Shadow Borne

by Rachael Slate

  ***

  Witnessing the peaceful couple slumber in each other’s arms was too much. Eros hopped to his feet, snared Psyche’s hand, and launched them into the sky. Dawn would be upon them soon and his mortal wife hadn’t slept. Her mortality was precisely what he had determined he must cure. Her heart, he sensed, was close to being his, but their future wouldn’t be theirs to claim until they were both immortal.

  He deposited her in the temple, pressing a kiss to her forehead and promising to return at first light.

  Tonight, he had a god to visit, and not just any god.

  Zeus himself.

  Eros flashed into the symposium on Mount Olympus. Since gods only slept whenever the impulse struck them, the grand hall bustled with activity, even at this late hour. Servants flocked to and fro. Gods and enchanted beings mingled to imbibe and make merriment. The god he sought was not within these walls. Instead, Eros located him on the balcony, overlooking the sky of the world below.

  Many times had Zeus beseeched favors of Eros. Not every maiden Zeus stumbled upon reciprocated his fancies. Eros had always been loath to accommodate the supreme god’s demands. The arrows of lust were a tool, a gift meant for the purpose of aiding in relationships. Never to compel the unwilling submission of partners.

  And… There were those times Eros had transformed him into snakes, fires, birds, and well, a bull. Zeus hadn’t been too pleased, especially with the latter.

  To declare they stood at odds would be to understate their butting of heads.

  Zeus carried the power to grant Psyche immortality and a place amongst the gods. Which only begged the question: What was Eros willing to sacrifice to bargain for it?

  He braced his forearm across his eyes as he approached Zeus, the god’s iridescent glow shining like the sun into a tunnel. “My Lord Zeus.” He inclined his head with respect and humility.

  “Nay, speak not your request, Eros, son of Aphrodite, for you know my terms.” The god’s booming voice resounded through the air, no doubt striking as thunder upon the poor human world.

  Right. Terms. A gilded arrow to prick any female of Zeus’s choosing. Bowing his shoulders, he ground, “Forgive me, I cannot.” He shifted from Zeus’s formidable presence and dragged his feet through the crowds of the symposium. He would simply have to find another way. Psyche would never accept a godhood if that was the price paid for it. Besides, his status with the humans would falter if they learned he forced their ardor according to his whims and not theirs.

  He refused to breach that trust.

  A surge of cheers arose from within the symposium. Eros halted at the gathered crowd, huddled in a half-circle about one of the pools they used for watching the humans. What was of such interest? He wove through the crowd until he scanned into the smooth-as-glass waters. Therein, a maiden knelt before a goddess. Mother?

  Oh, hell. The female was Psyche and his mother handed her an object—a crystal vase?

  He closed his eyes, intending to fade straight to them, but someone snatched his arm.

  “Nay, wait.”

  Eros twisted around and regarded a Wind Borne male. The soft, fleecy wings framing his body did nothing to counter the cunning flashing in his coppery gaze. “There is a reason your mother has begun this task without you.” The male extended his arm toward the image of Aphrodite.

  Freezing, he assessed the Wind Borne. Was the male attempting to aid him, or hinder him? Could he be an acquaintance of that fiend Borasco? Several attempts at analyzing the male’s stoic features brought him no closer to determining his motives. This male was as hardened as any warrior of Ares. He was about to relinquish the attempt, but a spark of intensity flamed with the male. Eros would recognize such a flame anywhere. Passion.

  This Wind Borne may not reveal his emotions, but they existed, hiding deep within.

  The male’s lips curved in a grim smile. “I, too, have much to gain from Psyche’s immortal birthing.”

  A round of exclamations shot through the crowd, tearing Eros’s focus to the pool. Psyche clambered onto wet rocks, rushing waters impeding her path. Her attention was trained on the rock face where the rivers sprouted their waters.

  “This is nonsense.” Eros fisted a hand, ready to flash to her aid. “No mortal could fetch those waters.”

  The Wind Borne stopped him again, with a hand on his arm. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not mortal.” He gave a sharp nod and transformed into a red-tailed hawk, taking off through the symposium with a piercing cry.

