The Goddess of Blessed Death

Worse Than a Traitor

Hair wet and mind clear, Macaria sends a message to Mors's rooms asking to meet him once more. She sends Pelagia to ensure no one reads it, not wanting to hear any more from her family on how she should or should not behave. Did father ever have to worry about such things? No. So, why should she?

"Complete hypocrisy," she mutters as Pelagia returns. "Well?"

A blush spreads over Pelagia. "He wishes to take you to the highest point in Athens today," she says. "I informed him that that means going to Lycabettus. You will be able to have a clear view of the sea, but it will be further away."

"How far is it?" Macaria asks, and Pelagia begins to help her dress, though little help is needed. She decides to go without shoes for the day. She has worn shoes more often this week than her entire life. It was beginning to get un-Greek-like.

"Less than an hour's walk from the citadel. It's very close. . .. Won't you bring someone with you?"

"You and he are enough. I will go out a million times if I have to prove it."

Pelagia approaches, gripping a veil(1) with white knuckles. "Please," she says. "They will leave you alone if you wear it."

"I don't know which is worse, having to rely on my father or a piece of cloth," Macaria mutters but takes the veil. It's embroidered with vibrant indigo and threads of silver. Pelagia was careful to pick one that matched the green of her Chinese silk peplos(2).

Unmarried, it isn't necessary for Macaria to cover her face, which is how she prefers it. She wants to feel the sea breeze against her cheeks.

"With this, they will listen to you," Pelagia says.

Macaria uses the mirror to finish fastening the veil. "Is that all it takes?" she scoffs. "I would have worn it from birth."

"They think you'll behave well, that you're respectable," Pelagia says. "Like your mother."

"No one listens to her."

Pelagia's gaze falls to the floor. "Demophon does," she murmurs. "He doesn't care for the other mistresses these days."

"That's because my mother was the wife of Herakles and is still Queen of Calydon until Hyllus's ceremony can be performed—oh, gods! Imagine Iole as queen. How horrid."

"They listen to her."

"Because she is as attractive as Aphrodite herself."

"Because she does as they want, so she gets what she wants." Pelagia speaks as if imploring Macaria to see things her way.

"I don't want to have to resort to such things," Macaria says stubbornly. She pulls out a string of hair from the veil. "Non-royal women behave as such. When my father was king, I would get what I wanted with a simple wave. Now? I'm just another woman, hardly a princess! My husband has died, I have no man to fight for me. I have no need for a man to fight for me."

"Now you do."

Macaria stares at herself in the mirror, her hair covered by the embroidered blue cloth. "Seems unfortunately so," she says. "I'll have to resolve myself to expression through bright colors for pseudo submission to be taken more seriously, fine."

"After yesterday, though. . .." Pelagia almost whispers. "I also don't think it was your fault, but you know. . .. If we don't blame ourselves, how can we expect them to blame themselves?"

"I don't expect them to, but only because they're stupid enough to not understand that it's a piece of fabric stopping them."

"That's better than them realizing it is only a piece of fabric."