4 • Jealousy

Ganymede held the dish of olives from his position between the divans. He had not expected Zeus to summon his attendance during his lunch with Ares, but his son was in good spirits today, speaking animatedly with his hands in the air. Ganymede’s eyes wandered over the prominent veins in his hands while he spoke, paying more attention to his gestures than his words. Dialogue of battle strategy and war jargon flittered over the waters of his consciousness, creating ripples but never sinking deep. Whenever Ganymede paid more attention to Ares’ exploits, he could not help but see everything from Athena’s point of view.

“Our pincer formation was flawless! We bit them in half and the division weakened their phalanx. They kept fighting like this and I knew they would be overtaken within the hour…”

Shouldn’t newer methodology be shared? he wondered. There isn’t much honor in fighting an unprepared enemy. You’ll grow tired of winning without a challenge.

“The fortress was penetrated easily. Despicable. Pathetic, really. Apollo, Hephaestus, even Athena have shown them how to build a proper fortress—”

“Neither Athena’s nor Apollo’s walls have fallen, and anything forged by Hephaestus' never fails,” Zeus reminded calmly, removing a pit from his mouth and reaching for another olive.

“Then perhaps Hephaestus should remain in his volcano and keep his talents focused on weapons instead of defense.”

“His shields have defended our strongest heroes,” Zeus rebuked in the same indifferent tone. “It is hardly a fair judgment when the battle was between mortals and you. The equivalent is knocking over a palace of cards instead of playing the game.”

Ares spat his olive pit in the urn at Ganymede’s feet. “The game is the same. No honor is lost except for those who cannot adapt accordingly.”

Ganymede’s brow furrowed ever so slightly as Zeus chuckled, “I fear the day your armies face a foe blessed by one of your siblings.”

A wicked, giddy smile flashed on Ares’ face. “What a day it will be. Deimos and Phobos would relish the energy of that battlefield. The shift in the soldiers’ demeanor when my twins step into their ranks is palpable…”

I knew I wouldn’t get help from my father. I’m not like my siblings, Eros had said.

“Those who can stand beside them with a steady heart…those are true heroes,” Ares rambled.

“One would think you care not for your own family,” Zeus declared as if sensing Ganymede’s thoughts. “Why should anyone fight for you, he who values destruction above family?”

Ares made an indecent sound followed by the ding of an olive pit striking the urn. “Brothers fight one another endlessly. It is the united family that is uncommon, and all others fight and live for glory. They die for family.”

“The two coincide, son,” Zeus corrected. “In the face of war, to live or die is not a consideration; they can only to do the best they can in the effort of being remembered and protecting their homes from afar.”

Far from perturbed, Ares popped another olive into his smug grin. “And that is what separates us from them. They can only hope for a legacy. We are infinite.”

Ganymede’s eyes slid to the side, eyeing as well as feeling the shift in Zeus’s demeanor. To the untrained or careless eye such as Ares’, he did not notice a difference, but Ganymede’s ear knew the prickle of electricity in the king’s clothing, the set of his mouth and shadow of his eyes during the rise of anger.

“You were born, son of mine, and this is the prerequisite of death. Why do you think they worship us?”

“Because we are superior,” he answered without hesitation.

“Because they are not so unlike us,” Zeus rebuked.

“We are entirely different!” Ares bristled, which was no small thing for someone prone to two emotions only: calm, and livid.

Leave, Gany, whispered inside the cupbearer’s thoughts, and he willingly obeyed. The last place he wanted to be was near Ares while he proved his superiority over humans. The last he heard of the argument was Ares’ voice saying, “You are soft on them! Soft as Athena’s weaving. Cloth does not defend against the sword…”

“Whew,” Dionysus surprised Ganymede, falling into step alongside him. He took the dish of olives from him and popped them into his own mouth. “Such hot tensions. I don’t know how you bear it.”

He could hardly take credit for Zeus’s protection but something else deterred his thoughts. “You don’t like your brother?”

Ganymede choked on the sudden laughter inside him at Dionysus’ disgusted expression. “I relish celebration. He only cares for demolition. It’s bad enough my wines are spilled over the graves he digs. It is a small but sweet revenge when he drinks them in the company of his lover.”

Ganymede looked at him. “Do you mean Aphrodite?”

Dionysus nodded, his mouth full of olives. The pits slipped between his lips into his hand, which rotated, and the next time Ganymede saw his palm, the seeds had vanished. “It is by her insistence that he drinks. For some men, it creates fire in their bellies. For Ares, it drowns it.”

He leaned toward Ganymede, tapping his nose as if that was where secrets were kept. “Know the weakness of someone, and they can never harm you.”

“Does she fear him?” he wondered.

Finishing the last of the olives, Dionysus set the dish on a marble bust’s head like a helmet. He shrugged, “Yes and no. Mostly no. There is an equilibrium of power to be maintained. She is the breeder of love, and gods above and below know how he and most of his sons adore the battlements. Oddly enough, without her influence, they cannot exist. Even though their passions are cruelty, they love all the same. And what is fear without the juxtaposition of love? What are they but abstract ideas without their passion to inflict fear? They are but toads without purpose; the loud, bloated pets of their father, but their mother gives them water, and turns them into leaping frogs.”

Something about this struck Ganymede, who voiced, “Are there none who fear love?”

Dionysus eyed him with something akin to pride as he replied, “Thus is why most prefer Deimos and Phobos to remain with their father. Let fear and terror remain in the predictable hands of war, not the journey of life, yes?”

They rounded the corner and found themselves in the gardens. Ganymede thought aloud, “Only Eros lives up here, so I’ve never seen his mother with the others.”

Dionysus shrugged again. “It’s not much different than seeing Demeter and Persephone. I don’t care for witnessing a mother’s whispers in a child’s ear. Thank whatever Fate crafted the individuality in Eros’s mind.”

Ganymede smiled. “Where is he?”

Dionysus gave a show of appearing appalled. “Am I not enough for your company?”

The youth giggled. “You’re more than enough. I was just wondering.”

The god threw his arm around his neck and Ganymede got a face full of wine red fabric. “He’s just attending to some chores. We should see him before Helios passes the pinnacle of the sky.”

******

“You can’t miss.”

Eros snorted. “What sort of archer do you take me for?”

“I mean it,” she ordered. “This isn’t like what happened with Apollo. You cannot miss this time.”

The grin that bloomed across Eros’ face was shockingly similar to his father’s. “Love is war, cousin. Do you really think, with my father, I could ever miss?”

Her own countenance became much like Zeus’s. Eros and Dionysus had often japed late into the night about their fortune in how Athena did not have the power of the skies. “All the more evidence why, if you ruin this—”

Her eyes lowered to the arrowhead poised underneath her chin. “Do not underestimate me. I have my father’s aim and my mother’s pride. I never miss. Apollo is a whiny shit and he deserved the humbling experience. I know you and he have likely been bonding over your lost loves but you’re right: this isn’t like what happened with Apollo. This involves Gany, and if you think you will be the one who mourns him the most, then you ought to seek someone else’s aid. I won’t be the one who crafts his demise.”