  Eros waited, helpless. If he assisted Psyche, his mother might fault her. If he stood by, Psyche might fall into the waters.

  Damn, this was bloody absurd.

  The moment he was about to stop waiting, the hawk flashed within the pool’s vision, seizing the vase from Psyche. He flew straight to the heavily spurting waters and filled the vase, then offered it to Psyche.

  She thanked him, bobbing her head.

  The beings in the symposium groaned and dispersed; their amusement ended.

  Eros whirled at the fluttering of a wing. The Wind Borne performed the morphos into his natural shape, rolling his shoulders and folding his wings.

  “Thank you.” Eros studied him. “You never told me your name, or how I can repay your kindness.”

  “It’s Nazrin.” The male bared his teeth in a grin. “And that time will come.”

  ***

  Psyche raised the vase above her head and bestowed it to the goddess, who tsked impatiently.

  “You had aid.”

  Instead of replying, Psyche kept her lips sealed. In truth, she had no clue as to her ally’s identity. Certainly not Eros, who would have transformed into a dove, not a hawk.

  A friend of his?

  Either way, the quest was finished. “I have fulfilled your three tasks.”

  “Hmm.” The goddess studied her with keen scrutiny in her blue depths. “Nay, the first you did not accomplish alone, I am certain. Nor any task after that.”

  Psyche drooped forward, lowering her head. Would this never end?

  “Then assign me a task I must fulfill on my own. Once I have completed it, you will permit me to share the truth with Eros.”

  “Humph. Impertinent for a mortal, Psyche. Careful, you are not a goddess yet.” Aphrodite padded to the altar and plucked a small round box. “I heard a rumor Persephone has concocted a beauty cream, so potent it can heal even my sweet Eros’s scars. I find it rather unfair she refuses to share it with the goddess of Beauty, do you not agree?”

  Psyche shrugged. Who cared? Eros clearly did not wish to heal his scars.

  Apparently, Aphrodite did.

  “Fetch me this beauty cream and I will uphold my terms.” The goddess placed the box in Psyche’s hands. “Do not fail.”

  As the goddess’s glow faded, Psyche frowned at the silver case. How was she ever to visit the goddess Persephone? In the Underworld?

  The box jiggled from the quivering in her hands. This fourth task would be her doom.

  What if Aphrodite didn’t wish for her to succeed, after all? Mayhap, she was envious of Psyche’s beauty. No mortal had ever traversed to the Underworld and returned.

  Oh, gods. I’m going to die there. Eros would never learn the truth, would never know how deeply she cared for him.

  I love him. She blinked aside bittersweet tears. Eros. She loved Eros. Not Soren. Not the beast. Rather, the god who had risked everything for her, who’d offered his heart without demanding hers in return.

  She did see him, and she loved all of him.

  Now, she might never live to tell him so. Her shoulders stooped forward, her tears spilling onto the tiles.

  A Portal formed behind her, its dark abyss stretching endlessly. It was time. Sighing, she rose and took one step toward the Portal, but halted. Nay, she required supplies for a journey to the land of the dead. As she pondered what to bring, a sack appeared to her left. Peeking inside, she discovered two honeyed cakes and two coins.

  Psyche surveyed around her
, but the temple was empty. Only the looming stare of the Portal greeted her view. Steeling her spine, she slung the sack across her shoulder and passed through the Portal. A moment later, she opened her eyes and gazed toward a vast, barren land. An inky river wove through the wasteland and in the distance, a sad wailing rang.

  This must be the Underworld and that the River Styx.

  Cautiously, she tugged the hood of her cloak over her face and treaded toward a dock where a dilapidated boat was tethered. On the prow stood a towering cloaked figure. Charon, the ferryman. Swallowing her trepidations, Psyche gripped one of the coins from the sack and trekked forward. A wind rushed past her as a ghostly figure hopped aboard, plinking its fare into Charon’s bony palm.

  Psyche shuddered and hurried forward before any more spirited beings might take her place aboard. She did not want to miss this sailing and spend even longer in the Underworld than she must. Pretending nothing was amiss—and that air did not find its way into her functioning lungs—she dropped her coins into the ferryman’s hand and headed for the side of the vessel.

