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I narrow my eyes at him.

“And how is it that you have a god-child who keeps house for you; is this common practice among your kind?”

I feel his gaze shift; his voice travels more sharply.

“Mykind?” he says. “What kind is that?”

“Demons,” I say.

I hear the irritation he’s trying to tamp down.

“You don’t think much of us, do you?” He pauses. “But I suppose you think mortals are very fine. You should ask Aletheia what she endured among your kind.”

“Endured?God-children are worshiped in our lands.”

Beneath the cloak, he shakes his head.

“Oh, you like to tell their stories. But if such a creature is born among you, in your own town? It upsets the order of things. Any king would fear such an imbalance of power.”

I had not thought of it that way.

“Aletheia’s mother,” he says, “was a farmer’s wife. And one day she was accosted by the god Pan. You’ve heard tell of him, I suppose?”

He’s being ironic, no doubt. Of course I know of Pan, every girl in Sikyon is taught his name. We are taught to avoid walking the mountain passes alone for fear of him.

“Well, Pan had his way with her, and then, when her husband found out, he took her to trial before the village elders. They agreed the woman was impure—they said she had soughtout the god’s advances, and was to be stoned.”

The skin on my neck prickles. I would like to say such injustice belongs to the past, to my great-great-grandfather’s time and not ours. But I know better. Blame is a cursed arrow, burying its target in those who least deserve it.

“Then,” he continues, “when they realized Aletheia’s mother was with child, the village delayed its sentence. Not out of mercy, but because they feared Pan’s wrath if they destroyed his child.” His voice hardens. “So they waited until she had delivered herself of the child, andthenput her to death. As for the child—Aletheia—they took her away, and kept her locked up as if she were an animal.”

“Why?” I feel sickened.

“She was a god-child. They feared that she would learn to use her powers and turn against them.”

I sit with the terrible story for a while. It makes me ashamed of my own kind, of the things we are capable of.

“That’s…so horrible.”

“It is,” he says simply.

“Is that…” I hesitate. “Is that why she’s mute?”

There’s a surprised silence..

“Mute?” I hear the twist of his mouth. “Aletheia is not mute, Psyche.”

I blink. So she is simply choosing not to speak to me. She really does despise me. Perhaps it’s how she feels about all mortals. I flush, and feel his gaze pouring into me.

“You see? Your kind, Psyche, is as capable of evil as my own. Alone, you wield little power, and yet you band together to do great harm.”

It is true, I know it. And yet I know the opposite to be true, too. There is good, great good, among my kind.

When it’s not being smothered by other, darker things.

I am expecting him to bid me goodnight and disappear downone of the corridors, but it seems he intends to walk me all the way back to the great-room. The table has been cleared now of its half-eaten feast. The room is empty and quiet; only the Hearthstone seems to shimmer in the dim light. We’re halfway to my door, and still he walks with me. I slow my pace, my heart battering in my ribcage. We reach the door of my bedroom. He is still at my side, making no signs to leave.Call me husband, he mocked me earlier. Does he plan to claim his prize tonight, then, after all?

“I shall leave you here.”