Psyche and Eros

Praise for Psyche and Eros ‘A riotous adventure, populated by a cast of vivid, glittering characters. An absolute joy!’ Jennifer Saint ‘Fabulously entertaining retelling, full of magic, humour and heart’ Elodie Harper ‘Every page is a breathless, swoonworthy adventure’ Roshani Chokshi ‘A beautiful retelling, breathing new life into a beloved myth’ Sue Lynn Tan ‘Psyche and Eros refigures for our times a classic tale of disguise and revelation, of improbable passion tested by fate’ Gregory Maguire ‘Fiercely feminist and deeply romantic, Psyche and Eros has the allure of an old fable and the epic quality of ancient myth, tinged with a provocative, modern wit’ Ava Reid ‘Evocative and lyrically spun, Luna McNamara’s Psyche and Eros is a pure delight. Romantic, poignant, and spellbinding’ Rebecca Ross ‘A beautifully crafted debut’ RED ‘Delightful … A tender, meditative, bittersweet tale of one of literature’s most ancient themes: love unfolding through self-discovery in the face of death’ Maya Deane For my father and mother. CONTENTS Praise for Psyche and Eros Dedication Title Page Prologue Eros 1 Psyche 2 Eros 3 Psyche 4 Eros 5 Psyche 6 Eros 7 Psyche 8 Psyche 9 Psyche 10 Eros 11 Psyche 12 Psyche 13 Eros 14 Psyche 15 Psyche 16 Psyche 17 Psyche 18 Psyche 19 Psyche 20 Psyche 21 Eros 22 Psyche 23 Psyche 24 Psyche 25 Eros 26 Psyche 27 Psyche 28 Psyche 29 Psyche 30 Psyche 31 Psyche 32 Psyche 33 Psyche 34 Eros 35 Eros 36 Eros 37 Psyche 38 Psyche 39 Psyche 40 Psyche 41 Eros 42 Eros 43 Psyche Author’s Note Acknowledgements Credits About the Author Copyright Prologue Eros The Greeks have three words for love. The first is philia, the kind of love that involves liking and grows up between two people who enjoy each other’s company very much. The second is agape, the selfless love of parents for children or between those who are like family to one another. The third is eros, which explains itself – connection, spark, the desire of the body to seek fulfillment in another. Most people experience at least one of these loves in a lifetime. But it is rare to have all three at once, intertwined like a golden braid. This was what the playwright Aristophanes spoke of when he wove his tale many years after the events of this one, seeking to illuminate the origin of love in its trifold complexity. He claimed that the first human beings were born back-to-back, with two faces and four hands and four legs, each mouth chattering incessantly to its companion as they rolled like wheels over the earth. Zeus grew wary of the power of these people and split them apart with his thunderbolts. They turned into humans as we know them today, who walk around on two legs and speak with only one mouth. And so it is that love came to exist, the playwright claimed, each of us seeking our other half. I laughed when I heard this. I had been present at the beginning of the world, and it wasn’t anything like that. It is a pretty story, though nothing could be further from the truth for Psyche and me. There is no pretending that we were two parts of some cosmic whole – she was a mortal woman and I a god when we first met, each fierce in our independence. We were not severed halves; we were complete unto ourselves. It is possible that our paths would never have crossed at all had it not been for a chance mistake. There is something powerful in this, I think. We were not in thrall to destiny or fate, but merely the weight of our own choices. When we turned towards each other like flowers facing the sun, we 1 Psyche Despite my unusual destiny, I began life as an ordinary infant, born like any other to a rush of blood and cries of joy. Though in my case, these were followed by more than a bit of confusion. My mother and father were the king and queen of a kingdom in rocky Greece called Mycenae. When my mother, Astydamia, learned that she was with child, my father, Alkaios, left the Mycenaean capital of Tiryns and set off across the mountains. He passed through desolate valleys and rode beneath craggy cliffsides populated by nesting griffins, until at last he came to gates that bore the words KNOW THYSELF. It wasn’t his own fate he sought to learn at the Oracle of Delphi, but his unborn child’s. Mine. Would I be born healthy and strong? What would I grow up to become? When my father entered the Oracle’s shadowy earthen chamber, two things struck him. The first was the smell of the place, redolent of sulphur and other scents less recognizable. The second was the sight of the woman who sat on a bronze tripod suspended over an abyss. She wore a peplos robe that swathed her body in folds of yellow fabric, and her hair was bound up in a neat braid around her head. This was the Oracle, and she stared at Alkaios with eyes out of time. My father shivered. He was a king and used to people trying to wheedle favours from him, but this woman wanted nothing from anyone. A priest from the order that had sprung up around the Oracle whispered the king’s question in her ear. She sat back and drank in the vapours rising up from the cracks in the earth; these were said to be sent from Apollo himself, god of prophecy, and brought true visions of the future. A tremor ran through the Oracle. She began to speak in an unearthly voice, one that did not belong to the body of such a delicate woman. My father could not recognize the language she spoke, but the priests were already scribbling on their clay tablets, performing the complex calculations needed to interpret