2 • Sorted

Athena’s attention perked up, possibly one of the few times she had ever been surprised. “What inspired this?”

Ganymede shrugged. “I want to learn. Carrying nectar doesn’t occupy my thoughts like it used to.”

Her gaze held for several long seconds and then she laughed merrily. The small owl on her shoulder moved restlessly, disturbed from her sleep. “Of course I’ll teach you to read. I’m only stunned you haven’t asked me sooner.”

The smile Ganymede wore was ambivalent but also curious. As the keeper of knowledge, Athena had no real need for books, but he found himself seeking reprieve in her libraries, a massive circle of architecture around a central wading pool. Lily pads and other aquatic flora drifted in areas while naiads sometimes poked their heads above the surface or actively splashed with play.

Standing from her large table, Athena led the way through the shelves. “It is convenient you asked me now. You’re now tall enough to reach certain shelves…or at least strong enough to climb to them.”

One of Ganymede’s eyebrows perked up as he looked up the impressive height of the shelves. In truth, only she or another god could reach such heights, but he noticed the sparkle of silver as a ladder was erected for his benefit on each set of shelves.

Turning a corner, an open space awaited them, a large sand pit surrounded by a stone seat with cushions for them to sit. Ganymede collected the rods she gestured to and sat beside her as she drew in the sand at their feet. “This is the letter alpha, but it has two forms. The same goes for the other characters, but one at a time…”

He watched the end of the rod push sand to make way for language. For the most part, the larger versions of the letters resembled their smaller counterparts, but Athena created a word, and seeing the two forms together gave him pause.

“The first is gamma,” he said with surety. The rest were hesitant. “…Alpha, Ga…”

“Nu,” Athena prompted.

“Nu, Gan…” he continued, but the smaller pair of letters was drawn too similarly to tell. Athena worked him through each letter until he pieced them together: “Ganumedee.”

Athena chuckled. “Almost. Ganymede. It is your name.”

Silence ensued, only broken by her laughter reaching a new pitch, startling him. “You appear so disappointed. There are other languages with different letters, for your aesthetic liking but this is the closest form of your name other than the verbal word.”

“How do you mean?” his brow furrowed.

She did not answer. Instead she wrote something else, and so progressed the lesson. Athena proved a patient but thorough instructor. By that evening, Ganymede could read anything relating to wine quite well. “I will teach you to read what you already know,” she explained, “and then we will move forward.”

She had matters to attend to for the rest of the day, so she wrote out each letter and gave him the task of practicing in the sand. It became a trial to not kick sand over her letters as he drew with the rod, so he knelt down instead and worked directly with his hands. He worked well into the night and when he returned to the library the following morning, there was still sand on his shins.

“Good morning, Gany,” she beamed, the owl flying circles over her head. “I see I haven’t frightened you off yet. Shall I try harder today?”

So progressed their lessons for several days. In the third week of his instruction, Athena voiced, “Does my father not require you in the mornings?”

Ganymede shrugged over the book he was frowning over, painstakingly deciphering each letter and word. “He usually comes during the late morning or not at all.”

“I see,” she uttered, and did not say a word more. This proved correct over the following weeks until Zeus himself strolled into his room at the first light of dawn.

“I’ve forgotten how beautiful the light is in here this early—Gany?”

Of course his rooms were empty, they were his and no one was allowed here, but when he turned the corner to Ganymede's bed, the god stared as if simply waiting would manifest his cupbearer into being.

If he were anyone other than himself, he might have startled at the sudden pinpricks of pain in his shoulder, but he merely glanced at the owl that had landed on his shoulder. “You’ve been neglecting him,” Athena said behind him.

“I’ve done no such thing,” Zeus combatted lazily, ruffling the bird’s breast feathers. “Surely I don’t have to justify my reasons for being busy.”

“You don’t,” his daughter agreed as he faced her, “because I already know them.”

Zeus’s eyelids dropped to half-mast in annoyance and he chose to ignore her point. “Where is he?”

“In my library.”

A smile teased at the king’s mouth. “Why there?”

Athena outright grinned. “Carrying your beverages bores him. He’s asked me to teach him to read. He is a swift learner.”

“Of course he is,” Zeus declared, neither surprised nor angry. On the contrary, his voice was warm and husky. The owl swayed on his shoulder as he made to leave the room.

“Careful, papa,” she warned. “I won’t have you disrupt my pupil’s lesson.”

“Is there a lesson to be had with no instructor?” he challenged as she marched beside him. There were not many gods or goddesses who could keep pace with him, and it made him proud beyond measure that she could.

“Most of the work is his own, now,” she explained. “He knows the characters but he must practice in order to master them.”

“With those naiads splashing around?” he doubted. “Are you sure he is really studying?”

“We are not all as wanton as you, father,” she rebuked. “They have actually helped him a great deal.”

“How so?” Shards of sunlight cut through the cloudy ceiling as they made their way through the mountainous corridors to her libraries.

“They used to muddy my sand pits to build castles but now they’ve taken to molding the sands into words for him. The spontaneity and company has hastened his progress a great deal. When was the last time you saw him?”

“One can’t be sure,” he evaded.

“That disaster of a gathering was a long time ago,” she reiterated for him. “Do you know how much time has passed? He is a man now.”

“His mind was always leagues ahead of his body. This makes no difference.”

“Because he lives with us,” she countered, and gripped his elbow to bring them to a halt. “I have taught him numbers as well as letters, papa.”

Zeus’s expression hardened. “Speak plainly.”

“It is only a matter of time before he calculates how old he is.”

“He has nothing to compare that number to,” Zeus reminded.

“Yes he does,” she uttered. “When he knows his age and sees his reflection compared to ours, coupled with other humans’, he will see that he ages slowly but surely.”

“He will not compare himself to other—” Zeus bristled, but Athena cut him off.

“There it is.” Her owl fluttered to her shoulder and nestled in the crook of her neck and jaw. “Father, you expect to keep him here even though in his entire life he has been made aware that he is not like us. Even so, he will read stories of men dying with a small number of years, numbers he has already surpassed, but then he will see himself aging. Slower, perhaps, than the rest of his kind, but nonetheless he will never be like us. You have trapped him in an in-between state, placed him on a timeline that is longer than a human’s but shorter than ours. You have made it so you can watch him grow at your leisure, and live just so. Your selfishness makes you believe you can watch and freeze his age if you want, but we both know how much trouble that would cause. How many immortals have wanted the same privilege for their loved ones but been denied?”

“I thought Pandora’s box was on earth, daughter,” he said quietly, a tone he adopted in times of intense thought as well as danger. “Why have you created another and given him the key?”

“I may have given him the key but you created the box,” she countered, “It is his right to open it.”

“Not if it causes him mental and physical harm,” he declared. “You might have saved him from knowing any of this.”

“He asked me,” she uttered darkly. “If he was truly ignorant he never would have asked me to teach him. Do not place blame on me when each and every one of us is responsible for reminding him of what he is and where he comes from.”

“You are not wrong but you are playing with more fire than Hephaestus,” Zeus warned.

“Who taught him to weld?” she grinned maliciously.

“Do not pretend like we are threads on your loom,” her father glared over her.

“Then don’t act like he is a fluffy cloud for you to play with in your skies,” she returned. She retreated and waved a hand at him. “I have Athenians to govern. Do not topple my library’s shelves in spite.”

He watched the pair of owls dart through the columns and out of sight. With her words simmering in his mind, he rounded the last bend in the corridor and entered the space that was all golden light and white stone. Tomes stood sentinel as he passed along the inner circle where the water lapped at the shore of marble. It occurred to him that Athena had quite a few sand pits in here, but the songs of water nymphs led him to the one he wanted. The ladies giggled and ducked under the water when he approached, but the youth lying on his stomach with his elbows propped on a book was oblivious.

“So this is why there is sand in my quarters.”

Ganymede startled, his palms slamming on the pages in the attempt to rise but Zeus was already kneeling over him so his head bumped the god's clavicle. Zeus breathed him in. “Your hair has grown quite long. You’ve had to tie it back.”

He settled on his hip beside Ganymede, his arm propped in the sand on the opposite side of his cupbearer. The latter pivoted to look up at him. “Do you want the rooms cleaned, my king?”

Zeus shook his head. “The wind’s already cleared it away by now. Are you not warm in this?”

He gave Ganymede’s garment a tug: a crimson long-sleeve shirt over his customary trousers that were riding up his shins with his new height. Zeus observed this as Ganymede explained, “The sun burns me.”

“Ah,” Zeus nodded. “Helios must be pleased to have longer days to ride his chariot. I should have thought of this. Your cheeks are quite pink.”

“I don’t mind,” Ganymede assured. He turned back to his book even while clouds moved over them and cast the white sand in a grey light. He felt Zeus’s fingertips push into the confines of his hair and pull the leather band free. The weight of his hair tumbled over his shoulder blades, straightening what would have otherwise been sleepy cowlicks and rumples.

“Shall I trim it?”

One of those shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Either way…I don’t mind.”

Zeus’s form was statuesque behind him. “That is unlike you... Where are our conversations? I long for your opinions. Do not pretend that you do not have any. I’m sorry for leaving you alone for so long. I had matters to attend to.”

