Sparkling Ivy

32

Sirce couldn't sleep. She just lay there in the dark, Atalanta's head leaning against her breast. The princess tried to focus on the sweet, deep breaths of her huntress. The strange calm as cool breath pressed against her neck.

It was all so surreal. Even after weeks of exile, her body was still waiting for the familiar press of her mattress. The cool silk nightgowns and ointment run through her scalp. No amount of blood, sweat and tears could make up for the warmth of the hot springs beneath the weeping willows, the way her silver wreath grew warm with the rising of the sun. But maybe the girl snoring in her arms could.

Atalanta had drifted off easily, the weight of the day's events unchallenging to her stony resolve. Even the thought of Jason or that odd girl didn't manage to harass her.

Sirce had felt comfortable in the daylight; the sun's warmth was a welcome thing, as was the lack of sea salt. The press of Atalanta's lips had also been a pleasure. But pleasures wasted fast and now here she was, lying in the darkness with sweating brow and restless thoughts.

Sirce smiled, fingers stroking Atalanta's hair. They caught in the little tangles, wove down the tiny hairs brushing against her eyes. Through the window slats came trickles of silver moonlight. They danced across Atalanta's face like mist. Sirce liked to think it was Auryon Huntress letting them know she was there.

"Oh fuck me," she hissed quietly, gently guiding Atalanta away. Sirce grimaced as she slipped out of bed, the nightdress Jason gifted her flourishing around her ankles as she landed on her feet. With light fingers she draped the woollen blanket tight around her girl and pressed a kiss to her lips. Atalanta barely stirred, a faint smile dancing on her face.

Sirce sniggered to herself and shook her head.

The princess shifted across the room and slowly pushed the door open, toes flexed like the hoofs of a deer. A warm breeze stroked her legs as she stepped into the house, breaths short.

There was no sign of Jason; no doubt he would be slumbering like Atalanta, not a care in the world. How lucky to be a man in this land.

The house wasn't overly dark; wide windows were cut into the stone throughout, the milky starlight dousing the tile and ceramic in a gentle beam.

Sirce ran her fingers along the cool walls as she dawdled, eyes catching the finery. Jason's villa was certainly lovely. Amidst all the bare walls ran one constant mural down the right wall. A mosaic of old.

The princess paused to peer at it. Even in the black, the glass and precious stone gleamed, the art breaking through the gloom. It was a familiar scene. Almost every city had at least one dedication to it.

At the centre stood a goddess, hands caked in blood. She was naked, adorned only with a wreath of willow twigs. All around her rippled a river of lotus flowers and fireflies, their bodies bright as ambrosia.

Unlike most reliefs, no manly hero stood before her with his hands laden with spoils. No, there was no trace of man. Instead stood a young woman, head shrouded in a palla and hair strung with wheat. Her legs were spread wide, face twisted in agony as her dress was soaked with blood. No husband, no brother, no father to be seen.

Simply a scene of torture until you saw her swollen belly.

Sirce brushed her fingers across the woman's face, heart aching. Every girl in the realm knew her name. Cybele. The first to give birth. A punishment from Cain; if life was to be brought forth, someone would have to pay the balance with pain.

In the story Cybele's husband was so repulsed by the act that he ordered her to take herself away. Kind dryads spied the woman walking from the house and guided her to the river. Cybele's screams were louder than thunder by this point. But her husband did not come. Her goddess did.

Hearing the girl's wretched screams, Alcmene descended. The goddess guided Cybele into the water and pulled the life from her.

Sirce smiled as she saw the words; the words Alcmene screamed to the first to bear children. Scream louder, let them feel what they have done. Have strength enough to shame them.

It was no surprise then why the goddess had clung to Sirce; she was harsh, but a protectress of women nonetheless.

The house was dead silent, disturbed only by the occasional chirp of a cricket. The princess teetered a little as she walked, legs still expecting the shift and tug of the sea. Her footsteps made no sound as she glided across the cool tile, hair heavy with sweat.

Sirce settled beside the fire pit, now just a pile of glowing embers. Her fingers tugged at the sheer fabric of her dress as she stared numbly into the black halls.

"This isn't what I expected," Sirce whispered. Are you sure this is the place, Alcmene?

How sweet. You're questioning me.

"No, wait!"

Flame spat up from the middle of the pit fire. It sparkled like a shower of emeralds as it lashed out toward her, heat snapping in her face. Sirce gasped, falling back on her ass.

There came a great whooosh as the flames stretched to the ceiling in burning green. Sirce swallowed a yell and choked out, "You've made your point!"

"Have I?"

Alcmene stepped from the flame, dissipating the fire with a casual flick of her hand. The goddess looked more grand than usual. A golden diadem encrusted with bright green opals was placed on her head. Her typical tumbling curls had been tamed into a silky bun, hair shimmering with star dust. Her peplos was a deep gold and glowed in the right angle of the dim moon.

Sirce chuckled anxiously, scrambling to her feet. "You look different."

The goddess didn't smile. A stormy glare fell over her features. Alcmene hissed and leaned over. "Don't bother with that frivolous shit. Those words may be honey-coated but the meat is still sour."

The princess slouched. The full weight of that stare forced her down, down...

Her voice was weak as Sirce managed, "I don't understand this place."

"Few do."

"Are you certain this is the right place to help me? These people are strange."

Alcmene raised a brow, snickering softly. Her eyes flashed as she paced around the room, fingers grazing the stone. Her lips quirked into a smile as she studied the mosaics on the wall.

"This is the only place that could help. Don't you think there's a reason why this seems so foreign?"

Sirce knit her brows. "I just - I don't feel safe yet."

"I can't say that shocks me." Alcmene paused, fist pounding on the stone. She tilted her head, eyes still on the masonry of the villa. "Xenia has no love for this place, girl. It is not her polis."