The Twins
"Mister!"
A familiar voice cut across the banquet hall from the far side.
I had barely set foot on Olympus, and already that voice had found me first, same as always.
It was a feast celebrating the birth of the twin gods. Twins were a rare joy even among the divine, so Zeus had supposedly ordered twice the usual food and twice the musicians.
The whole of Olympus was shaking with the size of the celebration; the hall was packed shoulder to shoulder. Yet Kore slipped through the crowd with easy skill and came straight to me.
She no longer ran the way she had as a child. She simply walked very fast.
The gods of Olympus still stepped aside when they saw me, or bowed with cups in hand. A handspan of empty space always opened around the King of the Dead. The only one who ever crossed that space without a second thought was this girl—then and now.
The road from the Underworld to here had become as familiar as a daily commute. Clearing the backlog of ledgers, leaving the rest to my household, hitching the chariot—it was all one unbroken sequence by now.
"You're late. I already saved us a place for the table."
"Thanks. I was worried about finding a spot with this many people."
"With me here, what is there to worry about?"
The proud little lift of her chin looked almost like a proper young lady's. Well, in appearance she was already fifteen.
The casual speech of her childhood had long since turned polite. Only the form of address remained unchanged. Not "Great King of the Underworld," not "Uncle"—just Mister.
The one name in the world that belonged only to me.
We set up the table right in the middle of the hall. By now Kore knew the placement and meaning of every object better than I did. Reed pen and papyrus on the left. Spindle of thread in the center. Gold coin, lyre, staff. And this time she added an arrow as well.
"An arrow. It's been a while."
"They're twins. Their tastes might split, so better to have a full set."
"So thorough."
She never stopped talking while we worked. Was the river of the Underworld still the same? Did Cerberus really have three heads? If he had three heads, did he get three bowls? Weren't the dead bored? Fully eight-tenths of her questions were still about the Underworld.
"One bowl. Just a big one."
"That's not fair. He has three heads."
"They work out the order themselves."
"Then what about the kingdom while you're up here?"
"My household looks after it better than I do."
"Then you could come more often."
"If I did, your father would not be pleased."
The King of the Underworld coming and going freely on Olympus. Not a picture the King of Heaven would enjoy.
Kore pouted, then quickly changed the subject.
"Oh—what about the flowers I gave you? They haven't wilted yet?"
"Not a bit. The corner of my study has turned into a flower bed."
"See? My flowers are special. That's why someday I'm definitely going to plant them in the Underworld. I haven't forgotten that promise."
"You think Demeter will let you go to the Underworld?"
"Mother doesn't need to know."
Few children could say "Mother doesn't need to know" with such sunny cheer. I wanted to stop her, but I had no good grounds. I had never invited her to plant anything, yet I was the one who had told her so many stories of the Underworld.
At last the guests of honor appeared.
When Leto walked out carrying the two infants, the hall erupted in cheers. Twins after a long labor, they said. Exhaustion and radiance shared equal space on the goddess's face. Zeus raised his cup and bellowed.
"My son Apollo and my daughter Artemis! Two at once, so celebrate twice as hard!"
The twins in their swaddling looked far too clear-eyed for newborns. The older sister, especially, already seemed to be supervising her brother.
Apollo. Artemis.
Names I could never fail to recognize. God of the sun, music, and prophecy. Goddess of the moon and the hunt. Names that sat at the very top of the list in my head had finally entered the world.
By now the Doljabi was as good as an official part of every Olympian birth feast. Gods would have been disappointed if the table had not been set.
When the Doljabi began, the gods crowded around the table. Bets were placed as usual. Questions flew about the newly added arrow—what did it mean?
I answered that it was the sign of a great hunter, and I heard the sound of wagers rushing toward the arrow. Kore stood glued to my side and declared that the golden-haired baby would definitely take the lyre, placing her own private bet.
Apollo was set before the table first. The golden-haired infant scanned the objects, then laid his hand on the lyre without the slightest hesitation. And plucked a string—twang.