“I know,” Ganymede said. “I like reading. I’m not bothered.”

“Hmmm,” Zeus hummed, disgruntled. He looked over Ganymede’s head at the words on the pages. “Athena has accused me of neglecting you.”

Ganymede’s head swiveled toward him. “I never said that! I never felt—”

His words were cut short by Zeus’s laughter. “I know, I know. You’ve never been one to complain of anything…but your eyes tell me you are wary of me. Why is that?”

Those irises were more green than brown today, and they averted from him. “I didn’t mean to anger or disappoint you.”

“Do I look disappointed?” He moved the flesh of his face around, puckering his lips. “I need to control this better. I’m not disappointed in the slightest.”

“Angry then,” Ganymede declared.

Zeus’s expression settled into something somber, denied the reaction he wanted. Athena was right: Ganymede had grown out of his naivety. “Not because of you.”

Gany’s eyes lifted. “It’s spring. Is it not Demeter?”

His chest lifted with breath. “No, finally. Only another war below, and my brother.”

Ganymede rolled over, settling his head on the king’s thigh and all ears. Zeus’s fingers began to tread through those dark honey waves. “A bored immortal is a dangerous thing. It is part of the reason my father went mad. In Poseidon’s case…he has turned his eyes to Athena’s city since he knows she will defend it with ingenuity. It isn’t the first time and it will not be the last. It brews a nuisance for me every time, though, hearing the prayers and smelling the incense of women wanting blessings for their men, and men wanting the strength to protect their children. It is not a simple thing for me to grant them what they want.”

“Is this not an issue between Athena and Poseidon?” Ganymede inquired. “Why do the people of Athens not pray to one of them?”

“Because I am the father of one and the brother of the other,” he elaborated in a sigh. The skin around his eyes slowly darkened and sank, finally revealing his fatigue. This thumb lightly dragged between Ganymede’s eyes before his hand went through his hair. “Apparently they believe I will play mediator.”

Ganymede’s giggles pulled a smile from him. “They don’t know Athena or Poseidon very well.”

“Too true,” Zeus agreed. “Like trying to step between two wolves who believe they are the kings of the same bone.”

“I’ve never seen wolves,” Ganymede said.

“Misunderstood creatures,” Zeus answered. “You’ve seen Ares’ dogs?”

“I’ve only heard them. You make him leave them outside of the palace, on earth. They howl up at the sky and snarl at each other.”

“Dogs can be trained for domesticity or war, and my son prefers the latter. Wolves are the ancestors of dogs and too noble to be crafted for our use. They mind their business and look after their packs.”

“I’d like to see them,” Ganymede voiced before he quickly amended, “or read about them.”

Zeus eyed him and ventured, “If I brought one here, would you be afraid?”

Dark lashes lifted to see him. “Not if you were here, but would it not be unhappy to be separated from its pack?”

Zeus read through his words. “We cannot go to them. It is dangerous to see them in their own land. They are territorial animals.”

Those eyes averted to the sky beyond. “No wonder you used them for comparison. What is Poseidon doing to the city?”

“For once it’s not his fault other than being a pitiful loser in competition. The Athenians have built a Parthenon in Athena’s honor but the decoration is a carved narrative of her accomplishments: including her victory over Pos during the city’s founding. He would prefer for his failure to not be praised, but I fear his pride will be the catalyst to a rash decision. Athena is able to ignore small slights but what she judges as small, may not match to my brother’s definition.”

“Will you have to step between them, then?”

Zeus smiled down at him. “Would you attend my wounds if I did?”

“Would you have any?” Ganymede countered, causing Zeus to guffaw.

“From my brother and daughter, no, but from my grandmother, most certainly since the earth would suffer from such a war.”

“Your grandmother?”

“Oh yes,” he nodded. “Gaia still lives. She wanders elsewhere in the universe, but she always cradles her creations, and I would rather not draw her attention back here.”

“What will be done?” Ganymede redirected.

“Unless tensions escalate, nothing. There will be some damage among the humans, but it will end with just that.”

“Some deaths are all right but where is the line between ‘some’ and ‘too many’?”

“To be honest,” Zeus said after a deep inhalation, “it would depend on the humans involved. Apollo was grievous but understanding when Hyacinthus passed. His sister was not as accommodating with Orion. Putting him among the stars appeased her but when demigods or companions are in danger, some sort of control must be placed on the amount of damage. As of right now there is only one human who might be a threat…”

“For Poseidon or Athena?”

“Athena.”

Ganymede’s head shifted. “Athena has a companion?”

Zeus’s gaze was far away, possibly spying on the human in question. “Not a companion but…one she admires. A young woman by the name of Pallas, but I think Athena is like her brother in that she will grieve, but not behave rashly as a result of her death.”

His eyes closed suddenly as breath rushed out of him. Ganymede watched a hand lift to the scar on his forehead and temple. “I adore that bird brain but she has been giving me a headache since her conception.”

Ganymede sat up and scooted away before he pulled on Zeus’s shoulders. The god pliantly fell into his lap. Far off in the pond, the naiads were singing a soothing melody as the pads of Ganymede’s thumbs pressed circles between his eyes, and worked their way along his hairline and temples. His other fingers dragged through the dark hair, sending pleasant tingles to the other side of the ache. The king’s lips parted with his sigh; long, dark lashes rested on his cheekbones, heavy with trust.

“You are ever good to me, Gany.”

“Should I not be?” he wondered quietly, to not enrage his headache further.

“Depends whom you ask,” Zeus chuckled.

“What would they say?”

The king was silent for a time, at the mercy of Ganymede’s fingers. “That I am evil, distracted…wanton and foolish.”

“Hopefully not all at the same time,” the youth uttered, causing Zeus’s eyes to open while a smile curved his lips.

“It is a comfort to know I have not reached that depth of monstrosity. Would you tell me if I ever reached such a place?”

“If Athena doesn’t do it first,” he smiled.

Zeus reached up to hold the side of his head. “She favors you as well, but Poseidon is not brazen enough to touch you.”

“If he did?” Ganymede asked.

“The gods would go thirsty,” a different voice answered; a familiar, throaty female voice. Ganymede doubled over in his best attempt at a bow given the circumstances, which resulted in his hair hanging over Zeus’s stomach. Hera came to the sand’s edge. “Poseidon cannot risk all of Olympus crashing over his foolish head. What is my lazier half doing?”

“Enjoying a view of fabric,” came his reply. He pushed Ganymede back up so he could meet his wife’s gaze. “Do you have need of me?”

“Your sons are competing again,” she informed as if it was his fault.

“Please tell me you mean Hermes and Apollo.” Zeus made no move to rise off of Ganymede until further information was given.

Hera scoffed, “Yes, Hermes and Apollo, and be glad you only have to judge who plays the lyre best. Sort them out before Dionysus mistakes their racket for a festival.”

“Would that be the worst thing?” Zeus teased.

Her expression sharpened. “Either you can sort it out, or I will.”

Without further ado, the king heaved himself up. “A king to all except his queen.”

Ganymede ducked his chin to hide his smile but his eyes watched Zeus drape an arm around Hera’s waist as they strolled from the library. He turned his head to the nymphs frolicking in the water, oblivious of everyone except each other—

“Lonely?”

Ganymede’s neck hurt when it swiveled in the other direction to find Eros gazing up at him where he lay on his stomach. For a moment they simply stared at one another, Ganymede unsure how to proceed and Eros refraining from counting his freckles.

“I’m sorry my mother threatened you. I suppose from a retrospective point of view, I am to blame. She was the first victim to my arrows.”

Ganymede blinked dumbly. “You shot your mother?”

“Well…yeah,” Eros stated bluntly. “I needed an ally in this place and I knew I wouldn’t get help from my father. I’m not like my siblings.”

Ganymede was not sure which to think about: how someone had managed to shoot Aphrodite with an arrow of any kind, or how Ares could have possibly contributed to the making of a god of love. He chose a different route: “Who are your siblings?”

“Oh, you know,” Eros began, twisting to lie on his back. “Deimos and Phobos, otherwise known as terror and fear.”

“I don’t know,” Ganymede corrected.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Eros laughed merrily, causing Ganymede to frown at the contradiction. “They’re not allowed up here; not like they would have any interest in a peaceful spot on a mountain tucked away in the clouds, any how. Makes existence much better for me.”

Ganymede chose to nod along. “And…how long were you here?”

“The whole time,” he chimed. “Zeus is besotted with you and I didn’t have to do anything. Hopefully Hera won’t catch the hint…blaring in its blatancy though it is. She’s strong but not too swift in the mental arena. Don’t tell her I said that.”

“So I’ve heard,” Ganymede returned quietly.

Eros propped himself up. “Aw, no really. I’ve never seen him…gentle… He didn’t just walk in and name himself king, after all. There was kind of a problem with a bloke eating everything.”

“I know,” the other nodded. “He has scars.”

Eros shot all the way up and was boring into Ganymede’s eyes. “You’ve seen them? What are they like?”

Ganymede’s jaw went slack as his mind tried to fill it with words. “I—Wha—uh, you haven’t seen them? They’re kind of obvious.”

“Sure, sure, on his back, but I haven’t seen them up close! What are they like?”