“Remove your arrow,” Athena ordered, almost bored by this procrastination. “If anyone is going to die, it will by Dion for this ridiculous plot, and I will personally see to that. Choose your arrow with intelligence. Zeus will not be so easily swayed like he used to be.”

Eros returned his arrow to his quiver with a laugh. “We need to inspire a slow courtship…from someone who knows more about flirting than our sweet Gany.”

“See to it, then,” she finished. They parted ways, Eros skipping with a tune whistling from his lips, almost as if to warn his prey of his coming.

*******

Ganymede once again found himself in the company of Dionysus in the garden, this time with Eros as well. The latter rested his head on Ganymede’s lap while the other prattled on about something or other. Either way, he was enthused enough to pace in from of his lattice; along the wall of the crater he had poised a lattice on which his vines could grow. Ganymede and Eros lounged against it, enjoying the peridot grapes and replying only when necessary.

“The audacity!” Dionysus cried. “How can she continue to blame me for the pomegranates?”

“Couldn’t say,” Eros yawned.

“Grapes! My harvests are grapes! Not bloody pomegranates!” he growled. The groan of a tiger could be heard somewhere in the garden. Even the god’s animal companions could not be bothered to react to his mood. “It is not my fault!”

“It so rarely is.”

“What that depressing sod grows in his kingdom is his business! If anything, it’s Demeter’s fault for showing him how seeds work! It’s tiresome enough that she dries everything up during the winter, denying us of our efforts, but now in the spring she finds anyone she can to blame for her cold spell!”

“Heartless,” Eros managed to mumble around a grape.

“It’s either her own damn fault for raising such an idiot child or she is the one too stupid to notice that Persephone actually likes the oaf!”

“Oaf? You wouldn’t be talking about my brother, would you?”

The three of them startled at the sight of Zeus coming through the lattice tunnel. Eros obligingly lifted his weight so Ganymede could stand and bow. The king came around his son, pecking his cheek and then tugged Ganymede back down to sit on his other side. He picked off grapes as he finished, “Although I must inquire as to which one has you so enflamed.”

“Neither!” Dionysus exploded. “Aunt has targeted me this year for her tirades!”

“You’ll forgive me for relishing a break from them myself,” Zeus proposed. He picked off two grapes at a time, one of them going to Ganymede.

Dionysus rubbed his forehead. “Why doesn’t Persephone stand up for herself? She ate the damn pomegranate. The least she could do is own up for her actions and save the rest of us the trouble.”

“Is it too difficult to believe she loves her mother and husband equally?” Zeus challenged. “She does not wish to hurt Demeter by admitting how she enjoys her time away.”

“Then she is a coward and a liar,” Dionysus fumed, but Ganymede moved with the tremors of Zeus’s laughter.

“I would advise not saying such things to the Queen of the dead. A woman who spends such time amongst heroes as Heracles and Jason is not to be trifled with.”

Dionysus scoffed. “That hardly impresses me. Jason could not quell the temper of the woman he wronged and Heracles died a madman.”

“The challenges of life place us on different pillars,” Zeus calmed, “but death brings us all back to the same level. Death peeled away Jason’s fleece, Heracles’s madness, and they both rest below with their families. Death lets us be who we really are.”

Eros’ head tilted to look at him. His mouth opened, but he chose to say nothing. Dionysus was not so composed. “Pfft. Which family does Jason rest with? His doomed bride and her father or his manic wife and his own sons she butchered?”

“You are holding events of his life against him,” Zeus chided. “Death does not care.”

“How would you know?” Dionysus challenged. “You rule the sky. You and Poseidon rule the realms of life. You both make people and you end them. Thanatos and Hades pick up the pieces—DO NOT THROW MY OWN GRAPES AT ME!”

“So much tension,” Zeus chided, throwing another grape which landed right in his son’s ear. “I had no idea you respected Hades, so.”

“I will not much longer if he does not get his wife's mother under control!” He caught the next grape and its juice bled between his fingers.

Zeus guffawed. “Good luck to the man who succeeds. Better it be a woman. Only Hera and Persephone seem to have any effect on Demeter.”

Dionysus’s anger seemed to finally sputter out. “Only because Demeter knows her position as the other woman in the presence of your wife, and women are weak to creatures who come from betwixt their legs.”

Ganymede startled, so rough was Zeus’s mirth. “Then pray tell this to Hephaestus or even your own children. He was thrown right off of this mountain by his mother and your own offspring come to you for defense instead of their mother.”

This was something Dionysus could not deny, and his grimace revealed as much. Zeus’s mirth simmered into a simple smile. “Come, Dion. You’re my genius child, apart from Athena. Do not trap yourself in a conversation so easily.”

Know the weakness of someone, and they can never harm you, he had said. Ganymede could not help the small smile on his lips. Equal genius of Athena. God of wine who drank water. A mother’s son and devoted father. Dionysus was full of surprises.

The smile faltered when Eros poked his cheek. Ganymede looked down at where the god was resting on his curled arm, but Eros simply appeared bored. Ganymede reciprocated by tugging on a curl that was closer to brass than gold, which was followed by Eros dropping his hand on Ganymede’s knee. He squeezed along the muscles supporting the joint, inciting an unexpected tickle spot. Ganymede flailed with laughter, drawing Zeus’s and Dionysus’ attention, until the former threw Eros’ hand off.

Ganymede’s smile vanished as the king stood. “You will attend me this evening. The pair of you is expected as well. Come, Hephaestus could use you.”

Ganymede peeked at Eros and Dionysus, who visually shared sympathy but could do nothing. He followed Zeus until he reached the stairs leading deep into the mountain. Beside them was a wide chute the size of a table on which specially prepared ambrosia lifted from the bowels of the volcano that housed both Hephaestus’s smithy and kitchen. Usually the food appeared without any need to go to the kitchens.

As he descended the stairway, marble gave way to stone, then stone to volcanic pumice. Ganymede winced at the sharp pricks under his feet as the dew on his skin grew heavy enough to slither down his flesh. The heat stuck in his lungs by the point he reached the kitchen. He knew he was close by the rhythmic ringing of metal, but it ceased altogether upon his arrival. The sound of hammering was music compared to the grating voice that followed.

“Must be a punishment for him to send you down here.”

Ganymede bowed more out of hot fatigue than anything. “My lord—”

“I am no lord. Look at me when you speak or get out.”

Pushing against his knees, thighs, and then hips to help himself up, Ganymede tried again, “I am to attend the dinner this evening.”

If the shadows were anything to go by the god was as large as Zeus but the darkness of the forge obscured his form. Black and orange flickered around him. “What does he send you here for, then?”

