All she could do was nod.
As they drew nigh, Pandora gasped at the wonder of the tower. Vines grew about the stones of it, sprouting a rainbow of flowers. She spotted poppies and agapanthuses, and the wind carried down the fragrant blooms of daphne. That, and the song of hundreds of birds in resplendent symphony. Thousands of interwoven melodies. Warblers and partridges alighted in great arching windows higher up in the tower. She spied nightjars and cuckoos and petrels and so many more.
A dozen peacocks pranced about outside, displaying their vibrant plumage, even allowing her to draw up close to inspect them. Prometheus offered an encouraging nod, and so Pandora knelt beside one, memorizing ever subtle variation in its colors. The bird even seemed to revel in her attentions, strutting with yet more pride.
When they entered the open doorway, she saw brilliant pink Kemetian flamingos—the first she’d ever seen—bathing in a fountain. Above them, poles crisscrossed the tower as perches for yet more birds. Even an eagle!
“I guess I’m not the only one who likes birds,” she mumbled.
He chuckled. “Some of the locals swear the eagles report back to me whatever they spy while circling out over Atlantis.”
“The same people who probably fear the evil eye and the moderately wicked nostril, no doubt.”
He cast her an amused glance, then showed her around. The floor was a grate continually washed clean by overflow from the fountain. They followed a winding staircase up to a landing with a plot of sand decorated with strewn rocks. Outward from each rock radiated waves of impact from where each rock had landed.
“You just sit here to study this, I take it?” she asked.
“To meditate, at times.”
Pandora snickered. “Wondering what the stones ruminate over.”
“You’d be surprised.”
Upon the next level, a glass dome protected a library jammed with papyrus scrolls and actual bound tomes. While she’d heard of the latter, the public library in Atlantis offered no such books, and she’d only ever seen a few as a child in Phoenikia.
Prometheus waved a hand at several doors encircling the library. “Any of these rooms are free for you to claim. Refresh yourself while I cook us something to eat. If you want to use the library later, feel free. We can eat outside if you like.”
“Thank you,” she said, her voice almost breaking. People—least of all Titans—simply did not offer such kindnesses or considerations. Everything had a price. It always did, did it not?
Inside each of the rooms she found a comfortable bed, a wooden bench, and a wash basin. She chose a room from which she could look over the bay where Marsa sat. She dare not lay down for fear she’d sleep through supper, so instead she took to exploring the tower.
Soon the smells of grilled fish filled the tower, though it turned out the Titan actually cooked in a fire pit outside the Aviary itself. He’d placed a sea bream on a spit and was slowly turning it, perhaps oblivious to Pandora watching him. Or she thought so, until he turned.
“It’s ready.”
They spoke little during the meal, both clearly ravenous, and Pandora seared her fingers tearing at the fish. She hardly cared. After they’d eaten, he ducked inside the tower and re-emerged with an amphora of wine. A Phoenikian vintage, she realized, as he poured it in a bowl and she took a sip. Maybe grown in vineyards around Byblos?
“I feel I must offer you something in exchange for all this,” she said. And if he wanted her for it, giving her a place to stay, food, and luxury was far more than most men paid her. To say naught of saving her life.
“Do you? Hmm. Then sing for me.”
Huh. Pandora swallowed. A song popped into her mind, forbidden by Zeus’s decree, for it lamented the fall of the Golden Age, when the Ouranid League had ruled these lands. A time before Men called Titans gods. To sing such a prohibited song courted a beating, or worse, and it was sheer folly to even consider singing it to a fucking Titan.
She started singing it anyway. Why could she not help herself? Why the need to test even him, who had shown her such kindness?
Prometheus lounged back, eyes shut as she sang, smiling lightly, not seeming the least offended by her choice. Not as she sang of the breaking of the Ouranid League, nor the decline in the station of Man.
When the song finished, he opened his eyes and she caught a hint of weariness in them. He hadn’t slept on the ship when she had. Even a Titan must tire.
“I should let you rest,” she said.
“Not yet. Please.”
She hesitated. Swallowed. “Were you there? Did you see it, when Men began to bow to gods?”
“Yes.” The word seemed to be drawn from him like poison from a wound. “I was there. I aided Zeus in his war against the Ouranid League.”
Why? In what possible circumstance had that seemed a good idea? How she wanted to ask, but he seemed pained enough. And … and …
“When I was five years old …” Pandora swallowed. She did not tell this story. At symposiums and with clients, she spun tale after tale, but not this. Not her tale. “I was raised in the court of King Agenor of Tyros, ward of his daughter, Princess Europa. When I was five years old, Zeus and Hekate came to the court and Zeus decided he wanted Europa as his pallake.” Concubine, though slave seemed a more acute name for how Zeus treated his women. “My family resisted, and so they murdered my uncle, Phoenix. He um … my uncle, he was kind, always had time for me, even though I was small.
“I mean, I had other uncles, too. Kadmus, for one, who knew I loved puzzles and gave me a puzzle box I so loved.” Lost now, in her house in Atlantis. “I, uh …