Even after holding Zeus’s head in his lap, Ganymede had never experienced having a god’s full attention focused on him, and he was not entirely sure what to do with it. “They’re just…a bite mark, only much larger; like the craters your teeth make when you try to bite into fruit but don’t finish the bite.”

“How much larger?”

Ganymede frowned. “You could tell from far away, couldn’t you? They take up half his back, an entire shoulder blade. His shoulders are a bit wider up close.”

Eros’ expression changed dramatically, then, and he nudged Ganymede’s ribs. “I’m sure they are, and what a delicious weight to have over you.”

“What? He’s really heavy…”

“Never mind. What are you going to do now?”

Ganymede pulled the book to him and shook it free of sand. “I meant to finish this chapter, and I need to put the books bac—”

Eros’ palm flattened the book back into the sand. “Not that. About Zeus!”

“What about him?”

Eros flopped as if he needed a moment to lament the innocence of the situation. “I’m not saying Zeus is above traditional courtship, but I think in your case, to do the bed sport, you’ll need to do a little…dance of seduction, shall we say.”

“Seduce towards what?”

Eros’ brow furrowed so deeply his eyes squinted in perplexity. “Toward pastries—what do you think we’re talking about?”

The moment it dawned on Ganymede’s face, he just as quickly darkened. “You and your mother both keep…keep…assuming that I want something. That Zeus wants something of me when he’s never made any sort of…declaration or advancement toward me.”

The furrow lifted and Eros gazed at him with new eyes. “I like to think of myself as an expert, but this requires an additional opinion. Come! Leave the book.”

Ganymede gaped at the youth springing to his feet and already sprinting out of the sandpit. “Where are we—I have to put this back!”

“Finish reading later!” Eros called back. “Living is more educational!”

Unable to deny the order of a god, Ganymede scrambled to his feet and ran after him. Checking to make sure he had the cupbearer in tow, Eros howled with laughter and led the way to the edge of the palace, toward the terraces of Dionysus. Ganymede recognized their destination because of the vines of grapes climbing up the pillars and the various trees standing sentinel on every corner. The god of wine preferred to live in a forest but with the finery of a palace so he had taken the liberties of customizing this wing to his needs.

The laughter and music of satyrs and nymphs began to trickle through the air, the marble giving way to carpets of grass and flowers beneath their feet. But when they turned the corner to the lounge that opened toward the terrace, it was far from a musical performance they found.

“Eros!” Dionysus greeted, his head perking up from between the legs of a nymph. “And the cupbearer! Lovely! These drunkards keep spilling my juices.”

Eros skipped into the room, plucking a flower from one of the shrubs to place in his ear. “He’s not here to serve, Dion, he’s here to observe. The rules of uncle’s house are more prudent than yours, so I thought a breath of fresh air would do him good.”

Dionysus laughed, “I can’t guarantee how fresh the air is down here.”

“Ah!” the nymph screamed indignantly, hitting him over the head. The result was knocking his mouth back onto her groin, to which he hummed with gratitude.

Ganymede stuck to Eros’ side as the latter popped grapes into his mouth. “What is he doing?”

“Licking, sucking, a little biting if she prefers,” Eros shrugged.

“Why?” Ganymede grimaced.

“Because if you do it long enough, she gets a very delicious feeling,” Eros chuckled.

“From biting?” Ganymede exclaimed in a whisper.

Eros’ hand wobbled in the air until he swallowed. “Different people, different likings. Don’t base the concept of sex on what nymphs like. They’re all a little…” His hand wiggled in the air even more, as if that was supposed to mean something.

Suddenly one of the satyrs collided with Eros’ side, hugging him around the middle while his hooves tramped an excited step on the floor. “Who’s he?” he chimed, looking Ganymede up and down.

“He’s Zeus’s,” Eros made by way of introduction. He moved his arm out of the way of the satyr’s small, curved horn points. “Watch what you do with those horns.”

“Why’s he not with Zeus?” the young satyr continued, craning his neck to ask Eros instead of the youth in question. This might have been for the better: Ganymede was noticing a trending lack of personal space.

“Because our king is rusty on courtship tactics,” Eros teased. “He seems to think distance makes the heart grow fonder.”

The young, handsome face of the satyr scrunched in a grimace. “Did Athena knock some of his brains loose?”

Dionysus’ nymph shuddered and writhed, arresting Ganymede’s attention for a moment before he jerked his head back in Eros’ direction. The satyr noticed. “He’s never cum before. Why don’t we—”

Within an instant, Eros held the satyr at an arm’s length away from them. “Unless you want your head to decorate Hephaestus’ smithy, you won’t touch him. Understood?”

“Now, now,” Dionysus intervened, freed from his companion’s grip. He enveloped the satyr in a hug, deceptively holding him at bay and also bestowing his protection from Eros. “Forgive my little goat, he’s drunk. Then again, so is everyone else here. Shall we speak outside?”

This time Ganymede led the way under the arches and into the open air. “What’s this about?” Dionysus began.

Eros and Ganymede exchanged glances before the former explained, “It seems we all know our king’s baser nature except this one. How, when it comes to keeping a toga cinched tight, Zeus foregoes clothing altogether, if you understand?”

Dionysus guffawed as he drank…water, Ganymede noticed. “Sure, sure. I am a product of said ‘baser nature.’”

“I know he’s not loyal in that way to Hera,” Ganymede intercepted.

This time Eros and Dionysus shared a silent dialogue, to which the latter finished, “I understand. Let’s ignore Zeus for a moment and focus on you, then.”

Ganymede did not know how to feel under the scrutiny of Eros and Dionysus. First he was interacting with a sober god of wine and now he was discussing his knowledge of sex. All he’d wanted to do this morning was read.

“What do you think your phallus is for?” Dionysus commenced.

“That’s not fair,” Eros intervened. “It has many purposes.”

“A hint, then,” the former provided, “things other than urinating.”

“For…” Ganymede ventured warily, “making children.”

“Bravo,” Dionysus and Eros clapped. “But children are work. Children cry and scream and drool. They piss and shit just like adults but with more liberty.”

Eros peered at him from the side. “Don’t you have children?”

“And I love them as much as my grapes,” Dionysus pledged with a hand on his chest, “but I loved making them even more, which leads me to my next point: sex feels good.”

“Sex feels great.” Eros seconded.

Dionysus pointed to Ganymede’s pelvis. “The making of children is your phallus’s last chore. It’s first priority is pleasure.”

“But not your own,” Eros reiterated.

“Oh no, no no no,” Dionysus grimaced in agreement. “Never your own. A thorough lover uses their prick for their partner. That’s why Zeus has a notorious reputation: he’s selfish. He’s a thousand year old, green boy when it comes to sex.”

“That’s not to say sex with him is bad,” Eros defended.

Dionysus amended, “We wouldn’t know, but the nymphs adore him.”

“When they can get him,” Eros laughed.

“He has been quite reclusive of late, hasn’t he?” Dionysus wondered aloud.

“Oh, we’re overwhelming him,” Eros noticed Ganymede’s blunt expression.

Dionysus ran a hand through his dark brown curls and nodded, “Right. Your phallus—”

“Could we not talk about mine?” Ganymede interrupted.

“If you can’t talk about it, you’re not ready to use it,” Dionysus countered gently.

“Who said I want to use it?” he uttered.

Both Eros’ and Dionysus’ jaws dropped. “Why wouldn’t you?” they demanded.

“Hold on,” the latter waved a hand to silence the discussion. “We’re going about this all wrong. Tonight, perhaps in the bath or in your bed, put a hand between your legs and explore. Rub a little to get it standing, and do it as long as it feels good, make it feel too good, and then keep rubbing. You know you’ve done it right if fluid comes out. We will adjourn until you have more of an understanding of an orgasm.”

Ganymede appeared horrified. “Fluid?”

Dionysus grinned. “You must give a woman something to work with if she is to make a child. Just wipe it up and throw it with the washing.”

Eros nodded. “We would help you through the first one, but well…”

“We’d like to keep our hands,” the other finished for him.

“Or mouth, in your case,” Eros taunted.

“Indeed. I very much like my head, let’s keep it on.” He ruffled his hair again and peered around their view. “What a lovely day. Since we have until nightfall, what are your usual daily tasks?”

Ganymede considered that and answered, “Depending on the day… I must tidy the library and Zeus’s chambers.”

“Athena gets the perks too?” Dionysus scowled.

“No, she’s teaching me to read and,” he sent a mild but accusatory look at Eros, “we left her library in bit of a mess.”

“Careful,” Dionysus warned. “Once you know the letters, she’ll have you manage the entire place.”

Something unexpectedly heavy lifted in Ganymede’s chest. “I wouldn’t mind. I enjoy reading.”

“Ahh,” the god hummed through a smile. “Quite a little secretary, you are. Perhaps you can help me briefly.”

“What?” Eros followed behind them along the terrace and down a set of stairs to the floor below. “Dion, you still haven’t sorted those out?”

“Sort what out?” Ganymede asked as he found himself in Dionysus’ private quarters. It was not unlike the lounge upstairs, but much cleaner and empty apart from the three of them. The god certainly favored red and purple fabrics apart from his floral arrangements.