Ganymede wished his hair was long enough to tie off his face again. “He said I could be of service.”

“You don’t know,” that raspy growl reiterated. “A punishment, as I said. More like a death sentence. Perhaps he did not expect you to come here so willingly.”

A cry escaped Ganymede when a wet cloth suddenly landed on his head. It was cold and dripping. Where the god had gotten such a temperature, he did not know, but he gratefully wrapped it around his head and neck. “Thank you.”

He realized, then, that the dark mass before him was not a shadow or heat mirage, but Hephaestus himself. Towering above Ganymede, he stood on an angle due to a permanently broken leg. The only way for it to have healed was to take the shattered segment of bone out, making it shorter than its twin. That entire side was in a permanent state of disrepair. His body was bound in protective leathers that hardly seemed utilitarian since most of them were charred or burnt off entirely. Thick scar tissue rippled over Hephaestus’s arms, leg, and face, but not from the tiny flames licking along his flesh. Healed wounds from a tremendous fall were the cause of his malformation, the absence of hair on half of his skull, and the reason why his features drooped on one side.

“How may I serve?” Ganymede prompted.

Those features altered, creating a visage someone might find grotesque but one Ganymede recognized as puzzled shock. “Are your eyes dull, boy?”

“I don't think so, my…um,” his words dropped off, not sure how to address the god. “But I’m afraid I am only strong enough to carry, not to wield.”

“I’m talking about my face, boy,” he growled, but Ganymede was not sure if it was out of anger or if it was just the state of his voice. “Not your spindly arms.”

Ganymede’s gaze flitted to the gargantuan arms. The god stood as tall as his father but was significantly wider. “What about it?”

“You’re stupid, then,” the god concluded. He turned and drove a poker into a bed of embers. They flared orange while blue flames jumped into the air. The massive kettle of soup above them boiled loudly. Ganymede followed him as he stoked his fires, mixed his soups and tossed his vegetables. As he rotated spits on which entire halves of animal carcasses roasted, he elaborated, “They say Hera disposed of me because she couldn’t believe such a monster came out of her cunt.”

He rotated and his step landed loudly, cut to a halt at the sight of Ganymede behind him. “Do you not wish to run from such a visage?” he loomed over him.

Ganymede shrugged. “It sounds like a rumor the gods laugh over. You look like his majesty…though maybe that was why she threw you…”

He shyly burst into giggles, imagining how Dionysus and Eros would guffaw at Hera’s reaction over a child as handsome as the father she spent equal amounts of time despising and loving. Hephaestus stood silent before him, causing Ganymede’s mirth to evaporate like the water in his towel. He swallowed and murmured, “Erm, I only mean…your scars say more about her than they do you.”

Hephaestus was silent still, making Ganymede exceedingly more and more uncomfortable. Finally, he uttered, “You’re bleeding.”

The youth blinked. “Pardon?”

“Your feet,” he answered sharply, lumbering toward his next destination. This turned out to be a seat that appeared to be carved from the trunk of a tree wide enough to hold his frame. “Sit.”

He did, and forced himself not to wince when callused hands reached for his neck. Surprisingly gentle, the god unwound the knot of cloth and switched the useless towel for a fresh one. He also scooped water from a pot that was dusted with pale frost into a brass pitcher. “Pour this over you,” he ordered, setting it on the anvil beside him.

Ganymede did so, relishing the trickle of cold into his hair and behind his ears. He did jump, however, when a frigid cloth swiped over the bottom of his foot. He could see in the light that it came away red. Hephaestus’s hands felt like sand as they held his ankle and patted away the blood before wrapping a fresh cloth around his foot and then binding a leather pad under his foot. “What is that?”

“A sandal,” he answered gruffly. He did the same treatment to the other foot and then told Ganymede to stand. The leather thongs braided up his shins were foreign and slightly abrasive, but his feet welcomed the cool relief. Abruptly, the god pointed to something set into the wall. Ganymede realized it was the dumbwaiter when he ordered, “Make sure nothing burns, and when something is plated, put it over there. You’ll handle the rest when you return above.”

This proved easy enough to do. The only hindrances were the weight of the ladles and having to return to the water to cool off. At some point Hephaestus pulled him away from a long stove of sizzling peppers and ushered him toward the stairs. “Bathe. Make yourself presentable,” he said tersely. Ganymede understood why when he finally climbed to the summit of the stairs. Twilight had fallen and his raiment was soaked with sweat and smelled of soot and cooking alike.

Ganymede did not trust himself to get in the bath, so he unbound his feet and let them kick in the water as he sat on the edge and used a bucket to pour over his head. His cheeks were still hot as he pulled on indigo pants and the orange robe Athena had given him. After he rebound his feet in silk and leather, he went to set up the food.

The platters of food were waiting for him where they usually were, and the gathering room was just around the corner. Most of the company had already arrived but were preoccupied with nectar as he set up the food. The fruit and cold cheeses were set out first, then the gooey, oven-warmed cheese, olives, and fresh loaves of bread and pita. Demigod children and nymphs clustered around the fruit and cheeses, sending him carefree words of thanks and welcome. One of them demanded meat, which Ganymede went to fetch, but the vegetables and herb-infused olive oil were meant to come alongside the bread. Short on hands, he piled the oil vessels on the meat and vegetable platters, but when the nymphs swarmed him, their body heat and pungent perfume oils struck his sinuses like a blow. The last thing he could clearly comprehend were the words, “AARGH! You foolish malakas!”

The crash of glass and metal drew the attention of the room. Athena’s head whirled around, knowing who was involved with dishes. Fury glistened in her eyes at the hearing of such insults to the unconscious youth, but Zeus beat her to them.

The nymph, whose dress was doused in yellow oil and dark herbs, shrieked when he gripped her by the neck and jaw. “What have you done?” he growled.

“T-T-The slave,” she tried, but her voice was snuffed out.

“He is not a slave,” he uttered darkly. “Least of all to you.”

A squeeze was all it took. The bones in her neck crackled and her head sagged. Of course, she did not die. The next grip did that. Her body wracked with electricity, and fell apart. Flesh disintegrated and landed on the floor in the form of bark and twigs. The woodland nymph was no more.

The others scattered, cowering. Somewhere in the room Poseidon’s voice uttered, “It seems the mood has expired prematurely. Come.”

The naiads in his company dashed away and the other woodland deities rushed to join them. The scuttle of their feet filtered through Ganymede’s consciousness as he felt cool fingers combing through his hair, the tingle of fingernails on his scalp…

“He’s pale,” Athena said over him, “but he is hot. What was he doing today?”

“Here,” said another female voice. Water trickled into his mouth, only drops at first, but he swallowed and more followed. Eros and Dionysus stood off to the side. The room had emptied of all except the pair of them, father and daughter, the unconscious, and a brave water nymph who held the cup to Ganymede’s lips.

