Page 8

8

Poseidon

“You need to eat.” I don’t mean to speak the words. “I…uh, you should have a meal. I should feed you.” Putting a little distance between myself and Icarus seems like the smart thing to do, but here I am offering him a meal. It’s too late to take back.

Especially when he smiles suspiciously widely. “I could eat.”

Did I really think he was going to turn me down? He’s already shown himself to be resourceful and that he will end up in places he shouldn’t be. I have him trapped in my house. Of course he’s going to be looking for a way to create some leverage for himself. Every person wants to survive, after all. He’s no different just because he’s an enemy to Olympus.

But he’s already experienced unacceptable amounts of harm while he’s supposed to be under my care. Depriving him of a meal simply because his presence—his offer —makes me feel strange isn’t acceptable. So I motion for him to follow me.

Whichever one of my ancestors built the guesthouse apparently didn’t think their guests deserved a kitchen, so we have to make the short trek to the main house. It looms in the fading light, a monster intent on devouring.

Except, no, it isn’t. It’s not a monster. It’s just a house. Four exterior walls and an absurd number of rooms. Too much money spent on decorations for how hideous it is. There are no ghosts haunting the place, for all that my uncle and cousins died there.

For once, Icarus has nothing to say, but when I glance at him, I wish he were prattling on because, instead of talking, he’s watching me . I can’t even pick up my pace because he’s barely staying on his feet, and if I leave him behind, he’s likely to pass out in the rosebushes.

Instead, I push open the door and hold it so he can precede me into my uncle’s kitchen.

It’s weird to still consider it my uncle’s kitchen. I know that. He’s been dead for well over a decade at this point and I’ve been Poseidon for nearly half my life. But this house doesn’t feel like home. It never has. It’s impossible to walk through these halls and not have the small hairs on the back of my neck rise just like they did when I was a child. Trespasser. Freak. He called me that and more when he was still alive. I truly don’t believe in ghosts, but sometimes when I have reason to be in this house late at night, I can almost convince myself that they’re real.

The kitchen is nice, though. And while it is part of the house that still feels like it belongs to my uncle, I highly doubt he spent any amount of time in this particular room. I still maintain the staff—what’s left of them—from when he was Poseidon, but that’s mostly because it feels wrong to let them go.

It also feels wrong to sit down while someone else cooks me a meal, as if my hands aren’t capable of labor. Thankfully, the cook has long since gone home. He usually only comes by in the morning these days to prep a day’s worth of food for me and my people, on the off chance that we come through these doors.

That’s where I go now, to the large industrial-sized fridge tucked into the corner. Sure enough, there are neatly labeled containers with the makings for a ridiculously extravagant meal. It makes Louis happy to cook them, so I don’t ever complain. And they are delicious. Almost enough to draw me here just for a taste when I don’t technically have business within these walls.

Icarus watches with narrowed eyes as I pull the containers out and line them up on the counter. “Leftovers?”

I pause and give him a long look. “These leftovers are probably the best thing you’ll have eaten in recent memory. Don’t be a snob.”

His brows wing up. “If we’re back to throwing stones about being a snob, you’re the one who is a member of the most powerful group in this city. If anyone’s a snob, it’s you.”

I don’t bother responding to that. He’s obviously looking to provoke a reaction, and I know for a fact it’s not true. If anything, the criticisms lobbed my way are that I’m too different to fit in with everyone else. Ironic, that.

My entire life, I’ve been a square peg trying to fit in the round hole of societal expectations. I can fake it, I can shave down my corners, but it fits like a too-tight coat, like I can’t catch my breath.

Since I became Poseidon, I stopped having to try as hard. Because of that power. People criticize me for not being charming or witty or a number of bullshit things related to playing nice with the press, but I fulfill my duties better than the last three Poseidons combined. I don’t cause problems, and I stay out of the petty power plays the rest of the Thirteen indulge in. The rest of the Thirteen mostly leave me alone, just like I prefer.

At least until Hera’s coup. Or attempted coup, as it were. She hasn’t quite pulled it off yet, and it worries me that she’s continuing with her plan despite the enemy literally at our gates.

A few minutes later, I set a warmed plate full of food in front of Icarus. “Eat.”

He makes no move to pick up the fork that I slide across the counter. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You can’t honestly expect me to eat a meal while you stand there staring. Besides, have you even had dinner?”

“I haven’t, in fact.” Stress has a way of annihilating my appetite, and it isn’t particularly intense during the day anyway. It’s late at night when my body usually decides to inform me that I haven’t given it nourishment in far too long. We’re hours away from that point, though.

Maybe he thinks it’s poisoned? I would hardly waste good food on that sort of thing, but it’s not like he knows me. I grab a second fork and take a careful bite of everything on the plate. “Satisfied?”

His smile is slow and a little wicked and makes my stomach flip. “Hardly. But it’s a start.” The words are smooth except for the barest edge. It takes me a few seconds to place the tone. Flirtation. But that doesn’t make any sense, even if he was talking about sex earlier to fluster me. He’s my captive. He rightfully hates me, and people may be all sorts of twisted up and do things against their better interest, but surely he draws the line at actually trying to seduce his captor…right?

“Share a meal with me, Poseidon.” His grin is still there, morphing into something playful. Does he realize it doesn’t meet his eyes?

