Ghost Queen in the House of Love

27. Hedone

Amid the alligators and groves, night stalks the land when I end up in a flurry outside. Rain drizzles on my face and arms.

Standing from his spot on the steps, Adonis falters when he sees me. "Hedone, what—"

No time, no time for anything. I dash away into the darkness. Past Caeneus, who was pantomiming battle moves with an iron xiphos, a howling dog on the pommel. He shifts to look at me, but I leave before he can say anything.

I don't look behind me. Don't listen to hear if anyone's calling my name. I grew swift on my feet when I'd chase the nymphs through the trees and over mossy logs. Those times when I was only a young goddess who'd swim in creeks without a care and nap with the nymphs under the moon and stars. Those easy days when we'd eat wild strawberries and braid each other's hair.

I want them back.

And Mother, Father.

Mother, reading me poems and adventures before I could even walk; with nectar thick and woozy on my tongue, I'd cradle my head against her shoulder, her springy curls tickling my nose.

Father, letting me, just when I could barely walk, crawl up his wings as he carried me.

The rain worsens, coming full bore, and a thunder booms above me, far too close, echoing in my head.

Serves me right.

The land tremors and squelches under me. It's as if the world is being torn asunder again, as it twisted and broke during the Titanomachy.

Finding shelter under a large cypress towering stalwart in lakes of mud, ragged sobs wrack my aching ribs.

Again, when I concentrate, a meager orb of light shudders in my free palm, flickering against the gnarled roots and moss as I clamber and stumble through the darkening evening. It's as red as Dionysius' wine. And then it poofs into nothing. I grasp the phial so hard I'm afraid I'll crack the glass.

Is endless sleep better than facing Melinoë after all my lies? Preferable to being in Zeus' clutches? No one will save me, so I can take the closest thing to death I can get. All I need to do is tear off the stopper.

But I can't. As the rain worsens, my vision shudders, as if I'm suspended in mercury.

Flattening my feet and palms to the soaked ground for a moment, I wrap my arms around my knees, still gripping the phial of darkness. Mud and earth score my chiton.

Sad red eyes stare at me.

Penelope whines.

Sniffling, I press my head against hers.

My blood pounds inside my head, threatening to burst it open, but something else comes. Before, I wouldn't have heard them, as subtle as they are. Footsteps.

When I withdraw, and Penelope sits on her haunches, Melinoë approaches with a fierce, sapphire-blue light wriggling in her palm. My throat swells.

She kneels to my level and doesn't say anything for a while. Perhaps she's waiting for me not to be a ridiculous sobbing mess.

Eventually, she says, rubbing the back of her neck, "Adonis and Caeneus wanted to help me find you, but I told them to stay."

I close my eyes in shame. "I should have let myself go into a deathly sleep."

Her frown deepens. "What do you mean?"

"I want to tell you, but I don't want you to think less of me. To think of me as shattered."

Her mouth thins into a fraught line. I feel like a girl, and I realize with the doubt in her eyes, so much she. "I won't. Trust me."

"Do—do you want me to tell you?"