Athena’s gaze went to Ganymede’s feet. Her brow furrowed as her eyes flicked up to Dionysus. She could see her own thoughts on his face. Ganymede had never worn sandals. She removed them and opened the silk bandages. There was only one place in the palace with rough floors. “You sent him to the forge?”

It was then that Dionysus pulled Eros from the room by the wrist, but not without escaping her notice. On the contrary, he made sure to catch her gaze as they left.

“Leave,” she ordered the nymph. “Send for Asclepius.”

“My lady,” she murmured, setting the small bowl down.

Zeus glanced to make sure she was gone but Athena took up the bowl and spoke first. “Explain. What incited you to send Gany to such a place?”

“Eros is overly familiar with him,” Zeus uttered. He paced while he spoke, but he bristled when Athena scoffed.

“More like you witnessed something innocent and misinterpreted it entirely. How does sending him to Hephaestus solve this? So he’ll know what could happen if he dares to have companions?”

“You know that is not true,” he warned.

“I know you are avoiding answering me,” she met his challenge. “You’re like a child overcome with jealousy. You know Gany cannot survive in those heats.”

“My lord and lady,” entered a calm voice. Athena stood to be out of Asclepius’s way. With one look he immediately crouched down and spread Ganymede’s arms and legs. He opened his robe further to dispel his body temperature. “Ice or cool water would be most applicable.”

Marble crunched loudly under the weight of an iron cauldron. Three pairs of eyes turned to Hephaestus setting his source of cold water on the floor, a pot large enough to roast Ganymede but which he lifted with ease. His grey eyes looked between the three of them, and then he silently returned to his dwelling.

While Asclepius tended to Ganymede, Athena walked with Zeus to the terrace. A mirthless smile played on her face. “For trying to keep him away from Eros, your fear of his making friends is for naught. Not much can coax Hephaestus from his fires.”

“I know this,” Zeus uttered. To anyone else, his tone would have garnered silence.

Athena spoke on, “This will break his trust. You’ve given him the leave to have normal relations but just as quickly denied them from him.”

“I never gave false impressions,” her father corrected. “I warned Eros from the start—”

“We’ve come full circle to how you punished Gany for Eros’ misdeeds, if misdeeds they were. What exactly did he do?”

Zeus’s glare went inside to where Ganymede lay on the floor, rousing just enough for Asclepius to nurse water into his mouth. “His audacity pushes my limits. He touches Gany too familiarly.”

“You touch him familiarly,” Athena countered.

“He is my cupbearer.”

“He is Eros’ friend.”

That gave Zeus pause. His gaze locked on a set of clouds drifting past, his thoughts working to absorb the—

Athena sighed and reached forward, “This grows tiresome.”

She palmed the side of his skull, her birthplace and gateway into his mind. The flare of anger was easy enough to find, and in it she saw Eros’ hand on Ganymede’s knee. The only crime that she could see was causing Ganymede to laugh louder than Zeus ever had.

She began to withdraw her hand. “Better that you burst from my skull, papa. You might have gained more sensibilities instead of bestowing them all to me.”

He caught her wrist. “You overstep your own boundaries, daughter. Disobedience from secondary Olympians I can manage, but not yours. What am I to do when it becomes a commonality?”

She huffed a bitter laugh in his face. “Remember what fear felt like.”

What was a mildly cloudy day a moment before was now a wall of iron grey clouds. Their edges wafted and fringed along Zeus’s arm fondly. “Semele lives because your brother’s audacity proved a show of brilliance. If you continue your second performance of foolishness I will elaborate on why she lives and your mother does not.”

Athena showed teeth. “Because you fear your wife. You thought swallowing your lover would hide her and the baby inside her. Or was it because of a prophecy? There are so many, they become difficult to keep track. Who is to remember which woman is to birth children greater than their fathers?”

The bones of her wrist and forearm ground together as he answered, “I was one such child, do not forget. It is a cruel irony: how your mother helped induce Cronus to vomit my siblings but could not adapt the situation for herself before I birthed you.”

But Athena was not Ares. Her anger was calculated and powerful, making her rage twice as dangerous. Twisting her wrist so fast his arm went with it, lightning crackled in the sky as his shoulder bulged out of place and she kicked his knees out from under him to pin him beneath her. He fell, but did not let go. His stubborn strength reigned, oblivious to physical pain even as her other hand thrust into his chest, her fingers like claws holding his ribcage and sternum. She lurched slightly with the jolt of electricity—a warning. They reached an impasse.

“Do not dare place yourself above Cronus in my presence. I was born from my mother’s womb, not you. My first war was in your bowels, and I won. I could have split more than just your head apart. You play with your clouds and think lightning makes you the strongest of us, but Ouranos made the sky in which you play. You swallowed me and my mother the same as your father consumed everyone else, but you needed my mother’s aid as well as the help of titans to gain your throne. You are not better. You are a lesser of two evils. Which term do you dislike more, father? Evil, or lesser?"

“Hahhh…”

Zeus’s gaze left Athena, following the sigh he knew so well. Ganymede gulped now, parched and awake before he sighed again. His head sagged to the side from where it rested on Asclepius’s knee. Groggy and green, those eyes met his and blinked heavily. Suddenly, nothing else mattered.

The thing about bones, they were only necessary for mortal forms. His ribs disintegrated into vapor long enough for him to pull Athena’s hand out of his chest and his torso solidified without a scar. Asclepius turned Ganymede’s head for another drink and simultaneously held a cloth to his neck, absorbing the sweat his body released to regulate his temperature. Zeus approached and Asclepius obligingly raised Ganymede’s head for the king’s arm to curl under. Zeus gathered him in his arms and pulled another sigh from him when he stood.

“I’m…sorry…” he breathed, but Zeus held him close, burying his face in the dark honey hair.

“Hush,” he purred.

You have been warned already, Athena voiced in his mind as he carried Ganymede to his rooms. It is not from us you must expect danger, but the one in your arms. All you can hope for is that his hatred is not bred from your own doing.

His jaw clenched but he let her words drift through and out of his head. He turned the corner of the hallway and paused. The nymph from before knelt by the staircase that led to his rooms. Her dewy eyes slowly turned up at him and wandered between him and Ganymede. She smiled. “I am glad he is all right.”

A brow arched over his expression as he watched her stand and bow her head, hands clasped demurely. “You did not run with the others,” he recalled.

She simply nodded and said. “I hope I was of even the littlest service. Can I be of any other use, majesty?”

He looked her over, gauging her sincerity. His silver gaze roamed over the gold chain holding the translucent fabric of her gown around her slim waist. “No.”

She nodded again and left on silent steps.

The next sensation Ganymede felt was his body being lowered onto a bed, but not his own. Cool silks kissed his heated skin as his heavy lashes parted to look up at Zeus. The king lifted his torso to ease off the robe; Ganymede found himself fitted in the safety of Zeus’s broad chest. “Your...bed?” he asked mutely.

