CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XIV

Athena watched a dot on a dusty-pink dawn horizon until it became bigger and bigger, stretching out like an ink dot on a page would. Soon, its form started to take shape and the tawny owl she had been expecting came into view, its wingspan magnificent. She watched its flight path, the sun glinting off its gold, bronzed, and occasional white feathers as it swept through the clouds until it landed, settled on her windowsill with a shake of its feathers and watched her with a patient expression, knowledge of what had happened in Edinburgh reflected in its eyes. Athena had learnt how to communicate with the birds through watching her father communicate with hiseagle.

Wrapping Amara in that tartan had been no coincidence. Of course the child would think it was a clue to her lineage. Humans were so desperate to belong somewhere that they would go to any lengths to seek out their heritage. Perhaps, Athena thought, that is what the Moirai had meant when they had said the fear of abandonment would serveher.

Athena had needed Amara in Caledonia, the ancient name they had given to Scotland when the Greeks had begun to migrate there centuries ago. They just hadn’t known when she would journey there or if she would indeed do it because she remembered the plan before she’d been incarnated on Earth. In Greek, Scot was Skotia, meaning the absence of light. It was the best place for the priestess to put her alchemy skills to the test and show humanity a new way of being. One led by faith rather than fear. One led by alchemy. One ... led bylight.

The brutalisation had been a necessary evil, Athena continued to justify to herself. The mortal in question was no longer a problem. She’d dealt with him swiftly after he’d followed Amara to the library. A word with one of the wind goddesses and he’d simply “slipped” into traffic, bleary eyed with whisky on his breath. It was no real loss to humanity. Athena had no care why the mortal had done what he’d done, whether the man was emotionally damaged or not, like others − like Prometheus − perhaps might. All she cared about was that she had been made to look a fool. The human had laid his hands on her priestess and she could squash him like a bug for his actions. So she did. It helped with the smart of failure, a little.

If it would not interfere with her task, Athena would have cast Amara in the Gorgon Medusa’s image. The serpents and cold-stone gaze had earned Medusa a reputation that ensured she’d never be taken advantage of again. Indeed, many human women had taken the lesson to heart, hardening themselves to further pain. It was necessary armour against the men who thought to take what was not theirs. But if she made Amara hideous to the humans, they wouldn’t listen to her teachings. Fickle creatures that they were, they were still so concerned with the aesthetics that cast them in the gods’ images, even though they no longer believed in those gods. So Amara had to remain beautiful, open, and vulnerable if they were to listen to her. Vulnerability was not something she often considered a useful tool. It set Athena’s teeth on edge.

As did the thought that Aphrodite had outwitted her. She hadn’t suspected her sister would manage to play Prometheus’ protective instincts to her advantage. To get him to be the one to break through Amara’s shell. It was an ingeniousmove.

Athena hadn’t dared approach him, because she knew telling him of the Moirai’s boon would have had him outraged that she had once again agreed to use humanity for her dirty work. He didn’t understand the cost of battle. None of them did.

She wondered what Aphrodite had told him ... or offered him. However she had managed it, given her history with him and the fact he was one of the most defiant, stubborn gods Athena knew − especially when he’d been made a fool of − was quite afeat.

“Fair play, Aphrodite,” Athena muttered under her breath. Because she hadn’t been able to get anyone close to Amara. Despite Hera’s ‘no meddling’ rule, it was usually easy enough for gods and goddesses to whisper things in the right human ears and get them to act ‘of their own accord’ when need be. But Amara had shunned anyone who had attempted to come near her. Anyone that was until Prometheus.

Athena stared at the still-empty, gnarled war table out of habit and debated her next move. She needed Amara to start her alchemy lessons, the trials of the seven ‘sins’. Athena snorted at the thought.

Sending in the wrong god with the wrong lesson would only drive the priestess into a stupor. She needed one that was jarring, that would cause resistance in Amara’s blood the minute it hit her. For resistance was the opposing force to acceptance. The sooner Amara accepted her gifts, the quicker they could get to work alchemising the fear. Given the way she had been exposed to it, Athena reasoned that the best lesson to send Amara first was lust.

Eros, God of Lust and Primal Desire, could easily be persuaded to prick her with an arrow. And if Prometheus remembered his vow, he would know to aid Amara through the challenge. If Amara could ride the waves of lust until she stopped fearing the intimate acts it would lead to, then she would be one step closer to remembering her alchemy.

Athena looked at her tawny companion who cooed in agreement. A cunning smile broke out over her face, pearl white canines glistening in the early spring morning sunshine. It looked like she’d be able to play Aphrodite’s countermove to her advantage afterall.