Ghost Queen in the House of Love

10. Onia

Cadmus hasn't been seen for some time. Sometimes, he disappears for business he won't disclose. I can assume why, and it doesn't bother me. Monogamy, I learned, is especially difficult when you live forever.

We agreed that his eye could wander, and mine, well. His eyes flounce to other women, and once I was released from the tower, my eyes haven't wandered far from the throne. It's rare, especially as someone from my bloodline, to only have had one lover, a single spouse.

I say to Kora, "You seem to have your misgivings."

Kora blinks once, and a calm composure hangs over her eyelids, half-lidded. She says, "Not at all. I trust your judgment." Trust. I have no friends; I am lonely. Not alone, as a queen surrounded by a husband and court and gods. But lonely, but I have her. And it's a burden I don't dare place on Kora's head, since she is merely doing her duty. "And I cannot imagine your pain."

"It becomes bearable with time," I reply, trying to reassure her.

***

Circe has been given one of the eastern rooms, and I tell Kora to inform her that we will meet in the Tower of Time, also to the east. The tower is used by palace historians and astronomers to both observe star patterns and tell the time. Atop the forty-foot tall, round slab of marble is a golden man with a conch horn who twists in the direction of the wind.

As I walk the asphalt, bordered by meander designs, I suck in a breath, skin tightening along my ribs. As if I'm adjusting it, an ill-fitting shawl for my weak bird-bones. Weak, but ichor, hot and slow, flows through my veins. The day isn't hot. A breeze teases my hair, braided in rings atop my ahead, but

I set the crown aside, and as silly as it is, I feel as if I'm going in secret to the tower. As if I am unwatched. The sky is still pink with a lazy morning, and I come across no one else.

A shrill scream in the air. I look up to see a massive gryphon with feathers of burnished bronze soaring across the cloudless sky, a writhing, shimmering fish in one of its great talons.

No rider. The wealthiest here use gryphons for both transportation and the protection of their dearest treasures. Good for keeping riches secure, horrible for keeping the verandas clean of feathers and feces.

One time, one settled on the balcony outside the bedroom I share with Cadmus, and, sneaking behind the silver curtain, I observed it as it cleaned its feathers like a fastidious cat. Semele was fat and cooing in my arms, and the gryphons snapped to, its golden eyes, lined with black, on the curtain. Its curved lion's tail, which it had swung with ease, grew still, its bristles straight. This was before I grew so unwell I was locked in the westmost tower, but after the necklace clenched itself around my throat.

Behind me, Cadmus said with a hint of concern, "Come away, my love. They cannot tell the difference between children and meat." Once, outside the westernmost tower, I saw a gryphon feasting on a small pink thing, yanking the entrails from a fleshy body with tiny feet. I couldn't tell if it was a rabbit or a baby. Counted five toes. Or maybe I dreamed it.

Stepping away, I looked down at my daughter, who nibbled on her own fingers. After some silence, the gryphon flew off, but its hooked golden beak lingered in my mind.

As my gaze follows the bird-feline flying near the Tower of Time, I admire it. I envy it as I stand among the white lilies and scarlet roses.

The tower's shadow comes over me all at once. A cool, darker part of the grounds before the sun rises higher. Before the entrance frieze, decorated with bas-reliefs of the eight wind gods wrapped around every Ionic pillar, there are eight separate golden sundials. And when I go in, there will be a water clock driven by the water that flows from the rocky outcrop behind the palace.