Page 6

6

Poseidon

Icarus’s words ring in my ears as I leave his room and head downstairs. Most of my people have homes in the area surrounding the docks, but I keep the rooms in the guesthouse stocked with all the necessities for those who need it. No questions asked. Polyphemus has been using one of those rooms ever since his sister, who he lived with, died in the attack on Triton.

I check there first, but it’s empty. It only takes a few minutes to find him sitting on a chair in the small sitting room tucked just off the entrance, head bowed. Even as I tell myself to be calm, the words burst from me in a furious rush. “What the fuck do you think you were doing?”

Polyphemus digs his hands into his pockets and hunches his shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you understand how dire our situation currently is? I sympathize with your loss. We are all mourning those who died that day. But if we don’t do something—and quickly —more people will die. Do you understand, Polyphemus? I have to be able to trust you, and if I can’t, then I have to send you away.”

He jerks as if I’ve reached out and struck him. “Don’t send me away, Poseidon. Please. I’m sorry I fucked up, but I won’t do it again.”

I want to believe that. I need to be able to trust my people, and before I came home to find Polyphemus torturing a bound Icarus, I would’ve said I could trust them beyond a shadow of a doubt. But war changes people. And there’s no more denying that we’re in the midst of a war, a majority vote for the Thirteen or no. “Did it make you feel better to hurt him?”

He opens his mouth, pauses, and wilts. “No. It didn’t bring her back. I thought punishing someone who was at least partially responsible would help, but all it did was highlight the fact that I’ll never see her again.”

I know the steps of this dance, even if it makes me deeply uncomfortable. I never wanted to be a leader. I never wanted people depending on me, relying on my reading of events and enemies being accurate. But I have learned, oftentimes despite myself. If he’d wanted Icarus dead, he had plenty of time to make it happen. I can’t excuse the pain Polyphemus caused, but I can understand it. I can offer empathy in return.

I pull him into a rough hug. It’s the right call because he instantly clings to me, sobs racking his large body. Even though the contact feels strange and awkward, there’s comfort in knowing I made the right choice. My slight discomfort is making him feel better—or at least allowing him to release some of the grief he has bottled up.

When he starts to loosen his hold, I step back. “Go talk to Orion. They’ll get you sorted. But, Polyphemus.” I wait for him to look at me. “If this happens again, I will send you to the country. You understand?”

“I understand.” He takes a deep breath and as he exhales, his spine straightens and his shoulders go back. When he walks out of the room, he moves much more like the man I’ve relied on for so many years. It’s not a guarantee that Icarus is safe around him, but Orion will ensure Polyphemus has plenty to occupy himself—and keep him far away from our prisoner. There’s no reason to tempt a second disaster.

Speaking of disasters…

My own personal one walks through the door like a gale-force wind, her long dress sweeping out behind her. Hera. Like so many of the Thirteen, she’s beautiful, but her beauty is a warning rather than an invitation. It’s as sharp as a blade and twice as deadly. I have no idea what motivated our new Zeus to marry her and put her in a position of power, but that choice will ultimately be his downfall. She has the same coloring as her mother, pale skin and deep-brown hair, the same hazel eyes that all the women in her family seem to share, but if I learned to be wary of Demeter, my wariness is a thousand times stronger with her eldest daughter.

None of that explains why she’s here. Our communication is usually in the form of phone calls. We rarely have cause to interact in person outside of the mandatory meetings with the rest of the Thirteen. It’s better that way. It would be unfortunate if others started to realize there’s an alliance between us. It would be even more unfortunate if they realized the goal of that alliance—the death of Zeus.

Her eyes alight on me and she pivots in my direction with the grace of a ballet dancer. “You didn’t wait for me after the meeting.”

Damn it. I completely forgot. “I’m sorry. I was a bit flustered by your voting against us going to war.”

“It’s no matter. This is preferable.”

I should let it go. She’s not the only one to vote against war, and Demeter is perhaps more of a shock than Hera, but… “Why did you do it? Circe is right there . No matter what the others said, we don’t need a navy to remove her threat. Athena’s people have been doing violent tasks like this since the beginning of Olympus.”

Hera meets my gaze, no guilt evident on her face. “She’ll be expecting that. It’s what Olympus would have done under the old Zeus.”

I flinch. I can’t help it. She’s right. “It would minimize the violence against civilians.”

“It won’t work.” She looks around pointedly. “You have one of them here.”

If I’m hesitant to allow my people near Icarus, there’s no way I’ll put Hera in the same room as him. Not until I know what her plans are—and what knowledge Icarus possesses that might be useful. “You should be focusing on Circe.”

“I am focusing on Circe. But she’s only one part of this clusterfuck we find ourselves in.” Her hand falls to her stomach. It’s still appears flat to my eye, but if she was telling the truth several weeks ago, it now holds the next Zeus. That little cluster of cells ensures that, should our current Zeus die, Hera will become regent until her child is born and comes of age. Without her husband in the mix, there’s a solid chance we can get the entirety of the Thirteen to finally agree on something. To become a complete body, unified and able to meet the threat at our gates.

Or at least that’s the theory. I’m not so sure it will work anymore. “Your plan is in ruins. Zeus is still alive, Circe is here, Hades is unwilling to come to the upper city, and the Thirteen refuse to align in a vote for war—which is your doing. The lower city is completely inaccessible, but there’s no telling if that barrier will hold up against a proper assault by our enemies.”

