet her elsewhere than carry and him and have to scold him the whole way through.
“I am afraid, sweet Hebe,” Athena said, pulling back and grabbing the young goddess by her upper arms, noting the nearly sheer fabric that cascaded across her body, pink as the flowers in the courtyard gardens, “that you and a Valkyrie will not have much in common.”
“Oh, I don’t mind that,” the goddess insisted, fluttering those bright blues eyes up at Athena—wide and curious, imploring even. Hebe always looked the maiden, what with the way her beautiful blonde hair rolled freely down her back, and never the mother she truly was. “All I want is to thank them for what they do. For their bravery.”
Athena’s expression softened, and she gently kissed Hebe’s cheek.
“I am sure they will treasure your words,” she murmured, which made Hebe look away bashfully. She then released the goddess and went for her sandals. “I promise I will find you a whole squadron of Valkyries, Hebe, if it’s the last thing I do.”
“Thank you, sister,” Hebe said after a few moments had passed. Athena looked up at the tremor in her voice. Her eyes appeared watery. “When you first inquired after me for this journey, I thought it a jest. But I am grateful you chose me. Truly.”
Athena frowned. “Of course, Hebe. Never feel as though you lack merit. You have earned your place here.”
Hebe’s head bobbed up and down slightly in agreement, and the two set off for the door together.
“Will you be joining us in the field?” Athena asked.
“I’m having Sia’s girl draw a bath for me, actually,” the goddess sa
id, smirking—perhaps at the thought of stealing Sia’s servants. Athena shot her a half-hearted reproachful look.
“Farewell then.”
They parted ways with Felix at Athena’s heels, and soon enough she and the Roman were out of the palace, a structure that, despite its vastness, felt more constricting with each passing day, and out in the sunshine. Those participating in the games had increased as the days dragged on, though Athena suspected it was actually the promise of ale and debauchery in the regal purple tents that drew them in. Only half the players in any given event ever took the rules seriously. She had seen men and women alike topple over with laughter at the spectacles some made of themselves.
Athena, meanwhile, was determined to win every event she entered.
That morning’s was a hunt and retrieve game, which had drawn almost a hundred participants out to the edge of the forest, Athena among them. Each player—no joint effort this time, unlike hurling and handball—was given the same list of hidden objects scattered throughout the nearby lands. According to Lugh, who stood by Dagda’s side at the helm of the rowdy crowd to relay the rules, palace slaves had hidden hundreds of objects, but only fifty different types total. There was no limit to how far out the pieces were stashed: down to the glittering lake, out toward the mountains steeped in fog, or into the darkest recesses of the magical forest. Nothing was off-limits. Foul play was encouraged, much to the delight of those gathered at the starting pitch. The first to return with all fifty individual types of items, no repeats, would win a seat by Dagda’s side at the feast that night.
Athena scanned the list, the runes distinctly local in nature, and glanced at Felix—who wore a frown so deep she thought his lips might fall off his face.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand this savage script,” he remarked dryly, folding the list in half and tucking it into his belt. “I shall just follow you.”
