Percy Jackson and the Greek Heroes by Rick Riordan
Her husband took his hand from her belly. ‘I won’t stop you.’ His voice sounded heavy with regret.
Afterwards, for the first time, Psyche had trouble falling asleep in her comfortable new bed.
That same night, as soon as the west wind returned, Psyche’s sisters to the rock spire, they started to whine to each other.
‘Oh, my gods!’ shrieked the middle sister. ‘Did you see that mansion?’
‘Did you see the gardens?’ demanded the eldest sister. ‘The bowling alley? The walk-in closets? What the Hades? I had to marry an old king with no hair and bad breath, and his house isn’t half that nice.’
‘Stop complaining,’ said the middle sister. ‘My husband has back trouble and terrible personal hygiene. He’s repulsive! He certainly doesn’t provide me with jewellery and invisible servants. And that popcorn machine –’
‘Oh, gods, the popcorn machine!’
Both sisters sighed. You could almost see the green auras of envy glowing around their heads.
‘We can’t leave our sister in that place,’ said the eldest. ‘It’s obviously some sort of trick or enchantment. Her husband probably is a monster.’
‘Totally a monster,’ the middle sister said. ‘We have to find out the truth, for her own good.’
‘For her own good,’ the eldest sister agreed. ‘Gods, I hate her so much right now.’
‘I know, right?’
They went back to their parents’ palace. Because the sisters were in the mood to be spiteful, instead of telling their mom and dad the truth, they reported that Psyche was dead.
‘We saw the corpse,’ the middle sister said. ‘There wasn’t much left, but it was definitely her. It was disgusting.’
‘Disgusting,’ the eldest sister echoed. ‘We buried her. Really gross.’
This news broke their parents’ hearts. Within three nights, the king and queen were both dead.
The sisters wept, but not too hard. Now they would get to divide the kingdom between the two of them. Besides, it served their parents right for letting their brat baby sister, Psyche, get all the attention and the best marriage.
Yeah … those sisters. They were keepers.
At the end of the week, they once again travelled to the rock spire. The west wind picked them up and carried them to Psyche’s secret palace of popcorn and diamonds. He didn’t dump them face first in the grass this time, because Psyche had made him promise not to, but he got passive-aggressive revenge by not giving them a proper safety briefing.
Anyway, when they sat down to lunch with Psyche, the sisters were prepared.
‘So,’ said the eldest, ‘how’s that great husband of yours?’
‘Oh, he’s … great,’ said Psyche.
The middle sister smiled encouragingly. ‘What did you say he does for a living?’
Psyche blanked. She’d never been a good liar, and now she couldn’t remember what she’d told her sisters. ‘Well, he’s a shepherd –’
‘A shepherd.’
‘Yes,’ Psyche said meekly. ‘A rich shepherd.’
Her eldest sister leaned forward and took her hands. She put on her best I-care-so-much-about-you look, even though she wanted to strangle the lucky, undeserving, infuriatingly gorgeous girl. ‘Psyche, what are you not telling us? Last week you said your husband was a merchant. Now he’s a shepherd. We’re your sisters. Let us help you!’
‘But … everything’s fine.’
The two sisters exchanged a knowing glance.
‘That’s what people usually say when everything is not fine,’ said the middle sister. ‘Psyche, we think you’re in danger. You haven’t forgotten about the prophecy from the Oracle of Delphi, have you? You were doomed to marry a monster – a beast that terrifies even the gods. Prophecies always come true. Dad was constantly worrying about that. He talked about it non-stop right up until he died.’
Psyche choked on her lemonade. ‘Wait. Dad is dead?’
‘Yes. He died of sadness, because you wouldn’t come visit him. But that’s not important right now. You have to tell us: who is your husband, really?’
Psyche felt like someone was burying her up to her neck in sand. Her father was dead. Her sisters were trying to help her. Prophecies were never wrong. But her husband’s kind voice, his gentleness …
‘I don’t know who he is,’ Psyche admitted. ‘I’m not allowed to look at him.’
‘What?’ the middle sister said. ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up and tell us everything.’