“I’ve tried to get my servants to do it, but—”

“Those satyrs are too drunk to clean their own assholes,” Eros scoffed. “How do you expect them to sort your seeds?”

“One would think they might share the same devotion to their drink as I do,” Dionysus sassed before directing their attention to a large table with a recessed surface so it was ultimately a massive dish full of tiny seeds. Thousands of seeds.

Ganymede’s eyes widened. “You…want me to sort these?”

“I take back what I said,” Eros chimed. “The satyrs aren’t drunk, they’re ingenious. Dion, you can’t expect anyone to willingly sort these. You yourself have put it off for so long, that’s why there are so many.”

“It’s not my fault there are so many different breeds of grape!” the god refuted, although he sounded quite proud about it. “The humans have begun this sort of cross-breeding practice with plants for sweeter or tarter grapes, a more bountiful harvest. It’s marvelous!”

“Fine, but this isn’t collecting, it’s hoarding,” Eros scolded. “Just plant them somewhere and place bets on how the wine will taste.”

Dionysus went from boisterously proud to stoic with thought. After a long moment he murmured, “What an idea. It’ll have my satyrs occupied for decades. I like it.”

Ganymede sent a grateful look to Eros, who winked behind Dionysus’ back. The owner of seeds uttered bluntly, “Don’t think I didn’t see that. Some friend you are, but bring him back once he’s done with his chores.”

“Am I your servant now?” Eros rebuked on their way up the stairs.

“If the hooves fit!” Dionysus called after him.

“What does he want with me?” Ganymede asked as they rushed through the rooms of dancing satyrs and nymphs before they pulled Eros back for pleasantries.

“Hard to say with Dion,” Eros considered. “But I know he is already planning the festivals for his City Dionysia.”

“What’s that?”

Eros laughed, some sort of dark humor threaded in it that he was not disclosing. “In a word: a treat. More elaborately, a few days in which plays are performed in our honor, or more specifically Dion’s. Theatre by day, wine by night, and Dion loves to sneak inside his own parties.”

“Are you going?” Ganymede asked as they returned to the library.

“Oh yes,” Eros grinned. “Wine breeds romance, after all. I’ll have my fun.”

“What is theatre?” Ganymede wondered. He had a broom in hand and was sweeping sand back into the pit. During Eros’ silence, he picked up the book he had been reading and shook out the sand as he noticed Eros’ dark green eyes on him.

“It’s story telling,” Eros responded after another moment. “It’s like reading your books, only having the story told to you, reenacted in front of your eyes.”

Ganymede’s hands twisted restlessly on the broom handle. “And it happens over several days?”

A wistful smile pulled at Eros’ mouth. “Oh yes.”

He watched Ganymede ponder that for a long while, and longer still as he recommenced his sweeping and the return of the book to its shelf. He told the cupbearer to return to the library after he had finished with Zeus’s rooms, which proved to be only minutes.

“You’re good,” Eros commended as Ganymede ran to him, his cheeks ruddy from exertion.

“I don’t want…” he breathed, “Dionysus waiting.”

Eros snorted a wet sound in the back of his throat as he waved the notion away. “If he can wait for fruit to ferment he can wait for you.”

“Thank you,” the youth replied as they turned in the right direction. This was not what Eros expected and he voiced as much.

“For what?”

“For waiting for me,” Ganymede smiled. “To be honest, I didn’t expect you to stay.”

This gave the god pause. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugged as he retied his hair. “Because no one else would.” Eros was silent once more, causing Ganymede to peer at him. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” he answered immediately. “I’m deciding whether you think ill of us or you’re just being honest.”

Ganymede halted where the columns of vines began. Eros pivoted to see him exclaim, “I didn’t mean any offen—”

“I know. That’s why I’ve decided on the latter,” he cut off. “I see why he admires you.”

Before Ganymede could think through that and reply, they were in Dionysus’ room and were encompassed in sound. A chorus of nymphs sang with the melodies of the satyrs’ lutes and lyres while the god himself beat upon a drum. The room was buzzing with dancers and laughter, a livelier gathering than Zeus typically hosted. Ganymede found his place by the fountain on the far side of the room which was a four tiered structure where each basin was a wide shell. From the top poured rosé, and then white, followed by red, and then the bottom basin caught it all. The white and rosé blanched the red so the final solution was a powerful pink concoction in which everyone was dipping their goblets and cups. There was not a pitcher or carafe for the cupbearer to hold, so he found himself standing idly by the fountain.

He was watching Eros borrow one of the lyres to sway a nymph’s attentions when he was startled by someone uttering behind him, “You do know you’re a guest here?”

Ganymede clutched his chest to calm his heart rate. “My lord?”

“You’re Zeus’s cupbearer,” Dionysus surprised him, both in words and nudity. “You don’t have to pour for anyone but him.”

Ganymede kept his eyes on the god’s face. “The gods command me to.”

Dionysus smiled like he knew a secret as he leaned in to murmur for his ears alone, “They take advantage of your kindness.”

“My kindness?” Ganymede wondered. “It’s not my kindness they must impose on.”

That smile widened. “Yes it is,” he said with mirth in his voice. “He who fills the king’s cup is not to be trifled with.”

Ganymede stared at him and tried to gauge whether or not the wine god had partaken from his fountain. “If this is a jape, it is a cruel one. If I refuse anyone, they will drink from my hollowed skull.”

Dionysus threw his head back, guffawing to the ceiling the same time a lyre collided with his head. Ganymede flinched, ready to duck his head should any other instruments come flying, but Eros admitted to the action immediately. “Stop bullying him, Dion!” he yelled from across the room.

Fueled by his anger, the wine of the fountain spewed forth. The party members were hardly bothered and screamed with glee while Ganymede covered his ears against the deluge. The white of his trousers splattered with red to match his shirt.

“You piece of—” Dionysus bristled.

“Ambrosia,” Eros finished for him. “I know you wouldn’t dare insult me.”

“I’ll do more than that,” the other growled, coming toward him like a predator. It was in that moment that Ganymede heard a distinct rumble that was unlike any he had heard. Turning his head toward the sound, his hazel eyes widened on the large head of a creature rising from a relaxed position on the other side of the fountain. How he had failed to notice such a creature, he did not know: its fur was a unique shade of orange while its underbelly was white as the clouds and wonky stripes danced across its body. Its tail was nearly as long as its body as it prowled forward, passing by a statuesque Ganymede in order to join his master.

The cupbearer cast his wide eyes upward and pointed down at the creature, whose tail flicked and brushed his trouser leg in passing. “What is this?” he whispered.

Eros heard him and Dionysus followed his cousin’s gaze before resting a hand on that large beast’s head. “That’s his tiger,” the former introduced. “Just as naughty as his owner.”

“Did you think my animal familiar was my grapes?” Dionysus chuckled, the tension diffusing. The tiger groaned again, that rumbling voice resonating again as he tilted his head for his master to scratch along his ears.

Eros came around to stand with Ganymede. “He has a thing for cats. There should be a cheetah somewhere around here…she’s probably hunting mother’s doves again.”

Eros simply held his hand out, and the tiger turned tail and came to his touch. “Traitor,” Dionysus growled, but not angrily. He fell amongst the cushions and nymphs lounging on the floor as Ganymede felt himself pushed with the weight of the tiger leaning into him. He quickly obliged with scratches along his neck, giving attention to every place the animal directed until his weight overcame Ganymede and he slumped on the floor with the tiger atop him.

“Traitor,” Dionysus uttered again as his tiger rolled on its back, simultaneously heavy on Ganymede’s legs and opening his body for scratches.

Eros’ lower lip puckered as his eyebrows lifted in assessment. “You’ve got a way with beasts. Don’t expect a wild animal to give its throat to you easily.”

“Ah!” Dionysus cried, rolling over to bury his face in a surprised nymph’s lap. “Traitor!”

“Only because you’re so annoying,” Eros rebuked. Looking back down at Ganymede, he declared, “You can probably leave any time…if you can get up.”

The youth was busy giggling as the tiger licked his face, an attempt at camaraderie grooming but thoroughly mussing Ganymede’s hair. With the newfound company, he did not mind the music and festivities. It was only when a lithe, speckled feline that must be the cheetah entered from the terrace, that Ganymede realized that hours had passed and it was now twilight. The tiger rose from his lap to rejoin his companion as Ganymede stood as well—

Heat flushed between his shoulder blades, jarring him with the summons of a king. Ganymede looked to Dionysus and Eros, the latter of whom waved farewell to him from where he played his lyre…the former was busy in a nymph’s lap and did not notice him leave.

Ganymede knew where to go, and soon bowed deeply in Zeus’s private bath. “My king.”

There was the slight rustle of water in the air as he heard, “Join me, Gany.”

Straightening, Ganymede found that Zeus had not turned to look at him. The tone of his voice was fatigued, his knuckles pressed to his lips in thought. Ganymede was pushing his trousers off when he realized he could not be naked in front of the god. Righting his raiment, he kneeled behind Zeus in the bath and reached for the soap, but when he dipped it into the water for suds, the god did not move. “My king?”

Zeus inhaled sharply. “Yes…” he voiced as if coming out of a reverie. “Attend me—”

He looked on either side of him but did not find Ganymede in the water with him and turned around to cast a bewildered look upon the cupbearer’s appearance. “What happened to you?”

