Page 31

Chapter Thirty

Prometheus

W hen mortals first invented plays, I was in the audience. The first story they ever wove with actions and words was disgustingly tragic. It was a tale of two mortal lovers torn cruelly apart. By the time the man could return to the other man— who was disguised as the woman in the story— the latter pretended to die in his arms out of exhaustion from the trials that had parted them.

It turns out tragedies are unfortunately realistic. Because as I soar sharply downward, I see Hebe alive and whole. But when she sees me, she plunges into the temple that Zeus warned me about.

What Hebe cannot see is the line of black dust winding through grounds just behind the temple. It culminates in a pile just within the building. Flames lick up the tail, greedily devouring the path that leads to the mound.

This is more dust here than Zeus used in Sia’s vision.

I squawk because that is all I can utter in this form.

Hebe dives into the temple as the flames reach the mound.

There is a terrible roar, like a hundred lions have cried out at once. The force of it knocks me from the sky. I revert back to my default form when I hit the ground.

Warmth flares over me, and I lift my head to find Atum’s temple swallowed by flames. Most of the pillars collapsed in the explosion, and the vegetation feeds the fire.

Pushing myself onto my hands and knees, I scan the rubble for any trace of Hebe. I know mortals are delicate, but surely, they won’t disintegrate from a single lick of the flame? Or is she trapped beneath the rubble and shattered to death?

A desperate moan draws my gaze to a large garden stone. It is not anywhere near where Hebe had been standing when the Fire consumed the temple, and she looks like she was thrown against it. Her body drapes backwards over it limply, like she has no strength to straighten. Blood trails from her hairline and the corner of her mouth.

“Hebe!” I cry, rushing to her side.

Her eyes find me, but they are the only part of her that moves— other than her blood.

More gruesome still is the way the right side of Hebe’s face is raw and red, parts of her flesh bubbling. The same is true of her right arm and the patches of her side revealed through the tattered remnants of her chiton .

“You came back.” Her words are barely a croak.

“Hebe,” I whisper.

Whatever I was going to say next is cut off by another explosion.

Warmth flows over me again as I position my body between the temple and Hebe, bracing myself against the stone. Something hits my back, but the hide of the Nubian lion protects me. Several jagged objects slice at the back of my legs. But at least no further harm befalls my broken bride.

That’s what I think until Hebe gasps harshly, like her soul is trying to escape through her throat.

I desperately grasp the unburnt side of her face. “Don’t leave me.”

“You’re the one . . . who wants to leave . . . me.”

If I didn’t know better, I would think Hebe had thrust her spear into my heart because of the pain her words cause. “I don’t! I never want to be parted from you again, my bride, my wife, my warrior .”

The corner of Hebe’s lips on the unburnt side of her mouth trembles like she would smile if she were still capable of it despite the blood flowing from her lips. Lips that should either be pursed in disappointment at me or else pressing kisses to my skin. Lips that belong to me , not Hades. Yet Zeus would happily sacrifice my wife to his fellow Firstborn like the legends claim he did with “Persephone.”

No . In all my eons of life, I have owned nothing material that mattered beyond representing a piece of knowledge. Since wedding Hebe, I have been gifted a necklace I’ve become fond of and the useful hide of the Nubian Lion. Yet both treasures are meaningless compared to the thought of losing my most precious belonging— the who almost feels like part of my soul though we never even bonded.

“No!” I roar, louder than the destruction behind me.

Wrapping my arms around my wife, I scoop her into my arms. Hebe cries out in pain, her screams competing with the sound of collapsing stone behind me. A wave of dust washes over us as I carry Hebe out of the wreckage.

Atum rushes toward me, meeting me at the edge of his grounds. Apparently, he’s decided to do something useful with his pathetic existence.

I drop to my knees before him. “Heal her! You’re the Guardian of Life. You must restore it to her!”

Atum drops to his knees on Hebe’s other side, his gaze trailing over her burned side. “Her injuries are grave and many. I’ve never seen—”

Keeping one arm wrapped around Hebe, I grab Atum’s shoulder. “ Heal. Her. ”

“You know my healing abilities draw upon love .” His words sound like an excuse, but his tone is a request.

Nodding erratically, I grip him tighter. “Then draw upon my love for her! Smite it all, you’re the one who gave her to me. Don’t let her be taken now that I’ve rearranged my entire life around her existence!”

Atum says nothing, simply placing both hands on Hebe’s shoulders. Her chest barely rises with her breaths, and pain flashes across Hebe’s face every time it does.

Then Atum’s eyes close while Hebe’s flies open. The courage and cleverness normally found in her gaze are gone, replaced by pain and panic.

My hand not offering my love as a sacrifice to Atum’s power slides under Hebe’s head. “I’m here, Little Flame. We’re healing you—”

Hebe’s back arches, and there is a terrible crackling sound as her bones are woven back together.

Her scream slices through the air and into my very soul before falling suddenly silent.

I grip her more tightly. “Hebe, stay with me. I still have your necklace, so legally can’t leave—”

A new pair of sandals comes into view, but I don’t dare look away from Hebe. If her soul tries to escape, I will catch it and find a way to return it to her.

“What in the name of all the Firstborns is this?!” Dionysus cries, a basket and several sheets falling to the ground. Then he rushes past us, toward the collapsing temple and burning plants.

I finally glance back to see that the flames have spread across the grass to surround the stone I plucked Hebe from. Dionysus stands between the flames and us, as if daring them to come any closer.

Blood no longer flows between my fingers pressed against Hebe’s temple wound. Is she healing? Hope blooms in my chest. Mayhap I won’t lose her after all! “You’re doing it!”

In response, Atum collapses just as the earth begins to shake— no doubt Dionysus’ doing.

I yell at Dionysus to stop causing the dirt to rise and smother the flames. But he doesn’t seem to hear me past his own cacophony.

When I turn back, Atum has placed one hand back onto Hebe. Blood stops trickling from her mouth, but then Atum collapses again, this time beyond my reach.

“No!” Frantically, I reach for him. “You’re not done yet!”

Atum doesn’t stir.