1
Tanuk
There is something about innocence which just begs to be corrupted.
I’m not usually given to philosophical musings while on a mission of long awaited revenge, but the sight of my prey makes me stop and think and enjoy. I take a sip from my golden chalice and lean against a pillar as I stand among the swirling crowd and watch the pretty little princess make her way through the revelers. She thinks nobody is watching. She’s wrong. The other gods may be drunk on power and lust, awaiting the arrival of the golden girl heralded as the jewel of Okeanus, but I can’t take my eyes off the dark haired beauty. She goes out of her way not to be noticed, moving behind people, avoiding eye contact with them. She doesn’t want to be seen. But I see her. I see every bit of her.
She is a stunning study in shadows. I let my eye linger over her curvaceous form. She’s tried to hide it in the dark gown she has chosen, but that only makes her generous swelling all the more enticing. I want to tear that dress from her. I want her spread bare for me. But I must be patient. Even a house cat knows that there is a time to pounce, and a time to wait.
I happen to cast a glance into a reflective ice sculpture nearby. I am not quite myself this evening. They would never have let me in if I was. I smile and my image shimmers. Usually I have dark eyes and a suave smile, the appearance of a young, fit man. Tonight I am hiding in plain sight as a horned beast with cloven hooves and a pointed tail. They’d let the devil in before they allowed me to pass over their threshold. Of course, it doesn’t really matter what I look like to them. It only matters what I look like to her. To her, I will be every bit of myself. It is the only way to claim true vengeance.
They tried to keep me out with their walls and their single guardian. They have learned nothing from the human traditions they now seek to embrace. For thousands of years, storybook kings and queens have been scorning witches and various supernatural beings at birthday parties. The monarchs always think that you can keep ill will out simply by excluding it. They are always wrong, and yet they never learn.
I am no irritable fairy godmother, or vexed local witch. I am something much, much worse. I am a very bad god, and I have come with revenge in my heart. I have come with righteous anger. I have come to take what is theirs — and make it mine.
Just a few minutes earlier…
Helios
Swirling crowds, music, and merriment fill the halls of my home. None of them were here yesterday and none of them will be here tomorrow. I do not open my home to other gods, not without great cause, but tonight the combined demands of both my cherished daughters and their rather insistent mother have led to a ball in honor of their shared eighteenth birthdays.
I find myself smiling as I watch over the congregated gods in their finery. This is more than a mere birthday party. This is the first gathering of almost every single god on Okeanus in more than a hundred years. They have come to pay their respects, and no doubt, to marvel at the majesty of my palace. There are many fine works of art on display, but none so beautiful as my human lover, and our demigoddess daughters who turn eighteen this very night.
For many years we have watched them grow, loved them, and protected them viciously. Now we parents are spread throughout this gathering according to our character.
I am at the top of the staircase, looking out over the party from on high. Keeping a high vantage point is a habit I’ve developed over the years. It is where I am most comfortable, where I can see what is happening in the thick of the action.
Ragnar stands as sentinel at the gates. He shows no sign of excitement on his rough face. Not a single flicker of a smile dares break across his stony expression though I know he is as proud of our girls as we all are.
From my perch, I can hear our daughters bickering in their room. They have been arguing from the moment they learned to talk, before, if you believe their mother’s interpretation of their behavior. I had hoped they would grow out of it by now, but it may take more than merely turning eighteen to make them mature.
Their mother, Rael, the love of my eternal life, comes sweeping up the stairs. I can hardly believe it has been eighteen years since she gave birth to our babies. She is as fresh and radiant as ever, her bright mane of red hair marks her in any crowd as my queen.
“This,” Rael says. “Is a meat market.”
“What does that no-doubt delightful human expression mean?”
“It means these gods, and some goddesses too, no doubt, came to vie for marriage to our daughters.”
“That is not happening. They are far too young.”
She gives me a knowing look. “Eighteen is not too young. It is time the girls spread their wings. We cannot keep them locked up forever. They are just as interested in the potential suitors here tonight, you know.”
“I do not know. I make it my business not to know,” I declare. There are some things a father and a king does not want to think about, and the idea of some lustful god putting his paws on either of our daughters is one of them.
“Where are our daughters?”
“Getting dressed, I believe.”
“They’re still not ready?”
“Apparently not,” I say, dropping a kiss on her lips as she sweeps herself into my arms. She is radiant tonight, just as she is every night.
“I’ll see if I can hurry them along,” she says. “Though you know Lucy…”
Raine
I wish I didn’t know Lucy. I wish I hadn’t been born a twin at all. My life would have happened about ten times faster if I didn’t have to spend this much time waiting for her.
“Would you hurry up?”
The party started an eternity ago, and Lucy can’t decide on a dress. I’ve been ready since before the guests arrived, but I can’t go out on my own, because then I’d get all the glory, according to Lucy. So I’m trapped here in a never-ending sea of gowns, which all look more or less the same to me, until Lucy decides she looks the prettiest she has ever looked.
“You’re radiant,” I tell her. That’s her favorite compliment. It almost always gets her unstuck from her fashion crises. Almost.
“This is the most important night of our lives. We’re going to meet everybody for the first time. All the gods are here.”
“I don’t think all the gods are here. I think some of them are, and probably fewer all the time if we don’t leave this room.”
“They’ve waited eighteen years to meet us. They can wait another two hours.”
“It has been three hours,” I mutter, more to myself than to her. She’s not listening anyway.
Stuck waiting, I take some grapes from a dish and eat them. There is a pile of dresses of all colors and sheens, styles and fabrics on the bed in front of Lucy. I am wearing a black dress. It is black, and it fits my body and that is about the limit of my interest in it.
We could not be more different, Lucy and I. We share the same mother, but different fathers. It’s not easy growing up with the daughter of the sun as your twin sister, especially when your own father insists on you being modest and Norse about everything.
If Ragnar were in charge of this party, it would be over already, but this is really Helios’ party. Lucy knows very well that there will be no consequences, no matter how late she makes us. Helios indulges her in her every whim.