Zeus lowered him back onto the pillows. He saw that Ganymede was waiting for an answer. “I can tend you more easily from here.”

A delirious laugh shook him. “Do you know how?”

Zeus’s eyes rolled. “I am not entirely brutish.”

“I’m not sure you’ve ever attended anyone,” Ganymede mumbled. A silken quilt lowered over him.

Zeus kissed his temple and hushed, “Your words are cruel. Let me take care of you.”

Ganymede inhaled and sighed raggedly, his lashes sagging closed. “Why should I when…when…”

His throat went dry, and Zeus brought a small bowl carved from agate to his lips. After several gulps he continued, “You’re supposed to keep me cool, not warm.”

His body sagged when Zeus’s weight pushed into the mattress. Whispering to the winds, he commanded them to fill Ganymede’s hair, to slip beneath the silk, to cool the temperature of the room while he slept. The bowl of water was hardly set on the beside dresser when his eyes heavily shut and his breathing became even.

Zeus patted a cloth against the last of his sweat and watched the air travel over Ganymede’s body. When gooseflesh rippled over a lightly golden shoulder, he leaned down and pressed his lips there. A raspberry blush blossomed under his kiss, and he left them wherever Ganymede felt a chill. When the quilt slithered down and a nipple peaked he kissed there too, causing Ganymede to squirm and curl toward him. Zeus’s kisses dragged up his chest, leaving a necklace of pink across the collarbone and then further along his neck. Zeus’s arm under Ganymede’s head tilted him so he could reach the space behind his ear.

“Hmmuh?” Zeus moved his hair out of the way so those eyes could see him clearly. “What…?” he voiced, but the king knew what he asked.

“I wonder what I would see if I looked inside here,” he voiced. His fingers grazed along Ganymede’s temple.

“Why?” he breathed.

“For reasons of my own and reasons others give me,” the king answered.

“Why not just ask?” Ganymede wondered through a yawn.

Zeus’s chuckle was deep in his chest while his lips planted light kisses on Ganymede’s forehead. “Have you never feared to ask a question, Gany?”

“Isn’t the answer worse?”

He cringed to have a god’s laughter so close, and Zeus’s mirth only grew when Ganymede’s hands tried to stifle the noise. The king’s neck craned against Ganymede pushing against his mouth until he caught the wrists and silenced his own voice by kissing those hands. “What answers would you fear?”

He had meant it as a jape, a means to rile the youth up further—anything other than this semi-comatose state. Ganymede’s answer stymied him: “For another’s words to be right.”

He stilled and slowly transferred Ganymede’s wrists into one of his hands, the other propping himself up. “Whose words?”

Ganymede shook his head. “S’too many to say. I just want to sleep here.”

“I don’t like the thought of you keeping secrets from me, Gany,” he countered, albeit softly. “Has Eros or Dion planted a worry in your mind?”

Ganymede’s eyes opened. “No.” They closed.

Zeus blinked, unsure how to proceed from such an anticlimactic response. He did not have to, because Ganymede spoke while his eyes remained closed. “Why don’t you like Eros?”

“His mother corrupts him,” he answered easily, “and he breaches my boundaries.”

“I disagree. They have similar minds but with different thoughts. Do you fear he will in turn corrupt me?”

“No. I know you are too smart for it.”

Suddenly those hazel eyes opened and fixed upon him. “You lie,” he breathed.

“I have never lied,” Zeus amended. “Not to you.”

“You evade,” Ganymede amended.

“I fear Athena corrupting your thoughts more than that fluffy boy ever could,” the former grumbled.

Ganymede acquiesced a laugh but his tone was fleeting…nostalgic for something he did not have. “I would have you speak plainly with me.”

“Would?” Zeus wondered. “Not must?”

“That is not in my power,” Ganymede said quietly. “So I do not ask.”

Zeus frowned, the wind dancing in the drapes dying down. “If you desire an answer, I shall give it.”

Ganymede nodded, “You once offered to tell me anything about my scars.”

“As I do now,” he confirmed.

“Who are my parents?”

If the wind had not left the room, it had most certainly left the god’s lungs. He lowered down so his head was on his fist. “They were human, and died long ago. Their names were Tros and Callirrhoe. They lived long and happily, thanks to the blood and blessing of Callirrhoe’s father, a river deity.”

Ganymede’s attention perked up. “Is that why I age differently?”

Zeus silently vowed never to tell Athena that she had been right about Ganymede discovering his age. “No…an immortal he is but not a powerful one. You have vitality because Asclepius needed to nourish you with our nectar and ambrosia while you healed.”

“Oh,” he uttered, slightly deflated. “Did I have siblings?”

“Yes,” Zeus answered, although warily. “How did you guess?”

“I think I remember one of them…in my dreams,” he revealed. “What was his name?”

Zeus knew the name as if he spoke it regularly. “Either Ilos or Assaracus.”

“Ilos,” Ganymede declared. “Ilos.”

The muscles in Zeus’s jaw ticked but he assured, “A doting elder brother, to be sure, but I wonder if it is not his son you are remembering, your nephew. Ilos was a man grown when you were born, with already a son of his own: Priam.”

Don’t step on the nails!

Ganymede remembered the scorched feeling in his lungs. Wait, Pri! Priam!

“I have a nephew…” he uttered.

“Who was certainly the most heartbroken when he no longer had you,” Zeus confirmed.

Ganymede rolled onto his side to look at him better. “What of my brothers and parents?”

Zeus’s brows lifted alongside his shrug as he said, “They wept and prayed until I sent them the finest horses men would ever see.”

A long silence passed, and Zeus thought the worst was past until he realized Ganymede’s stare was deadpan. “Horses?” he repeated. “You sent them horses to replace me?”

The king’s eyes widened. “They were within the lineage of Helios’s steeds. Practically gods in themselves—”

Ganymede rolled onto his other side, away from him. Zeus reached for his hair, but the young man was stiff and unreceptive. “Gany? Gany, are you sulking?”

“No,” he rebuked. “I’ve only forgotten how normal it is for one’s family to forget a member after an influx of chariot pullers.”

Zeus had never heard such a tone from him, but he checked his curiosity and soothed, “They hardly forgot you. You were the pride of their house, a son amongst the gods. It was only after I personally assured them of your safety and well being that their tears dried and they smiled again.”

He watched Ganymede’s ribcage rise and fall with even breath, seeing this information calm him. Or so he thought. “You lied to them too. Was I recovered when you said this?”

Zeus’s sigh was heavy and audible. “No...you weren’t. Your condition had just become stable, so it was not entirely a lie.”

Ganymede pressed, “Was I happy here? In the beginning?”