Psyche shouldn’t have, but she confessed about her husband’s invisibility, his night-time visits, his refusal to tell her his name. She told them about her unborn child, the My Little Pegasus pyjamas with the footsies – everything.
‘It’s worse than I thought,’ said the eldest sister. ‘You see what’s happening, don’t you?’
‘No,’ Psyche said.
‘Your husband is a dragon,’ said the eldest sister. ‘Dragons can take human form. They can turn invisible and do all sorts of sorcery. I bet he’s only kept you alive to fatten you up. Once your belly is nice and big –’
‘Sister!’ Psyche protested. ‘That’s impossible! Also sick!’
‘But she’s right,’ said the middle sister. ‘That happens all the time with dragons.’
‘It – it does?’ said Psyche.
The eldest sister nodded gravely. ‘You have to save yourself! Tonight, when your husband is asleep, light a lamp or something. Check out his true form. I hope I’m wrong. Really, I do! But I’m not. Be sure you keep some sort of knife or razor handy. When you see his horrible monstrous face, you have to be quick. Cut off his head! Then call us back to the valley, and we’ll help you get out of here.’
‘We’ll divide up all this lovely treasure,’ the middle sister said.
‘Although that’s not important,’ the eldest sister said.
‘Not important at all,’ the middle sister agreed. ‘We only care about your safety and happiness, Psyche. We’ll take you back home and find you a proper mortal husband, like ours.’
‘Yes,’ the eldest sister agreed, thinking, A much older, smellier husband.
‘I – I don’t know,’ Psyche said. ‘I can’t –’
‘Just consider what we’ve said,’ the eldest sister urged. ‘And for the gods’ sake, be careful!’
Having thus advised Psyche to destroy her life very carefully, the sisters returned to the mortal world via Zephyrus Airways.
That night, Psyche made herself ready to do the stupidest thing in the history of ever. In one of the bathroom cabinets, she found a straight razor – one of those old-fashioned Sweeney Todd-looking things that would make a great weapon if you were, say, attacked by a giant feral pig (not that I would know anything about that). She hid the razor in her nightstand drawer along with an olive-oil lamp and a box of matches, or whatever they used to light stuff back then. Heck, I don’t know.
As usual, her husband arrived after dark. All the lights went out and he sat on the bed and they talked for a while. How was your day?/Oh, fine. My sisters didn’t say anything that made me homicidally paranoid./Good, good. Love you. Goodnight. Or something along those lines.
Around three in the morning, when she could tell from her husband’s deep breathing that he was asleep, Psyche slipped out on her side of the bed. She retrieved the razor and lamp from her nightstand drawer. She lit the wick so a dim red glow spilled across the sheets.
Her husband lay on his side, facing away from her. Feather comforters were piled up at his back.
Wait … those weren’t feather comforters. Psyche stared in amazement at the giant downy white wings folded along her husband’s shoulder blades.
How was that possible? She’d never felt wings on his back before.
Also … if she’d managed not to notice his wings, what else might she have missed? What if his face wasn’t as handsome – or as human – as it felt under her fingertips in the dark?
Your husband is a dragon, her sister’s voice w
Psyche’s heart hammered against her sternum. Slowly she moved around the bed until she stood directly over her husband. The shadows receded from his sleeping face.
Psyche stifled a gasp.
Her husband was … unbelievably hot.
(Again, peeps, I’ll leave the details to your imagination.)
He was amazing! So amazing, in fact, that Psyche’s arms grew weak. The lamp trembled in her hand. The razor suddenly felt heavy.
Psyche didn’t understand why her husband was worried about being seen. What did he have to hide?
Then she noticed something else – a bow and a quiver of arrows hanging from a peg over his nightstand.
His wings … His weapons … His face, too gorgeous for any mortal. Psyche suddenly understood.
‘Eros,’ she whispered to herself. ‘My husband is Eros.’
Pro tip: Saying a god’s name is not a good idea if you don’t want to get their attention. Saying a god’s name while you’re standing over him with a razor and a lamp? Definitely a no-no.
