gems which send reflections of color across the table and the room. When he stands, I notice he’s holding a golden goblet decorated with gems equaling the ones on his crown.
“I certainly hope Sisyphus didn’t scare you.” His voice is in my head and in my ears, and he raises the goblet to his lips and takes a long drink, leaving a red stain on the hair of his close moustache.
“He did. He did.” The man on the right cackles when he says it. “Look at her eyes. Such pretty eyes. Tasty eyes. One at a time. Savor them.” His own eyes cross when he speaks, and his lips are so dry, the skin is cracking.
The man—the king—at the head of the table whirls on the man who’s spoken. “Tantalus, we shall not eat our guest. It’s not polite.”
Tantalus, the man on the right, rubs his hands together. “But look at her neck. Like a pearl. And her breasts.” He licks his lips, and reaches for a plate of fruit on the table.
I want to turn around and run out the door. I glance over my shoulder, but can’t see the door anywhere. It’s vanished—blended into the stone wall behind me.
The king slams his goblet down on the table, sloshing thick, red liquid over the sides. “Can’t you see she’s scared, you idiot?” He raises a hand and points it at the man, and the plate of fruit moves until it’s just out of his reach.
Tantalus screams like he’s been wounded, and his fingers claw at the table, snapping against the hardness of the wood. There are scratch marks decorating the wooden planks in front of him. I force my eyes away from him and back to the king.
“Please excuse his rudeness, my lady. We don’t make a habit of eating our guests,” the king says.
The man on the left laughs. It’s the first time I look at him, and my breath catches. He’s about my age with light brown hair that reaches past his ears, and is muscular and sculpture-worthy. He’s clothed in a toga, and when he looks at me, his green eyes sparkle with humor.
“Perhaps Tantalus would make a habit of it if he could eat anything,” he says.
The king picks his goblet back up. The wine is back at the top, somehow magically refilled. “May I please introduce myself and welcome you to my kingdom.”
I still don’t trust myself to speak, so instead I nod, biting my lip until it hurts. The pain helps stem the fear I feel is about to bubble over.
“I am Aeacus, King of Tartarus.” He motions to the right. “You’ve had the pleasure of meeting Tantalus already.”
“And don’t forget about me.” It’s the man on the left talking. The one so good looking I can almost forget Tartarus is a place for the eternally damned.
Aeacus laughs. “How could anyone forget about you, Pirithous?” Aeacus extends his arms wide. “My lady, may I present the honorable Pirithous to you?”
I force myself to flash a brief smile, barely showing my teeth.
“Oh, her teeth. Her teeth. And what of her tongue? Just one glance of her tongue.”
I shut my mouth at Tantalus’s words and cross my arms over my stomach, trying to hide as much of myself as I can.
Aeacus motions, and a chair at the end of the table nearest me slides out, its heavy stone scratching against the hard floor underneath. “Please sit and join us.”
I don’t want to sit. I want to call for Shayne. I want to go back and hang out with Chloe. I even want to be with my mom. To let her comb my hair. But I also want answers, and so, against every nerve in my body, I walk forward and sit in the cold, stone chair.
Once I’m seated, Aeacus sits also. Pirithous pours a goblet full of wine, sliding it down the table to me. I watch his fingers as he pours, noticing how long and powerful they look. Veins pop from his arms as he flexes his muscles. Unsure what to do, I catch the goblet when it reaches me and raise it to my lips.
“Her lips. Must have her lips. So red. Always so red.” And Tantalus lunges up, nearly jumping across the table to me. His eyes roll around in his head, and his hand almost reaches my arm. I look down at his skin and notice it’s shriveled like a grape left in the sun.
“Tantalus!” Aeacus’s voice booms through the chamber, and Tantalus freezes inches from my arm. His chair grows long tendrils that reach out and grab him, yanking him backward so fast it’s like he’s disappeared and then rematerialized.
Tantalus begins crying. “Just one taste. One small finger.”
I curl my fingers under my palms and look away. The only positive part of this is Aeacus doesn’t seem to want to let Tantalus eat me.
“The little flower is scared,” Pirithous says, and he reaches over what seems like an impossible distance, and his fingers touch my closed fist, caressing it.
Shock runs down my body, and I look away from him, hoping he doesn’t notice. But with the shaking in my body, I have about as much control of myself as a feather in a hurricane.
“My lady.” Aeacus straightens his crown. “Why have you honored us with your presence?”
My mouth falls open, revealing my chattering teeth. “I thought you knew.”
Aeacus forms a lazy smile on his face. “Of course I know. It is my job to know.” And then his eyes harden, and he looks into my soul. “But do you know?”
My stomach flips around, trying to settle, but it won’t. I lift the goblet and take another sip of wine. I wait until I swallow to answer. “I want some answers. I want you to tell me who I am.”
Aeacus’s eyes soften. “Good, my lady. You have come to the right place.” He motions, and plates of fruits appear along the table with cheese and crackers scattered in, all out of the reach of Tantalus. Aeacus reaches out with a knife, cuts a thick slab of something which looks like Brie, and lifts it to his mouth on the knife. “Do you know what the penalty for killing a phoenix is?”
A rock forms so fast in my stomach it knocks the wind out of me.
“Ah, I see you do.” Aeacus cuts another piece of Brie and holds it out to me on the end of the knife. “Would you like some cheese?”
I shake my head, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into, but can’t find my voice to reply.
“Do you see how white her shoulders are?” It’s Tantalus again.
I close my eyes to shut out the noise.
“I could feast on just one shoulder forever.”
“Enough!” Aeacus’s voice pounds across the room, and Tantalus covers his eyes and cries.
“Life in Tartarus.”
At his words, I turn to Pirithous.
“With me. Forever,” he adds.
Aeacus laughs, then pulls the knife back to himself, eating the moldy cheese himself. “Yes, Pirithous. Life in Tartarus. With all of us.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
“Our flower is so excited, she’s not sure what to say,” Pirithous says. His hand is still on my fist, and when I realize this, I pull it away as fast as I can.
And then I manage to find my voice. “I didn’t kill a phoenix.”
Pirithous’s face falls, but Aeacus laughs. “Ah, but somebody did. And a price needs to be paid.” He motions around the room. “And since you’ve been so kind as to join us, it only makes sense that I extend the invitation to you.”
But I shake my head. “I’m not here about a dead bird. I want answers.” I can hear the anger building up in my voice, but I will not listen to this madness anymore.
Aeacus purses his lips together. “It seems your flower has a temper, Pirithous.”
“I am not his flower!”
This only causes Pirithous to laugh, and before I know it, my chair is sliding around the table. My goblet falls out of my hand, spilling in a bright red stain in front of Tantalus. He moves his face down to lick it, but the liquid recedes. And then I’m right next to Pirithous, so close our arms touch.
“Ah, yes, that’s what Theseus said, also. But I knew my time would come.” And Pirithous grabs my hand, pinning it to the table.
I decide I’ve had enough, but my feet and legs feel like lead. I can’t scoot the chair out and get up.
