“What news?” Medusa asked.
“Spiridion has learned to throw the discus.” Euryale smiled.
“He was seen at the games,” Stheno explained. “He and Kore grow strong and healthy. Elpis’ marriage to Ektor blooms as well, for I was told she is with child.”
“And Xenia?” Medusa asked. Memories of her beloved aunt, her terrified face, woke her nights.
“She dotes on Kore and preens over Spiridion,” Euryale sighed.
“You were right to have Ariston take them to her,” Stheno agreed.
His name…
“Will you not ask about him?” Euryale asked softly.
She was silent, desperately trying to staunch the throbbing pain she felt. “He is well?”
“He is. He stays in Athens, helping them assemble a new council,” Stheno said.
Medusa nodded, pushing herself to her feet. She said nothing as she left the dock. The sand stuck to the wet soles of her feet as she ventured down to the water’s edge. Mercifully her sisters did not follow.
She’d tried to assure them that she was well, that they should go home without her. But they refused.
“Worrying over you has become Stheno’s favorite past time,” Euryale had teased. “Would you deprive her of one of her pleasures? She has so few.”
And Medusa had let it be.
Silently she knew their presence was all that kept her from desperate despair or madness. They served as a balm to her troubles, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell them so. If they decided to leave, she would not stop them.
Sometimes, though, she wished they would leave.
It was not enough to prod her about eating or force her out of the temple at sunset, Euryale had found some poor soul she’d terrified into keeping up with Spiridion and Kore. And, somehow, there was always news of Ariston too.
It hurt to hear of him, but it was worse not to. He was a good man, strong and able, tender and loyal. She could not imagine what he’d suffered, what he’d endured, to earn his freedom from Hades.
Each night she prayed he would find happiness and love again. She would not have him suffer an empty, lonely life.
And then she cried until her tears were spent.
###
The full moon was high overhead, pale and round. It seemed to be within Ariston’s reach, if he had any desire to try to capture it.
He didn’t.
His eyes burned, but he would not succumb to sleep. Not yet. When he slept, she was waiting, her very presence bidding him stay. Waking was torture, too much to bear willingly. How he longed to stay with her…
So he held himself rigid, carrying out the tasks set before him each day.
He could find no satisfaction in Athens, though the new council had asked him to stay. He’d given all he could. He needed to return to Rhodes. Mayhap his home, his family, could soothe him.
He closed his eyes, leaning against the base of the tree. The crackling of the fire, the rustle of the wind in the trees, lulled him into an uneasy doze.
Some nights he longed for her fiercely.
His fingers clasped the owl pendant he wore about his neck. It was all that was left, all that was real. He’d found his gift, draped with care atop her grave. Thea must have left it for him, before leaving him.
He was alone now, with nothing but his memories.