Eros must have sensed her closeness. He muttered and turned in his sleep, startling Psyche. A single drop of hot oil sloshed from her lamp and sizzled on the god’s bare shoulder.
‘OW!’ Eros lurched upright, and his eyes flew open.
Husband and wife stared at each other, momentarily frozen in the red light of the lamp. In a microsecond, Eros’s expression changed from shock to regret to bitterness. He snatched up his bow and quiver, spread his wings and pushed Psyche aside.
‘No!’ Psyche dropped her razor and lamp. She lunged, just managing to grab the god’s left ankle as he took off. ‘Please! I’m sorry!’
Eros flew straight out of the window, dragging Psyche with him. As they passed through the garden, she lost her grip and tumbled. Despite himself, Eros hesitated. He alighted at the top of a cypress tree and looked down to make sure Psyche was okay. Not that it mattered now. Their relationship was over.
She lay crumpled on the ground, weeping and calling his name, but his heart had hardened. The single drop of oil had burned his shoulder so badly he could barely think through the pain.
‘Foolish Psyche,’ he said from the top of the tree. ‘I warned you. By all the gods, I warned you!’
‘Eros! Please, I didn’t know. I’m sorry!’
‘Sorry?’ he shouted. ‘I disobeyed my mother for you! I risked everything! Aphrodite ordered me to make you fall in love with the most despicable human being I could find. Instead, I fell in love with you. I created this whole valley – the palace, the servants, everything – so I could hide you from my mother’s gaze. We could have lived here in peace. But as soon as you saw me, as soon as you said my name – the magic was broken. Look!’
Behind them, the palace crumbled to dust. The gardens withered. The whole valley became a barren plain, desolate and grey in the moonlight.
‘You listened to your sisters,’ Eros said. ‘They wanted this. They wanted you to be miserable. I warned you, but you chose to believe them instead of me. Now my mother will find out about you. It’s only a matter of time. She’ll see the truth. Neither one of us will escape her wrath. Run while you can, Psyche. She’ll never stop until she hunts you down. You dishonoured her. Now you’ve dishonoured me.’
‘I love you!’ Psyche wailed. ‘Please, we can make our marriage work. We can –’
Eros spread his wings and flew into the night, leaving Psyche heartbroken and pregnant and alone.
Uplifting story, right? Don’t you feel awesome now?
But wait, it gets worse.
After Eros flew away, Psyche wandered in a daze. At the edge of the valley, she reached the banks of a river and decided to throw herself in and drown.
Now, kids, jumping into a river to drown yourself is never the answer. Especially if the river is, like, two feet deep, which it was. Psyche just sort of stumbled in and sat there bawling and looking silly.
It so happened that Pan, the satyr god of the wilderness, was napping nearby after a three-day party. All the splashing and crying woke him up. He staggered to the river, saw a gorgeous girl floundering around and wondered if he was hallucinating.
‘Hey, beautiful. Hic!’ Pan leaned against a tree so he wouldn’t fall over. ‘You look – hic! – sad. Lemme guess. Don’t tell me. Love problems, right?’
Psyche was so distraught she didn’t even care that a drunken goat-man was talking to her. She nodded miserably.
‘Well, don’t drown yourself!’ said the god. ‘That’s no solution. You know what you should do? Pray to Eros, the god of love! He’s the only one who can help you!’
Psyche began crying her eyes out.
Pan stumbled backwards. ‘Well … glad we had this little chat. I’ll just … go over here now.’ He quickly retreated. He had enough of a headache without the screaming and the drama.
Dawn came up, and Psyche started to calm down. Her misery didn’t subside, but it became heavy and cold, slowly turning into determination.
‘Maybe that goat-man was right,’ she said. ‘Eros is the only one who can help me. I need to find him and make him forgive me. I won’t take no for an answer. But first …’
Her eyes took on a steely gleam. Probably a good thing no one else was around, because they would’ve called the Homicidal Maniac Hotline. ‘First I have to thank my sisters for their help.’
Turns out Psyche had a cruel streak. It took a lot to make her angry, but the destruction of her marriage? That definitely did the trick.
