The Ruin of Eros

Chapter Seventeen

“We have heard much about you.” She laughs a see-sawing laugh; if I closed my eyes, I would think it was no more than tree boughs moving in the wind. “You must join our little party—we have brought music. And wine.”

What power nymphs wield, and whether they are easily offended, I have no idea. I dare not refuse her. She leads me toward the pond, which close up is bigger than I realized, and busy with a whole host of her kind. I see that not all of the nymphs are women: some of them are young men—boys, really. One or two look to be only little Hector Georgiou’s age, and look at me curiously—perhaps they have not seen a human before, just as I have not seen a nymph.

Most of the younger ones glance up briefly, then go back to splashing in the water. But I see our appearance has caught some interest. A smaller group of nymphs that look closer to my companion’s age move nimbly out of the water and draw near. One smiles, some of the others eye me coolly.

“I am the nymph Eido,” says the one who brought me here. “These are my kin. Well, let us not stand on ceremony.” She flashes her teeth at me and waves some of her companions forward.

They usher me to the bank of the water and make space to sit down in the sweet-smelling grass. The wine is opened, glasses poured.

“We drink to your health.” Eido glances at the others, then back at me. “Our lord’s new bride.”

Bride . My stomach twists nervously. And lord . The demon is more powerful than I knew—I have not yet heard of one who holds dominion over a host of nymphs.

“A rare choice, certainly.”

One of them giggles. Another edges closer to me, then holds my hair back from my face, inspecting me. Her hands brush my ear, soft and silken, but there’s no mistaking the way she’s appraising me. Part of me expects her to pull back my lips and check my teeth, the way Father would with a new cow. What does she see me as? A prisoner? A strange trophy?

I do not like that all of them know him : they are on the demon’s side. No doubt they laugh and sport with him, whereas I am left in the dark, wedded to a creature who will not tell me his true name, nor what sort of life he has outside these walls. Nor even show me his face.

One of the smaller nymphs paddles over then. She is little, just a child.

“She is very fair, is she not?” she pipes.

“Indeed.” The dryad next to me flashes a cool smile. “Very fair—for a mortal.”

“You’re jealous, Khelone,” another butts in. “ You would covet her space in his bed, wouldn’t you?”

“Hush, Klaia,” the one called Eido says. It’s clear she’s the one in charge.

I wonder what they would say if I told them we shared no bed at all? But the trading of insults and innuendo continues, until finally one of the nymphs pushes another into the water. Most of the others seem to have forgotten me by now, delighted by this new drama. But the small girl has padded over as her older companions snipe and curse each other in the water.

“Are you really a mortal?” she says, and I nod. Her eyes widen.

“Does it hurt?”

The question should make me laugh perhaps, but instead it gives me a strange pang.

“Sometimes,” I say. But not in the way you think, little one.

“I like mortals,” the child says. “They’re shiny.” And she puts her hand on my hair, patting it gently, like a dog.

I decide I might as well capitalize on this show of loyalty.

“What do you know, little one,” I say, “about the lord they call my husband?”

She stops petting me; her eyes widen again, growing cautious.

“He has a name among mortals, does he not? Do you know what it is?”

“Phoebe!” one of the older dryads calls sharply now from the water, and the little one starts and puts her hands behind her back.

“Don’t get the child in trouble.” The one they call Klaia walks toward me. She drops down on the damp bank beside me and pushes a cup of wine into my hands. “You look far too serious, you know.”

She hesitates a moment.

“We call him Lord Aetos.”

Aetos: we know that bird throughout the Hellenic lands. A great, majestic hunter, with a wingspan as long as I am tall.

“It is just a nickname. I believe you mortals have a different name for him.” Her gaze is direct. “He prefers you not to know it, because if you know it, you will see him differently. You will believe what the stories say, instead of learning him as he is.”

I scowl.

“And what does it matter, whether I believe the stories or not?”

The nymph looks at me. There is something serious for a moment behind those color-shifting, mischievous eyes.

“I suppose, because he wishes you to love him.”

It’s a good thing I haven’t been drinking the wine, because if I had been, I’d have spat it out on the ground. Surely she has it wrong. And besides—

“He doesn’t need me to love him,” I say. “I’ve sworn a vow. He can have what he wants from me, whether I wish to give it or not.”

Klaia shakes her head.

“Lord Aetos isn’t like that. He claims from pleasure only, not from obligation.”

