Chapter 35: Parting Shots and Divine Entanglements
In the end, Meleager's earnest, bloodstained offers of hospitality and celebration couldn't hold Cyd for more than a night. The prince's gratitude was a tangible, heavy thing, like a cloak woven from obligation and expectation.
"I didn't slay the boar for the praise of the people," Cyd said, his voice firm as he shouldered a small pack containing a carefully cured section of the boar's hide and one of its smaller tusks. The rest remained a mountain of meat and bone for Calydon.
This, of course, was the absolute truth. He'd done it to avoid a goddess's displeasure. A fact that made Meleager's eyes shine with even greater admiration.
"A hero who seeks no glory… truly, you set a standard the rest of us can only aspire to," Meleager murmured, clasping Cyd's forearm in a warrior's grip. He was a man profoundly changed—softer in some ways, harder in others, the ghost of his uncles' blood still shadowing his gaze.
As Cyd and Atalanta slipped away at dawn, Meleager returned to his city with the spoils and a new mission. A prince and a hero, his words carried weight. He began to speak of the 'Pale Hunter' and his fierce companion, of a battle fought not for loot but to end a curse, of a victory freely shared. The tale of the 'Pure White Hero' began to spread from Calydon, a seed planted in the fertile soil of Greek gossip.
He had no idea that his earnest storytelling made a certain silver-haired goddess, who had been perched on a cloud with a celestial piglet-vendor's cart, sniff in grudging approval and pack up her wrathful wares. In a twisted way, Meleager had indeed saved Calydon from a second porcine plague. His reward for this service, in the cruel logic of fate, would be to die later at the hands of his own mother, a tragedy Cyd wouldn't learn of for years.
(What? My reputation started because of that guy? I'd throttle him! Wait… he's already dead? Well… damn.)
But that was a grief for another time. In the present, Cyd faced a more immediate and personally awkward dilemma.
They stood at a crossroads in a sun-dappled forest, the path ahead splitting towards different futures. Atalanta had her back to him, her posture unnaturally stiff as she inspected the fletching on one of her arrows.
"So," she said, her voice carefully neutral, almost casual. Too casual. "You're… coming to Arcadia with me, right?"
It sounded like a simple question. It felt like a minefield. Arcadia was her home, the place where she was a princess in name, an outcast in practice. Bringing him there… it meant something. It meant introducing him to a past she hated, making him part of a world she'd largely rejected. It was an offer wrapped in thorns.
It was also, objectively, a terrible idea for Cyd. His life was a magnet for divine attention and catastrophic nonsense. Dragging that into her complicated home life felt like a special kind of selfishness. He wasn't a 'burn it all down' kind of guy; he was a 'maybe if I'm very quiet, the chaos will pass me by' kind of guy. Mostly unsuccessfully.
A direct 'no' was out. That was a fast track to getting an arrow in a tender place. He needed diplomacy. Tact. A gentle let-down.
He took a breath. "Atalanta, I'm sorry, but I—"
THWIP—THUNK!
An arrow buried itself in the oak tree an inch from his left ear, the shaft humming with vibration.
"I didn't quite catch that," Atalanta said, not turning around. She nocked another arrow with deliberate, chilling slowness. The way she drew the bowstring this time was different. It wasn't aimed at his head or his heart. It was aimed lower. Much lower. A shot meant not to kill, but to deliver a very specific, excruciating message.
"Whoa, whoa! Let me explain!" Cyd yelped, his hands shooting into the air in a universal sign of surrender.
"I'm listening." Her voice was frost. Her emerald eyes, now locked on his, were chips of glacier ice. The bowstring creaked.
"I have… obligations. Things I have to do." He gestured helplessly with his left hand, the bracer glinting in a shaft of sunlight. "Thirteen blessings. That's the deal. I've got three. That leaves ten gods I have to… impress, appease, or survive. I can't stop. Not until it's done."
Atalanta's fierce expression faltered. The bow dipped a fraction. "You're not lying?" The question was sharp, disbelieving.
"I swear on the Styx itself. On every god on Olympus." He lowered his hands, his smile tired and genuine. "This is the mess I made for myself. My own greedy price to pay."
I should have just asked for a nice, cursed-proof helmet, he thought, not for the first time.
"When does it end?" she asked, her voice smaller now. The hunter's edge was gone, replaced by something more vulnerable.
"I wish I knew. Probably when I'm dead," he said with a rueful shrug, scratching his cheek.
"Don't you dare." The words were a whip-crack. She lowered her bow completely, her knuckles white where she gripped it. "You and I… we have a match. A real one. No holding back. You promised. If you die before that…"
She closed the distance between them in three swift strides. Before he could react, her fist closed in the fabric of his tunic at his chest. She yanked him down, bringing his face level with hers. Her eyes blazed, not with anger now, but with a fierce, possessive desperation that stole his breath.
"If you break that promise, I will hunt you. I will find you in the Underworld itself, drag you back from Hades's table, and make you keep it. Do you understand?"
The intensity in her gaze was more terrifying than any monster. It was a vow that transcended life and death, rooted in a rivalry that had somehow become the most important anchor in her world.
A slow, soft smile spread across Cyd's face. The fear melted away, replaced by a profound, humbling warmth. He reached up, not to break her grip, but to gently cover her fist with his own. Then, with his other hand, he hooked his pinky finger around hers where it clutched his tunic.
"I understand," he said, his voice low and steady. "I won't break it. A promise is a promise. Especially this one."
