The God of Clay and Fennel Fire: A Retelling of The Golden Goose

Chapter IX: A Taste for Foolish Men

Prometheus leapt behind a pillar, pulling Deucalion down with him.

The light disappeared and the heat subsided, but the door was still open. Deucalion wiggled away and stretched out his foot, nudging it closed.

Prometheus nodded in his direction and together they peaked out around the pillar. A fire blazed in the centre of the room, a veiled lady stoking the flames. The fire burned high, at least half the height of the dome and at least a meter wide. And yet the lady sat right by it, her bare feet nearly in the coals. She didn't seem to have noticed anyone entering the throne room. Prometheus took out a

The men pulled back into the shadows.

"That was quite a show only to light a fire...who is she?" Deucalion whispered.

"Hestia, goddess of the hearth."

"I hope you're not actually thinking of killing her."

Prometheus rolled his eyes and turned back around the column. Hestia was dressed—no draped—in thick curtain-like cloth, purple, green, and blue, embroidered with golden thread. Her arms and neck jangled with every movement.

Her head jolted in their direction and Prometheus froze, praying the shadows were dark enough to mask his peering face. He kept his eyes on the ground.

After a moment, Hestia's eyes narrowed into slits beneath her veil. The giant gemstones in her ears glimmered like the night sky as she turned back to the fire.

Prometheus and Deucalion reconvened behind the pillar.

"She looks...so..." Deucalion shook his head,"...magical. And beautiful."

Prometheus nodded. "She...is a dragon. More powerful than most suppose, lulled to sleep by her peaceful trade. She sleeps on coals of gold and most keep their distance. But for those who don't...she has sharp teeth and a taste for foolish men. And she hates Dionysus."

"Can she be trusted?"

Prometheus shook his head. "I don't know. She is...unpredictable. We'll need to draw her away from the fire."

"If I can do that, can you get the flame you need?"

Prometheus furrowed his brow. "Of course, but I don't see how you can—"

Deucalion grinned. "Trust me."

He stood up and was out the door before Prometheus could protest.

Within a minute, a loud voice called out from outside the dome.

"Hestia, beautiful Hestia!" Deucalion's voice was jarring, despite slurring his words together. "My love, come out!"

Hestia jumped to her feet, her eyes flashing. "Vlaca Dionysus!" she jeered. Whipping her cloaks behind her, she made for the door and slammed it open.

Prometheus slipped around the column and tiptoed toward the fire. As he walked, he reached for his bag and pulled out the fennel stalk. It was the size of a head and was hollowed out. The skin was a creamy white with light green stripes. The top had been cut off and was to be used as a cap.

Prometheus opened it as he knelt beside the fire. He reached for the largest coal, still glowing like amber. His hand began to smoke, And he quickly rolled the coal into the fennel stalk and replaced the cap. The plant glowed as if it had swallowed a star.

Prometheus glanced over his shoulder. The door had been left ajar and Hestia stood at the top of the staircase, trading words with Deucalion, whose hair peaked out above the edge of the staircase. He swayed back and forth, unable to keep balance.