crime?”
Ra shook his head, his old eyes filled with compassion. “She is of the world, Thor. You are merely in it. Do not forget that, whatever you decide.”
Thor wanted to snarl, to growl, to thunder his frustration. But these were not his lands, and he had not come to Egypt to fight with Ra over Eve. He had not meant to think of her at all. She would not have wanted him distracted by this while his people suffered. And if she had known he was married…
“I have gold to trade,” he said at last, his tone dull even to his own ears, “if Egypt can afford to part with any of its bounty.”
Ra nodded. “Even in times of war, we can spare a little for our friends in the North, but you might have better luck with the Olympians. Speak with Athena and she will see Zeus agrees.”
“And how might I reach her?”
Ra smiled faintly. “Take yourself to Athens and she will find you.”
Athens. Thor grimaced internally. Eve had spoken far too much of Athens. Going there would only remind him of what he should not want. But he had lost too much time already, and he had promised his father he would seek out Poseidon, besides. Odin hoped the Olympian god of earth and sea would know some secret that might help them. But if it was Elohim who had changed the course of the currents, and the flow of magma beneath the surface, Thor did not have much hope.
“My gratitude, Ra,” he remembered to say, offering a short bow. “I wish you good fortune in your conflict with Assyria.”
Ra waved the sentiment away. “We will rise up again. Another century or two, and who can say. Perhaps it will be Adam leading Egypt’s armies in conquering Assyria instead.”
The thought brought him little comfort.
“Thor of the North!” Athena smiled, taking both his hands. Unlike Aphrodite, she did not try to greet him any more warmly. “I had not expected to see you again so soon. Ra sent word ahead of your needs, and if I must give you grain from Athens’ own stores, you will have it for your people, but I expect my father will see reason. He will like having you in his debt.”
“I have gold—”
“Please,” she stopped him, her expression suddenly grave. “The last apples you gave us resulted in more grief than I wish to remember. No. If there is any trade, let it be in some other currency.”
The Athenians had directed him to a shrine, nestled in the heart of an olive grove. A low stone altar stood beneath the oldest tree, with a spring fed pond reflecting moonlight beside it. Athena seemed to shine with the same light, between the silver breastplate and the white of her simple gown. Snakes curled around her upper arms like so much gold. She brushed olive leaves off the altar and sat upon it like a bench, making room for him beside her.
He pressed his lips together. Virgin goddess or not, she seemed to know her beauty and how best to display it with simple elegance. Her skin glowed, moon-pale and perfect, in contrast to the rich brown of her hair, so dark it looked black without sunlight, but she wore no ornamentation, nor did she paint her face as Aphrodite might. Thor dared not give offense, and sat beside her, as far from her as the stone allowed.
Her smile mocked him. “You cannot be nervous of me? If you could resist my sister’s wiles and all of Bhagavan’s court, there is nothing I can offer that would tempt you, were I so disposed.”
He inclined his head politely. “You do not give yourself the credit you deserve, Athena.”
She laughed. “Are all the Aesir so generous? Perhaps I should insist on accompanying you back to Asgard in exchange for grain—but no, you do not have time for such foolishness, and I would not tire you with it.”
“You have my gratitude,” he said. “For anything you might offer us.”
“In Athens we have not much. Perhaps it would see three of your villages through the winter.” Her eyes narrowed just slightly, shrewdly, and he wondered what it was she looked for. One of the snakes slithered from her arm to her wrist, and she stroked its head. “Are you willing to trade more than gold, Thor of the North? Zeus has no sense of urgency for pursuits other than his own, but if you can persuade him, your people will not go hungry this year or the next.”
He arched a brow. “What must I do?”
“There is a feast this night upon Olympus. If you can keep from offending my family, I believe my father would be most likely to grant his aid come morning. Do you suppose you can manage?”
No doubt Sif would take exception to an evening spent carousing with Olympian goddesses, but he had come for grain, and he would not leave without it. And truly, it would be better if she believed him unfaithful in their company than Eve’s.
“Do I have the promise of your support?” he asked.
Athena rose, offering him her hand. “I fear you will not succeed without it.”
With Athena’s help, Thor returned to Asgard with grain for two winters, at least. But even that was not enough. The interior lands became inhospitable, and the Aesir shifted the populations to the coasts and further south. As a result of such migrations, the small fishing village where Thor had lived with Eve swelled with refugees. Where children were too weak to travel, Thor hitched his goats to a cart and drove them, leaving them in the care of Owen’s bloodline until their parents might follow. But the people there told stories of Thorgrim, and those stories were heard by gods, and more than once, Thor saw Sif’s eyes narrow, flashing gold before she banked her fury.
The weather settled, and so did their people, finding new ways to live off the colder lands. And with the crisis past, the Aesir fell back into easier days and older habits. Feasts and celebrations and long nights of drinking in Odin’s hall. Thor remained by his wife, among his people, and waited for Sif’s anger to rise.
For Sif, goddess of beauty and desire, wheat and prosperity, did not forget any slight. And once she learned he had turned his heart to another, loved anyone but her, all peace in Asgard would be shattered.
It was only a matter of time.
Chapter Nineteen: Present
Eve curled up in the library with Ryam’s journal and a cup of hot tea. After the departure of Ryan and Clair with Jean and Mia two weeks before, the rest of the DeLeon’s had started to disperse in dribs and drabs. The only family left was Brienne’s, now, and they were arranging their own departure with Garrit for the next day. Eve didn’t mind having the family in residence, but the cooks and the maids and the other staff required to make the manor run on such a large scale challenged her patience. Servants and maids smacked too much of Adam’s first oppression, and Adam was already on her mind more than she liked.
She frowned and flipped open the journal, scanning the pages for anything that might be about her. One page was taken up completely by the sketch of a man’s face, preserved in a sleeve of plastic. It was roughly done, as if the artist was in a hurry to put it to paper before the image faded in his mind. Even aged and cracked, she could see clearly who the sketch was supposed to be. Something about the jaw line and the shape of the eyes. Eyes which would have been the color of stone, had Ryam been provided with the mediums to color them.
Adam’s face stared at her from the journal. No explanation. No notes. Just the face, and underneath it in the tight script which she recognized as belonging to her late husband, a warning.
Beware! He remembers her.
She closed the book and stared out the window. She had never described Adam to Ryam, never given him the image of her brother, always changing. But there were others who could have. Ghosts who walked when they should be dead, figments of her imagination, projected into the heads of others without purposeful thought. That was how it had begun, in her last life. Her mind had conjured those she had loved in the past into living, breathing men. There one minute, whispering in her ear, and gone the next. And nothing but insanity could have caused her to manipulate the doctors, forcing them to see the phantoms too. She had deserved to be locked up for that. She
