the fateful boast; a perseus/andromeda, lito mythfic.
(AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is another in my series of "mythfics", to borrow the term from my darling etzyofi. In order to fully appreciate these, be sure to look at my Greek Gods in Modern Times casting picspams ( Part One, Part Two, and Part Three). I'm also including a "cast list" at the beginning of the fic just as a refresher as to who's playing who.)
STARRING:
the fateful boast, a perseus/andromeda fic pg-13
(AN: This thing has spiraled out of my control and gotten RIDONKULOUS. Expect part three in a few days. And I was lax in mentioning that this fic is dedicated in large part to the glorious professor_spork, who has been an immense help in the writing process and provided some much needed advice.)
The night of the election has finally arrived; a mad brag threatens to destroy everything Perseus holds dear, but does destiny have something else in store for him?
But the light was glittering off the rubies in her hair and the dress clung to her curves in just the right way and when she looked at him like that, her eyes heavy and dark and her lips ever so slightly quirked up in that secret, hidden smile of hers, well-a man would do a many stupid things in a moment like that. (6,816 words)
Perseus was not the sort of man to be easily awed or intimidated. Part of it came from a no-frills and unpretentious childhood-Dictys had always been frank and open with him, and his neighborhood had been one where everyone knew one another’s names. There had been no hierarchies. Of course, there was also the simple fact that he was a well-built young man who knew how to handle himself; something about knowing he could end most bar brawls gave him an unshakeable composure in stressful situations.
But there are some moments that are nerve-wracking for even the most confident of people-and meeting the father of the woman you love for the first time, particularly a father as powerful as Cepheus Seriph, happens to be one of them. Perseus had spent most of the day preparing himself for anything: accusations, resentment, suspicion, disapproval. He knew he was no great prize for a woman of Andromeda’s caliber, but he was determined to give a good account of himself. He knew his quality; he only hoped he could prove it to her parents.
The house was a looming and sophisticated affair, covered in columns and scrollwork in the old Grecian style. He was ushered into a large, tile-covered entryway, up a winding staircase, and into an office. It was probably a small room compared to the others in the building, but it was still larger than Perseus’ entire apartment, and richly decorated in deep blues and golds. There was a large walnut desk in front of a pair of bay windows that opened onto a large balcony that contained a table and a pair of wrought-iron chairs. Andromeda’s father rose from one of the chairs, unfolding himself gracefully and smoothing down his jacket before he stepped into the room.
Cepheus was a very impressive figure. He had a way of looming both physically and through his sheer force of personality, and looked very grave and respectable in his tailored black suit. Shaking the man’s hand and meeting his eyes steadily was no mean feat, but Perseus apparently passed whatever unspoken test Cepheus had set for him, because as soon as the introductions had been made he smiled warmly and clapped the younger man on the shoulder.
“Andromeda’s told me a lot about you,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, son.”
“Thank you, sir,” Perseus said, swallowing visibly. “And thank you for the invitation tonight.”
“It was my daughter’s invitation as much as mine,” Cepheus said with the slightest of smiles. “I’m under no delusions as to why you’re really here, Perseus. You don’t strike me as the politically-minded type. Care for a drink?” he offered, gesturing to the bar against the wall. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll have a whiskey, thanks,” Perseus said, still feeling unsure and unbalanced. There was no sign that Cepheus would begin shouting angrily or accusing him of indecent intentions-but the man wore a carefully schooled and neutral expression at all times, no doubt something he had cultivated in his line of work, and Perseus wondered what he was thinking behind that blank mask.
Cepheus held out a small crystal glass, raising his own in a toast. “I have it on good authority that you’ve had a couple of interesting run-ins with the press the past couple days.”
“Uh, yes, sir. You could say that.” Perseus gulped half of his whiskey down.
“I believe I could also say that you slammed a door in the face of the biggest tabloid reporter on the island, after she offered you ten thousand dollars for the ‘inside scoop’ on your relationship with my daughter.” There was a twinkle in Cepheus’ eyes now, and Perseus felt the strength returning to his nervous limbs. “I was glad to hear it. Nice to see there are still men of honor in this day and age.”
“It’s not even a question of honor, sir,” Perseus said.
“Oh?” Cepheus lifted an eyebrow in curious interest.
“No, sir. It was simply that I knew Andromeda wouldn’t want our story printed in every paper on the island. That’s our business, and no one else’s.”
“I see,” Cepheus said thoughtfully, finishing off his glass. “What you’re saying is you’d never do something Andromeda wouldn’t like, is that it? You’d never disappoint her or let her down?”
“No, sir,” Perseus said firmly, the conviction clear on his face. “I’d die before I let her down.”
Cepheus studied him for a long moment. “…I’m glad to hear that. Very glad. I hope you enjoy the evening, son.”
He set his glass down on the desk, shook his hand again, and strode out of the room to check on his wife-the car would be ready to leave in less than a half hour. Perseus stared around for a long moment, unsure of whether to sit down and wait for someone to collect him or to take the initiative and go back downstairs to wait by the door. Luckily, he didn’t have to make up his mind.
“Oh, Andy, great,” he sighed with relief as she stepped into the room, her long red gown trailing behind her, her hair piled up in a mass of curls held in place by several ruby-studded pins. “I was… Wow. You look… incredible.”
She grinned, taking the empty glass out of his hand. “You think so?”
“Know so.”
“Thanks. You’re looking awfully dapper yourself,” she said appraisingly, reaching out to brush a nonexistent piece of lint from his shoulder.
“It’s a bit too tight across the shoulders,” he admitted sheepishly. “Should have gotten a new suit, I guess.”
“Well, you look good,” she said, straightening his tie.
“Yeah, that’s a losing battle,” he said with a smile. “You’ll be straightening it all night.”
“I’ll try to keep an eye on it for you,” she teased. “So how did the interrogation go? I hope my father went easy on you.”
“I wouldn’t call it an interrogation,” Perseus replied. “He seemed very nice. Just a little bit terrifying, but I think he warmed up to me.”
Andromeda laughed. “Yeah, he can be pretty stony sometimes. Did he smile at all?”
“Yeah, a couple times. And he patted my shoulder and called me ‘son’.”
“My my, he must really like you,” Andromeda said, an elegant eyebrow arching eloquently. “Perseus, thank you again for coming tonight. It won’t be nearly as terrible with you sitting by me.”
“You know me, Andy,” he said quietly. “Always handy in a tight spot.”
“Just another thing I love about you,” she replied just as softly. “…There’s a lot of things I love about you, actually…”
She was still holding his tie; it was as if she’d forgotten about her hands. He could smell the lavender perfume on her skin. She was so close. Move his head just slightly to the right, lean in only a few more inches, raise his hand just a bit more to brush his fingertips against her hip-
“The car’s waiting,” a sharp voice interrupted. The pair startled like deer, looking up sharply to find Cassiopeia in the doorway, pulling on a pair of white gloves and looking incredibly displeased.
“We’re coming, Mother,” Andromeda said when she’d recaptured her breath, stepping away from Perseus as if it took most of her strength. “Thank you.”
*****
He was beginning to sympathize with the chimps at the local zoo-always gaped at from behind thick glass by strange and foreign people. From the moment they had climbed out of the car into the blinding flash of the photographers, to the walk into the massive Joppa Amphitheater and up to the large stage that had been erected for them, Perseus was stared at by more people than he had known in his entire life.
The cause for all of this madness seemed rather anticlimactic in the end. There had been three hours of awkward waiting, everyone sitting with tensed shoulders and somber faces, for the announcement of the election results. And then every camera and microphone had zoomed in on the platform, the news had finally come, and Perseus watched as Andromeda was swept up into a jubilant family hug while confetti filled the air.
(A small part of Andromeda wondered if her mother hugged her so tightly because dozens of cameras were recording them, but she tried to push the cynicism away to enjoy her father’s moment of success.)
When the cheering and clapping and screaming had finally died back, and the most powerful family on the island had satisfied the live news feeds with much waving, and the newly re-elected Governor Seriph had delivered his usual stirring speech, the tone of the evening changed drastically. Gone was the vibrating tension of uncertainty and anxiety. In its place was a general air of celebration and congratulatory pride. People began to settle down at the dozens-if not hundreds-of round tables set up around the stage, and waiters were kept busy with drink and hors d’oeuvres orders.
But while everyone else seemed to relax and settle in for a solid evening of booze, Perseus couldn’t shake the uneasiness he’d been carrying all day. For everyone else, the storm had broken and proved to be nothing but hot air; for him, the storm was still approaching, and building up steam as it came.
