The Gifts of Pandora

away, spit, and washed her face in the lake. Godsdamn it all! She trembled as if she were some ceramic ready to shatter into a hundred pieces. Why couldn’t she have a damn stinger? And why this feeling, now? Self-pity was indulgent and useless, a resort of those without the will or intellect to improve their circumstances.
That would not be her. That had never been her. Not when Titans took her from her home as a child. Not when they sold her as a slave. Not when her master learned she bled and took her as his bedmate. Not when he vanished and she’d been forced to become what she was now to avoid brothel life.
A metic, they called her. A foreigner, trapped on this island, scraping by with only what little she’d managed to steal from her master’s estate before she fled. And in nine years she’d become the most famous hetaira in Atlantis.
She looked up from the pool. Across it, Kelaino was now strolling with another man. Just tall enough he might have been a Titan. Yes … that looked like Prometheus, though she’d only caught a few glimpses of him in the past. He was uncle to the Pleiades, brother to their murdered father Atlas. According to the tales, he’d helped Zeus win the Titanomachy and claim Olympus, as well as given Man pyromancy and the Art of Fire.
She had not known the Titan to attend these symposiums, so what did they discus now? It was not her business, of course, and yet … Surely only something of import would bring him to Atlantis. Something of greater import than the marriage of his niece?
Before she even knew what she was doing, Pandora found herself slinking along the water’s edge until she came up behind one of the marble dolphin spouts and caught their words. She pressed herself flush against the dolphin’s pedestal and slipped down, watching the water in case anyone caught sight of her.
“… Because Zeus no longer trusts you,” Prometheus was saying. “His paranoia grows ever deeper, feeding upon itself as such things inevitably do, until even the lack of evidence of a conspiracy reaffirms its existence in his mind.”
Kelaino groaned and clucked her tongue. “But why now? It’s been nigh sixteen centuries since he bound Father and let us rule here.”
“He thinks you complicit in the Nectar propagation.” Nectar. Pandora had heard of the substance. It was some kind of Ambrosia counterfeit mortals had begun taking, trying to mimic the benefits of the real thing. According to rumor, it could heal almost any ailment, extend life, and dramatically enhance sexual encounters. She’d had a couple of clients surreptitiously inquire if she could get it for them, but Pandora had never dared.
She had also heard the stuff was feverishly addictive and, taken oft enough, might drive one to fits of madness. Her clients—always wealthy men—forever denied any experience with it, though Pandora had her doubts about a few of them.
“Neither I nor my sisters have aught to do with that blight.”
“Be that as it may, Zeus sees this polis as the focal point of the worst abuse, and thus, in his mind, the source of it. He cannot imagine this happening under your rule without your knowledge or perhaps even your involvement.”
“It is without either!” Kelaino blurted. “Surely you can talk to him, make him see reason.”
Pandora shook her head silently, now almost pitying Kelaino. Zeus would not have seen reason if it was carved onto the very mountainside of Olympus outside his bedroom window.
“He will not listen to me,” Prometheus said. “You must think to your defense with him. Prepare to offer him proof of your cooperation. Better still if you offer a culprit.”
“We offered him Tantalus, nine years ago.” Tantalus? Pandora’s former master? She barely stifled a gasp. Was that how he disappeared?
“And the Nectar continued to spread. Someone else is behind it, Kelaino, and if you do not find them soon, the king will hold you to account for their crimes.”
They broke apart, and, instead of continuing in the direction they had headed, Prometheus doubled back, walking past Pandora. For an instant, an unreadable expression flickered over his face. Then the Titan cast an intense gaze her way, holding her in place as her heart hammered and her breath caught. His eyes were blue as crystals, seeming to sparkle, unlike those of any of the genē. Oh, Kroniads and Tethids both most oft had blue eyes, but not like those.
“Strange,” he said, “how oft a single trait may prove both blessing and curse. Curiosity can serve as both the hallmark of wisdom—and discovery—and as the precipitator of the most painful of falls.”
Pandora found it hard to swallow under his scrutiny. “Some prices are worth a tumble.”
“Some,” he agreed, offering her a polite nod, before heading on his way.
His departure seemed to release a pressure from her chest, and she drew in a deep breath. Titans!
And if he was right, Zeus would soon return to Atlantis. The very thought of him had her fair trembling with rage and terror and a host of emotions she could not name nor afford to indulge in.
Pandora had rather had enough of this symposium.

2
Pyrrha
211 Golden Age
There was a special peace along the seashore at sunset, and Pyrrha had taken to wandering on the beach most nights, her dog Sharvara loping along beside her. Well, beside her unless he caught scent of a seagull flying by, then he’d dash off, rushing even into the Aegean. No matter how many times he chased the birds, Sharvara didn’t seem to realize he’d not catch prey in the air.
His predictability had her smiling. One could count on dogs. They never changed. They certainly never abandoned their families. For the moment, he stuck by her side, and she nuzzled the back of his neck.
Looking at the waves, the sun was behind her, glinting off the water so vibrantly it stung to stare too long. Still, she watched, waiting