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Chapter Eight

I catch my breath.

He is tall and shrouded in darkness, the cloak whipping around him like a storm within a storm. I feel my heart seize, and I force myself not to shy away or shut my eyes.

“She does mean to kill me, then.”

The cloaked man stops in his tracks. Perhaps he had not expected me to speak; his cloaked face turns, as though surprised.

“The goddess?” he says. “Yes. She means for you to die.”

His voice is deep and low. My heart pounds so hard I can’t hear the ocean, or the screaming of gulls, or of the wind. It pounds so hard I feel I must bend double to keep it in my chest. Before me on the ground lies my robe, trampled and discarded. I pull it around me; I will have what dignity I can. But still when I speak, it takes everything I have.

“And you are here to do the job.” At least I stand upright as I say it. I may be shackled and alone, but I will not let the gods see me cower.

The black fabric of his cloak shimmers—it moves like black light, finer than any fabric I have ever seen.

“No. I have not come to kill you, Psyche.”

I stare at his hooded face.

“You know my name.”

“I know many things,” he says. His voice is resonant and calm. It matters little to him what becomes of me.

“You are some kind of messenger, then,” I conjecture. “You are here to bring me to some worse place.”

“I am not.” He pauses. The hood shifts again. “What if I told you there was a way to escape this?”

I stare at him. Perhaps he is no messenger of the gods after all, and merely a fool. Some tramp or vagrant too senseless to run with the rest of the crowd.

“So, you carry the keys to this upon your person?” I say, showing him the shackle at my ankle.

He sounds impatient now.

“That is not the problem. The problem is that you have attracted the eye of Aphrodite, and the mistrust of your town. If I were to release you, where would you run? Home?”

With that, he has my attention. He’s right. Even if I could escape right now, there could be no return to Sikyon. The neighbors would report me; Father and Dimitra would be punished too.One way or another, they will have their pound of flesh.

“And when Aphrodite hears you have run from her,” the stranger continues, “do you think she will stop looking?”

I swallow.

“Once the goddess has her eyes on a mortal, there is little hope of concealing yourself from her. This darkness around us—you see it?” He gestures. “How the dawn has retreated even as the sun was due to rise? This unnatural darkness hides you from the eyes of the gods. But it will not last long.”

I stare. Who is this man, and what does he know?

“While it lasts, that is our window to save you. There is a place I can take you, where you will remain sheltered from Aphrodite’s sight. It is…” He hesitates, and the fabric of his cloak ripples softly in the wind. “It is a veiled place. You will be safe from her there.”

I breathe shakily. He is a madman, he must be.

“I do not believe you. Thisveiled placeyou speak of, it does not exist.” I have been taught well enough that the eyes of the gods can find us anywhere.

Beneath the hood, he stiffens.

“Do not believe me, then,” he says. “It is not for me to cajole you. But I warn you—you do not have much time.”

He turns toward the horizon, and I see the greenish glow there has thickened. Churning ripples pool at the base of the cliff. I stare at them.