***
A doorman peeked into the dining room as Eros was finishing breakfast. “My Lord, Aphrodite sends word that she’s gone to holiday at sea. She said to make sure you do your job quickly so she won’t have to be bothered with the details.”
Eros’s fork clattered onto his plate. He slammed his eyes shut as the noise echoed inside his brain like symbols. Damn. After three days’ worth of festivities, he’d forgotten his mother had made him her do-boy again. What was it she wanted?
His brain felt like pulp. Something about Psyche, he remembered that much. And not having to marry her. That news alone justified his three-day bender. His stomach settled as the memories pushed their way forward.
“Will there be anything else, Sire?”
Eros wiped at his mouth with a napkin. “See that no one comes in. Apparently I have work to do.”
As the man scurried away, Eros took a last gulp of ambrosia and headed for the courtyard. But his mutinous feet didn’t want to make the trip. Psyche’s emerald eyes flashed in his brain -- so full of fire and life. Granted, he wanted nothing to do with her and the inevitable heartbreak she’d bring. But he sort of hated thinking he’d be the one who’d drown out her spark.
When had using his arrows gotten so messed up? He longed for those early, innocent years, when his arrows did only one thing: make people who were supposed to be in love stay that way. Still, what choice did he have? If he didn’t give his mother what she wanted, no telling what retribution she’d plan.
Convincing his body to finally budge, Eros made his way into the courtyard and reclined against a golden bench. He leaned back and focused on an empty patch of wall. The Greek landscape flickered behind his eyes, his second sight honing in.
The spinning visions made him nauseaus. How much wine did I drink? He took deep breaths to keep his breakfast down and tried to think about who he ought to be looking for. Random searching when he felt like a weak-kneed sailor was clearly not in his best interests.
Maybe a Cyclops? No, he’d probably crunch her bones into tiny pieces. As cruel as he knew her beauty could be if he ever got close, death wasn’t a sentence he wanted to impose. And fortunately wasn’t what he’d been tasked with.
How about Argus? Eros bet she couldn’t find a way to break his heart with 100 eyes staring back at her. Not that he really liked the idea of her being perpetually creeped out, but she’d get used to it. Argus wasn’t a bad option really. Not mean, just gross. Aphrodite would probably be satsified with that.
But that option was out too. The eyeball-endowed man was serving as a watchman for Hera. Good call on that one, actually. But that meant he was too close to the gods to be wretched enough for his mother’s purposes.
Groaning, Eros let his head fall back against the bench. He’d use the arrows like he’d been ordered. But didn’t his mother realize that just thinking about her was starting to peel back the wound? Why’d he have to find the target too? Oh yeah, because Aphrodite clearly didn’t want to be bothered with the details. As long as she was on “holiday at sea,” as his doorman had annouced, she wouldn’t be able to use her second sight even if she wanted to.
How convenient for her.
Eros ran his fingers through his tangled hair. Something sticky caught in them and the nauseau resurfaced. He didn’t even want to know. Thank the gods there were no mirrors in the courtyard. He probably looked scraggly enough to be the groom himself.
Now there’s an idea, he thought. Someone who looks (and feels) as bad as he did right now.
He knew exactly what he was looking for then. There’d been a rumor spreading about it during the parties, and sure enough. The uproar projected into his brain, leading his vision easily to the target.
His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the blank wall, not seeing the stone at all. The scene unfurled just as he’d hoped. A mob was chanting. “We must end the drought! Cast the Pharmakos out!” Faces were twisted in angry snarls; the victim was jostled forward on the arms of his captors.
Swallowing back the lump in his throat, he told himself this was the right call. Aphrodite asked for hideous and the Pharmakos qualified. But after delving into the man for a moment, Eros picked up on a few positive traits too. He wasn’t harsh; he didn’t have a sharp tongue; and Eros was pretty sure he’d worship the ground Psyche walked on.
He didn’t know why, maybe just the lingering affection he felt for her, but Eros really didn’t wish Psyche ill. He knew his mother was overreacting, as she’d done a hundred times before. But she always got her way. If he didn’t impose the sentence, Aphrodite would find a way to make it even worse.
For both of them.
Realizing he was out of options, Eros settled on his choice. He could condemn Psyche to life as a vagabond if the person holding her hand would be her partner through it all. Deep down, it’s what his nature drew him to do - make good matches - not call on his talents in revenge.
Here’s hoping the pairing is something everyone could live with.