Page 106 of The Tenth Muse

“Yes, please,” I say. It truly feels like she can read my mind—or that we’re somehow connected. My thoughts and feelings resonate with her, and she sends them straight back to me.

The scent of lavender hits my nose as she brews a pot, and I’m afraid I look strange as I awkwardly stand in the corner.

“You can have a seat. That’s a … kl—couch. Make yourself comfortable.”

The couch looks like a smaller nest, and there are egg-shaped cushions inside it. I lay down, stretching my body out, but I feel like a child in a ball pit.

Amalthea places two cups of tea on the coffee table and climbs into the couch-nest beside me, and suddenly it’s like I’m home. Her presence is cozy, her body warmth a much-needed reprieve to my aching muscles.

I didn’t even realize my muscles were sore until her touch immediately relieved me.

“Will you tell me a story?” I ask and sit up to grab a sip of tea. The mug feels nice in my hands, the texture smooth. “Did you make this?”

“The cup? No,” she says with a laugh. “Konstantina made that. I am the seamstress; I sew clothing and cushions.”

I lay back down beside her, placing my head on her chest, and let out a loud yawn. Rain is starting to fall, a soft pitter-patter coming from the roof.

“There was once a cruel king—he had many wives,” she begins. “He treated two of his sons from a previous marriage horribly, abusing and abandoning them.”

The soft, deep resonance of her voice echoes in my ears.

“The gods were displeased with him, so they cursed him. Many say they made him blind, others say he traded his senses for an extension of his life, but my people know the truth.”

My eyebrows lift. “And what was that?”

“The harpies stole his food, and eventually, when he retaliated against him … he became our food.”

“Oh?” I say, dozing off.

“But he made everyone fall ill?—”

I try to continue listening, but it’s no use. My body and mind succumb to the darkness, allowing rest to finally take me.

Everything happened so fast. The plane crash, meeting a harpy, and the encounter we had together. I open my eyes, expecting to see feathers and a nest, but there is only tall oak trees and the fair skin of my mam’s arm as she lays beside me.

“Dalal, you’re finally awake,” she says and leans down to kiss me on the cheek.

“What happened?” I ask. There’s a sort of desperation in my voice that I hope she doesn’t notice. It might’ve all been a dream.

A beautiful, lovely dream. But I hope it wasn’t. What I just experienced was raw and real. I don’t know if I believe in mates—or even God or gods or souls—but I believe in what I felt.

“You were gone yesterday for a very long time. Everyone was worried sick, but I knew you were safe. I could sense it—you know, a mother’s intuition,” she explains. “And then you arrived in the middle of the night like you’d been sleepwalking.”

“What’s happening with the flight?” I ask, sitting up on the cot on the ground.

“Rescue team is coming tomorrow. They’re putting us all on another flight to Kuwait.”

I nod. There’s an empty sadness in me. I don’t want to leave when it feels like this fantastic journey just began. I have so much I want to ask, and so much more I wish to see. Konstantina—I want to meet her, and the other harpies too. I want to experience more of Amalthea and ask about her ancestors.

I’d love to hear more of her wacky stories.

“Why do you look so glum? You’ve been itching to come back here,” she says. She means Kuwait and the middle east. And I love it. I love Kuwait; I love Scotland. I tolerate the United States.

But I’ve been itching to comehere.Greece. The universe has been calling me, beckoning me towards this forest, and now I’m supposed to just leave?

The next few weeks are a blur. We load onto a bus and head towards the nearest airport. Our flight departs. We land in Kuwait. I see my baba. We enjoy hummus and machboos and those little white grape juice boxes I loved so much as a kid.

But I am sick with fear—true terror—and for once, it isn’t about heights.

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