She waves that away with crimson-tipped nails. “Hades set his condition when he put up the secondary barrier. When the Thirteen are unified, he’ll come back to the table. Our goals are still in alignment. Nothing has changed except the timeline. There’s no space to fuck around any longer.”

She has a strange definition of fucking around. I know for a fact she worked with Minos, at least indirectly, to bring down Dodona Tower. Even evacuated, its destruction would have caused untold devastation. I never agreed to that plan, but I was outvoted. And, to be honest, better that we knew when Minos would strike. I understand the logic, even if I find the whole thing distasteful.

I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m assuming this desire to cease fucking around is the reason why you’re in my home right now.”

“Precisely. If all the information about Circe is correct, then her vendetta is against Zeus. Not Olympus. That doesn’t require a war to rectify.”

I’m already shaking my head before she finishes speaking. “If that logic held true, she would’ve sent an assassin instead of an army—and she would have done it years ago, before the last Zeus died. She’s coming for the city . I know you’re not naive, so there’s no way you’re entertaining the idea of handing over Zeus and hoping she’ll be happy enough with that to walk away.”

Hera lifts a single eyebrow. “Doing so would certainly solve one of our problems.” She shakes her head. “But no, that wasn’t my plan. It’s one thing for Zeus to die, but if we hand him over to our enemies, the rest of the Thirteen will turn against us. His death can’t be linked back to us. It’s unfortunate that the best patsy to blame for that outbreak in violence is now dead.”

She doesn’t out-and-out accuse me of being incompetent, but the meaning is clear beneath her words. Minos died in the fight at the marina—or, more accurately, before the fight at the marina. I was there, so the blame lands with me.

For all that Hera is someone whose purposes align with mine for now, she’s no different than the rest of the Thirteen. She lies as easily as she breathes, shielding her true meaning under different words and tones. She’s better at it than most of the others, but we’ve interacted enough that I have a relatively good bead on the truth of her.

Most of the time.

I wait. She obviously has a reason for being here, but she’ll get around to it in her own time. People like to talk. I’ve found that staying silent often provokes them to speak even if they have no intention of divulging information.

Sure enough, it only takes a few sparse seconds before she continues. “You have a member of Minos’s family in your custody. If would be a shame if he escaped and went on a murderous rampage. Or at least the beginning of a murderous rampage, starting with my dear husband. We would accost him directly after, of course.”

I think about Icarus, mostly naked and covered in cuts. He’s as much a liar as the Thirteen, but a murderous rampage? “That surpasses the realm of belief.”

“Does it? He attacked Pan at that cursed party, after all.”

Yes, Icarus smashed Pan over the head, but it wasn’t a fatal wound and when his foster brothers were out attempting to murder the other members of the Thirteen at that party, he took no part in it. By all accounts, he hasn’t done anything remotely violent since. Still, Hera has a point. He’s an enemy. Even if he’s not quite a believable perpetrator of violence, what does that matter when the fiction is so compelling? It’s as good a plan as any, and yet I find myself hesitating. “I still think the time for this particular plan has passed. Circe isn’t going to sit out there in her ships for long. She’s going to attack, and we need to call another vote before then so we can present a unified front when she does. We need to get defenses in place…”

Hera looks around. I have to wonder what she sees. I inherited the property when I inherited my title, but in the years since, I’ve preferred to spend my time here in the guesthouse. Even that’s still rife with elegance and luxury that makes me feel ill at ease, like if I move too fast, I might knock a painting off the wall or do some damage to the dainty furniture.

The main house is worse. Every time I turn around, I expect my uncle to appear, red-faced and furious. I’m tempted to raze the whole building to the ground, but that feels like letting him win, even though he’s dead and I’m still among the living.

I much prefer my little apartment in the shipyard. I tend to sleep there more nights than not. It’s simple there; no conflicting emotions. That space has only ever been mine.

Finally, she gets tired of whatever she sees on my face and says, “What defenses, Poseidon? We have none. We’ve relied for so long on that damned barrier that we have no naval forces. What will Athena’s assassins do against an army? And while my sister-in-law has done quite a bit of work to whip her forces into shape, they’re untried. There’s every chance they’ll fold at the first confrontation and leave this city entirely defenseless.”

I want to argue with her, to offer a perspective with more hope. But facts are facts, and she’s not wrong. Without the barrier, Olympus is incredibly vulnerable. We have no defenses, no barrier to hide behind. The closest thing are the mountains that border the countryside, but even they could be surpassed with enough resources and knowledge.

If it comes to a proper confrontation, I don’t see a path to victory. I don’t see a path to survival . “The only way to save our people is to avoid a confrontation entirely.”

She smiles, the expression sharp and dangerous. There’s no surprise on her face. She came to the same conclusion before she sought me out. “Precisely.”

The pit of my stomach drops out. So we finally get to the truth of what she has planned. “Tell me why you really voted against going to war. Tell me what you’re planning.”

Hera drifts to a gilded painting in the corner. It’s of some ancestor of mine, though I can’t begin to guess what sin she committed to have her portrait here instead of the main house. A thick woman with a riot of red curls and the same blue eyes that have passed down through the core family of Poseidons back to the beginning of Olympus. My own eyes are a different hue. But then, I was never supposed to rule.

She turns back to me, her long, dark skirt swirling around her legs. “I intend to have a conversation with Circe.” Her smile widens, but there’s no amusement in her hazel eyes. “One Hera to another.”