Ganymede’s laugh suspended Zeus’s anger as he touched his mess of hair. “I met Dionysus’ tiger…and there was a mishap with the wine fountain. He didn’t seem to mind, though.”

Zeus’s fatigue faded into a warm smile. “No, he wouldn’t, would he? Come here.”

Ganymede opened his mouth to speak but Zeus’s arms were already closed around his waist, pulling him into the water. Ganymede felt the god’s face press into his chest for the briefest of moments before he was set down and Zeus turned around for him to wash his back. Ganymede’s fingers slid over the darker crescents of skin in the wake of the soap, feeling the indentions of scar tissue before pushing the soap up his neck. Zeus’s head obligingly tipped forward, expanding his nape as Ganymede lathered soap for his hair.

“Was Apollo and Hermes’ competition that tiresome?” he ventured.

Zeus’s shoulders lifted in a single laugh, as if he was surprised by his own mirth. “No, love. I would have preferred to listen to their music all day. They always start in competition and end in harmonizing together. No…I was wrong. Pallas is dead.”

Ganymede’s fingers paused in the thick tresses. “Dead?”

Zeus answered by lifting his head so far he leaned back on Ganymede, who removed his hands so he could take the god’s weight. Zeus reclined into him and Ganymede combed the hair off his forehead. “I spoke too soon…the strife between Poseidon and Athena is deeper than I imagined, and I’ve forgotten how ruthless my brother can be.”

“What happened?” Ganymede asked, his fingers continuing to comb Zeus’s hair back in lazy pulls.

“Pos created an adversary Athena could not defeat. Herself.”

Ganymede’s fingers slowly stopped. “I don’t understand,” he said quietly.

Zeus inhaled deeply and said, “Pallas and Athena played together as children, trained together… Pallas is Poseidon’s granddaughter. I never thought that he would use her.”

“Why would he?” Ganymede wondered. “Is his pride that fragile?”

Zeus was quiet for a moment as he contemplated that. “He wanted to draw the score even. He planted an idea in Pallas’s head to challenge Athena to various athletic challenges…however this drew an audience. Even in her human form, the humans recognized such skill could only belong to a certain goddess. Their duel escalated into an accident but the deed was done. Athena killed her and now even the wisest of gods is known to make mistakes.”

Ganymede scooped water over Zeus’s hair. “How is Athena?”

“Grieving, as expected. She’s made a structure in Pallas’s honor…”

Slender but strong arms folded over his chest as Ganymede embraced him. “I’m sorry for your grand-niece. Will Hades take care of her?”

Zeus blinked, caught off-guard by the consoling words. A mirthless puff of air escaped him as his hands closed over Ganymede’s. “I’m sure. Hades never cared for our squabbles, and he is good about treating the members of his kingdom equally. Pallas is in good hands. Now tell me about this wine fountain incident.”

Leaving out the detail of Eros’ involvement, Ganymede told him how Dionysus made the wine surge from the spouts because a lyre was thrown at his head. Tension removed, Zeus’s laughter boomed across the water. The air in Ganymede’s lungs was jarringly pushed out with each heave of laughter from the god on him. When Zeus settled down, one of his hands fell under the water to Ganymede’s bare ankle. For a long moment, his fingers encircled the joint, feeling how the shin narrowed to the bulb of anklebone and then sloped over the top of his foot.

Then he pulled on the cinched hem of the pant leg, his power extending the fabric to a proper length to accommodate his growth spurt. Ganymede’s weight shifted behind him. “That isn’t necessary, I don’t mind.”

As if he had not heard him, Zeus said, “I’ll have Athena weave new garments for you. She could use the distraction.”

Trying not to sound rushed, Ganymede voiced, “Something lighter? Summer is coming, my king.”

“You’ll need the protection from longer hours of sunlight,” the king disregarded.

“Most of the palace is covered—” he tried but Zeus pivoted to face him.

“Gany,” he silenced. Suddenly the weight was gone and he was rising out of the bath. Ganymede briefly followed the scars only to tear his eyes back to the water’s surface. He did not need to see the god disappear—

“Come.”

His head whirled around, shocked to find the king tying his floor length toga, giving him time to get out of the bath. Ganymede ducked into the water, rushing his hands through his hair to rinse it and then lumbered over the edge. He gave the legs and waist of his clothing a twist to rid it of water and moved carefully over the floor. Upon entering his rooms, Ganymede took a slow burning oil lamp kept near the entrance and went around the room, lighting the tapers standing on the sconces.

The wind was calm tonight, the drapery around the room fluttering like afterthoughts. Ganymede set the lamp down where his room branched off and returned to make sure the ornate table beside the king’s bed was laden with anything he could need. A dish of various sweets was covered by a glass bell, the small, glass carafe of nectar was full and Ganymede went ahead and filled a cup as he followed Zeus to where he stood on the balcony—

“Ough!” he cried, caught on one of the many carpets in the room. By some turn of irony, he managed to land on his stomach with the cup barely spilt, but the carafe crashed. Glass and nectar sprayed across the terrace, the furthest drops touching Zeus’s heels.

Eyes wide like the moon above them, Ganymede foundered to his feet but the air had been knocked out of his lungs. “I’m,” he choked, “sorry, I'll…clean…”

“No no no.” Zeus caught him where he swayed on his feet and held him steady. One of his hands gestured to the spill, and Ganymede cringed. He had not spilled a single drop in years, could not recall ever breaking anything…

“Look,” Zeus exclaimed, catching Ganymede off guard. He followed the line of his hand but did not understand, and he said as much. “Do you see the way the light rests on it?” Zeus elaborated. “It appears almost like…milk.”

Suddenly he let go of Ganymede and gestured in the air as if he wanted to scoop the nectar up, and throw it into the sky. Thing is, he did exactly that. Off the floor the nectar flew, arching as he dictated and shooting so far Ganymede could not see it anymore until the seamless dark blue, only broken by the ombre horizon, was alight with a long splotch of lighter blues and violets. The linear cloud bloomed and grew, twinkling with more stars than ever.

“HA HA!” Zeus beamed, just as quickly hoisting Ganymede off his feet and swinging him in celebration. “The humans will wonder, and let them!”

All Ganymede could do was throw his arms around Zeus’s neck and hold on. “Do you see it, Gany?” Zeus beckoned as he adjusted Ganymede’s position. Lifting him so he saw clear over the god’s head, Zeus’s arm curled under his rear, a makeshift seat.

“Yes,” the youth gasped, holding tight.

“Is that all?” Zeus guffawed, gazing up at him expectantly. “Does it need more? More color? Or too many stars?”

“Um,” Ganymede peeked at the sky but this was not his area of expertise. “It’s fine…you’re not angry?”

“I’m euphoric,” Zeus returned as he surveyed his work. “I forgot how much I enjoyed painting the sky. How it became a habit to mark the sky in honor of sorrows, I’ll never know, but it ends tonight. Are my pigments still in the chest?”

“By the bed? Yes, my king.”

Zeus’s gaze left the heavens and locked with Ganymede’s. “Do you remember when we painted together?”

“When you painted,” Ganymede corrected. “I was never skilled at it.”

“Nonsense.” Zeus carried him back inside. “You only considered yourself a more usable surface than the floor…you thought of yourself a more useful brush as well.”

“There is still blue pigment in the mortar of the floor…” Ganymede grumbled.

Zeus smiled as he set him down and opened the large chest at the foot of the bed. Covered jars of pigments rested underneath a mess of brushes and scrolls of canvas or paper. “Let’s add a bit more,” the king announced, promptly upending a jar of orange. The powders needed to be mixed with either an egg yolk or oil base but Ganymede watched as Zeus switched from pouring them out to outright smashing them on the areas of mosaic floor. Puffs of blue and violet wafted in the air, sticking to the water in his clothes. Like sands of dead stars and dried tears of rainbows they fell, and slithered over the king’s foot as he pushed through them. His fingers reached for Ganymede, sliding over his scalp to push his hair back. Ganymede bowed his head to him as the king pulled the leather thong from the youth’s wrist and bound the hair.

“Show me the tiger.”

Ganymede looked up inquiringly, to which Zeus reiterated, “Mold the colors to show me your day. How did wine spray from the fountain? What colors bloom in your mind when you remember Dionysus’s rooms? Show me.”

Ganymede blinked and looked around them, finding the orange. He bent for it, but realized it was wrong. Scooping the orange, he brought it over to the yellow, and then the red, trying to mix the right color of burnt warmth that was the fur. There was not any black, so he made the violet darker with blue. The closest to white was an incredibly light turquoise, but as he crafted the animal, Zeus sat beside him and threw pigment over it in sharp streaks, giving a better illusion of fur. The stripes were difficult because they were unlike anything Ganymede had ever seen, but Zeus sat partially behind him and leaned forward to add them himself.

“And the wine?” he insisted afterward. “How did it overflow?”

Ganymede gripped a handful of red that had mixed with the purple and threw it across the floor. “What do wolves look like?” he returned.

The corner of Zeus’s mouth turned up and he went about creating it. Next Ganymede crafted columns and threw green for the vines of green growing around them, and then Zeus made a vision of night fading into dawn, and somewhere amongst all of the color, Ganymede fell asleep.

