Aegle leaned against a column in one of the lounges, chatting with a small group of men, working her charms. Pandora caught her eye, trusting the other hetaira to come to her when a lull in conversation allowed. Kelaino would no doubt expect Pandora to sing and play the lyre or harp when the feasting ended and the symposiarch declared a start to the drinking.
The man, chosen by roll of the dice, would say just when and how much the guests must drink. If Kelaino had any control over him, Pandora imagined the man would strike a delicate balance between calling for enough wine to get Zeus relaxed, without allowing enough to leave the king rowdy. Not a job Pandora would envy.
She passed by another lounge and, despite looking for him, still almost tripped over her own sandals on seeing Zeus there, being fed grapes by a young girl. The King looked no different than ever, with long platinum hair and beard, and eyes like blue ice, hallmark of Kroniads. Beside him stood a woman Pandora had not seen in years but would never forget: Zeus’s vicious attack dog, Hekate. Men called her a witch. A monster, even.
Of the latter, Pandora could attest. The Heliad had been the one to drag Pandora screaming from her home as a child.
Pandora’s fingers had clenched into fists, gripping her peplos as she passed. It took a momentous effort of will to keep walking, to keep from staring at the two most monstrous Titans she had ever heard tale of.
Rather than wait for Aegle, she pushed on, putting distance between herself and the Olympian King. She doubled back to the main feast tables, grabbed some walnuts, and slipped away from the bustling lounges. She passed one where Zeus’s son Ares—and the younger Titan’s lover, Enyo—were shouting in the midst of some discussion, as if inclined to turn debate to blows. Given their reputation for inciting bloodsport, perhaps that was exactly their intent. What else should she expect from Zeus’s get?
The lot of them fed on suffering, happy to provide themselves a feast wherever they trod. They made playthings of the lives of Mankind.
Back in the gardens, she found Prometheus sitting upon a stool, playing draughts with another Titan. Their board rested upon a short wooden table between them, and the other Titan leaned over it as if in deep thought, though his gaze kept darting up at Prometheus.
Pandora lingered beneath the shade of a plane tree, watching the game. From the look of it, Prometheus had it well in hand. After a few moments, the other Titan rose and offered Prometheus a nod of concession. As he departed, his gaze fell upon Pandora and lingered, not with lust like so many others, but with something akin to the piercing insight Prometheus himself seemed to possess. It was all Pandora could do to remain still and not squirm inside her own skin.
Nearby, a flutist took up a song Pandora knew. A classic party tune, one that always lightened moods, even if the playing of it took only modest skill. The flighty song also probably meant the wine was being served, and Pandora teetered between approaching Prometheus and heading back to grab a bowl to steady her nerves.
In the end, he made her choice for her, waving her over to take the vacated seat.
“Who was that?” she asked, settling down before him. Though she’d met Prometheus only twice before, and not in the past fortnight, there was a strange calmness to resting upon the stool, as if she’d sat across from him like this innumerable times before. As if she had but reclaimed a place prepared for her.
“Morpheus.”
Another famed name. One of the Zeus’s sorcerers, one specializing in dreams. Legends claimed he passed messages between the king and his allies by intruding into one’s mind when one slept. The very idea had her stomach fluttering. A violation of one’s own mind.
“You know of him,” Prometheus said, reading her reaction even as she tried to hide it. He began resetting the board.
“I know him as someone to fear and avoid.”
“Such is probably true of all sorcerers and most Titans in general.”
Pandora quirked a smile. “And you?”
“Do you inquire if I am dangerous?”
“Are you?”
Now it was his turn to smile. “Probably.” He spun the board so she could make the first move.
She did. “I’ve heard claim they have far deeper versions of the game in the lands beyond Nusantara.”
“Oh, yes. In Yindai, they play on another level entirely.”
Spoken like someone who had actually visited the fabled land. Pandora studied his face, only half watching the Titan’s cautious moves.
“Yes,” he said, in answer to her unspoken question.
Pandora started, shifting on her stool in what was no doubt a vain attempt to cover her surprise. Yes, he had visited Yindai. Was she so easy to read?
For a few moves, she concentrated only on the game, giving herself time to catch up, to steady herself.
“I’m envious,” she finally said, choosing honesty over prying. “I cannot imagine having been quite so free to travel.”
“There are few ways to so expand understanding.” Another cautious move. Too cautious, as if toying with her.
Pandora claimed several of his pieces, and his smile only deepened.
“Perhaps one day you will travel freely.”
Now she frowned, sitting up straight. “I’m a woman.” To say naught of the insurmountable cost of wide travel for someone in her position.
“I rather think, Pandora, that you can accomplish aught you truly desire.”
When she next looked back at the board, she realized her aggressive claiming of his pieces had played into a trap. That she had won almost every move but was set up to lose the game, regardless.
Prometheus leaned back, clearly recognizing she had seen her doom.
“Well played,” she offered. Never had she so badly underestimated an opponent. By Hades,
