She paused only long enough to purchase a cup of wine for an obol and chugged it before handing the cup back. A little something to fortify her nerves would not go amiss. Yeah.
Her height combined with her Heliad eyes meant some recognized her as a Titan. Many genuflected, while others gave her a wide berth, clearing the path before her. Kirke tried to incline her head at each show of obeisance, though it slowed her progress to a crawl. Zeus had convinced these people that Titans were gods, and Kirke still, even after all this time, did not quite know how to react to their deference. Did she miss being a princess of great Helion? Yeah, of course, but that didn’t mean she expected worship.
She liked to imagine, if she succeeded in overthrowing the Olympians, these people would rise up and live better lives. Freer lives, where they need offer no sacrifices to Titans. Well, a few gestures of respect for a princess wouldn’t hurt.
The city had changed since last she saw it. She passed through the South Gate and headed through the Colonnade of Justice to the agora, allowing herself to gawk just a little at the expansion of public works. Even now, artisans carved a marble facade on what she could only assume would serve as another state building. A peristyle ringed the building and Kirke delayed long enough to make a half circuit around the construction.
“It will be a mint,” her mother said from behind her shoulder, causing Kirke to jump.
Slowly, she turned to take her mother in. Had Mother dreamed of Kirke’s arrival on this day or merely spotted her in the market? If she knew Mother, the woman wouldn’t answer even if asked. “Summoned, I arrive,” she said, offering a faux grand bow.
Her mother snorted, her fiery hair billowing about her face in the wind. “Your sister awaits in the acropolis.” Mother motioned her to follow and guided them through a wide stoa, then up to the stairs ascending the hill. “Do you know why I called you here?” her mother asked as they climbed.
Was that a challenge to Kirke’s own prescient abilities? They had never been so great as either she or her mother might have hoped. Like Mother, Kirke could sometimes catch glimpses of the future in her dreams, but only on rare occasions. The nightmares had abated after Prometheus had handed himself over to Zeus, at least until recently, so she had to believe Zeus had redirected Morpheus to something else for a time. Either way, after being dream-stalked, Kirke had found herself with very little desire to even try to access her dream Art. “No,” she answered. “Do tell.”
“Your sister plans to help her son become the first mortal king of Kronion.”
“She’s the goddess of the whole damn city,” Kirke said, squinting as she gazed up at how many more steps they had to climb. “Can’t she just declare whatever she wishes?”
“If she wanted Pandion to spend the first twenty years of his reign constantly striving against attempts to subvert his authority, perhaps. That, or perhaps they would think him merely her proxy, with no autonomy at all. No, she wants the people of the city to openly choose him as their king and representative to the Olympians.”
Politics. Hmm. Kirke had little patience for the subtleties of such. Not when she played a much larger game to free the soul of the Thalassa world from Olympian tyranny. Athene—whatever Kirke may have felt for her half-sister—was, in fact, a symptom of that corruption. They were all drunk on the power of the Ambrosia and mortal worship.
“Fine,” Kirke huffed, pausing in the climb for a moment. As Nymph, she’d mostly only ever received enough Ambrosia to sustain her youth, not to truly fortify her Pneuma and give her the level of stamina her mother enjoyed. The problem with Nymphs—and lesser male Titans, she supposed—was that they could never surpass the lowest magnitudes of Pneumatikoi and were thus considered a waste of Ambrosia. A somewhat circular situation, if anyone asked Kirke.
Kalypso had wanted to test Nectar on themselves, but if it affected their minds, how would they be in any position to judge that? “So she wants people to choose him as king without making it obvious she has forced him upon them.”
From the glower Mother leveled her way, she clearly did not appreciate the sentiment, but what did she expect? Athene wanted the people to choose a king, but only if they chose her king. It was an illusion that their wills meant aught. More than most Olympians offered, true, but the end result was that no Men actually allowed them ownership of their own lives.
While Kirke kept silent, slowly Mother’s face softened. Perhaps she grasped Kirke’s point or perhaps she merely passed over it. “I have to go away for a time, and I cannot say how long I’ll be away. That’s why I called you here, Kirke. Athene needs someone to help her in her ends. You yourself prompted her toward this slow vengeance she now strives for.”
Oh, was that what making her son king was about? Some move against Hephaistos? And she couldn’t miss the subtle barb in Mother’s tone, either. “She makes her son a pawn in her schemes.”
“Kirke,” Mother snapped. “Help your little sister and your nephew. Do you understand me?”
“Perfectly,” Kirke said, resuming her climb. Athene wanted help with her vengeance, and that posed no impediment to Kirke’s plans against the Olympians and might even help bring them to fruition. Besides, it gave her an excellent excuse to linger in Kronion and test the Nectar here. With the mandate her mother had just given her, she had every reason to move among the high and low of the polis, going wherever she
