Necessity by Jo Walton Page A

at all. “You can fly, like Aunt Arete? You must be a god.”
    â€œYes, Alkippe, this is Hermes,” Thetis said.
    â€œHermes! Then you’re an Olympian? I’ve been to your temple. You’re different from how I imagined. Why are you here?”
    Thetis took Alkippe’s hand. “I think Grandma has some quince paste left for us. Let’s go and see.”
    â€œBut I want to talk to Hermes,” Alkippe protested, not at all mollified by the thought of the treat.
    â€œLater,” Hermes said. “I think I should speak to your mother now.”
    â€œYou should have spoken to her before,” Neleus said, as Thetis led Alkippe, still protesting vociferously, across the room. “It’s a bit late now.”
    â€œYou mistake me,” Hermes said, meeting my eyes for the first time. “I’ve never been on this wandering world before today. That is my daughter, true, but Necessity has caught me, for I have never met her mother until now. So I shall set this as straight as I may, but this is as early as I can begin it.”
    It explained why he hadn’t recognized me, at least. “Never been here?” I asked. I don’t think I’d ever experienced so many conflicting emotions in such a short time.
    â€œYour past encounter lies in my future,” Hermes confirmed.
    I suppose this kind of thing happens to gods, but it was quite outside my experience. “Perhaps we should have this conversation somewhere quieter,” I suggested.
    He looked at Dad, who was frowning. “But this is—well, yes. Let’s go outside.”
    Jason put his hand on my arm. “Will you be all right on your own, Marsilia?”
    â€œYes,” I said, though I appreciated his offer. “Thank you.”
    â€œLet her go,” Dad said, and Jason stepped back. I followed Hermes through the crush, which parted before us.
    The fountain room was as full as the sleeping room, but there was nobody over ten in the garden. It was far too cold to linger out of doors unless you were young enough to hurtle around in a chasing game. Hermes turned to me as I was snicking my jacket closed. The clouds had parted and the winter stars shone clear and cold above us. Hermes didn’t seem to feel the cold at all, though he was naked. I was almost knocked over by two of my young cousins, who dashed past me racing to be first to slap their palms on the herm. Hermes looked at them wryly. “I take it I don’t have any other children here. That you know of?”
    â€œNot that I know of, no,” I said, flustered by the question.
    â€œOnly Alkippe?” The hurtling children broke around us as a wave breaks on a rock, and re-formed on the other side of us.
    â€œYes.” The affirmation came out much too quietly. I felt slightly sick and a little lightheaded. I took a deep breath and swallowed, which helped.
    â€œI didn’t know she existed until now.” He frowned, staring over at the herm where the children were still dodging and squealing. “This is all terribly awkward. I was intending to pay court to your sister.”
    Plato has extremely harsh things to say about jealousy, which I repeated to myself. I was struggling hard with this in my soul, as well as feeling all the physical symptoms, heat flushing my cheeks and hands and my stomach tightening. Then Pytheas appeared beside me. One instant he wasn’t there, the next he was, as if he’d taken a step from nowhere. He didn’t look the way he did in his statues—he was dressed normally, for one thing—but he didn’t look like the old man he’d been when I saw him a few days before. He looked not so much young as ageless. Yet I recognized him immediately as my grandfather.
    â€œI thought you were in Alexandria,” he said, frowning at Hermes.
    â€œMoving rapidly is my specialty,” Hermes said, with a teasing smile.
    â€œYes, but—”
    â€œI’m here