“We should go and talk to him immediately,” Hermes said. “Though can I please sort out this mess with Necessity first?”

Pytheas’s eyes widened and he swayed back a little, then he waved his hand, giving permission.

“Marsilia,” Hermes began. “Tell me the circumstances in which Alkippe was conceived.”

I took a breath and gathered the information concisely. “She was conceived at the end-of-summer Festival of Hera eight years ago. You were calling yourself Poimandros, and you said you were from Psyche.”

Hermes smiled.

“Psyche is one of the other Platonic Cities,” Pytheas put in. “It’s not as much fun as you might imagine.”

“We were drawn together—our names drawn out of the lots together—and we went off to be married for the day.”

“You really are doing Plato’s Republic,” Hermes said.

“Participation in the Festival of Hera is voluntary,” Pytheas said. “Well, here it is. In Psyche and Athenia it’s compulsory for citizens. But nobody has to stay in Psyche or Athenia if they don’t like it.”

“It’s all right, you don’t need to be so defensive, I think it’s charming,” Hermes said, smiling again. “Eight years ago, end of summer, fix the lots to be drawn, spend the night in bed, got it. And you’ll put in a word of recommendation for me with the beautiful Thetis?”

I was opening my mouth to say calmly that what Hermes and Thetis did was their own affair, when Pytheas interrupted.

“Wait,” Pytheas said. “I know how hard it is to resist Necessity. But if Athene is truly lost, and if she knew ahead of time that she was going into danger, and if we have to rescue her, then having you bound by Necessity might be a safeguard.”

“A safeguard?” Hermes asked. He looked astonished. “You think Necessity might protect me?”

“I think if there’s a serious risk, it might,” Pytheas said.

“But—you know what it feels like!” Hermes protested.

“You’re strong enough to bear it,” Pytheas said. “Who knows what might happen to Athene otherwise?”

“Gods can’t die,” I protested.

“They can’t ordinarily get lost either,” Pytheas said. “And I think that since Necessity has given us this unexpected aegis, we might be meant to use it.”

“But if gods can die, or get lost, or—” I stopped, realizing my voice was rising. I took a breath from my stomach and began again. “What happens to Alkippe if something should happen to Hermes before he goes back to conceive her?”

They looked at each other a moment in silence, then at me. “It’s impossible,” Pytheas said. “He has to survive to do that, and therefore he will, and know he is safe until it is done.”

“Look, Alkippe’s my daughter, I really care about her. I can’t risk her never having existed. Hermes needs to go and do whatever he needs to do about it now, before going into danger.” They were listening to me, but they didn’t seem to understand the importance of what I was saying.

Pytheas frowned. “Even if she is the anchor that keeps all of us safe? Necessity has given us this tie, when we’re venturing into danger. Having Necessity on our side can only help.”

“But Alkippe!” Her bright eyes, her wriggling body, her inquiring mind, her bold soul, I wanted to say, and couldn’t find the words to make them understand. Pytheas knew her and how marvelous she was, but Hermes had only seen her for a few minutes.

“Where do you believe Athene is?” Hermes asked Pytheas.

“Possibly she’s in the Underworld. That would be all right. Strange, but all right.”

“Ah. And because of the way when we go there we only perceive Hades and those souls with whom Hades thinks it’s good for us to interact, we can’t tell that she’s there?”

Hermes nodded as if this made sense.

“Perhaps.” Pytheas was frowning. “But I suspect she’s not there, and that she has gone into the Chaos before and after time.”

Hermes wavered for a moment—I was staring right at him and that’s the only way I can describe it. It was like when you’re watching the shadow of a train you’re in falling on the ground, and then suddenly there’s a hill and the shadow is nearer and bigger for a moment, and then it’s back on the plain, racing along. “I can’t find her from outside time either,” he announced. “And I tried to catch her at the Panathenaia, but I couldn’t.”

“But you weren’t there,” I pointed out.

“No. You didn’t see me, so I couldn’t be visible. And she wasn’t there for an instant that you and Thetis weren’t.” He paused, and looked assessingly at Pytheas. “Do you think we should go to Father now and tell him everything?”

“First, we should talk to Hilfa and discover what message she left for us,” Pytheas said.

“And you really think I need to stay bound by Necessity?” Hermes asked. “It’s like having a sharp stone in my shoe.”

“That stone might be our shield,” Pytheas said.

“I am not letting you out of my sight again until you go back there and ensure Alkippe is real,” I said to Hermes. I had never felt more strongly about anything in my life.

“I’d agree to that, but you are mortal, and not caught in Necessity’s jaws. Alkippe already only has one parent. What happens to her if I have to go into danger and you don’t survive?”

I looked at him in incomprehension. “I’d happily give my life for hers, if need be. And she’d be safe here. I wasn’t suggesting taking her with us.”

Pytheas was smiling his enigmatic smile. “You’re seeing Platonic motherhood, which is different from anything you’re used to. Marsilia is telling you we’re in the City, and here children with one parent or no parents at all are at no disadvantage.”

“Yes. If my parents and Thetis couldn’t manage, though I’m sure they could, Alkippe could grow up in a nursery and pursue her own excellence. It’s not like the little orphan in Homer.” I didn’t have much context for how children grew up elsewhere. His assumption that she would suffer neglect if I died disconcerted me. There’s a lot of variety in how we do things on Plato, but that wouldn’t happen in any of our cities. Bringing up children to be their best selves is something we all agree is crucial. In those cities with no nurseries, a child whose family died in a catastrophe would be immediately adopted into another family.

“This is a strange place,” Hermes said. “Well, you can stay with me if you feel so strongly about it. Here. A votive gift.” He handed me something. I looked down at it. It was a little purse of soft leather, with a drawstring. Puzzled, I opened it. “It’ll never be empty, unless you shake it out,” he said. “And the coin you pull from it will always be enough to pay for what you want.”

I took out a coin and turned it in my fingers. I had seen coins before; they use money in Lucia. My other hand rose to my neck, to my gold pin on my jacket collar. It was forbidden to me to have gold, other than the Gold in my soul and the pin that symbolized it. I couldn’t think of a more useless gift, but I imagined it was well intended. As well as travel, Hermes was patron of the marketplace, commerce, and thieves. I decided to talk to him about our trade negotiations when there was a chance, in case he had interesting ideas. “Thank you,” I said, politely.

Pytheas was frowning. It was so strange to see him, the same but different. He was definitely my grandfather, but he seemed to be about my own age. “Marsilia is part of my family. If any harm comes to her, you’ll answer for it.”

Hermes nodded once.

Pytheas didn’t stop frowning. “We should go in and I should say hello to the rest of the family. They’ll hardly have had time to miss me. And then we should find Hilfa.”

“Why do we need to bother going inside first?” Hermes asked.

“I want to speak to Neleus. And we need Arete.”

“Hilfa speaks Greek,” I said.

“Doubtless, but whether or not you’ve discovered it, your aunt Arete has skills beyond flight and translation. Come on.” He took a step towards the door.