He awoke to the touch of fingers playing with his ear, unconsciously tugging on his earlobe and sliding along the pinna, inhabiting the sensitive space behind his ear. His eyes opened to find Zeus sitting above him, but staring far away. The sun was rising, casting the room in varying shades of violet from where Ganymede saw it on Zeus’s thigh. The king’s leg was stretched out for him to lie upon, his other leg poised for his arm to rest on.

“You didn’t sleep?” he mumbled, clumsily rising.

Zeus turned to him as if he had not expected him to wake this early. He helped him up with a hand on his head and neck, but only so far as to pull him forward to press a kiss to his forehead. “I don’t sleep,” he answered softly, before looking once more toward the terrace and sky.

The sudden press of soft flesh between his brows left Ganymede dazed in the dawn haze, but his eyes slowly looked toward the massive bed. Zeus answered as if hearing his thoughts. “It is a silly, materialistic desire of mine, I know. Many believe a frame of wood or marble, a soft place to land is home.”

Ganymede turned that over in his mind, reading his king’s demeanor as he ventured, “Something replaceable doesn’t make a good home, does it?”

Zeus looked at him then with the same wide eyes Athena had when she was unexpectedly astonished. His gaze softened as he nodded. “It doesn’t make a home at all. Such visceral things are far more complex.”

He pushed the cowlicks off of Ganymede’s face. “May I trim this? I can barely see you.”

I’ve never seen the great Zeus apologize to anyone. Did the same apply to asking?

Ganymede banished these thoughts and nodded. The hands went through his hair, only this time he felt soft tresses tumble down his neck and saw them land in his lap. The familiar length of hair that dusted his brows was easily swept back, the waves of his hair hooking together to stay in place. His chestnut lashes lifted to find a warm smile upon him. “I did miss you,” Zeus said.

Suddenly, inexplicably, Ganymede felt the need to be closer, ached for it as one thirsts for water. Zeus’s eyes followed the path of Ganymede’s hand between his thighs, where the youth leaned in order to face him and pick at his toga; the excuse of adjusting his raiment to be closer. “You say that like you’re going to leave again.”

“No,” Zeus hummed, his hand finding a place in the bend of Ganymede’s waist. He watched with mild interest and amusement the hands plucking at his lightly dyed fabric: the grey of an overcast sky. Any other god would gawk at the notion of wearing such a drab color, but the gift from Athena made his eyes pop, made the brown of his hair as dark as a summer's evening despite the winter of his gaze…without the stains of multicolored pigment. “Humans need a break from immortal intervention. Do you mind taking care of this king again?”

“Of course not,” Ganymede groaned.

“Are you sure?” Zeus teased, leaning forward to rub his stubble against Ganymede’s face. “I remember being high maintenance.”

“Mm!” Ganymede exclaimed, his face scrunching against the insistent scrubbing of beard. “Is this necessary?”

“I just want you to be thoroughly sure of the company you’ll be keeping,” Zeus replied, the very voice of innocence.

“Have I ever voiced complaints?” A palm found its way on Zeus’s face and pushed.

Laughing, Zeus leaned back and said more somberly, “Hera wishes to spend the morning with me, but I must make myself presentable. Afterward, sweep what you can, but do not slave over it.”

Ganymede rose and followed him to the bath, where he simply sponged away the color from Zeus’s limbs and redressed him in a crimson toga before shaving. They would have matched but they parted ways and Ganymede used the bath before dressing in his customary pale linens and swept the bedroom floor.

Eventually he made his way to Athena’s library, but the goddess was absent. In her place, he found Eros playing his lyre for the water nymphs on the ledge of the sandpit. The water swirled around his ankles as he greeted Ganymede with a smile—and immediately frowned at how he bowed at the waist. “Good morning, my lord.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You and I weathered both the temper and smut of Dionysus. That creates a unique bond. Don’t pass off our time together as that of a master and servant.”

Ganymede stared at him, totally at a loss. “I’m sorry,” he said after a time.

“As you should be,” Eros completed and patted the area next to him. Ganymede obediently sat next to him, but not before Eros noticed the array of color on his toes. “Mind explaining?”

“Zeus remembered he had painting powders,” he provided.

Eros’ eyes lit up. “Oh, and how were the artistic endeavors of the flesh?”

Ganymede indignantly blushed, averting his gaze as he responded. “There weren’t any.”

“Why ever not?” demanded Dionysus, suddenly appearing on Ganymede’s other side. He dropped down onto the ledge, his feet entering the pond with a splash. He had clearly just risen from bed if his wiry curls were any indication. Ganymede glanced down at the splash but observed the fist-width of space separating him from the gods who sandwiched him.

“There wasn’t a chance. I was occupied all night. His majesty doesn’t sleep.”

Dionysus scoffed as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. “With so much time together you should have just asked for his assistance.”

Eros leaned forward to fix his cousin in a frown. “Why are you even up so early?”

“Today is the anniversary of my mother’s birth. It’s not enough that I stole her from the underworld and brought her up here, inciting the wrath of Hera—she demands my presence during this day every year. Speaking of, I should be going.”

“Your mother is here?” Ganymede hindered. “Why haven’t I seen her?”

“You have,” Dionysus corrected. “My cheetah. I couldn’t very well bring a former lover of Zeus up here, but today she can walk on two feet.”

Ganymede suspected it was Zeus’s suggestion to spend the morning with his wife instead of vice versa. He smiled, “Wish her good tidings for me.”

Dionysus was standing but he paused. “Tell her yourself. Eros, you coming?”

Eros feigned disinterest as he asked, “Will she make that vanilla custard thing?”

Dionysus glared at him through eyes at half-mast. “You’re asking a former princess to bake for you?”

“Semele loves me,” Eros snorted as he stood.

Ganymede trailed after them while Dionysus warned, “If any of your arrows so much as make an appearance, you’ll find one shoved where you can’t reach.”

The events of the previous day had been entirely transformed into a setting of cushions around platters of food and carafes of juice and water. On one of the largest cushions lounged the elegant cheetah, whose head lolled to attention. Dionysus pointed to a folded pile of fabric on the floor, which Ganymede bent to retrieve, but when he turned back around, a shockingly beautiful woman rested upon the cushion. Naked and ripe, she looked hardly older than her son, but a spinning image of him. They shared the same long but slim physique, delicate cheekbones and slanted eyes, but her hair was the same tawny blond of her feline coat.

“Finally,” she yawned. Her voice was husky from disuse. Her son rolled his eyes as he flapped open the large, sapphire blue himation and swung it around her shoulders.

“Try not to burn your cat tongue,” he sassed, settling down adjacent to her and lifting the silver lid off of a steaming pot. A mushroom of steam rushed toward the ceiling as Eros beckoned Ganymede over to sit around the food. Breathing in the scents of succulent broth, fire grilled vegetables, and seeing the dripping skewers of meat sizzling alongside caramelized desserts, Ganymede realized he was starving. He found himself sitting across from the woman who wrapped and tied the fabric so her hands could be free. He noticed she filled a bowl of stew and just as quickly crowded a plate with sweets, however she ate the latter first while her soup cooled.

Eros was invested in the skewers. Ganymede watched as he pushed everything off of the stick and organized meat from fish from peppers from onions from tomatoes on his plate. He ate every piece in whatever order he chose, and then did it all over again with a new skewer.

Dionysus liked to drink the entirety of the broth in his bowl before picking at the assorted noodles, vegetables, and meat left over. Similar to his mother, he separated bowls of soup with bites of yogurt and honey or berry tarts. So long denied her thumbs, she doted on him, wiping broth from his chin and refilling his soup bowl as he nibbled on fruit.

Given the lack of strict etiquette, Ganymede ate a tart, and then nearly filled up on skewers, which he unloaded on the pita bread with tzatziki sauce, and then finished with a block of baklava. He was content with listening to the conversation that passed between the immortals. Semele never inquired who Ganymede was; far from it, she engaged with him over his choice in sauce, the story behind his colorful feet, and relished his freedom of speech with Dionysus and Eros.

“A breath of fresh air after those goats,” she concluded, ruffling her son’s hair with immense fondness. Ganymede grinned about it all the way back to his bed that night. He fell unconscious with the memories of laughter and the sight of a mother holding her son’s hand before resting her feline head on his lap.

Ganymede dreamed of walking alongside her as a cheetah, of a mother’s hands in his own, but whenever he looked down he saw only her paws and fur. He dreamed of racing with Eros, but some dreams were clearer than others. Ganymede knew it was Eros even though he did not have the same blond hair that he sometimes braided out of the way. They ran along the bobbing docks where ships’ bells sang and seagulls screamed for fishermen’s catches.

“Don’t step on the nails!” Eros called behind him, faster than Ganymede and never winded. “You’ll tear your feet!”

“Feet…” he heard himself say, looking down to navigate around the nail heads sticking out of the salt-stained wood turned grey from sun and sea. Not like the wood here…rich of grain and varying shades of red, brown, even white…

At the last millisecond Ganymede saw the nail…but it did not feel as he had expected. Far from pain, the sensation spurred him to run faster, to get away, get away before he could no longer stand…

“Naaah!” he cried, startling awake and kicking away from whatever was attacking his feet under his blanket—

Zeus caught his ankle and held firm, though a smug smile adorned his face. Ganymede breathed heavily as his feet were set down on the god’s lap and the sponge scraped once more over the soles. “I’m sorry. My means were not to frighten you.”