“No,” he stated truthfully. “No, you were not. Hermes thought to amuse you once by portraying himself as Priam…but the way you screamed, I’ve never seen Hermes frightened of anything he could outrun. You might have noticed that he has never appeared in your company again.”

A short burst of air told him Ganymede was still sulking. Draping an arm over Ganymede’s waist, Zeus slid his body across the distance to curl around Ganymede’s. “It was a beautiful day when you first smiled here,” he said huskily. Heat rushed from Ganymede’s ear and down his torso. “Rain was sprinkling Athena’s library pool while the sun beamed. You could finally walk on your own and had wandered away from Asclepius’s gaze to where the naiads were singing. They sang and danced for you. Though you were but a child, your laughter was the sweetest sound to my ear.”

Ganymede’s breathing seemed to ease by this. Zeus felt encouraged to add, “I trained you to serve me for your safety, knowing none of my siblings would allow a mortal to live here without serving, but not before I served you first. When you wished for the sun, I cleared the skies for you. When you wished for rain, it poured. If you cried I sang and soon only I was granted your touch. Forgive me, but you spoiled me. In your terror I was the one you trusted, the one you ran to with your fears.”

“You don’t sing anymore.”

Zeus’s brows perked up. “Would you like me to? That was always more my son’s area. In Apollo's words, I sound more like a shrill wind.”

“I don’t remember that,” Ganymede uttered quietly, and then, “But your voice is too deep to be shrill.”

He chuckled deeply, nuzzling Ganymede’s nape as if to prove his words right. “Am I cruel to hold those memories deep within my heart? That time period is swathed from your consciousness, too sharp to touch despite being so dear to me.”

“Is now not dear?”

“Mmm…” he hummed. “It was a time when you were all to myself. Now cannot compare.”

“Mmph. So you are selfish. And needy.”

“I am—oh.” Ganymede turned back around to face him, catching him by surprise. Zeus’s hand flattened against his lower back while Ganymede’s finger pressed over his nose, moving the flesh around. Zeus’s eyelids lowered to half-mast, accepting the torture until he grasped Ganymede’s wrist to hold it still, to kiss the knuckles of his curled fingers. Those fingers unfolded, allowing him to seek the palm, lavishing the hillock of the thumb and the web of veins at the base.

Ganymede pulled his hand away, but only so far as to place the pads of his fingers on those lips, feeling their suppleness, how they softly sank and lifted under his touch. He traced the outer edge of those lips and their seam, before drifting to the side. His touch seemed to want to adventure over his jaw but his trail ceased, and Zeus felt the pad of a thumb once more on his lips.

“Let me sleep.”

He felt the lips curve in a smile before his hand fell and he pressed himself underneath Zeus’s chin. A kiss dusted his hair as the words sent him to sleep, “As ever, Gany, I serve.”

He awoke in Zeus’s bed alone. The bedside plate of edibles was empty, as usual. Without sleep, the king often ate while he watched the night pass. Rubbing sand from his eyes, Ganymede arose and went to bathe in cool waters. He remained longer than usual, swimming and watching the veins of light dance across the hammered copper and rose gold of the walls. Afterward he dressed and made the bed, tightening the cotton mattress sheet and then the silken blue one over it. He folded a corner of the tyrian purple coverlet so it was semi-open for him should the king want to return to it.

He was not expecting Hephaestus to be waiting for him by the dumbwaiter, but Ganymede bowed respectfully. The rough voice summoned, “Come here.”

The platform on which food should have been waiting rang with the gong of his hand patting it. Ganymede’s feet followed his order on their own accord, but Hephaestus saw his hesitation. “I have it locked. You will not fall.”

Without further ado, he lifted the youth to sit upon it. Ganymede yelped but the platform proved sturdy and the god was already unwinding his bandages. From one of his leather apron pockets, large enough to hold one of his hammers, he extracted a remarkably small jar. Unscrewing it with care, he tenderly applied salve onto Ganymede’s feet. He hissed and flinched at its burning, itching sensation. “It hurts.”

“Aye, it would,” he returned. “It’s meant to heal me. I imagine it will do you roughly for a minute.”

A minute indeed. The heat came from its rapid disinfectant and the itching from his skin stitching back together. Hephaestus dropped his bandages into a nearby brazier for disposal before he moved on to the other foot. He surprised Ganymede again by asking, “Why do you like him?”

His features opened. “His majesty?” To the god’s nod he answered, “He is kind to me.”

A sound came from him that could not be defined as pleasant. “Kindness for you but not his own son.”

Ganymede’s nerves were already on edge from the healing of his other foot. “He was not the one who threw you…and he sent for Asclepius, didn’t he?”

Hephaestus was contemplative. “Aye, suppose he did.”

Ganymede’s exhaled more easily. That had been a guess.

“That does not make it fair,” the god added. “I wonder where you learned kindness, because it wasn’t from him.”

Ganymede’s features drooped. “Why couldn’t it be from him?”

The god stood and dropped the other set of bandages into the fire. “Because he is selfish."

“So I’ve learned,” he muttered.

"But not like these other gods, my brothers and sisters.” Hephaestus’ grey eyes found him and with his unscarred side facing him, the resemblance of father and son was uncanny. “My mother said something to me after Asclepius patched me up.”

Ganymede suddenly did not want to hear this, did not know what he had done to warrant this attention.

“She said to me, ‘Now you look like your father. Just as pretty and just as vile.’ The only difference is you have a choice which side to act upon.”

Ganymede surprised himself by remaining still when one of those great hands cupped his face. He realized with odd clarity that the god was petting his hair despite the rough skin on his cheek and ear.

“Be careful, little bird. Control is an illusion, most of all to him. He is as volatile as the lightning he cherishes. You have been lucky to see his gentility when he has it, but I fear you will fall at his feet when he does not have it, and the worst part is it will entirely be an accident. Do not let your death be so trivial.”

He began to lumber with heavy steps to the stairs that led to his domain below. Ganymede swallowed quickly to moisten his throat. “Thank you!”

Hephaestus turned to him with his grotesque half and Ganymede did not look away. He simply held his gaze before the god continued out of sight. For a long moment Ganymede sat there, thinking. For some time those thoughts were as lost to the flames beside him as his bandages were, but he tore his sight from the brazier and wondered how to get food now. Perhaps Hephaestus had been waiting for him all morning and therefore had not cooked ambrosia yet. His stomach growled as he made his way to the one place he knew there would be something to eat.

“GANY!” Dionysus boomed, shocking his company with same power of voice Zeus had. “Come! Come! Come! We are deciding pairings. Do you know what those are?”

He rushed Ganymede into a plush seat and the latter found an array of cheeses, fruits, meats, and small glasses of wine spread out across the table. “This one!” a satyr beckoned, handing him a crumbling piece of white cheese topped with a grape and a strange sprig of greenery. Dionysus watched closely as he chewed and frowned.