Atalanta's furious blush erupted from her neck to the roots of her hair. She made a choked, furious sound, then released his tunic only to slam her forehead into his with a solid, painful crack.
"You better remember that!" she snarled, then stumbled back, visibly dizzy from her own headbutt. She glared at him through swimming vision, looking less like a deadly huntress and more like an enraged, disoriented kitten. With a final, incoherent growl, she turned and bolted into the dense undergrowth, her retreat as swift and clumsy as a wounded lioness fleeing a confusing foe.
Cyd watched her go, rubbing the new sore spot on his forehead. A fond, aching smile lingered on his lips. "I'll remember," he whispered to the empty glade. "It's the only promise that really matters."
"Awwww~ A promise with little Atalanta~"
The voice was sweet, musical, and materialized directly behind his right ear a half-second before a significant, decidedly feminine weight settled onto his back. Arms, smooth and cool as moonlight, wrapped around his shoulders. The back of his head came to rest against a soft, generous curve that left absolutely no room for misunderstanding about which part of the goddess Artemis was currently serving as his headrest.
Cyd went rigid. Every muscle in his body locked. He became a statue, a monument to sheer, paralytic terror and acute, inappropriate awareness. Don't move. Don't breathe. Don't even think.
"Sooooo," Artemis sang, her breath tickling his neck. A small, perfectly formed hand snaked down and entwined its pinky finger with his right hand, mimicking his gesture with Atalanta. "How about you make a promise with me, too? Hmmm?"
"Lady Artemis," Cyd managed to croak, his voice strangled. "Please… this isn't… you're joking, right?"
"I am very serious!" she huffed, the pout audible in her voice. To emphasize her point, she tightened her arms around his neck and shook him like a doll. Her long, silvery hair whipped around them, smelling of night-blooming jasmine and cold, clear air. "Why are you so stiff? You weren't like this with Atalanta!"
Because I'm not suicidal enough to treat the Virgin Goddess of the Hunt like a traveling companion! he screamed internally. Externally, he remained a plank of terrified wood. He didn't fight the shaking. He just… endured.
Seeing his complete lack of reaction—no squirming, no protest, just stoic, petrified acceptance—only annoyed her more. "You're boring! I'm angry now! I'm going to curse you!"
"WHAAAT?!" Cyd finally found his voice, which emerged as a panicked squeak. "I didn't do anything!"
"That's the problem! You're not doing anything!" She punctuated each word by drumming her fists against the top of his head. The blows had the force of an irritated squirrel. "You were all talky and pinky-promisey with her!"
What do you WANT from me?! He screamed inside the vault of his own mind. He settled for remaining a silent, suffering pillow.
"I curse you to… um… er…" Artemis trailed off, biting her lip in thought. She wanted to punish him, but the thought of actually harming him made her chest feel funny. A light curse? That seemed lame. She was a major goddess! She huffed, stuck.
"Is… is there a way to make it up to you?" Cyd ventured, sensing a possible loophole. The whole point of the boar had been to avoid her wrath. Now he seemed to have earned a more personalized version.
"Ooh! Yes!" Her mood flipped instantly, the impending 'curse' forgotten. "You have to… uh…" She went blank again. As a goddess who could have anything she pointed at, wanting for something specific was a novel and frustrating experience. "I want… something…"
"Perhaps he could retrieve a treasure for you?" The new voice was calm, intelligent, and cut through the glade like a sharp knife through soft cheese.
Athena stepped from behind the very tree Atalanta's arrow was lodged in. She was dressed in a simple but elegant chiton, her grey eyes alight with benign amusement. She plucked the arrow from the bark with a thoughtful hum. "A suitable treasure, of course. One not easily obtained. Otherwise, it's hardly a proper apology, is it?"
Cyd's heart sank into his boots. He knew that tone. That was the 'I have orchestrated this entire situation for my own inscrutable reasons and you are playing your part beautifully' tone.
"But I have everything I want…" Artemis mumbled, resting her chin on Cyd's head. Being Zeus's favorite daughter had its perks.
"There is one thing," Athena said smoothly, gliding to stand before them. She smiled at Cyd, a beautiful, terrifying expression. She leaned in slightly, as if sharing a delightful secret, and whispered three words that felt like a physical blow to Cyd's gut.
"The Golden Fleece."
Artemis's head snapped up. Her eyes, wide and suddenly sparkling with the thrill of a new, shiny objective, locked onto Cyd. For a being who had everything, the one thing she didn't have was the one thing someone had just suggested. The logic was flawless to a whimsical, distracted divine mind.
"Perfect! Yes! I want that!" she declared, squeezing Cyd in a hug that threatened to actually restrict his breathing this time. "Go get it for me, Cyd! Bring me the Golden Fleece!"
Cyd looked from Artemis's delighted, childlike face to Athena's serene, knowing smirk. The pieces clicked into place with damning finality. The advice to please Ares. The nudge toward Calydon. Now this. He was being herded. Gently, cleverly, but herded all the same.
He let out a long, defeated sigh, his shoulders slumping under the goddess's weight. He gave a single, slow nod.
"As you wish, Lady Artemis."
Athena's smile widened, just a fraction. She gave him a slight, almost imperceptible nod of approval.
You planned this, Cyd thought, pouring every ounce of his silent accusation into the look he shot her. All of it. You absolute chessmaster of a goddess.
Athena merely winked, turned, and melted back into the shadows of the forest, leaving Cyd alone with an overjoyed moon goddess glued to his back and a brand new, impossible quest that would send him hurtling directly into the path of the very ship—and the very pissed-off sea god—he'd just escaped.