  A grunt passed Charon’s lips, so she hoped that meant he was appeased with her fare.

  As she waited for the boat to fill with souls, the enormous hooded figure shifted to regard her. “Mortals are not welcome here,” the deep, penetrating voice of Charon spoke to her through the dark depths of his cloaked face.

  “Please, milord.” She lowered her hood and cast him a pleading stare. “I am on a quest from the goddess Aphrodite. I must beseech you to convey me to Lady Persephone.”

  A snort puffed from the being’s hidden visage, but it shuffled from her and snared its long pole, steering the ship from the dock.

  Psyche collapsed onto her seat with a sigh. Thank the gods.

  Their journey across the river ended and, as she stepped onto the shore, Charon called, “The cakes are for Cerberus. Save one for your return journey. I will await you here.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled at the surprisingly helpful ferryman, then focused on the path winding upward toward an enormous palace.

  Its ebony exterior gleamed like solid mirrors, reflecting the world around it so perfectly that the palace was nigh invisible. Only squinting did she determine its features. Four twisting towers arose from each direction, and one in the center. Before she climbed the colossal stairway, she had first to pass the gargantuan, three-headed canine standing guard at its base.

  Peering at the tiny cake in her hand, she prayed this would work. She gave a high-pitched whistle and all three heads of the hound whipped toward her. His incandescent cobalt orbs glinted at her, three sets of serrated teeth bared in her direction.

  She gulped, offering the cake for the black-furred canine to sniff. Tentatively, one head dipped, his nostrils flaring while his warm breath fanned across her. Astonishingly, the hound’s rump plopped onto the ground and Cerberus lowered his three heads, whining eagerly.

  Amazing. Psyche waved the cake beneath his noses, his attention rapt upon the sweet morsel, and tossed the cake into the distance. The canine bounded off after the cake, completely dismissing her presence and his post.

  She laughed and raced up the stairs, eager to finish this quest. The wide glass doors swung open to permit her entry and, cautious again, she treaded inside.

  The doors closed behind her, sealing her fate.

  Fortune or doom, one would claim her now.

  Eros fisted his hands at the closing of Hades’s doors. Thus far, he’d been with Psyche, along each step of her journey, ensuring her safety. However, he couldn’t venture within Hades’s household without the god’s knowledge, or permission.

  Psyche was on her own.

  Damn, but he loathed this place. There were beings here that made even a god’s skin crawl.

  Whatever beauty cream Aphrodite sought from Persephone, it wasn’t worth the risk.

  He shifted his feet, growing anxious the longer Psyche remained inside. One peek wouldn’t hurt. He flapped his wings and took flight, stealing toward a window. Fluttering from one to the next, he searched for Psyche. There. In the atrium, she knelt before the goddess Persephone, who gazed at her, surrounded by her soft violet glow.

  Psyche offered the box and Persephone accepted it. She slipped a dark and mysterious substance inside before handing it back. Persephone bade Psyche to rise with a sweep of her elegant hand and dismissed her.

  Psyche contemplated the box for a moment, before bowing once more and padding away.

  Eros flew to the entrance, opening his mouth to cry for her to recall Cerberus. Thankfully, she didn’t falter as she raced outside, tossing a honeyed cake to the canine and scurrying down the stairs toward the ferry.

  Eros huffed a sigh of relief. It seemed his Psyche could tame all manner of beasts.

  Even me.

  She tucked the box into her sack and huddled beneath her cloak. Charon graciously accepted her passage, his benevolent behavior thanks to a quick discourse Eros had shared with him earlier. Amazing what the inhabitants of the Underworld would do for a short interlude inside Eros’s temple.

  He regarded with satisfaction the remainder of her journey, until the ship docked.

  Happy now, Mother? He smirked smugly to himself. This quest had been too easy. What a formidable pair he and Psyche would make.

  The other gods were right to be envious.

  He was about to fade from the Underworld as she approached the Portal, but a fluttering of silk emerged before her, blocking her path.

  A feminine figure manifested in front of Psyche with a haughty laugh and snatched the box from Psyche’s sack. “How kind of you to bring me a gift.”

  Fortuna.

