Ghost Queen in the House of Love

25. Hedone

"You win again, Hedone," Adonis sighs, raking his fingers through his hair. "Your dogs have overtaken the city." He sets his hands in his lap, atop the cobalt of his chiton.

"Don't feel too terribly about it," I say, tossing one long tress over my shoulder as I crookedly grin over our game of Petteia. "My grandfather is the god of war, after all." We've been playing with the pebbles and board at the table Melinoë typically uses to talk to the townspeople.

Then, I remember Ares killed him, and I pause, opening my mouth to apologize. Stupid me.

He shakes his head good-naturedly, laughing and waving it off. "Between you and Caeneus, I'll never win this game."

Pensively, I rub my neck. "What about Melinoë?"

He spreads his hands out and grins. "She doesn't like board games. To get her to play with me, I have to bat my eyes and pout." Setting his chin atop his knuckles, he offers a demonstration.

I laugh. "I'd say that's rather convincing."

"I would think so."

When I'm around Adonis, something flutters in my chest.

Adonis is lively and plays the lyre well, and Caeneus is humorous in his own cross-armed stoic manner. He reminds me much of Melinoë or Father in his contemplative moments.

Now, Caeneus, dressed in seafoam white, sits some distance from us on the grass under one of the trees, drawing something on papyrus with a stick of graphite. He's across from one of the alligators; if they started to fight, I'm not sure who would win. Mostly, he draws the scenery or, with the looping diagrams he draws, seems to envision military tactics. He once confessed to me he misses the ocean from his old seaside kingdom, even if it reminds him of the ebb and flow of grief.

Meanwhile, as I leave Adonis, I find Melinoë on the other side of the estate, observing the yellow-bellied, gray-winged warblers dancing on the ground, dodging the eager eyes and mouths of the alligators. Whenever one gets too close, Penelope tries to pounce on it and fails.

Saddling beside her, I ask, "Melinoë, have you ever tried to fly?"

A breeze rustles our hair. "Never. I'm afraid I'm very grounded."

"I imagine the daughter of Hades and Persephone likely cannot fly."

A pause. "Yes, likely not. Have you flown?"

"On gryphons and chariots, yes, but I greatly dislike it. I think I much prefer having my feet on the ground."

A turquoise butterfly glitters and preens on her offered knuckles. "Interesting. I think I would've assumed otherwise."

I tease, "My flightiness isn't quite that literal." By us, a tired alligator glowers as a bird nestles against her snout.

Meeting my eyes, Melinoë says, "I don't think I would call you flighty." The butterfly flaps away into the trees.

"Oh." I throw my hair over my shoulder. "I'm very glad to hear that." She seems inside her own head now, so I leave her to think.

Drifting away from them all, I go behind the estate and find the garden. White petals fall into my hair as I pass pink-orange clusters of dewberries. They fall in my palm, corpse-white against my brown skin. The gala apple, stout and many-eyed, sits in wait.

I close my eyes and let myself blend into the orchestra of the swamp around me. Already, I can smell autumn coming. The end.

"Good afternoon, little lily."

My eyes snap open, and my blood drains from my face. Before I look, I put on my best mask: strong as iron, sweet as honey. I swivel around, only for my eyes to ache when I see a towering figure with long yellow hair and golden skin with a gaze of aureate blue.