“It was sweet but then there was something…tangy?”

“Wash it down with this,” Dionysus prompted, handing him one of the cups of red. It’s bitterness somehow cut through the tang and made everything sweet again. Next came a bit of smoked fish with a crisp white wine that he liked but he chose to eat whatever he could while drinking from the lone carafe of water after that. Before long, Athena of all people strolled into the room.

“It seems you are having a banquet to which I wasn’t invited,” she smiled.

Dionysus greeted her with a piece of pita baked to a crisp topped with cheese, fish, and the same piece of leaf Ganymede had disliked. “Tell me what you think of this.”

Her nose wrinkled. “You will do better with the basil.”

“Basil…” her brother murmured under his breath as he began piling new creations for his satyrs to try.

Meanwhile she sat beside Ganymede and placed her owl atop his shoulder. “How are you, Gany?” she asked warmly. “You gave us quite a scare last night.”

“I’m well,” he giggled, squinting as the owl nibbled on his ear. “I’m sorry for making a mess. I should have excused myself when I wasn’t feeling well.”

“No, no,” she waved the apology aside. “I have been telling father for years that he ought to quell the behavior of the demigods. They think because they have a superior parent that they can act like barbarous children their whole lives. Human children have more consideration than they.”

Her attention was drawn to another morsel held out to her. “I need your palette,” her brother decreed. She supplied it, chewing contemplatively. “The pink one.”

Dionysus had been chewing the same arrangement and washed it down with rosé. His eyes widened. “Brilliant.”

Athena frowned. “Why not seek your son, Oenopion, or one of the other agriculturally inclined gods? He shares your passion for drink and any of the others might have decent wisdom to partake.”

Dionysus glared at her, not to be trifled with in this matter. “If I want wisdom there is one and one alone whom I will seek. Now this.” He handed her a small bundle of fruits sliced like strings and wrapped in veal. She obliged and named one of the reds as it’s choicest partner.

The day progressed like this, with occasional visits from unexpected relatives, such as Demeter and of course Eros. The latter sat between Ganymede’s legs, resting his golden head on the knee while drinking whatever wine Dionysus tried to shove Ganymede’s way. Towards the evening Dionysus arranged a new plate and sent it to Ganymede for Zeus’s beside table snacks. “If his picky tongue enjoys each of these then we have accomplished something,” he said by way of reasoning.

So Ganymede piled it atop the finished plates of food from the dumbwaiter and went to the stairs leading to the king’s room—

The tilted eyes of a naiad looked up at him from where she kneeled. She smiled kindly. “It is a lovely sight to see you standing again.”

He blinked, guessing that she must have been someone present when he collapsed. “Thank you…do you need something?”

“No,” she voiced, “well, I was seeking his majesty but you seem to need assistance. May I?”

“No,” he answered instantly, surprising himself. But then, he found himself speaking from a spark of something he was unused to feeling. Suspicion? The naiad had stood, intending to grasp some of the plates but her hands fell to her sides, her eyes seeking an explanation.

“You’re not allowed in his rooms,” he supplied, and, “No one is. You know this. That’s why you’re waiting here.”

“You are,” she replied stoically. "Allowed, that is."

“I am his servant. If you wish for him, he will hear your prayers.”

Her head tipped to the side slightly. “He answers yours?”

Ganymede frowned. “He hears them all. If he does not respond, you are either able to answer your own prayer yourself or he cannot answer it.”

“He is a god, and the king of gods. There is nothing he cannot do,” she said readily.

“It’s not that simple,” Ganymede refuted. “The answer of one prayer could mean the desolation of an entire kingdom. It is not that his power is limited, but that it must be handled with care.”

She hummed over that, a fascinated smile curving her plump lips. “We would not know such a thing. To be born from the greatest of titans and then to rule over your equals is a great responsibility unknown to us. Thank you for explaining this to me.”

She clasped her hands and nodded to him. “I hope your recovery continues smoothly.”

He watched her leave with a mixture of perplexity and wonder. Unsure what to think, he chose to climb the stairs and perform his usual duties of shaving the king and relaying Dionysus’ latest humorous pursuits.

The following day Dionysus caught Ganymede on his way to collect food, firing questions as to what Zeus liked from the pairings. “He liked the mint and strawberries,” Ganymede shrugged, trying to recollect the previous evening.

“What of the sharp cheeses?” he demanded, setting down every plate and parcel Ganymede tried to pick up. “Did he say anything of the blue mold? It is a new practice of the humans, but certain cheeses take well to expiry.”

“I think he reached for the wedges and the creamier cheeses more than the crumbled ones,” Ganymede tried.

Dionysus waved that away. “Bah, his opinion on the tart things is irrelevant. His bloody sweet tooth. And the wine? Did he pair the wines properly?”

Ganymede’s jaw hung open as he shook his head, at a loss. “I fell asleep. I think he just drank his usual nectar with them.”

“Ahrgh!” Dionysus cried, thrusting his hands into his hair and spinning around, but more out of lament than anger. “Gany, Gany, Gany!”

He suddenly held the sides of Ganymede’s face, pressing himself nose to nose with him to contain his full attention. “There is no point without the wine! You will try again this morning and be successful! I will bring vessels of each vintage for you to pour, and you will hold him hostage if you must to thoroughly taste everything!”

He planted a wet kiss on his forehead and began marching away but Ganymede wondered, “Why don’t you just spend time with him yourself? If he can weather quality time with Ares, you should be a pleasure to him.”

“I have new things to create!” he declared as if his audience was more than one person. “Always looking ahead, darling, always ahead!”

Ganymede’s shoulder slumped as he scratched his head. He did not even know where Zeus was, having woken up alone as usual.

The initial amount of dishes was easy enough to get up the stairs and he arranged them around the room so the king could access them easily wherever he roamed. Upon returning for the wines, however, Ganymede accused, “This is more than yesterday!”

“I told you I am working on new things already!” Dionysus exclaimed.

“I can’t remember what drink goes with which food!”

“Let him figure it out!” Dionysus said. “Make him use a piece of intelligence for my benefit.”

He placed a new tray of assortments in his hands, and Ganymede decided to leave before the god sent him up with more. It was the ultimate test of balance climbing up the stairs with a tray of food piled with small bowls of sauces, and another tray devoted to thin decanters of wine while a pitcher of palette cleansing vinegar and lemon juice hung from Ganymede’s forearm. The lightest burden was Athena’s silver owl who had come to rest on his shoulder as he climbed. As much as he was used to carrying such an amount up these stairs, he did not usually do so more than once in a morning. Between the sloshing of wine, the rustle of food skittering across the dish, and his own heartbeat in his ears, Ganymede did not have the peace of mind to notice other sounds reaching him as he crested the stairs.