He watched as Zeus scrubbed a blue toe and then the purple of his ankle. He was hardly bothered as the colored water ran off into his toga. Ganymede rubbed sleep from his eyes as he asked, “M’king, am I late for something?”

“Only the proper cleansing of your feet,” Zeus teased. He continued the scrupulous washing of Ganymede’s feet, holding fast when the limbs jerked against his sponge.

“It tickles,” Ganymede defended when Zeus pinned him with a lifted brow. Far from using a firm hand to press through the tickling sensation, he lightened his touch, silver eyes glinting as he watched Ganymede squirm.

“Stop it—stop it! You’re doing that on purpose!” he accused.

“Oh? And how do you intend to stop me?” Zeus purred.

Ganymede’s foot slipped out of his grasp and the arch of his foot pressed against Zeus’s thigh, poised to push him away. God and man gazed at one another, the other expectant and the other glaring. Zeus still held the other foot, and began to drag his thumbnail from the heel, up the arch, and over the sensitive pads.

“GAH! Stop it!” Ganymede flailed. He sprang up and launched himself at Zeus, colliding with his wide frame and shoving him to the floor.

Ganymede landed on top of him but the king guffawed as he wrapped an arm around the contrarily slim torso and bodily lifted Ganymede off of him. Dropping him back on the bed on his stomach, Zeus merely leaned over him, pinning him down with an elbow betwixt his shoulder blades as he grabbed Ganymede’s ankle and lifted. The youth squawked against the stretched in the front of his thigh. His fingers clawed at the material of his bedding as Zeus leaned further over him, close enough to kiss his cheek and murmur, “Try again.”

“I ca—” he coughed raggedly. Ganymede scrambled but his movements were moot attempts. “I can’t! I ca…can’t breathe.”

Zeus’s eyes widened and his weight was off immediately. “And now?” he asked, but Ganymede whirled around and launched again. Taken more by surprise this time, Zeus fell backward. His cupbearer straddled his hips as he pinned the god down, palms splayed over his collarbone. Zeus caught him around the waist, his wide eyes observing Ganymede’s flushed cheeks and rushed breathing. “I thought you couldn’t breathe?”

“I couldn’t,” he huffed, his spine bowing and lifting as his chest rose and fell. “You’re really heavy.”

A smile returned to the king’s face, blooming and wide enough squint his eyes. Ganymede’s open fingers rubbed his stubble with enough force to move his flesh, dislodging that smug expression. “You need a shave again—ah!”

Zeus leaned up to bury his face in the sensitive crevice of his neck, nuzzling a newly squawking Ganymede. Exclamations turned to giggles and he fell limply back. Zeus’s pursuit of his laughter extended to other parts of his torso, and his hands wandered to Ganymede’s waist. Pushing his shirt up, Zeus blew raspberries across the smooth plains of his torso, slim but sculpted from carrying his weight in nectar and ambrosia.

His jaw climbed up to Ganymede’s sternum, and the youth felt the tingling heat of those hands ascend alongside his ribcage—

“I need to clean the library!” he exclaimed, causing Zeus’s head to perk up. Ganymede’s mouth worked on its own. “The nymphs get bored throughout the night and…sometimes things are out of place in the morning.”

“Then it’s Athena’s problem,” Zeus countered.

“But,” Ganymede pushed. “You told me to ease her pain…to distract her. Kind things are distracting from bad things.”

Zeus shook his head with a final laugh and nodded. “Fine, fine. Go, then. I’ll manage my own appearance today.”

Ganymede rose to his feet while discretely pulling his shirt over the scars on his back. Once he was out of the room, he made haste toward the library, glad for once to see the sand pits in disarray and books floating in the pond. The waters were only deep enough to submerge his bellybutton, making the collection of books easy. The immortal women slithered around him, welcoming and singing as they chatted.

“Where have you been, young one?”

“Did you bring those other two with you today?”

“The blond one sings so sweetly. He’s the only one who sings with us.”

“That’s not true. Dionysus does when he’s drunk enough.”

“Or sober enough. He sings better sober.”

“Wine sweetens the throat, sister.”

“And your legs.”

“You give the impression you make these messes just to be noticed,” Ganymede interrupted. “The only one who will notice is Athena.”

“That’s not true.” A nymph with hair as long as she was and hair as red as Zeus’s baths smiled. Despite some of the palace murals depicting nymphs with skin as pale as milk, the sun kissed their skin to a robust brown. “You notice. And His Majesty notices you.”

“Will he come today?” a naiad with black hair fanning behind her asked.

“He used to visit us,” another seconded as she swam out of Ganymede’s way.

“Decades ago,” another sang.

“Before you,” the copper haired one chimed beside him, even handing him a book. He added it to the pile in his arms and pulled the stem of a water lily out of it.

“Thank you. I’m not that old,” he countered.

“Yes you are,” the black haired one said, idly swimming on her back along his other side. Her breasts swelled over the water’s surface, small but enough so her body was a terrestrial shore for the water to lap over. “Even the gods keep time.”

Ganymede, his breath heavier from striding through the water, paused. “How so?”

A blond nymph with shorter hair and more freckles than bare flesh swam over to a patch of lily pads. "This water was bare before you came. Athena was…shall we say, the stone which sharpens the blade.”

Copper hair swirled around her waist as the other nymph drifted a hand over the green medallions. “But a little cupbearer remembered the way lilies swam in another palace.”

“A little cupbearer cried because he missed their pink petals,” the blond agreed, sniffing the blushed limbs of a flower.

“Who would have thought the goddess had a lyre in place of a heart,” another said. “Or how a sweet boy was the one to pluck its strings.”

“This one was first,” the blond narrated, drifting away from the pink blossom and moving on to a white. “And then this…and this…”

Ganymede clutched the books and did not so much count the flowers, but the masses of green and color left a heavy impression in his mind…and he knew it was wrong. His feet and ankles brushed against countless stems, his clothing moved against the edges of pads and petals that covered nearly half of the massive pond. The lilies swayed with the ripples of water, growing not to nature’s dictations but with Athena’s diligence toward numbers and the counting of his years.

“Now see…you’ve made him upset.”

Ganymede emerged from his thoughts, his eyes burning. His chin itched and he realized tears were dangling there, and others were sliding down to meet them. With clumsy haste, he tried to wipe his tears on the books’ edges. “I don’t understand…why do I feel like there shouldn’t be this many? Why do I feel…”

His head lifted to find the three of them standing before him. A nut brown hand was reaching for him, but it halted in the air, as if a barrier separated it and him. Ganymede met the nymph’s eyes, and saw the mistake there before she blinked and it was gone. Her hand lowered to rest in the water.

“More men would trade all they have for your position, young one,” she uttered.

More tears raced over his face, unbidden but persistent. “Except I am older than they are. Aren’t I? But how do I know that? Why do I have memories I shouldn’t?”

One of the others placed the final book on his pile. “Because a mind spent among men rusts…but a mind spent with the gods never dulls.”

“You remember what it means to be a boy among men…”

“Because you are a man among gods—”

“Water is considered the loudest of elements,” came another voice, larger and deeper than the nymphs’.

They whirled around, breaking the tranquility of the pond as they startled at Dionysus on the water’s edge. He stepped forward, sinking into the pond. With the speed of water snakes, they swam back, retreating under the shadow of lily pads. Dionysus’ robe, dyed the same color as his darkest wines, splayed behind him. Ganymede’s head bowed lower and lower as the god approached, the wake of his steps rocking blooms out of his way. The young man’s head rested on the books when he heard the water stop moving. He felt the tails of the robe curl around his own waist as he waited for the god to say something.

Instead, he felt the faintest of touches on his hair. Jerking up, Ganymede’s swollen eyes witnessed Dionysus smile softly. The god took the pile of books from him and turned back around. “Let’s get these dry before darling sister awakes.”

Ganymede climbed out after him and paused when Dionysus did. The latter waved his hand and Ganymede felt the water rush out of his raiment. “I don’t know where these go,” he declared. “So after you.”

Ganymede’s chin jerked in a nod and together they returned the books to their places, each tome dry by the time it rested on a shelf. When the last one passed from Dionysus’ hands into Ganymede’s, the youth placed it on the shelf only to find a hand waving him to a new place. “Come along. Mother will like your company again.”

He knew that was not why Dionysus was doing this, and as if summoned in a way only the gods could manage, Eros was waiting when they arrived in the garden of a room. Standing from the divan, he gulped the contents of his glass and held it out to Ganymede, who blinked at him. From somewhere in his brain, he wondered if Eros chose his human form for him, because he had grown to stand even with Ganymede.

“Well don’t just stand there,” Eros insisted. “I’m a god. I don’t know how to pour things.”

A smile cracked on Ganymede’s face and a laugh made his shoulders lurch. Reaching up, his hand closed around the goblet, just above Eros’, who did not release it immediately. It was as close as they could touch, and Ganymede felt the god’s heat radiate through the metal into his own hand while those green eyes held his. Ganymede nodded, understanding, and Eros released it for filling.