And it promised to be a long and tiring night for him, full of political discussions he couldn’t hope to follow and introductions to people he would never speak to again. There’d be plenty of prying questions from the news people, and he’d no doubt make a dozen faux pas before everything was said and done.
Still, he would suffer through a thousand of these events as long as Andromeda kept smiling at him like that.
*****
It was two hours later, and they were mingling with Cepheus’ supporters and fans. The Governor drifted from table to table, clasping hands while his wife drifted in his wake dispensing compliments and words of gratitude.
Andromeda just wanted to slip away with Perseus and finally catch her breath, but unfortunately the reporters wouldn’t stand for it.
“So, Ms. Seriph, on a scale of one to ten, just how happy are you that your father’s been re-elected?” a weasley man in a gray suit demanded with a grimace of a smile, recorder thrust before him.
“A ten, definitely,” Andromeda said quickly. “My father’s done a lot of good for the people of this island, and he’ll continue to do so in his next term. I’m glad his voters have shown their gratitude and faith-he won’t let them down.”
“And would you care to tell us about your handsome date tonight?” a middle-aged woman with bouffant hair and a multitude of gold necklaces asked. She was wearing a dress covered in sequins. Every time she moved Perseus had to blink to avoid being blinded.
“This is Perseus, a very good friend of mine,” Andromeda said as calmly as she could, hoping her dreaded blush wasn’t betraying her.
“Just a friend?” the woman persisted, adopting what she must have thought was a coy expression.
“Mind if I ask you a question?” Perseus said sharply, startling the reporter. “Do you enjoy your job?”
“Well, I don’t see how that’s important-”
“If you can be curious about our personal lives, can’t I be curious about yours? I just want to know if you get a sense of fulfillment out of what you do every day. Do you feel good about yourself while you’re writing up your articles, after you’ve poked about into people’s most embarrassing secrets and invaded their privacy?”
The woman looked completely flabbergasted, her mouth hanging slightly agape.
“When did you get your first kiss? Was it a nice one? Have you ever had a run-in with the police before? What would you consider your deepest, darkest secret? Is there anything you’ve done that you’re ashamed of? What’s your favorite sex position?” Perseus continued relentlessly, his tone even, at times almost jovial. The reporter seemed to have swallowed a frog, judging by her silence and the green tinge to her face.
Andromeda bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing. She wanted to grab Perseus by the lapels of his too-tight jacket and kiss him for simply being Perseus, although that would completely spoil his gesture and rather confirm the reporter’s suspicions.
“Now, Perse,” she said finally, laying a hand on his arm. “Why don’t we just go sit down over there for a while and have something to eat? I’m sure this lovely lady has some friends to get back to, hmm?”
The reporter nodded quickly, clearly eager to escape Perseus’ accusatory stare.
“Thank you,” she whispered as soon as they were out of earshot. He moved to pull out her chair but she stopped him. “I appreciate the gesture, but I can handle my own chair,” she said. “I’m a big girl. I can tie my own shoes and everything.”
He grinned and pulled out his own chair, catching the eye of a passing waiter. “Excuse me, do you have any of those little wieners on the toothpicks?”
“Yes, sir,” the waiter said with a carefully blank expression. “I’ll find you a tray.”
*****
Many of the guests were dressed in their best suits and gowns-jewels glittered on a variety of fingers and necks and ears. But by far the most resplendently dressed was a singular woman who seemed to stand apart from the festivities. Her dress was of an unusual iridescent fabric. With the slightest movement the light struck it at different angles and the color seemed to change entirely, morphing from blue to green to gray to yellow. Long strands of pearls were draped around her neck and arms, and her hair had a glossy sheen to it that seemed more like water than gel. People would pass her and hesitate for a moment before slowly shaking their heads and continuing on in a light daze, as if struggling to recall something from a distant dream. Eyes slid past her rather than linger, and no one paused to spark a conversation with her.
“Good evening, Thetis.”
The woman turned smoothly, a sardonic smile twisting her pale lips. “A good evening to you, Athena. What an unexpected visit. I thought my little realm too beneath the notice of your kind.”
“An election like this?” Athena said lightly, sipping from her glass of champagne. She was dressed in a deep maroon dress, her dark hair curling over her bare shoulders. “Governor Seriph has made quite a reputation for himself. Perhaps I’m interested in running his story in one of my papers.”
“Or perhaps your father sent you to spy on me,” Thetis said, her voice deceptively light. “Worried I might start up some fresh trouble for him. It seems the Queen had no idea he had another demigod bastard running around. How… awkward for him to explain.”
“Not that I care much about my father’s affairs,” Athena replied in an equally unconcerned tone. “But was that reveal strictly necessary? It was very dramatic, yes, but just this side of operatic. I would think such displays were beneath you. You always had a gentler touch in the old days.”
“Yes, the old days,” Thetis said, bitterness sharpening an edge to her voice. “The days when Zeus used the power commanded to him, and we were figures worth exalting. Are you pleased with your demeaning Pact, Athena? Happy to be a pale shade of what you once were? Content with your little personal dramas and mortal toys and so-called ‘careers’?”
“I have come to terms with it, yes,” Athena said evenly. “Thetis, even you can’t think that we had any other option. Humans had moved on-they had left us behind and forgotten us, but for bedtime stories for their children. We could no longer stay in Olympus. That would be to dwindle entirely. At least here, with our feet upon the Earth, we can still influence and shape.”
“Shape what, pray tell?” Thetis demanded. “Governments? Companies? Small and paltry things that collapse and change in the blink of an eye. The mortal world is nothing but inconstancy and death, and Zeus has damned us to the same. We haven’t even the power to punish when we see injustice-he’s stripped us even of that.”
“We can still even the balance,” Athena said firmly, her eyes sharp and hard. “If you are displeased, Thetis, speak with Poseidon. If your waters are defiled, ask him for assistance. He will be more than happy to help. Unlike my father.”
“Ah, yes, but Poseidon is not my King,” the Nereid said. “I must defer to Zeus in all things, lest I lose what little power remains to me. Zeus, King of the Skies, Lord of Thunder, the wise and powerful. Zeus, who loves humanity so much he can’t stop laying with half of it and siring cast-off sons. Zeus, who would only move to save the lives of my people because his son was in danger. And what of my son?” she demanded angrily, making a cutting gesture with her hand. Several glasses on a nearby table exploded, startling the closest guests and showering them with champagne and glass.
“Thetis, calm yourself,” Athena said sharply.
“Zeus would move the heavens themselves to protect one of his children, a boy he never knew or held or spoke to. And yet mine, my son, must die in disgrace. The son I carried and touched and loved. Perseus must be spared, but not Achilles. Tell me, Athena-does that seem like justice and fairness to you? Is that the sort of king I should bend my knee to?”
“Achilles had his reward,” the Goddess of Wisdom replied. “He has it still. In the Elysian Islands. And who is to say what will become of Perseus? He may never distinguish himself and earn such a place. You must be content with what has passed, Thetis. Neither of us have the power to change that. Be glad that my father has spared your islands. Find comfort in the lives that go on because of your intervention.”
Thetis sighed, her arms sinking back to her sides, and for a moment seemed diminished and more solid. “The injustice of it all gnaws away at me, Athena,” she said heavily. “I was once revered and honored. The sacrificial pyres on my holy days were beautiful to behold, the music in my honor sweet and moving. Now only the fishermen remember me, in a hidden place in their hearts. I am forced to be content with their half-mumbled gratitude for full nets and calm seas, unintended prayers to a presence they no longer know. When once they adorned their homes with my image, and my name was synonymous with beauty. I do not know how much longer I can bear it.”
*****
There was beautiful music coming from somewhere, piped in over the speaker system or perhaps there was a live orchestra hidden away under the floorboards; it didn’t matter much. What mattered was that the loud hum of voices was beginning to die back and he was sitting at a table alone with Andromeda.
Perseus remembered the other night with Thallo and his resolution. The election was over. That particular weight was gone from her shoulders now. Perhaps her mother would stop hounding her every move for the next year; perhaps her father had learned something from all of this drama and would step up and be a bigger presence in her life, and cut off Cassiopeia when she built up too much steam. Perhaps now that their friendship had been uncovered and was no longer a secret, it wouldn’t alter the scenery much to the public’s view if their relationship moved a rung up to something a bit more serious…
“So, Andy,” he said quietly, pulling in his chair and leaning closer over the table. “I… I know this is probably a really bad time, but…”
But the light was glittering off the rubies in her hair and the dress clung to her curves in just the right way and when she looked at him like that, her eyes heavy and dark and her lips ever so slightly quirked up in that secret, hidden smile of hers, well-a man would do a many stupid things in a moment like that.
