The back wall bore a fresco of the legendary phoenix, a firebird associated with Nike. Engulfed in flames, and bearing plumage like a peacock, the icon dominated all else here, and no matter how oft Pandora came, she had to admire the painter’s skill. She’d long studied the technique herself, when preparing the fresco for her house, though the painting here was so old no one could tell her the artist’s name.
“Whore,” someone snapped as she approached the spring, attention on the phoenix fresco.
Pandora’s gaze locked on Bateia emerging from the baths, water streaming from her. A pair of adolescent slave girls rushed to the princess’s side, one bearing a towel, the other the woman’s clothes.
Others in the bath house were staring, and even if Pandora could have simply ignored an aristos, she couldn’t well do so while they looked on. Instead, she plastered on her most accommodating smile. “If you need some tips on technique, I’d be happy to help. There are ways to ensure husbands never need stray.”
The Ilian princess’s mouth fell open, clearly never having expected a retort.
“Commoner filth,” she mumbled.
Actually, given her golden eyes, Pandora quite possibly had some Heliad blood from way back. Certainly not a direct bastard of Helios, as she’d have been a Nymph with some of the power that went with it. Regardless, as a metic unable to trace or prove her descent, Pandora might as well have been a commoner. “Well, all the more reason I must bathe. If you’ll excuse me, Princess.” Pandora doffed her khiton and tossed it upon a wooden bench. “Oh, but do let me know if you decide to practice your technique.”
Without looking, she could feel Bateia stiffen. Yes, she had quite possibly just lost her commission to tutor the woman’s husband. And still she was smiling. Sometimes, it was worth it.
She mounted the spring’s lip and eased herself onto the shelf that rimmed the edge, toes first, allowing herself to adjust to the pleasant warmth of the water. The shelf gave a place for women to sit and lounge. On the floor beyond, the waters would go up to Pandora’s chin, and in the center, even that floor dropped away into the source of the spring that went Poseidon-knew how deep.
With a relaxed groan, she lowered herself onto the shelf. Sitting, the water reached her ribs, and Pandora liked to luxuriate here a bit before a swim. She had only just settled, though, when she noticed another woman swimming across the pool toward her.
Aegle, another hetaira. The woman pushed herself up onto the shelf beside Pandora. “Bateia likes to bark.”
“Bitches do.” Pandora squeezed the other woman’s hand in greeting.
Like most hetairai, Aegle had enough education to carry on a conversation with aristoi men. Better than many, in fact, including those like Dardanus. In theory, she was Pandora’s competition, yes. But she was one of the few women in the whole polis who wouldn’t disdain Pandora for her career and freedom. Besides, Pandora had little interest in attaining a permanent patron, and that was all Aegle sought. She was a year younger than Pandora and already fretting terribly over growing too old.
Much as she was loathe to admit it, Aegle’s worries had no doubt exacerbated Pandora’s own.
“You were invited to the palace tonight?” Aegle asked.
“Hmm. You too?”
Aegle nodded with somewhat less than her usual enthusiasm for such things. The woman loved symposiums, with their abundance of wine—not that Pandora minded that, either—and free food. And myriad of chances to draw the wealthiest of patrons. But now, her smile was forced, a subtle tension holding her posture.
“What is it?” Pandora asked.
“You heard Zeus will be there, right? I mean the stories say he can be … rough. Too rough with the women. Io and Europa were pretty much never seen again, right? And Maia and Elektra and all. Do you … do you think he does something they just can’t get past?”
Pandora glowered, looking at the phoenix instead of Aegle. Her uncle’s namesake rose from the ashes no matter how hard one tried to destroy it.
Zeus had done a great many things Pandora could not get past.
Europa.
Her throat had gone dry and the thought of trying to speak, to give even the modicum of reassurance Aegle clearly craved, felt like trying to scale a mountain with her hands bound. To support the other woman now was to become like Atlas, bearing the weight of the firmament upon her shoulders.
Without thinking of it, she realized she had begun to claw at the shelf’s edge with her fingertips. She longed to be somewhere else. To be anywhere else. “I need to swim,” she managed to rasp, for Aegle deserved some answer.
Abruptly, she shoved off the edge and took to swimming across the pool. Not just the gentle gliding most of the women practiced here, but to push herself. Back and forth, and again, until her chest heaved. Until her arms began to burn as if the pain in them might drown out the ache in her soul.
Europa.
May Hades drag Zeus screaming down into the Underworld.
Europa.
As if the World convulsed upon a name. As if its echo left a hollow deep into the cosmos.
Panting, she at last splashed up on the far side of the shelf. Nearby, another woman jolted awake. Pandora had thought she merely lazed, but from the way the woman thrashed and flailed about in wild panic, she must have actually been in the throes of some nightmare. The