“So I’m thinking of something for my festivals,” Dionysus announced, falling with a flourish across his cushions. Semele the cheetah purred loudly from her place in the windowsill.

“Thinking? Terrifying,” Eros jeered with a wink to Ganymede by the wine fountain. When the cup was filled he patted the divan next to him for Ganymede to sit with him. Apparently Dionysus was serious about attending his own festival this year, and since Eros usually joined him this required joint planning. Preparations gave way to memories of previous years, and soon the morning was forgotten. Ganymede laughed until his cheeks hurt, eating the grapes and seared fish brought by the satyrs as Eros and Dionysus reenacted the drunken version of a dance that had happened some years past.

“Imagine someone as hairy as Poseidon but incapable of handling his drink,” Dionysus prompted. Throwing his arm around Eros, they marched into a song as they stumbled against each other. The tavern ballad was of course lost on Ganymede but seeing the gods performing and actually singing quite well made him understand the allure of City Dionysia a bit better.

The tiger’s head rested on his lap as the sinking sun brought the appearance of more satyrs and a number of woodland nymphs who usually looked after Dionysus’ vineyards.

“I trust my sister to the upkeep of my vines at night,” Dionysus answered when Ganymede wondered who kept the gardens after dark. “She is more nocturnal than us and enjoys hunting the pests who would otherwise ruin my grapes.”

Ganymede had only met Artemis once and did not dare voice how he would like to never meet her again. She was a predator where her twin brother was an artist. They both shined just as bright but where Apollo’s power was hot as the sun, hers was as cold as the moon’s place in the sky.

“Up you get!” Dionysus suddenly ushered, waving Ganymede forward. “Hold onto this shawl and do as we do.”

They held opposite ends of the fabric while Eros and satyrs completed the circle with their own shawls. The dance was easy, and heavily dependent on the music playing. Their steps were in time to the escalating melody as their circle revolved faster and faster. More than anything, Ganymede became aware of the power between them, how he was pulled along but each of them was a link in a chain. Together with the music they were strong, but if anyone stepped out of tempo they would break. Laughter and music was loud in his ears as his arms lifted, raised with everyone else’s over his head and causing his shirt hem to rise…just as Zeus entered.

Lightning thrashed across the ceiling as thunder roared over the music. Marble and stone crumbled. Metal cups crumpled like paper as Satyrs and nymphs cowered into corners; some managed to flee. Eros dropped to one knee, his head bowed while Dionysus took a similar posture. Ganymede plummeted to his knees, bowing so low his nose was to the tiled floor. Zeus’s voice rattled in his ears, unrecognizable.

“I HEAR MERRIMENT AND THIS IS WHAT I FIND?” he roared. “WHO TOUCHED HIM?”

Dionysus’ brows twitched in a frown as he and Eros exchanged a brief glance. The former voiced, “Father, we took great lengths to make sure no one touched him. Even if they did, it was but a dance—”

“BE SILENT.” The air crackled with cords of lightning as he approached. “DO YOU THINK I AM BLIND TO THE MADNESS OF YOUR DANCES? YOU CALL IT ECSTACY BUT YOU INFLICT IT IDLY AND CARELESSLY!”

Ganymede’s shriek went unheard as a bolt caused plaster, greenery, and marble to rain over his head. “DO YOU BELIEVE ME BLIND? HIS SHROUD IS GONE! WHO TOUCHED HIM?” the king demanded.

N-N-No one, k-k-king…

Zeus’s shining eyes locked onto the form on the floor, so low and flattened as if to sink right through it. Even now, his shirt was ridden up to reveal the different shades of streaked skin there. Ganymede trembled so strongly his shirt was inching its way back over the claws of scar tissue, but his terror was not what silenced Zeus’s thunder. It was his prayers.

They didn’t…they didn’t touch me, my king…please, d-don’t h-hurt…don’t k-k-k-ill them!

His plea was quiet but reverberated throughout Zeus’s mind, silencing all other voices. No one touched me. No one touches me. I swear, my king. Please d-don’t be angry with me. P-Please d-don’t h-ha-hate me. Eros and Dionysus are good to me. Th-They d-don’t ignore me, they don’t ask anything of me. Please, my king, don’t be angry…

When Zeus touched his head, he jerked as if touched by an electric shock and trembled anew. Ganymede had never shied from his touch…

“Don’t, Gany,” he whispered, but the light brown hair trembled. He somehow managed to press himself even closer to the floor. “You’ve never swayed from my touch. Don’t start now. Don’t start now…it will destroy me.”

The last words traveled on a breath for his ears only. The next were louder and not to be questioned: “Get out. Except for you three.”

Ganymede heard the clatter of hooves and feet as satyrs and nymphs rushed out. His breathing became more erratic when Zeus's open palm cradled his throat, gently urging him to sit up. His vision had too many tears in it to see Eros or Dionysus, but their blurry figures were bent in their original postures, not daring to move in front of the kneeling king himself. Zeus took up most of his sight, his hand keenly feather-light as he wiped fluid from his face. Those silver eyes were bruised by the panic and sorrow they witnessed.

“How long have you been hiding from me?” he asked. Ganymede’s eyes wandered as if seeking a place he did not inhabit. He wanted a dark place to hide his swollen, flushed and wet face and all of his scars. Zeus insisted, “Who took it, Gany? Who removed the shroud?”

Fresh tears slid down Ganymede’s cheeks. “Is that all that bothers you?” he sobbed. “That someone else put a hand on me?”

Like the final moment before a wax figurine succumbs to heat, Zeus’s sharp features softened. “No, of course it isn’t." His hands delicately roamed Ganymede's face, catching his tears. "It bothers me that someone came close enough to harm you; that someone frightened you enough to keep this from me.”

Ganymede’s voice cracked. “Anyone can hurt me…they don’t need t-to touch me to… Why have you forbidden people from touching me at all?”

His arms curled into his chest, instinctively wanting to cradle the cavity inside himself. “You jape about my not wanting you…” hiccup, “but how couldn’t I when you’re the only one who will touch me? No one touches me, even the one who removed it. Everyone is too afraid. I…I don’t understand…” he wept. “But I need it…”

His cries were muffled against the fabric of Zeus’s garment when the god scooped him up and rocked him protectively on his lap. “I don’t understand…” he sobbed.

“I shouldn’t have denied you something so vital,” Zeus purred, tucking Ganymede under his chin. “Simple…though vital. Touch is as important as water. Perhaps I thought I was enough.”

Ganymede sniffled. “But why did you cover it at all? I was the last one to know about the scars, everyone else…”

“Shhh,” he soothed. “Gany, do you remember the creation of these scars?”

Those silken tresses nuzzled as he shook his head. Zeus’s arms were tight but relaxed around him as he explained, “That is because such scars are not created lightly. Your mind was as much harmed as your body, and its only defense was to suppress the memory while your body healed. I feared for you so I made sure to give your mind no reason to panic, but... I should have been the one to remove it, to explain things to you properly. Will you not tell me who stole this from me?”

His head turned again, disappointing him. “I don’t want anyone getting hurt,” Ganymede defended.

“A king must uphold order,” Zeus stated darkly. “Sometimes this requires violence.”

“Not this time,” he whispered.

Zeus sighed, “You sound like Athena.”

Ganymede lifted his head enough for his forehead to rest in the bend of his neck. “Are you angry?”

He exhaled slowly, considering. “I am displeased…but no, I am not angry anymore.”

He felt the tickle of Ganymede's eyelashes on his skin. “Then…what now?”

The king’s breath made his hair flutter as he blew out and said, “Well I suppose I have to reign in my selfishness and grant certain people the liberty of touching you.”

Ganymede jerked up, his eyelashes heavy but his complexion was looking better. “Really?”

Severity flashed across Zeus’s face as he placed fingertip on Ganymede’s nose. “Only the people in this room, as well as Athena and Apollo…in essence my intelligent children—but I will not spare kindness if the lack thereof tries my patience.”

The glare on his face went to Eros, who sprang to his feet and collided with Ganymede’s other side, his arms circling the cupbearer’s waist just a moment before Dionysus struck just as hard. He planted a loud kiss on his father’s face and then another on Ganymede’s cheeks.

“Dion, if a single one of any of your pets—” Zeus began but Dionysus cut him off between kisses to Ganymede’s face.

“Their pelts will already adorn my floor before you reach them, I assure you,” he declared.

Zeus sighed again, but seeing Ganymede’s face flushed with jubilance instead of tears was a welcome sight. He eased Ganymede off of him so Eros and Dionysus could have their way coddling him. Watching Eros pick crumbs of plaster out of his hair and seeing Dionysus using his own robe to clean his face calmed Zeus’s worries.

“Gany,” he said on his way out of the room. “Return to my rooms for sleep and breakfast. Otherwise my son won’t provide a moment of rest.”

“What are you saying?” Dionysus bristled, but his father was already gone.

However just as quickly as he was gone, Dionysus whirled around to face Eros and Ganymede with a keen glisten to his eyes. “All right, we have a month until the City Dionysia. How do we convince tall and mighty to let Ganymede come with us?”

Ganymede blanched, feeling ill for a whole new reason.