Disappointment quells that small flip in my stomach. Icarus is a liar just like all the rest. I expected nothing less, but it still feels bad. All the same, he has a point about me needing to eat. It’s only when I’m standing across the island from him with my own full plate that he picks up his fork and begins to eat as well.

I expect the silence to be jagged and filled with peril, but it’s strangely comfortable. Icarus is moving stiffly, but he will be for quite some time with his injuries. I still can’t believe I misjudged Polyphemus so intensely. If I had known he was a danger to Icarus, I never would have left him in charge of our captive. That failure was paid for in Icarus’s blood.

Icarus takes another bite and shivers. “You know, this is amazing, even reheated. Your chef is something special.”

“Yes, Louis is.” This, at least, is a conversation easy to navigate. “He’s old enough to be a grandfather several times over, and I’m pretty sure his eyesight went out a decade ago, but his taste buds remain as youthful as ever.”

“Sounds charming.”

“I don’t know if I’d say that.” Charm and Louis hardly go hand in hand. He’s a cantankerous old bastard who treats me just like the two assistants I hired for him a while back. He’s bossy and snarls as often as he talks, and I enjoy spending time in his presence immensely—or I would if he wasn’t here , in this damned house. Louis says exactly what he thinks, and he never couches his words in hidden meanings. I know where I stand with him at all times. It’s a relief.

“You know, Hera’s plan won’t work. Circe won’t be satisfied with anything less than fully sacking the city.”

There’s no reason to feel disappointed that he’s turned our conversation back to the pending attack. It’s why I kept him here, after all. I need the information held in his beautiful head. “Do you know Circe well?”

“No one knows Circe well. I know her less well than most. My father wasn’t exactly proud of me, and he took great pains to ensure I wasn’t exposed to more of the council on Aeaea than absolutely necessary. That went doubly true for Circe. He was certain I would embarrass him and endanger his upward mobility. I’m the ultimate disappointment as a son, you know.” The words ooze charm, but his smile still doesn’t reach his dark eyes. A truth within a truth. His father’s disappointment cuts him like a knife. His father who has been dead less than forty-eight hours.

Guilt stabs me. Somehow, in all this, I’d almost forgotten. Athena’s people took Minos’s body, and it wasn’t an Olympian who killed him, but all the same, I should have remembered. I push my plate away. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“No, you’re not.”

I shrug. “No, I’m not. But it’s the thing people say in situations like this. So I said it.”

Icarus surprises me by laughing. It’s not the calculated sound I’ve heard him make a few times when he attended the same parties I suffered my way through. It’s too loud, and he snorts. It’s cute.

He sits back in his chair. “I suppose it is what people say in situations like this. But to elaborate on what I said earlier, I may not know much of Circe personally , but I’ve had plenty of personal experience with people who interact with her daily. People talk. As a result, I know as much about her as anyone. She’s bent on revenge; I can’t imagine what you could possibly offer her that she wants more than Olympus burning.”

I understand it, at least in theory. I even met Circe once, long ago, at her wedding to Zeus. She was a beautiful bride, but that’s no surprise. Nothing but the best for that monster. Rumor had it that he saw her walking down the street and had to have her as his own. I don’t know why that translated into marriage for this particular victim, but even I could tell that she was filled with barely contained fury as she walked down the aisle to him. Throughout the reception, he kept her close, as if afraid she would try to escape. A few days later, they whisked away to their honeymoon.

A honeymoon he returned from as a widower.

“She was mistreated greatly by Olympus,” I say, my mind still in the past. “Not just by Zeus.”

“You sound almost like you agree with her.”

“Do I?” Damn it. I’ve let myself be too honest again—and with someone who I can ill afford to be open with. I clear my throat. “You may think dealing with Circe is a fool’s errand, but Hera tends to get what she wants. She might surprise you.” I dearly hope she does. There are so many innocents in this city, and even more are spread through the countryside. So many lives under the protection of the Thirteen, and we’re failing them. We have been for a long time, but it’s never been clearer than in the moment when the barrier came down and instead of taking decisive steps to protect the city, we’re still engaged in political manipulations and power plays.

“Maybe.” Icarus shrugs and sets his fork carefully on his plate. “Maybe not. I suppose it won’t matter to me overmuch anyway, since I’m going to be dead.”

I blink. “What do you mean?”

He gives me a long look. The fake charm pulling at the edges of his mouth fades away and he becomes uncharacteristically serious. Did I think he was beautiful before? He’s so much more so now, when he’s not pasting a mask on his noble features.

“You have to kill me.” He says it almost gently, as if breaking bad news. “As long as I’m alive, I’m a threat to the security of the city. What remains of it, at least. I’m not a fan of being tortured, but Polyphemus had the right idea. You need whatever information I have, and then you need to dispose of me. It’s the smartest move.”

No matter how many times I replay his words, they don’t change. “Are you seriously suggesting that I torture and then murder you?” That can’t be right. It can’t be.

“Like I said, I’m not exactly advocating for that kind of violence. But I’m not a fool. This only ends one way, and it’s not with me riding off happily into the sunset, whole and alive.” He looks away. “Which, frankly, is a damn shame. It will break Ariadne’s heart when I don’t meet her next year. She’s strong, though. She’ll get over it. It might take a while, but I’m sure the Minotaur will be there to comfort her through her grief…and I’ll be too dead to worry about it either way.”