“Yes, Perseus?” she murmured, leaning closer herself. She liked how his tie had gone crooked again, and that the seams of his jacket were straining a bit at the shoulders, and that his hair was its usual untidy mess. He had clearly only slicked it back with water (she’d be shocked if he owned any hair gel) and the evening had restored it to its typical wildness. It had been fun to see Perseus ‘gussied up’, as her grandmother would have said, but it was even nicer to see his usual laid back style reasserting itself.
“Uh, well, I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About us. And, uh,” he stumbled nervously.
She felt her heart do a somersault in her chest. “I’ve been thinking about us a lot, too,” she said when his pause lengthened. “I’ve appreciated your friendship more than I could ever say, but to be honest-”
“There you are, darling,” Cassiopeia said loudly, swooping down upon them as if from the ether. “It’s getting awfully late, and your father and I are ready to head home. He’s got an early start in the morning, after all. Do you have all of your things?”
“Mother, I’ll follow you home, okay?” Andromeda said, resisting the urge to grit her teeth. Barely.
“Nonsense, Andromeda. We’ve got the car waiting-there’s no sense in you lingering here any longer.”
“I’m having a conversation right now,” Andromeda insisted. “Go on without me.”
“Andromeda, you still live under our roof,” Cassiopeia said in a sharper tone. “And you’ll do as I say. Come along.”
“Mother, you’ve got to stop this. Now. Right now. I’m sorry, but I’m not your twelve-year-old little girl any more. You can’t tell me what to do every moment of every day. If I want to stay out past midnight, I will. If I want to spend time with my friends, I will. And right now I want to sit here and finish my conversation with Perseus.”
“I have gone along with all of this against my better judgement,” Cassiopeia said after a long, heated pause. She seemed to be drawing herself up, straightening her shoulders with the air of a soldier preparing for war. “I disagreed with your father on this count, and I continue to disagree. You may think you know this boy, but how can you be so sure he’s been honest with you? He could have given you nothing but an elaborate web of lies since day one. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s cozied up to you all these weeks simply because he wants something from you.”
“Wants something from me?” Andromeda said angrily, standing. Perseus sat with a stony expression; he wanted to speak out in defense of himself, but knew it would only encourage Cassiopeia to louder condemnations. “Perseus has never asked me for anything besides my company and conversation.”
“‘Company and conversation’? Oh, dear, wake up and open your eyes. He’s a man. A man with nothing. He wants you for your body and your money and fame.”
“I, I can’t even speak to you right now,” Andromeda said, almost speechless with fury. “Go. Go now, Mother, before I slap you myself.”
“I am not leaving-” Cassiopeia’s gloved hand shot out and grabbed her daughter’s wrist tightly.
“Let her go,” Perseus said, standing. There was no menace or threat in his voice, only a firm finality.
“Don’t you dare speak to me,” Cassiopeia said venomously. “I blame you for this. You’ve poisoned my daughter against me. She was never this rebellious and foolish before she met you. You’ve brainwashed her.”
“He’s done nothing of the sort!” Andromeda cried, twisting out of her mother’s grasp. She rubbed at her sore wrist. The three were heedless of the attention they’d attracted, of the various recorders running and pens scribbling and discreet photographs snuck with digital cameras. “What is wrong with you, Mother? When did you become so bitter and angry and prejudiced? You would never have said these things even a few months ago. What’s happened to you?”
“Happened to me? I’ve been betrayed and mocked and attacked by the daughter I carried for nine months. You’ve painted me like some wicked witch in a fairytale and turned yourself into the damsel in distress. You run around town at all hours with this, this lout and his scummy friends, laughing at me. I have worked relentlessly to give you a good future, with everything you could ever hope for: wealth, comfort, prestige, a good husband with a solid career. And you’ve thrown all of my work back into my face with a sneer. And for what? Him?”
“I have a name. And I happen to be standing right here.”
The entire room was silent as Perseus stepped around the table, placing himself squarely between Andromeda and her infuriated mother. Every pair of eyes was focused on the tableau unfolding, and no one noticed that the Governor had returned from the bathroom and was making his way around the tables towards his family.
“My name is Perseus. I’m assuming you know it, though you’ve never addressed me directly. I’m twenty-one years old, I have five tattoos, and I hold down two jobs and pay all of my bills on time. My mother is a good woman named Danaë who cleans houses, repairs nets, and sells vegetables from her garden to earn her living. I have a one bedroom apartment in a part of town you’ve probably never been to, and even though it’s shabby no one’s ever been shot or stabbed in my neighborhood. I’ve never been given anything in my life that I didn’t earn. I’ve never asked for anything that I didn’t feel I deserved. And I want you to stop attacking your daughter and accusing her of things she hasn’t done.”
“You dare to lecture me?” Cassiopeia demanded hoarsely, the blood draining from her face.
“Yes. Because I’m not going to sit there silently while you hurt Andromeda with your thoughtless words. Your daughter has done nothing wrong. She only wants to live her life on her own terms-if you love her, you should try to understand that. You need to stop treating her like this. I won’t stand for it. You may not believe me, but I only want what’s best for her, too. I want her to have a happy and stable future just as much as you do.”
“Don’t make me laugh, boy,” Cassiopeia said. “You want what’s best for you, and having a rich wife would obviously improve your life. I refuse to let her throw herself away on street trash like you. My daughter is too good for you. She’s too good for any of you,” she continued, glaring around the silent, awestruck room with a light very like madness in her eyes.
“Mother, stop, please, what’s gotten into you?” Andromeda cried, hands shaking.
“My daughter is the most beautiful woman in the world, more beautiful than a goddess, and she deserves to be worshipped. Not pawed at by garbage like you!”
“ENOUGH.”
The word was an almost physical blow, and it echoed through the building, shaking the glasses and furniture like the roll of thunder. Before the last reverberation had died away a whipping, shrill wind filled the air, tearing at clothes and hair and sending guests diving under tables with cries of alarm. The sudden, overpowering smell of the ocean was everywhere as the wind turned damp and oppressive. Everything was noise and movement.
“Thetis, stop!” Athena screamed over the din, struggling to force back the elemental energy that coursed through the room. But here was a battle she could not win, could not think her way out of-she had no power over the elements the Nereid commanded, and in that moment Thetis of the Sea was stronger than the Goddess of Wisdom.
Perseus had his arms around Andromeda, and it was only through sheer force of will that the two weren’t thrown back to the floor. Cepheus had somehow grabbed hold of his thrashing, screaming wife and was crushing her to him, muffling her shrieks of rage against his chest.
“FOOLISH, VAIN WOMAN,” the voice thundered, terrible and merciless in its anger. “YOU DEFILE THIS PLACE, BUILT IN MY OWN HONOR LONG AGO, AND YOU DISRESPECT ME. YOU MUST BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE. THERE MUST BE A PENANCE.”
“What the hell is happening?” Cepheus bellowed. “How are you doing this? Who are you?”
Abruptly the tumult ceased, the sudden silence and stillness as shocking as the chaos had been. A woman stood before them, or at least something shaped like a woman. Water dripped from her hair and arms, and her face was suffused with a frightening welter of emotions: fury, despair, disappointment, pain.
“I am Thetis,” she said, in a voice more human and yet still not, her words ringing with a deep hollowness, like an echo in a well. “Goddess of the Sea. I saved you today, by begging for leniency from a harsh King. And you have dishonored me with this display. Your baseness and brash boasts must be accounted for. How dare you presume so much in my presence. You think yourself great and powerful, Cassiopeia, and your daughter a prize worth worshipping. No mortal woman is my equal-no mortal woman should be given such distinction and honor when I am left ignored and dishonored. I will no longer stand for it.
“So I will require you to sacrifice what you value most, Cassiopeia. A punishment fitting of your crime. I require the life of your daughter. I will give you three days. Three days, and Andromeda must sacrifice herself to my waves. If you do not, I shall call up a creature to ravage your beloved city, as a final punishment. You have three days before the Kraken destroys this place.”
Perseus’ arms had tightened around Andromeda at Thetis’ unforgiving sentence, and she clutched at him, her heart burning in her throat. The goddess’ words seemed to ring incessantly in her head, and she felt almost paralyzed with dread.