I reach for my wine, take a shaky sip. The brightness courses through me, dazzling my tastebuds, but I’m so distracted now, the effect passes quickly.

Perhaps she’s making trouble for reasons of her own, or it’s a mistranslation. The nymphs may not use words in the same way mortals do. Whatever he wants from me, it can’t be the thing I call love.

She shrugs her sleek shoulders. “We were surprised by it too. For most of us, you see, mortals are seen as rather…coarse. No offense intended.”

I’m flushed to my roots, now, but she takes a long swig of wine.

Over her shoulder, I see two of the young boy-nymphs tiptoeing toward us, giggling softly. They may not be mortal boys but I’ve seen that sly, mischievous look a hundred times before on the youths of Sikyon, and I know they’re up to something. One of them sees me watching, and puts a finger to his lips. One step further, and together they drop a small, brown toad right onto Klaia’s lap.

The commotion is a relief. In seconds Klaia’s up and shrieking, chasing the boys back to the water with wild threats, giving me the chance to slip away unnoticed.

*

Back in my room, though my mind teems with thoughts, I force myself to finish the letter.

Dear Father and Dimitra

I trust this letter reaches you securely. It is my first chance to send word and may be my last for some time. I need you to know that I am well, that I am safe. Fate intervened that day on the cliffs, and I was delivered from that danger.

More than that: my rescuer has taken me as his wife. Alas, his homeland is very distant, but know that it is the dearest wish of my heart to see you again, and I hope it may yet come to pass.

For now, I send you my love. Do not grieve me.

I add some words about not letting others in our town know the truth. It will only cause trouble, if the king should get wind that his plan for me was foiled.

I roll the letter back into a scroll and seal it. I glance out the window, which shows the sea again. By the light it is already evening. Is he back yet? Some part of me fears he will have changed his mind now, and not take the letter after all.

I open the door to the great-room, and stop in my tracks. He is back, and he stands before the window—but tonight, the window does not show any view I could expect. Its image is nothing I’ve ever seen before. A dark landscape, mountainous, stormy—and at the peak of one of the mountains, a city built up high. I say a city, but truthfully I have seen no city like it in my life. It shines like marble, all peaks and spires. The sight of it stops me where I stand. I’d like to think it is a sight from the Outer Lands, from Persia or Aethiopia perhaps. But a cold feeling under my skin tells me this is no mortal place.

Then, just as fast, the picture disappears. Quickly, the demon withdraws his hand back inside his cloak, and there is something of regret in the gesture.

“Psyche,” he says, without turning. Once more, he has sensed me without seeing me.

“What was that?” I say. “That place…was it real?”

“Real enough.” Something in his voice signals he will not speak further of this to me. I am learning to read him better than would seem possible, for one whose face I can never hope to see. I put the strange vision from my mind, and walk toward him, scroll in hand.

“The letter is written.”

He nods, and takes it wordlessly from me. So close, I breathe the scent of him again. The fabric of his cloak is the color of midnight, yet despite that it seems to hold the light.

Aletheia comes into the room then, bearing bread and water, and he gestures me toward the table.

“Sit. Tell me of your day.”

I scoff inwardly. Who asks such a thing of a prisoner? And yet truth be told, my day was eventful enough. Klaia’s unnerving comment lingers in my head.

“I met some of your nymphs,” I say.

He nods.

“And did they amuse you?”

I think of the giggles and stares, the comments. The one they call Klaia was friendly enough, I suppose, but…

“Not much.” Why should he expect me to like such creatures? “They’re…so purposeless. Do they really live whole aeons like this, just gossiping and sniping and tending to their beauty?”

“Well,” he seems to consider the question. “Sometimes they swim.”

I glare. He thinks everything I say is so amusing .

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” I snap. “What has an immortal to do with time except waste it? I can see it is quite foreign to you, the idea that a person should use their time. That there is more to life than disporting oneself. That in the time we have, we might want to do something real .”

I feel him looking at me. I hear the smarting anger in my voice.

“You may think it is a petty thing, a mortal life. A woman’s life. But it is what I have.”

What I had .

“This again?” He sounds disgusted. “You ride a high horse, wife . You wish me to congratulate you on being mortal; on being a member of such a miserable, murderous race? Very well: I congratulate you.” His chair screeches as he pushes it back from the table, and in a few sweeping strides, black cloak flowing behind him, he’s gone from the room.

And my letter remains on the table.