  “No, stop!” Psyche yelled, but Fortuna already clasped the box in her greedy hands.

  “A shame you’ll have no gift to present your goddess. She’ll cast you out for certain now.” The female tossed her head, black and white locks framing her pale, transparent face.

  “That box is mine. I retrieved it on my own and I’ll not let you thieve it from me.” Psyche charged forward, smashing into the goddess’s side and wrangling the box from her grasp.

  Fortuna clutched the box, wrestling her for the prize.

  “Let go, you weak mortal!” Fortuna shrieked, shoving Psyche to the ground.

  The box sailed into the air, clanking onto the earth, its lid cracking open.

  “No!” Psyche cried, crawling through the dirt to gather the box, but Fortuna’s nimble fingers seized it first and she sneered in sinister victory.

  From inside the box seeped an inky mist, and it spread toward Fortuna, who inhaled it first, her lashes fluttering closed and her body slumping to the ground. The mists spread to Psyche and, before she could close the lid, they overcame her, sealing her in their murky doom.

  “No!” Eros charged forward, swooping, his wings beating the Stygian mists away. Quickly, he swept the mists from Psyche’s face and shut them once more inside the box. Then he expelled his divine breath into her lungs. “Awaken, Arete.” His heart reamed into his throat as he pleaded and begged for her to survive this.

  On the ground beside them, Fortuna’s body lay listless and unmoving. The concoction, fashioned from the Underworld’s River Styx, had spread through her body, sending her into a Stygian sleep. An eternal slumber. An endless death.

  How fitting. He narrowed his eyes at the viperous female before resuming his focus on Psyche. Eros scooped her into his arms and cradled her against his chest, rocking and murmuring softly. “Come back to me, my love. Come back and I will never let you go.”

  ***

  Psyche shoved at her eyelids, but they refused to budge. A most consuming sleep claimed her muscles, like a blanket of stone encasing her.

  Distant and faint, a familiar voice uttered sweet promises, beckoning her toward its comforting warmth. She longed to follow it, to climb out of this tomb, but the weight of lies and betrayal crushed onto her, drawing her into their infinite depths.

  Abruptly, a flash
of light sparked in her mind and wicked, bluest eyes smiled at her.

  Eros.

  She choked, staggering against the lead filling her lungs. Suddenly, the fluid in her chest expelled and she lurched forward, gasping and straining. Pure essence filtered through her mouth and into her body, soothing her choking. Struggling, she managed to lift her lashes a crack. A pristine ivory chamber greeted her view. Her head lolled at the effort to raise it and peer around.

  “Shh, sweetling. Do not try to move yet,” Eros’s deep timbre droned in her ears. “You were affected by a most terrible curse, but you are well now.”

  “Curse?” Psyche croaked, her throat parched. She tried to force her muscles to function, but all she managed was to wriggle in Eros’s lap.

  “Easy, love.” He gripped her tightly in his strong arms. “It’s over. You are safe in my home on Mount Olympus. No one will harm you again.”

  “The box,” she wheezed. “My quest.”

  “Fear not. I have it.” He stretched his arm to the table and brandished the box before her. “Fortuna was affected by the same sleep as you. She is no longer a threat to us.”

  Psyche shook her head, confused and thankful. “How did you save me? I was alone in the Underworld.”

  He shifted her upright into his arms. “You were never alone, Arete. I have always been with you.” His striking features twisted into a grimace. “You didn’t conclude I’d abandon you to my mother’s scheming, did you? Of course Persephone would have seized the opportunity to thwart my mother’s greed. When it involves beauty, she can be a jealous goddess.” He pressed his large, warm hand to her cheek. “I could never lose you. What would I do without my sweet Psyche by my side? I love you so much my heart would never survive the loss.”

  “I love you, too, Eros,” she blurted, unable to contain the words any longer.

  He stilled at her admission. “You do?”

  Her throat tightened and her heart pinched. “Yes. You were right,” she traced her fingertip along his bottom lip, “that I have always seen you. And it is you, Eros, who has stolen my heart.” She sighed, lowering her lashes. The quest was done, and whether fulfilled or not, would be determined by Aphrodite’s discretion.