Cassiopeia had already collapsed against her husband, her sudden mad energy gone. It was clear she was sick, and oblivious to the terrible curse being laid down over her words. Cepheus looked down at his wife, stricken, and dropped to his knees, his arms full of her. “Please, please, she didn’t mean what she said,” he pleaded. The proud and unbrooking Governor had vanished; only a desperate and bewildered husband and father remained. “Something’s come over her-she’s not in her right mind.”
“There is no excusing what has been done-it was done, and with conviction in the moment. You have three days, Cepheus. At the end of that time, your daughter must die. Else your people shall suffer whole.”
There was a colossal rush of water, and Thetis was gone.
Cepheus kneeled on the damp floor, rocking slightly as tears streamed down his face, his unconscious wife draped bonelessly across his lap. “This isn’t real, this can’t be happening,” he murmured. “This is the real world, there’s no such thing as goddesses and monsters. Curses mean nothing-they’re only empty words.”
Andromeda slowly pulled away from Perseus, reaching her arm out to her shell-shocked father. He startled when she touched his shoulder, staring up at her in disbelief. She wasn’t sure what she felt or believed in that moment. The world had assumed a nightmarish quality, the colors too sharp or too dull, salt water drying painfully against her lips while all around them the finery of the party was torn and dirtied and soaking wet. She could barely feel the feet she stood upon, but she could feel the warmth of her father in the shoulder she touched. She could see her mother, face lax and empty of that frightening hatred she’d laid bare only seconds before. And she knew Perseus stood at her back, steady as a rock and reassuring in his realness.
Magic was real, and so were curses. She accepted this almost immediately, much in the way that she had come to accept how she felt about Perseus: all in a moment, without any question or expectations. Her argument with her mother had sparked all of this. It had been her mother’s words, but if she had not refused her so vehemently would this doom have come? She was at least partially to blame, and it seemed clear to her now that her mother had not been in her right mind-and so she wordlessly accepted her share of the fault, as well.
Thetis had demanded a sacrifice from the Seriph family. They had three days in which to say their goodbyes, and then she must give herself to the ocean. If Thetis was denied, everyone else would suffer. She couldn’t allow that.
“I’ll do it,” she said calmly into the still reeling silence.
“What?” her father mumbled, confused, clutching at her mother. “Andromeda?”
“I’ll be the sacrifice.”
Cepheus stared at her in total incomprehension, as if she had suddenly started speaking Russian. “What?”
She knelt slowly beside him, one hand at his shoulder as the other reached to take one of her mother’s limp hands and squeeze it gently. “I’ll be the sacrifice Thetis demanded. She’ll take me, and leave everyone else alone.”
“No. No. No,” Cepheus said, realization dawning slowly. “No no no, Andromeda. No.”
“Daddy,” Andromeda said, pressing a hand to his cheek, smiling. “The people elected you for a reason-they trust you to do what’s right for them. Even if it’s a difficult choice. This is the only way. You have to accept this.”
“We are not having this conversation. There is no conversation,” Cepheus said loudly. “Because this is not real and it’s not happening. This is madness. Total madness. It’s all a hallucination, or a terrible nightmare and we’ll just wake up in a few minutes. Things will be fine. Just fine.” He kissed his wife’s cheek and wept silently.
“Andromeda.”
She looked up at his voice, and when she saw the expression on his face she felt her heart start to shatter in her breast. “You know I’m right,” she said. “Please.”
Perseus had never felt more lost and confused. It was an awful lot, to ask a guy to believe in magic and goddesses and accept that his girlfriend wanted to die to prevent a monster attack. Especially when she wasn’t officially his girlfriend yet. Especially after such a nerve-wracking day. Even the universe couldn’t be that unfair. There had to be a loophole, or a way of making amends that didn’t involve sacrificial maidens.
“No one’s going to die,” he said with conviction. Somewhere inside him a spark had flared to life, and the unexpected glow only fueled his determination. “It seems the real issue here is that a monster’s going to come in three days. Okay. Let’s handle that. We just need to find a way to kill the monster, and no one else has to die.”
“This monster can apparently destroy our entire city. And you think you can just kill it? Are you crazy?” Andromeda said.
“No, he’s his father’s son,” an unfamiliar voice replied. A woman strode through the wreckage around the gaping and stunned guests, her long maroon dress dragging heedlessly through the water and seaweed. She stopped only a few feet from Perseus, a strange smile on her face. “You’ve got his brow,” she said thoughtfully. “I should know-I jumped out of the damn thing.”
“And you are?” Perseus demanded, said brow crinkling in even further confusion.
“Athena. Your sister. Well, in a way. So you’re Perseus.”
“You’re my sister?”
“Half, technically. We share a father. He’s a bit of an asshole, to be honest-goes by the name of Zeus. You may have heard of him. King of the Gods? Lord of Olympus? Used to throw a lot of thunderbolts around a couple thousand years ago. Now he just settles for being an arrogant pain in everyone’s ass.”
“…You’re telling me my father is a god?”
“Yes, Perseus. That’s exactly what I’m telling you.” Athena resisted the urge to roll her eyes; her father’s sons were all lovely young men: always very handsome and adventurous, and they typically had a flair for noble heroics. But they weren’t known for their quick-wittedness.
“Well... Shit.”
“…And Mother thought you weren’t ‘connected’ enough,” Andromeda said quietly with a strained laugh, somehow finding a small nugget of humor in all of this madness. “He’s not the President, though.”
“I know this must all come as something of a shock, but after that stunt Thetis just pulled, there was no easier way to tell you. Speaking of this mess, perhaps we should start cleaning some of it up, hmm?” She lifted hands that glowed with a pale golden light, and there was a series of quiet pops as every camera and recording device in the room imploded in a white shower of sparks. The hundreds of eyes gaping at them unfocused slightly, and moments later the guests were picking themselves up, brushing themselves off, and staggering out of the building as if they had suddenly remembered they were late for extremely important meetings. “That should take care of any mass hysteria. There will be no footage of Thetis, and no memory of her curse. Only the five of us will know what happened here tonight. It should save quite a bit of trouble in the long run. It wouldn’t do to have this entire city run wild for the next three days in fear, or try to flee en masse. The island will wake up tomorrow and continue with the status quo.”
“If you could do all of that,” Cepheus spoke up suddenly, stirring from his shock. “Why didn’t you stop that crazy woman before she did all of this?”
“Sadly, my abilities are somewhat… limited. It’s a long story, and one we don’t have time for tonight. So. Perseus. You want to tackle the Kraken and save the island?”
“Yes. Well, that’s sort of right-I want to save Andromeda, mostly.”
“Why?”
“Because I love her,” he said candidly. “And I’d rather she didn’t get eaten by a giant monster, since I’ve sort of set my heart on marrying her.” He looked down at Andromeda sheepishly. “Dammit, I kept waiting for the right time to tell you, but it seems it never came.”
She stood in a rush with tears in her eyes, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him until they both had to gasp for air, her fingers tight and hot against the back of his neck. “God dammit, Perseus, why did you have to wait so fucking long to say something?” Andromeda swore hoarsely through her tears. “We could have had a couple weeks together at least. Why did you have to wait so damn long?”
“I’m sorry, Andy,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers. “Guess I’m just an idiot.”
The sound of a throat clearing reminded them that they weren’t alone. Athena was smiling sardonically, one dark eyebrow raised. “This is really sweet, honestly, but the sand’s sort of trickling through the hourglass. You’ve got 72 hours, brother, to find a way to kill the Kraken.”
“Okay. I’ve always liked a challenge. Got any ideas?”
“Lucky for you, I just might,” Athena said, her smile deepening into a grin. “By the Sword of Damocles, this will be fun! I haven’t had the chance to aid a bona fide hero in ages!”
“I’m glad someone’s excited,” Andromeda said sourly.
“Perseus,” Cepheus said, gently laying the prone Cassiopeia to the floor and standing awkwardly. “You love my daughter, is that right?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied, arm still tight around Andromeda’s waist. Public displays of affection were the least of their concerns at the moment.
“And you’ll do everything you can to save her from this monster?”
“Everything, sir.”
“Then you’ve got my blessing,” Cepheus said devoutly. “Don’t let us down, son.”
