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Senses become more heightened here,he said.

Having eased the roiling in my belly now, I feel more clear-headed than I have for days. And so I go back to harvesting Aletheia’s plants, working my way back to where she stands.Sheclearly knows much about this garden. Why not start here, to learn its secrets?

We harvest a little longer in silence before I turn to her.

“What is it this plant does? Once it is dried and prepared.”

She glances at me.

“First we take seeds, crush them, mix with celandine oil. Leave one moon cycle. Then it is poison.”

The basket almost drops from my hands.

“Poison? But…why would we make such a thing?”

“For his arrows.”

Poison-tipped arrows.So the demon is a hunter.

“And what does he hunt?” My voice trembles a little despite myself. “Animals or men?”

“You speak as though men do not kill their own kind,” she scoffs. “He does nothuntmen. But as one man may kill another,he may end a life, if it must be done.”

And who decides, I wonder, if such a thingmustbe done?

“Show me your basket,” Aletheia gestures, already bored with my questions. She inspects what I’ve picked so far.

“You are slow, mortal girl. Not even enough for one arrow. You must work harder. Try that bush, there.” She directs me to a patch of the garden further away from her—too far for more questions. I do as she says, but my mind is turning fast.

There are powerful things in this garden, indeed. And though I do not seek to poison him, surely there are other things in this garden that I can use. I know the gods have often gifted mortals with magic herbs to help achieve superhuman things. What if, even for an hour or for a few minutes, I could acquire the strength of some great hero? Or better yet, a glamor of invisibility. I could creep out to the stables unnoticed, then, and wait for the demon to open the gate himself.

I could follow him when he retires at night. I could see his uncloaked face.

I could—

“Psyche!”

At the sound of my name I whip around. The black cloak moves in the breeze around the shape of a man, cool-looking in the heat, as though shade follows where he goes. How does he manage to sneak up on me like that?

Beneath the cloak I can see he’s looking at me. Then he turns aside.

“Aletheia—you have gathered amply for today. Will you take these inside—the lady Psyche’s basket, too?”

Aletheia gives the merest nod, and takes the basket from me without a word. I watch her spry figure make its way back toward the palace walls. It’s easier than looking at him.

Whatever he’s kept me behind to say, I doubt I want to hear it. More insults? More patronizing rationales for why I should not only accept captivity but be grateful for it?

“Walk with me.”

He moves off down the path, pomegranate trees making a dappled light over him as he goes. I stay rooted where I am, and then I remember I have a goal. A goal that might mean humoring him for a while. Let him think me a tamer creature than I am, if it keeps me the freedom to go where I wish around the palace and its grounds. I follow him down the path.

After a few paces he speaks again. His voice is stiff and oddly formal.

“I wish to apologize. I fear I have not been mindful of just how great a transition this has been for you. What’s worse, I failed to control my temper.” The hood shifts in my direction. “It is a foul temper, I am sorry to say. I have been told that before.” He clears his throat. “I do not wish for you to feel yourself imprisoned here, Psyche. I think perhaps, once you are here a little while, you might see that it is not the prison you imagine.” He slows his pace a little, noticing I’m lagging, and gestures to the vast space around us.

“There is more to these gardens than you’ve seen. Orchards and vineyards and wide open fields. I can bring one of the horses for you if you like; you can learn to ride.”

I don’t tell him that my father taught my sister and me to ride years ago—though on a short-legged old workhorse, not on one ofthesemajestic creatures.