An indecipherable sound of a voice did stand out, though: a sigh, a hum, or a word, he could not tell. It was out of place, not deep enough to belong to the ruler of these rooms—

Ganymede turned the corner, and everything fell from his arms. Glass shattered, metal clanged, and pottery broke as he gaped at the king’s bed. The king’s bed. The very sheets Ganymede had slept on, now slithering underneath the lithe body of a woman. The contrast of her smooth slopes of leg and rear, the peachy almond brown of her flesh to his golden baked ridges of shoulder and back…

Ganymede was already running down the stairs, the owl shrieking ahead of him. He could not remember turning, fleeing, but his feet moved on their own while the image of Zeus bowing over the nymph stayed in his mind, burnt there like the circle of the sun. The sounds of his kisses on her mouth finally rang in his ears, the path of his exploratory hands warming her flesh prickling cold bumps across Ganymede’s own, and the repeated motion of hips between her legs thrusting and thrusting…

Dion…! he sobbed, Please! the same moment a voice thundered above, “GANY!”

He fumbled and tripped on the last stair, but Dionysus was there catching him. Ganymede felt the familiar speed of a god and the gut wrenching nature of it. When he next opened his eyes he was then falling into Eros’ embrace, doubly protected by the god and Dionysus’ rooms. Eros collapsed with him across the floor cushions, simultaneously holding him and a bucket to catch his vomit and tears.

*******

Zeus heard the crash and drew his head up. It took far too long to remember the sound of breaking glass and to recall what that meant. “Gany!” he cried, leaping from the bed and racing after him.

But he was not fast enough. “GANY!”

A hand blocked him, and he found Athena standing in the archway to his rooms. Her silent, unsurprised anger found the shocked naiad on the bed, and though the her mouth opened to scream, it was choked out before it began. All that remained of her was an insignificant bed bug that was already dying from the altitude.

“You must clean up the rest of your mistake,” she uttered softly.

He moved to knock her hand aside but she had already removed it and had moved to stand directly in front of him. “Have you ever noticed how he does not call you by your name?”

She was adding insult to salt already in a wound and he did not have time to think over her words or sew together a retort. Feathers bloomed across his flesh and he flew down the stairs, across the library and—

A massive paw slammed the eagle down to the marble. Just as Zeus had taken the form of the bird, he stood once more as a man, but the tiger all but lazily sauntered behind his master. Dionysus leaned against a pillar overgrown with ivy, facing his father. “I will see him,” Zeus growled.

“You will not,” his son replied softly.

Zeus took a step, and just as Athena had done, Dionysus moved to stand before him. On either side of them, ivy and grape vines were curling over the floor, growing toward their master. “Move,” the king warned. “Your rooms are in my palace and I will see him.”

“He has asked me to protect him,” Dionysus uttered in his soft purr. “And I will.”

Subtle though it was, it was a blow. Denied his cupbearer from Ganymede’s own request was something Zeus could not contest, and Dionysus knew this. He remained a moment longer should Zeus find something to say, but when he did not Dionysus stepped back for his vines to entwine into a wall between them.

*******

Dionysus entered his room and came to lie on Ganymede’s other side. Semele gracefully stepped near with a wet cloth in her mouth and he took it to clean Ganymede’s mouth and face before she went to guard the door with the tiger. The bucket had already been done away with.

It was a long time before Ganymede’s tears dwindled but Dionysus stroked between his eyes as Eros played with his fingers all the while. And when they ceased, the gods let the silence remain until he was ready to speak. “Can I sleep here tonight?”

“Of course,” Dionysus promised.

“Thank you.”

“You needn’t say so.”

“It was for Eros,” Ganymede murmured. “For…catching my sick.”

The corners of Dionysus’ mouth drooped but he met Eros’ gaze and they shared a laugh. “Well your humor is still present, that is a good sign,” he acquiesced.

“Now that your stomach is empty you should eat something,” Eros prompted.

“I’m not hungry,” Ganymede declined glumly. He did not trust himself at the sight of food.

“Drink something, then,” Dionysus offered. “I am actually very keen on mashing fruit of late. It fills the stomach better than the juice.”

Ganymede sat up to accept the goblet of plum colored mash and was pleasantly surprised by how easily it went down his throat. At some point the silver owl flew in and returned to his shoulder, nuzzling close to his neck and falling asleep. Eventually Ganymede slumped on the settee with his goblet held against his stomach, listening to Eros and Dionysus discuss events.

“It’s clearly been so long that he has forgotten tact,” Eros commented dryly. “Of course he may use his room as he likes, but his liaisons used to happen more privately on earth. Even though the humans still think the place is flat, the sphere makes it easy for us to hide.”

Ganymede blinked heavily, not wanting to think about each time Zeus disappeared, presumably to earth. Dionysus noticed and scolded, “Don’t put wild thoughts into his head, Eros! Everyone knows he’s been on his best behavior for the past few decades. Frankly, his relationship with Hera is better than ever because of Gany’s presence—”

“Dion!” Ganymede curtailed with finality. “The king likes women. He prefers women, the same as Poseidon. The assumptions that he wants me are wrong.”

Eros looked over his shoulder with a dubious frown. “More of a habit than a preference. The only wrong notions are ones that involve comparing Zeus to his brothers. That is an argument that has been discussed since Zeus induced the other two from their father’s bowels.”

“Let’s not get into that,” Dionysus finished as Ganymede stood to go to the veranda. Dionysus’ rooms looked out over a portion of the palace gardens, which looked far more tranquil and lovely than he felt. He leaned on the wall, his arms flopping over it so the goblet dangled from his fingertips.

Eros came up beside him, bumping him with his hip. “Perhaps this should have been asked from the beginning, but would you want him to prefer men?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he mumbled.

“Oh it matters,” Dionysus countered on his other side, lithely vaulting over the wall so he sat atop it. “You wouldn’t feel this way if it didn’t. This sensation is otherwise known as jealousy.”

Ganymede peeked up at him and then glanced at Eros for a second opinion. He nodded. He returned his forlorn gaze back to the garden. “What does this mean?”

“Oh, just that you want the great cock in you instead of that cunt—”

“He didn’t mean literally,” Eros cut off.

“Oh,” Dionysus finished. He drank the last of Ganymede’s goblet.

Eros provided, “It only means that you have arrived at the ability to admit your desires and talk about your cock. Congratulations.”

Ganymede slumped even lower, pressing his mouth against his folded arms. “We ought to celebrate,” Dionysus said.

“I don’t feel like celebrating anything,” he grumbled.

Dionysus blew a raspberry. “As a vain being, I was referring to celebrating me, not you.”

Eros snorted. “There are two weeks until you become important.”

“Let’s go now.”

Eros and Dionysus looked down at the low voice. “Come again?” the latter uttered.

“Let’s go now,” Ganymede repeated. “What is two weeks?”

He met Dionysus’ gaze, who absorbed his countenance and then exchanged a look with Eros. “Well then…where shall we explore first?”