Perseus met Andromeda’s dark eyes and nodded with a warm smile of encouragement, kissing her again just for good measure. It was almost as nice as he had hoped-her tears and the general ominous tenor of the evening spoiled it a bit, but it was definitely something he could get used to doing. “…Alright, Athena. What’s the first step? I’m ready to start kicking some monster ass.”
STARRING:
the fateful boast, a perseus/andromeda fic pg-13
(AN: This thing has spiraled out of my control and gotten RIDONKULOUS. Expect part three in a few days. And I was lax in mentioning that this fic is dedicated in large part to the glorious professor_spork, who has been an immense help in the writing process and provided some much needed advice.)
The night of the election has finally arrived; a mad brag threatens to destroy everything Perseus holds dear, but does destiny have something else in store for him?
But the light was glittering off the rubies in her hair and the dress clung to her curves in just the right way and when she looked at him like that, her eyes heavy and dark and her lips ever so slightly quirked up in that secret, hidden smile of hers, well-a man would do a many stupid things in a moment like that. (6,816 words)
Perseus was not the sort of man to be easily awed or intimidated. Part of it came from a no-frills and unpretentious childhood-Dictys had always been frank and open with him, and his neighborhood had been one where everyone knew one another’s names. There had been no hierarchies. Of course, there was also the simple fact that he was a well-built young man who knew how to handle himself; something about knowing he could end most bar brawls gave him an unshakeable composure in stressful situations.
But there are some moments that are nerve-wracking for even the most confident of people-and meeting the father of the woman you love for the first time, particularly a father as powerful as Cepheus Seriph, happens to be one of them. Perseus had spent most of the day preparing himself for anything: accusations, resentment, suspicion, disapproval. He knew he was no great prize for a woman of Andromeda’s caliber, but he was determined to give a good account of himself. He knew his quality; he only hoped he could prove it to her parents.
The house was a looming and sophisticated affair, covered in columns and scrollwork in the old Grecian style. He was ushered into a large, tile-covered entryway, up a winding staircase, and into an office. It was probably a small room compared to the others in the building, but it was still larger than Perseus’ entire apartment, and richly decorated in deep blues and golds. There was a large walnut desk in front of a pair of bay windows that opened onto a large balcony that contained a table and a pair of wrought-iron chairs. Andromeda’s father rose from one of the chairs, unfolding himself gracefully and smoothing down his jacket before he stepped into the room.
Cepheus was a very impressive figure. He had a way of looming both physically and through his sheer force of personality, and looked very grave and respectable in his tailored black suit. Shaking the man’s hand and meeting his eyes steadily was no mean feat, but Perseus apparently passed whatever unspoken test Cepheus had set for him, because as soon as the introductions had been made he smiled warmly and clapped the younger man on the shoulder.
“Andromeda’s told me a lot about you,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, son.”
“Thank you, sir,” Perseus said, swallowing visibly. “And thank you for the invitation tonight.”
“It was my daughter’s invitation as much as mine,” Cepheus said with the slightest of smiles. “I’m under no delusions as to why you’re really here, Perseus. You don’t strike me as the politically-minded type. Care for a drink?” he offered, gesturing to the bar against the wall. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll have a whiskey, thanks,” Perseus said, still feeling unsure and unbalanced. There was no sign that Cepheus would begin shouting angrily or accusing him of indecent intentions-but the man wore a carefully schooled and neutral expression at all times, no doubt something he had cultivated in his line of work, and Perseus wondered what he was thinking behind that blank mask.
Cepheus held out a small crystal glass, raising his own in a toast. “I have it on good authority that you’ve had a couple of interesting run-ins with the press the past couple days.”
“Uh, yes, sir. You could say that.” Perseus gulped half of his whiskey down.
“I believe I could also say that you slammed a door in the face of the biggest tabloid reporter on the island, after she offered you ten thousand dollars for the ‘inside scoop’ on your relationship with my daughter.” There was a twinkle in Cepheus’ eyes now, and Perseus felt the strength returning to his nervous limbs. “I was glad to hear it. Nice to see there are still men of honor in this day and age.”
“It’s not even a question of honor, sir,” Perseus said.
“Oh?” Cepheus lifted an eyebrow in curious interest.
“No, sir. It was simply that I knew Andromeda wouldn’t want our story printed in every paper on the island. That’s our business, and no one else’s.”
“I see,” Cepheus said thoughtfully, finishing off his glass. “What you’re saying is you’d never do something Andromeda wouldn’t like, is that it? You’d never disappoint her or let her down?”
“No, sir,” Perseus said firmly, the conviction clear on his face. “I’d die before I let her down.”
Cepheus studied him for a long moment. “…I’m glad to hear that. Very glad. I hope you enjoy the evening, son.”
He set his glass down on the desk, shook his hand again, and strode out of the room to check on his wife-the car would be ready to leave in less than a half hour. Perseus stared around for a long moment, unsure of whether to sit down and wait for someone to collect him or to take the initiative and go back downstairs to wait by the door. Luckily, he didn’t have to make up his mind.
“Oh, Andy, great,” he sighed with relief as she stepped into the room, her long red gown trailing behind her, her hair piled up in a mass of curls held in place by several ruby-studded pins. “I was… Wow. You look… incredible.”
She grinned, taking the empty glass out of his hand. “You think so?”
“Know so.”
“Thanks. You’re looking awfully dapper yourself,” she said appraisingly, reaching out to brush a nonexistent piece of lint from his shoulder.
“It’s a bit too tight across the shoulders,” he admitted sheepishly. “Should have gotten a new suit, I guess.”
“Well, you look good,” she said, straightening his tie.
“Yeah, that’s a losing battle,” he said with a smile. “You’ll be straightening it all night.”
“I’ll try to keep an eye on it for you,” she teased. “So how did the interrogation go? I hope my father went easy on you.”
“I wouldn’t call it an interrogation,” Perseus replied. “He seemed very nice. Just a little bit terrifying, but I think he warmed up to me.”
Andromeda laughed. “Yeah, he can be pretty stony sometimes. Did he smile at all?”
“Yeah, a couple times. And he patted my shoulder and called me ‘son’.”
“My my, he must really like you,” Andromeda said, an elegant eyebrow arching eloquently. “Perseus, thank you again for coming tonight. It won’t be nearly as terrible with you sitting by me.”
“You know me, Andy,” he said quietly. “Always handy in a tight spot.”
“Just another thing I love about you,” she replied just as softly. “…There’s a lot of things I love about you, actually…”
She was still holding his tie; it was as if she’d forgotten about her hands. He could smell the lavender perfume on her skin. She was so close. Move his head just slightly to the right, lean in only a few more inches, raise his hand just a bit more to brush his fingertips against her hip-
“The car’s waiting,” a sharp voice interrupted. The pair startled like deer, looking up sharply to find Cassiopeia in the doorway, pulling on a pair of white gloves and looking incredibly displeased.
“We’re coming, Mother,” Andromeda said when she’d recaptured her breath, stepping away from Perseus as if it took most of her strength. “Thank you.”
*****
He was beginning to sympathize with the chimps at the local zoo-always gaped at from behind thick glass by strange and foreign people. From the moment they had climbed out of the car into the blinding flash of the photographers, to the walk into the massive Joppa Amphitheater and up to the large stage that had been erected for them, Perseus was stared at by more people than he had known in his entire life.
The cause for all of this madness seemed rather anticlimactic in the end. There had been three hours of awkward waiting, everyone sitting with tensed shoulders and somber faces, for the announcement of the election results. And then every camera and microphone had zoomed in on the platform, the news had finally come, and Perseus watched as Andromeda was swept up into a jubilant family hug while confetti filled the air.
(A small part of Andromeda wondered if her mother hugged her so tightly because dozens of cameras were recording them, but she tried to push the cynicism away to enjoy her father’s moment of success.)
When the cheering and clapping and screaming had finally died back, and the most powerful family on the island had satisfied the live news feeds with much waving, and the newly re-elected Governor Seriph had delivered his usual stirring speech, the tone of the evening changed drastically. Gone was the vibrating tension of uncertainty and anxiety. In its place was a general air of celebration and congratulatory pride. People began to settle down at the dozens-if not hundreds-of round tables set up around the stage, and waiters were kept busy with drink and hors d’oeuvres orders.
But while everyone else seemed to relax and settle in for a solid evening of booze, Perseus couldn’t shake the uneasiness he’d been carrying all day. For everyone else, the storm had broken and proved to be nothing but hot air; for him, the storm was still approaching, and building up steam as it came.
