Pherenike - Chapter 29

Pherenike had forcibly breached the small gate and entered Deucalion’s body, with a force strong enough to break down walls. Had their unique abilities not been so familiar with each other, Deucalion might have lost his balance and fallen.

Her Althea surged up his throbbing arm and coiled around his Orthea like a snake. His Orthea that had been nestled quietly in sleep with its master. Caught off guard, his Orthea squirmed within Althea’s grasp, as if protesting the discomfort to its master. However, Deucalion merely frowned slightly, finding the resistance both bothersome and tedious.

Even as his Orthea seemed to plead for release, Deucalion responded with a disinterested remark, “Don’t bother me, Pherenike.”

“But I always want to touch you when I enter your body.”

“What do you think of someone else’s body?”

The cub playfully circled the bed and jumped onto Deucalion’s lap, as if it belonged there. Absent-mindedly, he stroked the lion’s head as he would his wolfhound, and the lion contentedly sprawled on his lap.

Deucalion seemed to have a liking for her. Or perhaps she liked the way wolves are treated.

“So, you snuck out of the Gynaikeia tonight? You didn’t just steal your father’s lion, now you want to involve me?”

“I didn’t want to involve you. I wanted to show off. Of course, you’ll end up involved in this.”

“Figures. Using me as a shield again.”

“But who else should I tell first about this?”

“You could brag in the morning without breaking any rules.”

Of course, Vassilios did not confine his only daughter to the Gynaikeia, where there were no adult women. He saw no purpose or meaning in confining a child, except to drive her mad with boredom.

He made no distinctions within the household where she could thread or where she couldn’t, allowing his daughter to roam freely. The laws of the Vassilios family, engraved by some ancestor into a pottery jar, were the same precepts of women from Attica.

Since his time in Lykke was short, he saw no reason to restrict his daughter. Instead of offering kind words, he gave her freedom.

To Pherenike, the Gynaikeia of the Vassilios household was nothing more than a place to sleep.

Deucalion was well aware that her movements caused no issues in the Vassilios house, but his mention of rules and boundaries was his way of reminding her that she was in a man’s room late at night.

He worried she might forget he was a man, or that they were to be married in the future. By the customs of Evdokia, they were at an age where they shouldn’t see each other at such hours. And to the nine-year-old Deucalion, they were no longer children.

Pherenike released his Orthea and playfully floated a tiny light into the air. The lion cub’s eyes sparkled like a cat spotting an insect. Deucalion’s skepticism seemed justified.

“Deucalion Paethusa, every day I’m not good enough for you. What should I do?”

“What should you do? You’re already mine. Just sit back and bear any loss.”

When one of them acted arrogantly, the other matched the attitude. Instead of feeling inferior or denying their circumstances, they acknowledged them and held on.

Pherenike had learned to understand the gap in their statuses long ago. So what if you are the king’s son? Does that make you any less mine?

Deucalion was accustomed to his fiancée’s arrogance, having grown up together from the cradle. In turn, Pherenike took his arrogance for granted. Still, they loved each other deeply. Even after fierce arguments, they couldn’t bear to be apart.

“You decide this child’s name, Cal.”

“You’re just trying to pass the trouble onto me. You.”

“And in front of Father, say you brought this child out. Because you wanted it.”

“I already feel wronged.”

“You’re a prince. Father won’t say anything to you.”

“Don’t you remember how I used to roll around in the training grounds? Master doesn’t need to say anything to me. His actions say enough.”

“I didn’t roll around, so how would I remember? Just keep this cub for a while for me. Once father leaves Lykke, give it back to me. Let’s say you’ve physically checked its safety.”

“Hah.”

“Have you thought of a name yet?”

“Are you really planning to raise it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know how big lions grow?”

Pherenike nodded, saying that she had seen the cub’s mother and thus knew its future.

Deucalion, while absent-mindedly stroking the lion’s back, reluctantly offered a name.

“Atalanta.”

The name of a woman transformed into a lion after incurring God’s wrath.

Pherenike liked the name Atalanta. Not just because it signified the transformation into a lion—unfortunate for her—but because Atalanta was once a human, a huntress stronger than any man.

“You’ll be a very strong lion, Atalanta, even without a mane. Just like your namesake.”

“…..”

“More than any suitors you’ll encounter in your lifetime.”

As Pherenike slowly pronounced the name Atalanta, she suddenly felt a heartbeat resonate in her mind. For the first time, Pherenike realized it was the sound of life.

The power to call a name and receive a response from that life. It was a gift from Atalanta.

She softly called Deucalion’s name, and his heart seemed to affirm its living beat.

* Gynaikeia: The inner quarters where women resided in ancient Greek households.