Page 21 of The Rose (The Godwicks 2)

Her mother had once worn that title and worn it proudly, too proudly. And surely it had stung to see that crown transferred to her daughter. The wine had flowed too freely that night. The words even more freely.

“Oh, she is,” her mother said. “So beautiful my own husband the king would rather gaze at his daughter across the checkerboard than his own wife in his bedchamber. Her beauty surpasses even Poseidon’s lovely little Nereids. Perhaps Poseidon would like to come and take our Andromeda to his realm for a game of checkers. Then perhaps the king will remember he has a wife.”

The danger when speaking of a god by name is this—the god hears.

Poseidon heard.

The door, solid wood with hinges of iron, opened behind Lia-Andromeda.

The empty room was at once filled with ten of her father’s guards, the king and the queen. The king’s eyes were so red it looked as if, had he blinked, he would bleed from them. Tears had formed furrows on the cheeks of his dark and lovely face. The queen’s eyes were clear, though she shook like a flower in a storm.

“What news?” Lia asked, though it was not her voice that came from her lips or even her language. Ancient words. An ancient tongue. How was she speaking words she didn’t know? How was she understanding them? Was she really here, in ancient Aethiopia? She felt like a marionette on a string and there was even a string on her tongue, making her speak. Who was pulling the strings?

“The offering was made,” her father said. “Ten bulls slaughtered, twenty calves. No matter. Fourteen more houses fell today. Thirty-seven dead, if not more.”

Lia nodded. She had already accepted her fate, but she had held out hope that her courage would appease Poseidon’s wrath. It seemed that, no, her death alone would do. Since the night of her mother’s “boast,” the city had been pummeled with storms, with waves, even earthquakes. The great city of temples and trade and markets and gardens was quickly being reduced to rubble. Nearly three hundred had died already.

And so Andromeda had to die, too.

“We mustn’t wait another day, then,” Lia said. Lia? Andromeda? They had become one and the same, as if Lia had slipped inside Andromeda’s skin or Andromeda’s spirit had inhabited Lia’s body. What strange magic was this? “We should go now, before the sun sets.”

“Darling,” her mother said, and took a step toward her. Lia held up her hand.

“No one touches me,” Lia said. Her father, a great and mighty king, turned away so his soldiers would not see him weeping.

“But, my love...” her mother said.

“I will die a maid,” she said. “And the next hand to touch me will be that of Hades. I hear he seeks a bride. Wish me well, Mother. This is my wedding night.”

Lia swept past her father, past her mother, past the guards who had come to ensure that she would not run or hide from her fate.

That morning she had bathed in spring water and had anointed herself with rich oils. Her maids had prepared her hair as if for a wedding, plaiting anemones into the black waves. Her gown was white and belted with blue. Around her neck she wore a cord and on the cord hung a silver coin to pay Charon, the ferryman who would take her across the River Styx. Hades would receive a fine bride tonight. She prayed she would please him and he her.

As Lia walked down the palace steps to the front doors held wide open by guards, she prayed.

Artemis, grant this virgin your courage. Grant this maiden your protection. Grant your servant a quick death. Grant my people long life. Grant that Hades is a tender lover to his unwilling bride.

A retinue formed behind her as she walked down the palace steps toward the sea. She had seen a hundred bridal parties like this, except always it was the guests who celebrated and danced and the bride who wept. This evening, the eyes of Andromeda were dry and all who followed her to her fate wailed a funeral dirge.

Lia saw a girl, only nine or ten, break free from her mother’s hands and rush toward her.

“Princess!” the little girl called. She was weeping now, and it was clear from the furrows of dirt on her tender cheeks that she had been crying all day. “Don’t do this, my lady. Throw your mother into the sea. You should be our queen, not her. I’ll die if you die.”

Lia smiled down at the dark and comely little girl who knelt at her feet, weeping as if her own life were forfeit tonight.

“Beautiful child,” Lia said. “You must not weep for me. I do not die tonight. I’m getting married.”

“You are?” the girl asked. “But...”

“It was a lie you were told. Your princess will not die. Go home with your mother.” Lia nodded toward the woman running toward them. “Weave a wreath of flowers and offer it to Artemis in honor of my marriage tomorrow. Will you do that for me? Right now? A fine wreath of ivy and anemones and...and...?”

“Roses?”

“Yes, yes, roses, if you can find them.”

“I know where they grow, Princess. Who do you marry?”

“A great hero,” Lia said. “Handsome as the night is dark with a smile like the first bright rays of dawn.”

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