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Melinoë was in a slump. As hard as she tried to keep up a spirited front, Icarus felt it every time they spoke. He saw it in her eyes, dimmer and more disheartened each time she fell to Typhon.
“It must have been a fluke,” she said, of the one time she had defeated the monster. “Nothing more than luck.”
“Luck?” Icarus couldn’t stand to see her look so browbeaten. “You earned that victory, and I know you’ll defeat him again.”
It seemed like there was more she wanted to say, but she simply shook her head. “I can’t afford to waste time.”
And with that, she was gone.
Every night, she would return, sleep, and begin again, but he couldn’t remember the last time she truly rested.
It had been ages since she’d asked him to join her for a bath or drink, or offered more than a quick greeting. For one foolish, deluded moment, Icarus wondered if she was upset with him specifically—had he turned her down too many times? But he dismissed the thought. As far as he could tell, Melinoë wasn’t spending time with anyone.
Not that Icarus had asked. The unease had pervaded the Crossroads, making Nemesis even less approachable than usual, and after his last run-in with Eris, he wasn’t eager to speak to her again. Moros was at least polite, but their paths rarely crossed these days.
Even Odysseus and Dora, both of whom Icarus quite liked, seemed preoccupied, and Hypnos, while a good listener in his current state, offered no insight. As for Hecate, Icarus wouldn’t dare approach her with anything short of an emergency.
That was how he found himself chatting with other Shades.
“Has the princess been putting more pressure on herself than usual?” Icarus asked.
“I wouldn’t know,” one replied. “I only just got here.”
“If she is, can you blame her?” another said, making a horrified face. “I thought my life was stressful, but I’d stitch up a million soldiers before I’d take on the Father of All Monsters.”
“Not to mention Chronos,” a third cut in, shuddering.
“How could anyone relax against all that?” Icarus wondered aloud. The odds weren’t nearly so stacked against him, but he liked to tinker around in the workshop to blow off steam, inventing things to aid Meli or to reinforce his own wings. Somehow, he didn’t think she would find that relaxing.
“Well,” the recent arrival began with a grin, “if I were still alive, I’d head to the brothel.”
Meli probably wouldn’t go for that, either.
“I liked to take baths,” another sighed. “I miss baths.”
“She would use the spring if she wanted to,” Icarus said.
“You don’t understand,” the Shade lamented. “The hot spring here gets the job done, and I assume the bath salts smell good enough, but a proper, luxurious bath is an experience. The gods might have their delights, but my mortal baths divine.”
Icarus looked over to the empty hot spring. He and Melinoë had shared a bath there once, and although the company was incomparable, the facility itself was rather utilitarian. Perhaps this Shade was onto something.
“Tell me more.”
It took time to gather everything he needed, but Icarus liked a challenge. And, if he succeeded, it could be as useful to Meli as any of his inventions. Bolstering her spirit was just as critical as bolstering her arsenal, and she so rarely thought of herself. Even though Icarus didn’t have much to offer her, devotion was something he had in spades.
Tracking down roses was difficult, and hauling them back to the Crossroads even more so, but Icarus managed. The flowers in Zeus’s palace were almost certainly more impressive (at least when Typhon wasn’t wreaking havoc), but were those blossoms the same shade of peachy orange as Melinoë’s robes?
He retooled some of his equipment to dry iris roots and distill their fragrance in a process so painstaking that he could almost smell the fruits of his labor. He researched and chose other oils and compounds to both complement the scent and pamper the skin—not that Meli’s skin needed any improvement, but because she deserved the luxury. It was probably silly. What was a mortal oil to a goddess? But the effort mattered to him, and he hoped it would matter to her as well.
Candles were simple to acquire, unscented to provide ambiance without interfering with his painstakingly curated (if untested) blend of aromas. And inventing a device to froth the water was downright fun.
Lastly, he approached the Wretched Broker for bath salts. After all, Meli had a ritual and he was going to adhere to it.
Setting everything up was a gamble. There was a chance that he would miss her, and an even bigger chance that she would turn him down.
He couldn’t do anything about the latter, but he approached Dora to tackle the former.
“Will you please tell me when Her Grace returns?” he asked.
“Sure, but you do realize I could have done all that candle and flower business in the time it takes you to blink?”
He hadn’t realized, but he smiled anyway. “I wanted to do it myself.”
“Whatever,” said Dora, then in a flash, she took on her ghastly form. “Our next meeting shall spell your demise!”
Icarus was used to her transformations, but he hoped her threat was only that.
For better or worse, he didn’t have to wait long. Dora flickered in front of him and said, "Incoming, and she’s not happy.”
His heart fell, too, not in disappointment but only because he knew how frustrated she was. With one last look at the Shade-approved luxurious bath, he headed to the spot where he and Meli usually met and waited.
“I almost had him. I have the full support of the gods, and I still can’t…” She looked exhausted. “I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
“You aren’t doing anything wrong,” he said. “At least not from my vantage. But I’m no expert.”
“You know I value your input,” Melinoë replied. “And clearly, I’m not an expert, either. I’ll take all the feedback I can get.”
“In that case…” Icarus pulled out the satchet of bath salts. “Can I suggest a short reprieve?”
Melinoë raised her eyebrows, then her gaze, to meet his eyes. “I wish I could, but—”
“Please, Meli?” He swallowed his nerves, or whatever remained of them in this form. “You’ve been running yourself ragged. A bath could help clear your head.”
She studied his face, and he hoped she could sense his concern, his worry, and above all, how much he cared for her.
Her expression softened, and she nodded. “I suppose it has been quite a while since I took a moment to rest.”
Icarus knew to the night just how long it had been, but he didn’t say. He simply followed Melinoë to the hot spring.
The gasp Melinoë let out when she saw the bath alone was worth it. “Icarus, did you do all this?”
“I hope I didn’t overstep,” he blurted out, suddenly nervous again. “It’s just a silly mortal thing, I can clean it up.”
“Don’t you dare,” she said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Icarus hadn’t taken a proper look at it before, but it was quite pretty. Peach petals floated gently on the water, which was glowing warm in the reflected candlelight. And if the deep, calm breath Melinoë took in was any indication, the scent was at least unobjectionable.
It was funny, how what he now gathered was a mortal cliche could be novel to a goddess, but Icarus supposed he had never seen anything like it either.
“Do you like it?” Icarus asked.
“I can’t say for sure just yet,” she said. “But I have a good feeling I will.”
He averted his eyes as she undressed, only looking back once she lowered herself in with a long, sweet sigh.
“That isn’t all,” said Icarus, and he crouched down. With the flip of a switch, his contraption sputtered to life, foaming the enhanced water with a pleasant hum.
Meli ran her fingers through the bubbles, a soft, innocent smile spreading across her face. She looked ethereal amid the orange petals, and when she eased herself deeper into the water and relaxed, the tension that had gripped Icarus these past nights melted away, too.
“I’ll let you rest,” he said, rising to his feet.
Her eyes snapped open. “Wait!”
Icarus froze. “What’s wrong?”
“Thank you,” she said, and his shoulders relaxed. “The bath is almost exactly what I needed.”
“Almost?” He didn't want to assume anything, but he couldn’t help but hope.
She smiled up at him. “Join me and it’ll be perfect.”
Icarus should have known. Returning her smile, he said, “As you wish.”
Perhaps it was a coincidence, but Typhon succumbed to her blades the very next night.