Her sister frowned, falling back a step. “And where do you imagine you’ll get your next dose? Buy it on the street? Maybe hit up the local brothels and see if they keep some in the back for special customers?”
The woman would not stop, would she? “I have half a mind to turn you over to Father for brewing that filth! Look what it has done to me! Look what you have done to your sister!” She saw spittle from her outburst pelt Kirke’s face.
Grimacing, her sister ran her palm over her eyes and mouth to wipe it away. “What you’ve done to yourself. I offered you a drink, yeah, true, and you decided you needed to claim the whole cellar for yourself. But you’re right, you do have half a mind. Half, at best. You’ll turn me in to Olympus and say what, that you’ve been funding and harboring my work for the past decade? Think that will go over well with dear Papa?”
Athene stared at Kirke, aghast. Had that been part of her plan? Athene had caught Kirke with Nectar, and Kirke had drawn her in and made it so she could never use it against her. And Athene had leapt in with both feet. “Get out of my city, Kirke. I don’t want to see you here again.”
The chills that wracked Athene came and went. The worst of them had been two nights back, when her stomach had heaved and churned, trying to dislodge everything she had eaten in the past millennium. Pandion had sat beside her, in turns weeping or begging her to tell him what was wrong while he mopped her brow.
But how was she to tell her son she was addicted to Nectar? How was she to admit she not only used, but facilitated the spread of, a drug his grandfather had declared death to sample?
She was burning up and soaked in sweat and she was frozen solid, teeth chattering.
And, Nyx, those headaches! Like a Cyclops had smashed her temples with a club a few dozen times.
Once, she opened her mouth to beg Pandion to kill her. Only the fact he was her son had stopped her, for no child should have to suffer such a request. Even if it meant she was ripped apart in solitary agony.
Or maybe the worst of it was the question … was her mind even her mind?
And were the things she had beheld even real?
But even those ravages passed, and the cravings, while never quite gone, became less frequent. Pandion came into his own, and the mortal aristoi elected him their king, as Athene had foreseen. As she had arranged, in fact, with subtle prodding, bribes, blackmail, and a decade of driving away or dissuading potential rivals.
The visions had helped with that, and Kirke had planted no few seeds herself, despite her intimations that the whole election was a sham. Maybe it was, but her son had basked in radiance from it, and that meant everything, in the end.
So she’d ordered a new palace constructed for the mortal kings, one not far from her own, and while work began on it, they had planned his coronation. The aristoi came, even from Thebes and Argos, and, yes, Korinth too, to see the first king of Kronion.
All gathered in the agora, a throng of aristoi, with commoners far behind them. Athene marched through the Colonnade of Justice, a gilded laurel crown resting upon her palms and a trail of advisors following behind her. Them, and Demeter herself, come from Thebes, along with Kadmus and Harmonia.
At the far end knelt Pandion, admirably composed, face lit with understandable pride. Her son. Her boy, almost fifteen now, and cresting into manhood. And Athene had seen the long line of champions and heroes that would spring from him, governing this city for centuries to come.
It was something to be proud of. Maybe it was even enough … to let go of the past.
Athene pushed the thoughts down. She would not allow Hephaistos into this solemn moment, and the Titan had not been fool enough to attend. No, and she would not bring him here herself.
Reverently, she set the laurel crown upon Pandion’s head. “Rise, King of Kronion.”
Her son did so, then turned to take in the gathered throng and spread his arms wide, sparking cheers and applause that echoed through the agora. “Not Kronion, Mother,” he said, when the clamor had at last died down. “Kronion was named in honor of your grandfather Kronos, who betrayed the world, and we have long since surpassed him. From this day forth, this polis shall bear the name Athenai, in your honor, Mother.”
Despite herself, Athene felt blood flush her face. Olympians did not name poleis after themselves as the Ouranids had, and yet Pandion had declared this, in full hearing of the public. All she could do was let her hand alight atop her boy’s head and take the gesture as he meant it.
Then, among the faces of the crowd, she caught sight of her mother’s own golden eyes, smiling. When Mother saw her looking, she nodded at Athene.
This was it. A perfect moment, and all her striving had brought them here. Pandion was king, her mother had returned—and how could Athene not have feared when Mother had gone to the Underworld and lingered there?—and all was as it should be.
Only … what had her vision meant? In the months since, she had oft asked herself this question. Babilim was a city in Kumari Kandam, but hardly one worthy of note. That, she had to assume, would one day change in the future.
A grand festival was held in Pandion’s honor, and people of Kronion—of Athenai, she supposed—flocked to the streets and clogged the Colonnades. On a rock outcropping of the acropolis, Athene walked with her mother, looking down on the polis below. While the footing was precarious, she had little fear of losing her balance, even without relying upon Pneumatikoi.
“You saw
