Athene clanged the cup down upon the counter with a ring of finality. “It isn’t the child’s fault.”
“No,” Kirke agreed.
“No, but before I am done, I will take everything Hephaistos holds dear.” Slow vengeance indeed.
5
Pandora
1570 Silver Age
In the courtyard of her small house, Pandora sat beneath the eaves, hands idly working at her puzzle box while her tongue worried the pit out of an olive. Her uncle Phoenix had taught her the trick of it as a child. Once the pit was loose, she spit it into a growing pile beside her.
Actually, her other uncle, Kadmus, had given her the puzzle box. It was one of her clearest memories of her uncle. And one of her last.
Phoenix would have liked her little home, though, she thought. Prince or not, he had an appreciation for the little things. She remembered a garden he’d loved, in Tyros.
When she’d bought this place—used almost every last drachma she had on it—she’d imagined that one day she’d turn this courtyard into a garden, maybe fill it with lavender and daphne, perhaps plant a small fig tree. Somehow, saving her drachmae had always seemed more pressing since then, and her garden remained empty stone and a pool she’d never finished digging.
Well, saving drachmae, and the fact she had no one to show the place to, meant upgrading it felt empty. For certain she could have brought clients here, but that would have profaned the space, polluted it with their false friendship and their self-indulgent lies. So instead, the courtyard remained sacred and empty. A hollow.
She didn’t need to look at the puzzle box to solve it. Her fingers knew every groove, every lock and shift by rote. In fact, she hadn’t actually been solving it in years. But it was all she’d had with her when she was taken. The only piece left of a life that now seemed almost a dream, but one she feared to wake from completely. The last reminder she had once been something else. Once had people who were hers.
Staring at the empty space where she’d wanted to plant flowers, she popped another olive into her mouth. She’d only just begun working at the pit when a rapping came at the door.
Though she never brought clients here, people knew where she lived. They sent for her sometimes, though it was not even midmorn as yet, and early for any summons. She rose, straightened her khiton, and hurried through the house.
She’d begun laying tiles on the floor herself, an unfinished art project meant to complement the colors of the as-yet-unfinished peacock fresco she was painting on the main wall. When the floor was done, it would be a mosaic depicting the fabled undersea kingdom of Pontus, said to lie somewhere in the depths of the Aegean. It kept her busy, and most mornings she spent a few hours expanding the design, or tweaking the peacock, or sometimes painting vases to decorate her home.
The courier at her front door was tapping his foot in impatience by the time she opened it, then shoved a papyrus roll in her hands. Pandora raised a brow, though the man hurried off without offering her a second glance. It must have come from one of the Pleiades, for almost anyone else would have scratched a time and date on an ostrakon rather than waste such a valuable material as papyrus on a simple message. From the feel of this one, it was imported from Kemet, making it more expensive still.
After shutting the door, she unfurled the small roll. Another symposium at the royal palace, the second in a fortnight, and this very evening. Another summons from Kelaino. And this party was in Zeus’s honor. No doubt he had arrived on the morn, without warning, and the Pleiades scrambled to accommodate the king. Like every other sovereign in the Elládosi world, they reigned at his mercurial sufferance.
Prometheus had been right about his coming. She hadn’t seen the Titan since leaving the Amphitheater, but his words had weighed heavy upon her soul. The Olympian King was coming to Atlantis. And Kelaino wanted Pandora at the party in his honor. Probably, she called every famed hetaira in the city, hoping one or the other would sate the king’s prodigious lusts.
Perhaps Pandora should decline the invitation. It would vex Kelaino, but Prometheus had warned her not to draw Zeus’s eye. And if she saw him, she wasn’t entirely convinced she could avoid the temptation to stick a searing poker in that eye. Carefully, she re-rolled the papyrus, then stuck it on a shelf.
She should decline.
But she knew she wouldn’t. She was in no position to decline much of aught. He was coming, probably intending to castigate the Pleiades for failing to abate the Nectar blight. But a part of her simply could not resist the call. She had to know what was going to happen.
And … another thought. Would Prometheus be there again? Would she have another chance to converse with him and unravel his mysteries? It was too much to pass up.
The middle ring featured numerous bath houses. Some were exclusive to the aristoi, some were for commoners. Given her status, Pandora was able to access certain of the elite baths, and thus she made her way through the western water gardens to one such facility exclusive to women, the Nike Springs. Outside the bathhouse—a two-story marble edifice surrounded by a peristyle—stood a larger-than-life statue of Nike, the winged goddess of victory.
In legend, she had sided with Zeus against Kronos and helped him win the Titanomachy. Which probably made her just another Titan cunt who contributed to the oppression of Man.
She frowned, staring at the goddess. But then, Prometheus was a Titan, too, and had proved both tolerable and intriguing. Was it possible she judged all Titans too harshly, based on their king?
The fragrant scents of massage oils bombarded her the