And it promised to be a long and tiring night for him, full of political discussions he couldn’t hope to follow and introductions to people he would never speak to again. There’d be plenty of prying questions from the news people, and he’d no doubt make a dozen faux pas before everything was said and done.
Still, he would suffer through a thousand of these events as long as Andromeda kept smiling at him like that.
*****
It was two hours later, and they were mingling with Cepheus’ supporters and fans. The Governor drifted from table to table, clasping hands while his wife drifted in his wake dispensing compliments and words of gratitude.
Andromeda just wanted to slip away with Perseus and finally catch her breath, but unfortunately the reporters wouldn’t stand for it.
“So, Ms. Seriph, on a scale of one to ten, just how happy are you that your father’s been re-elected?” a weasley man in a gray suit demanded with a grimace of a smile, recorder thrust before him.
“A ten, definitely,” Andromeda said quickly. “My father’s done a lot of good for the people of this island, and he’ll continue to do so in his next term. I’m glad his voters have shown their gratitude and faith-he won’t let them down.”
“And would you care to tell us about your handsome date tonight?” a middle-aged woman with bouffant hair and a multitude of gold necklaces asked. She was wearing a dress covered in sequins. Every time she moved Perseus had to blink to avoid being blinded.
“This is Perseus, a very good friend of mine,” Andromeda said as calmly as she could, hoping her dreaded blush wasn’t betraying her.
“Just a friend?” the woman persisted, adopting what she must have thought was a coy expression.
“Mind if I ask you a question?” Perseus said sharply, startling the reporter. “Do you enjoy your job?”
“Well, I don’t see how that’s important-”
“If you can be curious about our personal lives, can’t I be curious about yours? I just want to know if you get a sense of fulfillment out of what you do every day. Do you feel good about yourself while you’re writing up your articles, after you’ve poked about into people’s most embarrassing secrets and invaded their privacy?”
The woman looked completely flabbergasted, her mouth hanging slightly agape.
“When did you get your first kiss? Was it a nice one? Have you ever had a run-in with the police before? What would you consider your deepest, darkest secret? Is there anything you’ve done that you’re ashamed of? What’s your favorite sex position?” Perseus continued relentlessly, his tone even, at times almost jovial. The reporter seemed to have swallowed a frog, judging by her silence and the green tinge to her face.
Andromeda bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing. She wanted to grab Perseus by the lapels of his too-tight jacket and kiss him for simply being Perseus, although that would completely spoil his gesture and rather confirm the reporter’s suspicions.
“Now, Perse,” she said finally, laying a hand on his arm. “Why don’t we just go sit down over there for a while and have something to eat? I’m sure this lovely lady has some friends to get back to, hmm?”
The reporter nodded quickly, clearly eager to escape Perseus’ accusatory stare.
“Thank you,” she whispered as soon as they were out of earshot. He moved to pull out her chair but she stopped him. “I appreciate the gesture, but I can handle my own chair,” she said. “I’m a big girl. I can tie my own shoes and everything.”
He grinned and pulled out his own chair, catching the eye of a passing waiter. “Excuse me, do you have any of those little wieners on the toothpicks?”
“Yes, sir,” the waiter said with a carefully blank expression. “I’ll find you a tray.”
*****
Many of the guests were dressed in their best suits and gowns-jewels glittered on a variety of fingers and necks and ears. But by far the most resplendently dressed was a singular woman who seemed to stand apart from the festivities. Her dress was of an unusual iridescent fabric. With the slightest movement the light struck it at different angles and the color seemed to change entirely, morphing from blue to green to gray to yellow. Long strands of pearls were draped around her neck and arms, and her hair had a glossy sheen to it that seemed more like water than gel. People would pass her and hesitate for a moment before slowly shaking their heads and continuing on in a light daze, as if struggling to recall something from a distant dream. Eyes slid past her rather than linger, and no one paused to spark a conversation with her.
“Good evening, Thetis.”
The woman turned smoothly, a sardonic smile twisting her pale lips. “A good evening to you, Athena. What an unexpected visit. I thought my little realm too beneath the notice of your kind.”
“An election like this?” Athena said lightly, sipping from her glass of champagne. She was dressed in a deep maroon dress, her dark hair curling over her bare shoulders. “Governor Seriph has made quite a reputation for himself. Perhaps I’m interested in running his story in one of my papers.”
“Or perhaps your father sent you to spy on me,” Thetis said, her voice deceptively light. “Worried I might start up some fresh trouble for him. It seems the Queen had no idea he had another demigod bastard running around. How… awkward for him to explain.”
“Not that I care much about my father’s affairs,” Athena replied in an equally unconcerned tone. “But was that reveal strictly necessary? It was very dramatic, yes, but just this side of operatic. I would think such displays were beneath you. You always had a gentler touch in the old days.”
“Yes, the old days,” Thetis said, bitterness sharpening an edge to her voice. “The days when Zeus used the power commanded to him, and we were figures worth exalting. Are you pleased with your demeaning Pact, Athena? Happy to be a pale shade of what you once were? Content with your little personal dramas and mortal toys and so-called ‘careers’?”
“I have come to terms with it, yes,” Athena said evenly. “Thetis, even you can’t think that we had any other option. Humans had moved on-they had left us behind and forgotten us, but for bedtime stories for their children. We could no longer stay in Olympus. That would be to dwindle entirely. At least here, with our feet upon the Earth, we can still influence and shape.”
“Shape what, pray tell?” Thetis demanded. “Governments? Companies? Small and paltry things that collapse and change in the blink of an eye. The mortal world is nothing but inconstancy and death, and Zeus has damned us to the same. We haven’t even the power to punish when we see injustice-he’s stripped us even of that.”
“We can still even the balance,” Athena said firmly, her eyes sharp and hard. “If you are displeased, Thetis, speak with Poseidon. If your waters are defiled, ask him for assistance. He will be more than happy to help. Unlike my father.”
“Ah, yes, but Poseidon is not my King,” the Nereid said. “I must defer to Zeus in all things, lest I lose what little power remains to me. Zeus, King of the Skies, Lord of Thunder, the wise and powerful. Zeus, who loves humanity so much he can’t stop laying with half of it and siring cast-off sons. Zeus, who would only move to save the lives of my people because his son was in danger. And what of my son?” she demanded angrily, making a cutting gesture with her hand. Several glasses on a nearby table exploded, startling the closest guests and showering them with champagne and glass.
“Thetis, calm yourself,” Athena said sharply.
“Zeus would move the heavens themselves to protect one of his children, a boy he never knew or held or spoke to. And yet mine, my son, must die in disgrace. The son I carried and touched and loved. Perseus must be spared, but not Achilles. Tell me, Athena-does that seem like justice and fairness to you? Is that the sort of king I should bend my knee to?”
“Achilles had his reward,” the Goddess of Wisdom replied. “He has it still. In the Elysian Islands. And who is to say what will become of Perseus? He may never distinguish himself and earn such a place. You must be content with what has passed, Thetis. Neither of us have the power to change that. Be glad that my father has spared your islands. Find comfort in the lives that go on because of your intervention.”
Thetis sighed, her arms sinking back to her sides, and for a moment seemed diminished and more solid. “The injustice of it all gnaws away at me, Athena,” she said heavily. “I was once revered and honored. The sacrificial pyres on my holy days were beautiful to behold, the music in my honor sweet and moving. Now only the fishermen remember me, in a hidden place in their hearts. I am forced to be content with their half-mumbled gratitude for full nets and calm seas, unintended prayers to a presence they no longer know. When once they adorned their homes with my image, and my name was synonymous with beauty. I do not know how much longer I can bear it.”
*****
There was beautiful music coming from somewhere, piped in over the speaker system or perhaps there was a live orchestra hidden away under the floorboards; it didn’t matter much. What mattered was that the loud hum of voices was beginning to die back and he was sitting at a table alone with Andromeda.
Perseus remembered the other night with Thallo and his resolution. The election was over. That particular weight was gone from her shoulders now. Perhaps her mother would stop hounding her every move for the next year; perhaps her father had learned something from all of this drama and would step up and be a bigger presence in her life, and cut off Cassiopeia when she built up too much steam. Perhaps now that their friendship had been uncovered and was no longer a secret, it wouldn’t alter the scenery much to the public’s view if their relationship moved a rung up to something a bit more serious…
“So, Andy,” he said quietly, pulling in his chair and leaning closer over the table. “I… I know this is probably a really bad time, but…”
But the light was glittering off the rubies in her hair and the dress clung to her curves in just the right way and when she looked at him like that, her eyes heavy and dark and her lips ever so slightly quirked up in that secret, hidden smile of hers, well-a man would do a many stupid things in a moment like that.