A roar of delight nearly lifted the roof. A musical prodigy who reached for an instrument on the day of his birth. Zeus was already grabbing neighboring gods and boasting that his son would be king of the bards, while Kore crowed, "See? I told you so," looking thoroughly smug.
Next came Artemis. The silver-haired infant was even faster than her brother. The moment she was set down she crawled straight to the arrow, snatched it up, and clutched it to her chest as if someone might steal it.
The attendant who tried to retrieve the object floundered before that determined little grip; only when Leto laughed and took her daughter back did the arrow return to the table.
Another wave of cheers.
I watched quietly, cup in hand.
Apollo of the lyre. Artemis of the arrow.
Not a single detail out of place. Names and symbols exactly as I knew them from the myths. Even the fact that the sister had been born first matched the books word for word. As if the next sentence were already written the moment I turned the page.
As the feast deepened, the wine loosened tongues. Somewhere around then a voice drifted over.
"Those twin brats will grow up in no time. Gods grow in the blink of an eye."
"The ones who grow slowly are the rarer ones. Look at Lady Demeter's daughter. She's already grown so lovely—Olympus will be noisy soon enough."
"True enough. How many gods will step forward to take the hand of spring?"
The snickering laughter cut off cold.
Demeter was looking their way. Cup in hand. Her mouth was smiling; her eyes were not smiling at all.
"Our Kore is still young."
The words were short. The air froze long. Everyone present seemed to remember all at once that if the goddess of the earth so chose, covering a wheat field in frost was nothing. The gods hastily drained their cups and changed the subject.
The subject of the gossip herself remained perfectly at ease. Whether or not she knew talk of her marriage prospects was circulating, Kore stood beside me fiddling with the leftover gold coin on the table. Even if words like courtship and matchmaking reached her ears, I doubted she would care.
I watched her from the corner of my eye and thought of something else.
The gods of this world were born exactly as the myths said. Names and symbols precise. Today's twins were proof, and every nephew and niece born so far had been proof.
Then Persephone would be born someday as well.
Centuries of silence did not mean she would never come. Divine time was long. Her turn simply had not arrived yet.
In the myths I knew, Hades kidnapped that child and made her his wife. I had no intention of setting foot on that beginning. The best course was never to meet her at all.
The only snag was the Doljabi. It had become an official part of every Olympian feast; I could hardly skip the table at her birth celebration.
The answer was closer than I expected.
Leave it to Kore.
She already knew how to set the table better than I did.
And she would be the baby's older sister—more than qualified. When the day came I would simply ask her quietly and step back.
A perfect plan.
That was why, every time I came to a feast, I had developed the habit of glancing toward Demeter. Any news of a second child? Any unfamiliar infant at the goddess's side? Today there was none. Not yet.
The faint sense of recognition I had once felt at the name Kore no longer troubled me. Probably some minor god's name I had overheard at a feast. My list had always been full of holes—just as I had failed to recognize Eunomia.
And separate from all that caution—
"Mister. What are you staring at?"
—there was nothing wrong with being fond of a niece like Kore.
"Nothing. Let's start packing up."
As the feast wound down we cleared the table. While gathering the objects, Kore picked up a gold coin and suddenly asked,
"Mister. The things you grab at the Doljabi—do you really get them when you grow up?"
"It's just a blessing, that's all. Why? Planning to get rich?"
"I grabbed two things, remember?"
Two things.
The gold coin. And the hem of my robe.
"So I'm going to have both. I won't let either one go."
"Hey. Stay out of my treasury."
Instead of answering, Kore smiled brightly and placed the gold coin in my palm. Then she trotted off toward Demeter's call. Beyond her retreating back, Demeter inclined her head lightly in my direction; I raised my cup in reply.
A niece eyeing the treasury of the King of Wealth. Sharp from the first leaf—or terrifying.
I looked down at the gold coin left in my palm and could only laugh under my breath.