She wandered across the countryside for days until she found the city-state where her eldest sister’s husband was king. At first the guards wanted to turn Psyche away, because she looked like a homeless lady, but finally they realized who she was (they recognized her from the recent article ‘5 Hot New Goddesses to Worship!’). They brought her inside to see her sister.
‘Oh, dear, look at you!’ said the eldest sister, secretly delighted. ‘My poor Psyche, what happened?’
‘It’s a long story,’ Psyche said, wiping away a tear. ‘I followed your advice, but it didn’t go the way I expected.’
‘Your husband? Is – is he a monster? Is he dead?’
‘Neither.’ Psyche sighed. ‘I saw his true form. You’re not going to believe this, but he’s the god Eros.’
She described how amazing he was – every detail. She didn’t have to fake her heartache. She told her sister the truth about what had happened … right up until the end.
‘Before he flew away,’ Psyche said, ‘Eros told me he was dumping me. He said he would marry my sister instead. He called you by name.’
The eldest sister’s eyes became the size of drachmas. If she’d had any doubts about Psyche’s story, she now believed every word of it. It made total sense! Who else but the god of love would have a super-billionaire mansion like that with invisible servants and home theatre systems and a water slide? And Eros had called her by name! He obviously had good taste. He had seen past Psyche’s silly gorgeousness. The eldest sister would finally have everything she deserved.
‘Oh, Psyche,’ she said, ‘I’m so sorry. Will you excuse me a moment?’
The eldest sister ran out of the room. She stopped at her husband’s audience chamber long enough to shout at him, ‘I want a divorce!’ Then she took the fastest horse from the stables and rode out of the kingdom.
She didn’t stop until she reached the spire of rock where she’d first been swept away by Zephyrus. She climbed to the top and shouted, ‘I’m here, Eros! Take me, my beloved!’
She jumped off and plummeted to her death.
Boy, did Zephyrus get a good laugh out of that. You should never try to board a flight until your group number is called. Everybody knows that.
Meanwhile, Psyche continued her travels. She found the kingdom where the middle sister lived and told her the same story.
‘The weirdest thing?’ Psyche concluded. ‘Eros said he was going to marry my sister now. He
Inflamed with desire, the middle sister ran out of the palace, commandeered a horse, charged to the rock spire and, with hope in her heart, launched herself to her death.
Cold of Psyche? I guess. But if anybody deserved to take a header off a five-hundred-foot rock it was those two ladies.
Having run out of sisters to destroy, Psyche wandered Greece, going from city to city, determined to find Eros. She checked his temples. She checked the roadside shrines. She checked the LA Fitness centres, the nightclubs and the single mingle Bible study groups where a love god might hang out. She had no luck.
That’s because Eros was having his own problems.
When he’d left Psyche, his only plan was to get away from his shattered marriage, maybe find a cave to hide in for the next few centuries until Aphrodite got over her wrath. But the pain in his shoulder quickly became unbearable.
A single drop of hot oil shouldn’t have hurt so badly. It burned into his central nervous system, corroding his godly essence. The pain was worse than anything he’d ever experienced … except perhaps the pain in his heart when he first set eyes on Psyche.
It’s like the two things are related, Eros thought. It’s like a metaphor or something!
(I put that in there so the English teachers would have something to make you write an essay about. Sorry. I did mention that I sold out for pizza and jelly beans, right?)
Anyway, Eros was so weak that he couldn’t make it very far. He flew to Aphrodite’s nearest vacation home, a villa on the shore of the Adriatic Sea and tumbled into his bedroom, crashing unconscious as soon as he hit the sheets.
You’re thinking, He was trying to avoid his mom, so he goes to his mom’s house? That’s smart.
But I guess he was flying on autopilot. Or he wanted his own bed, the way you do when you’re sick. Or he figured he might as well face his mom and get it over with.
Whatever the case, gossip quickly spread about Eros getting his heart broken by some mortal girl. Probably Zephyrus’s wind spirits couldn’t keep their mouths shut, because they were a bunch of airheads.