“Yes, Perseus?” she murmured, leaning closer herself. She liked how his tie had gone crooked again, and that the seams of his jacket were straining a bit at the shoulders, and that his hair was its usual untidy mess. He had clearly only slicked it back with water (she’d be shocked if he owned any hair gel) and the evening had restored it to its typical wildness. It had been fun to see Perseus ‘gussied up’, as her grandmother would have said, but it was even nicer to see his usual laid back style reasserting itself.
“Uh, well, I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About us. And, uh,” he stumbled nervously.
She felt her heart do a somersault in her chest. “I’ve been thinking about us a lot, too,” she said when his pause lengthened. “I’ve appreciated your friendship more than I could ever say, but to be honest-”
“There you are, darling,” Cassiopeia said loudly, swooping down upon them as if from the ether. “It’s getting awfully late, and your father and I are ready to head home. He’s got an early start in the morning, after all. Do you have all of your things?”
“Mother, I’ll follow you home, okay?” Andromeda said, resisting the urge to grit her teeth. Barely.
“Nonsense, Andromeda. We’ve got the car waiting-there’s no sense in you lingering here any longer.”
“I’m having a conversation right now,” Andromeda insisted. “Go on without me.”
“Andromeda, you still live under our roof,” Cassiopeia said in a sharper tone. “And you’ll do as I say. Come along.”
“Mother, you’ve got to stop this. Now. Right now. I’m sorry, but I’m not your twelve-year-old little girl any more. You can’t tell me what to do every moment of every day. If I want to stay out past midnight, I will. If I want to spend time with my friends, I will. And right now I want to sit here and finish my conversation with Perseus.”
“I have gone along with all of this against my better judgement,” Cassiopeia said after a long, heated pause. She seemed to be drawing herself up, straightening her shoulders with the air of a soldier preparing for war. “I disagreed with your father on this count, and I continue to disagree. You may think you know this boy, but how can you be so sure he’s been honest with you? He could have given you nothing but an elaborate web of lies since day one. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s cozied up to you all these weeks simply because he wants something from you.”
“Wants something from me?” Andromeda said angrily, standing. Perseus sat with a stony expression; he wanted to speak out in defense of himself, but knew it would only encourage Cassiopeia to louder condemnations. “Perseus has never asked me for anything besides my company and conversation.”
“‘Company and conversation’? Oh, dear, wake up and open your eyes. He’s a man. A man with nothing. He wants you for your body and your money and fame.”
“I, I can’t even speak to you right now,” Andromeda said, almost speechless with fury. “Go. Go now, Mother, before I slap you myself.”
“I am not leaving-” Cassiopeia’s gloved hand shot out and grabbed her daughter’s wrist tightly.
“Let her go,” Perseus said, standing. There was no menace or threat in his voice, only a firm finality.
“Don’t you dare speak to me,” Cassiopeia said venomously. “I blame you for this. You’ve poisoned my daughter against me. She was never this rebellious and foolish before she met you. You’ve brainwashed her.”
“He’s done nothing of the sort!” Andromeda cried, twisting out of her mother’s grasp. She rubbed at her sore wrist. The three were heedless of the attention they’d attracted, of the various recorders running and pens scribbling and discreet photographs snuck with digital cameras. “What is wrong with you, Mother? When did you become so bitter and angry and prejudiced? You would never have said these things even a few months ago. What’s happened to you?”
“Happened to me? I’ve been betrayed and mocked and attacked by the daughter I carried for nine months. You’ve painted me like some wicked witch in a fairytale and turned yourself into the damsel in distress. You run around town at all hours with this, this lout and his scummy friends, laughing at me. I have worked relentlessly to give you a good future, with everything you could ever hope for: wealth, comfort, prestige, a good husband with a solid career. And you’ve thrown all of my work back into my face with a sneer. And for what? Him?”
“I have a name. And I happen to be standing right here.”
The entire room was silent as Perseus stepped around the table, placing himself squarely between Andromeda and her infuriated mother. Every pair of eyes was focused on the tableau unfolding, and no one noticed that the Governor had returned from the bathroom and was making his way around the tables towards his family.
“My name is Perseus. I’m assuming you know it, though you’ve never addressed me directly. I’m twenty-one years old, I have five tattoos, and I hold down two jobs and pay all of my bills on time. My mother is a good woman named Danaë who cleans houses, repairs nets, and sells vegetables from her garden to earn her living. I have a one bedroom apartment in a part of town you’ve probably never been to, and even though it’s shabby no one’s ever been shot or stabbed in my neighborhood. I’ve never been given anything in my life that I didn’t earn. I’ve never asked for anything that I didn’t feel I deserved. And I want you to stop attacking your daughter and accusing her of things she hasn’t done.”
“You dare to lecture me?” Cassiopeia demanded hoarsely, the blood draining from her face.
“Yes. Because I’m not going to sit there silently while you hurt Andromeda with your thoughtless words. Your daughter has done nothing wrong. She only wants to live her life on her own terms-if you love her, you should try to understand that. You need to stop treating her like this. I won’t stand for it. You may not believe me, but I only want what’s best for her, too. I want her to have a happy and stable future just as much as you do.”
“Don’t make me laugh, boy,” Cassiopeia said. “You want what’s best for you, and having a rich wife would obviously improve your life. I refuse to let her throw herself away on street trash like you. My daughter is too good for you. She’s too good for any of you,” she continued, glaring around the silent, awestruck room with a light very like madness in her eyes.
“Mother, stop, please, what’s gotten into you?” Andromeda cried, hands shaking.
“My daughter is the most beautiful woman in the world, more beautiful than a goddess, and she deserves to be worshipped. Not pawed at by garbage like you!”
“ENOUGH.”
The word was an almost physical blow, and it echoed through the building, shaking the glasses and furniture like the roll of thunder. Before the last reverberation had died away a whipping, shrill wind filled the air, tearing at clothes and hair and sending guests diving under tables with cries of alarm. The sudden, overpowering smell of the ocean was everywhere as the wind turned damp and oppressive. Everything was noise and movement.
“Thetis, stop!” Athena screamed over the din, struggling to force back the elemental energy that coursed through the room. But here was a battle she could not win, could not think her way out of-she had no power over the elements the Nereid commanded, and in that moment Thetis of the Sea was stronger than the Goddess of Wisdom.
Perseus had his arms around Andromeda, and it was only through sheer force of will that the two weren’t thrown back to the floor. Cepheus had somehow grabbed hold of his thrashing, screaming wife and was crushing her to him, muffling her shrieks of rage against his chest.
“FOOLISH, VAIN WOMAN,” the voice thundered, terrible and merciless in its anger. “YOU DEFILE THIS PLACE, BUILT IN MY OWN HONOR LONG AGO, AND YOU DISRESPECT ME. YOU MUST BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE. THERE MUST BE A PENANCE.”
“What the hell is happening?” Cepheus bellowed. “How are you doing this? Who are you?”
Abruptly the tumult ceased, the sudden silence and stillness as shocking as the chaos had been. A woman stood before them, or at least something shaped like a woman. Water dripped from her hair and arms, and her face was suffused with a frightening welter of emotions: fury, despair, disappointment, pain.
“I am Thetis,” she said, in a voice more human and yet still not, her words ringing with a deep hollowness, like an echo in a well. “Goddess of the Sea. I saved you today, by begging for leniency from a harsh King. And you have dishonored me with this display. Your baseness and brash boasts must be accounted for. How dare you presume so much in my presence. You think yourself great and powerful, Cassiopeia, and your daughter a prize worth worshipping. No mortal woman is my equal-no mortal woman should be given such distinction and honor when I am left ignored and dishonored. I will no longer stand for it.
“So I will require you to sacrifice what you value most, Cassiopeia. A punishment fitting of your crime. I require the life of your daughter. I will give you three days. Three days, and Andromeda must sacrifice herself to my waves. If you do not, I shall call up a creature to ravage your beloved city, as a final punishment. You have three days before the Kraken destroys this place.”
Perseus’ arms had tightened around Andromeda at Thetis’ unforgiving sentence, and she clutched at him, her heart burning in her throat. The goddess’ words seemed to ring incessantly in her head, and she felt almost paralyzed with dread.
Cassiopeia had already collapsed against her husband, her sudden mad energy gone. It was clear she was sick, and oblivious to the terrible curse being laid down over her words. Cepheus looked down at his wife, stricken, and dropped to his knees, his arms full of her. “Please, please, she didn’t mean what she said,” he pleaded. The proud and unbrooking Governor had vanished; only a desperate and bewildered husband and father remained. “Something’s come over her-she’s not in her right mind.”
“There is no excusing what has been done-it was done, and with conviction in the moment. You have three days, Cepheus. At the end of that time, your daughter must die. Else your people shall suffer whole.”
There was a colossal rush of water, and Thetis was gone.
Cepheus kneeled on the damp floor, rocking slightly as tears streamed down his face, his unconscious wife draped bonelessly across his lap. “This isn’t real, this can’t be happening,” he murmured. “This is the real world, there’s no such thing as goddesses and monsters. Curses mean nothing-they’re only empty words.”
Andromeda slowly pulled away from Perseus, reaching her arm out to her shell-shocked father. He startled when she touched his shoulder, staring up at her in disbelief. She wasn’t sure what she felt or believed in that moment. The world had assumed a nightmarish quality, the colors too sharp or too dull, salt water drying painfully against her lips while all around them the finery of the party was torn and dirtied and soaking wet. She could barely feel the feet she stood upon, but she could feel the warmth of her father in the shoulder she touched. She could see her mother, face lax and empty of that frightening hatred she’d laid bare only seconds before. And she knew Perseus stood at her back, steady as a rock and reassuring in his realness.
Magic was real, and so were curses. She accepted this almost immediately, much in the way that she had come to accept how she felt about Perseus: all in a moment, without any question or expectations. Her argument with her mother had sparked all of this. It had been her mother’s words, but if she had not refused her so vehemently would this doom have come? She was at least partially to blame, and it seemed clear to her now that her mother had not been in her right mind-and so she wordlessly accepted her share of the fault, as well.
Thetis had demanded a sacrifice from the Seriph family. They had three days in which to say their goodbyes, and then she must give herself to the ocean. If Thetis was denied, everyone else would suffer. She couldn’t allow that.
“I’ll do it,” she said calmly into the still reeling silence.
“What?” her father mumbled, confused, clutching at her mother. “Andromeda?”
“I’ll be the sacrifice.”
Cepheus stared at her in total incomprehension, as if she had suddenly started speaking Russian. “What?”
She knelt slowly beside him, one hand at his shoulder as the other reached to take one of her mother’s limp hands and squeeze it gently. “I’ll be the sacrifice Thetis demanded. She’ll take me, and leave everyone else alone.”
“No. No. No,” Cepheus said, realization dawning slowly. “No no no, Andromeda. No.”
“Daddy,” Andromeda said, pressing a hand to his cheek, smiling. “The people elected you for a reason-they trust you to do what’s right for them. Even if it’s a difficult choice. This is the only way. You have to accept this.”
“We are not having this conversation. There is no conversation,” Cepheus said loudly. “Because this is not real and it’s not happening. This is madness. Total madness. It’s all a hallucination, or a terrible nightmare and we’ll just wake up in a few minutes. Things will be fine. Just fine.” He kissed his wife’s cheek and wept silently.
“Andromeda.”
She looked up at his voice, and when she saw the expression on his face she felt her heart start to shatter in her breast. “You know I’m right,” she said. “Please.”
Perseus had never felt more lost and confused. It was an awful lot, to ask a guy to believe in magic and goddesses and accept that his girlfriend wanted to die to prevent a monster attack. Especially when she wasn’t officially his girlfriend yet. Especially after such a nerve-wracking day. Even the universe couldn’t be that unfair. There had to be a loophole, or a way of making amends that didn’t involve sacrificial maidens.
“No one’s going to die,” he said with conviction. Somewhere inside him a spark had flared to life, and the unexpected glow only fueled his determination. “It seems the real issue here is that a monster’s going to come in three days. Okay. Let’s handle that. We just need to find a way to kill the monster, and no one else has to die.”
“This monster can apparently destroy our entire city. And you think you can just kill it? Are you crazy?” Andromeda said.
“No, he’s his father’s son,” an unfamiliar voice replied. A woman strode through the wreckage around the gaping and stunned guests, her long maroon dress dragging heedlessly through the water and seaweed. She stopped only a few feet from Perseus, a strange smile on her face. “You’ve got his brow,” she said thoughtfully. “I should know-I jumped out of the damn thing.”
“And you are?” Perseus demanded, said brow crinkling in even further confusion.
“Athena. Your sister. Well, in a way. So you’re Perseus.”
“You’re my sister?”
“Half, technically. We share a father. He’s a bit of an asshole, to be honest-goes by the name of Zeus. You may have heard of him. King of the Gods? Lord of Olympus? Used to throw a lot of thunderbolts around a couple thousand years ago. Now he just settles for being an arrogant pain in everyone’s ass.”
“…You’re telling me my father is a god?”
“Yes, Perseus. That’s exactly what I’m telling you.” Athena resisted the urge to roll her eyes; her father’s sons were all lovely young men: always very handsome and adventurous, and they typically had a flair for noble heroics. But they weren’t known for their quick-wittedness.
“Well... Shit.”
“…And Mother thought you weren’t ‘connected’ enough,” Andromeda said quietly with a strained laugh, somehow finding a small nugget of humor in all of this madness. “He’s not the President, though.”
“I know this must all come as something of a shock, but after that stunt Thetis just pulled, there was no easier way to tell you. Speaking of this mess, perhaps we should start cleaning some of it up, hmm?” She lifted hands that glowed with a pale golden light, and there was a series of quiet pops as every camera and recording device in the room imploded in a white shower of sparks. The hundreds of eyes gaping at them unfocused slightly, and moments later the guests were picking themselves up, brushing themselves off, and staggering out of the building as if they had suddenly remembered they were late for extremely important meetings. “That should take care of any mass hysteria. There will be no footage of Thetis, and no memory of her curse. Only the five of us will know what happened here tonight. It should save quite a bit of trouble in the long run. It wouldn’t do to have this entire city run wild for the next three days in fear, or try to flee en masse. The island will wake up tomorrow and continue with the status quo.”
“If you could do all of that,” Cepheus spoke up suddenly, stirring from his shock. “Why didn’t you stop that crazy woman before she did all of this?”
“Sadly, my abilities are somewhat… limited. It’s a long story, and one we don’t have time for tonight. So. Perseus. You want to tackle the Kraken and save the island?”
“Yes. Well, that’s sort of right-I want to save Andromeda, mostly.”
“Why?”
“Because I love her,” he said candidly. “And I’d rather she didn’t get eaten by a giant monster, since I’ve sort of set my heart on marrying her.” He looked down at Andromeda sheepishly. “Dammit, I kept waiting for the right time to tell you, but it seems it never came.”
She stood in a rush with tears in her eyes, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him until they both had to gasp for air, her fingers tight and hot against the back of his neck. “God dammit, Perseus, why did you have to wait so fucking long to say something?” Andromeda swore hoarsely through her tears. “We could have had a couple weeks together at least. Why did you have to wait so damn long?”
“I’m sorry, Andy,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers. “Guess I’m just an idiot.”
The sound of a throat clearing reminded them that they weren’t alone. Athena was smiling sardonically, one dark eyebrow raised. “This is really sweet, honestly, but the sand’s sort of trickling through the hourglass. You’ve got 72 hours, brother, to find a way to kill the Kraken.”
“Okay. I’ve always liked a challenge. Got any ideas?”
“Lucky for you, I just might,” Athena said, her smile deepening into a grin. “By the Sword of Damocles, this will be fun! I haven’t had the chance to aid a bona fide hero in ages!”
“I’m glad someone’s excited,” Andromeda said sourly.
“Perseus,” Cepheus said, gently laying the prone Cassiopeia to the floor and standing awkwardly. “You love my daughter, is that right?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied, arm still tight around Andromeda’s waist. Public displays of affection were the least of their concerns at the moment.
“And you’ll do everything you can to save her from this monster?”
“Everything, sir.”
“Then you’ve got my blessing,” Cepheus said devoutly. “Don’t let us down, son.”
Perseus met Andromeda’s dark eyes and nodded with a warm smile of encouragement, kissing her again just for good measure. It was almost as nice as he had hoped-her tears and the general ominous tenor of the evening spoiled it a bit, but it was definitely something he could get used to doing. “…Alright, Athena. What’s the first step? I’m ready to start kicking some monster ass.”