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Chapter Thirty-Eight

The Newlyweds

Hebe:

A trickster. I am wed to a trickster.

My hands shake as I open door after door in the golden tower. I barely see anything in each glorious room. I only long enough to process that the urn I seek is not within.

I am far more aware of what my husband said to my Zeus disguise. His words echo in my psyche over and over.

A traitor. I’ve been kissing a traitor.

The third door triggers a spear to shoot at me. I sidestep it far more easily than I did the trap Prometheus set for me.

A monster. I’ve been falling for a monster.

I’ve always known that Atum was more compassionate toward the mortals than Prometheus. It was also obvious that my husband was ready to turn his back on my people the moment when true peace seemed impossible. But to know that Prometheus meant to ally himself with the enemy of mankind throughout the entirety of our marriage . . . I see now that his actions and in action alike sprouted from deceit rather than cowardice.

I storm toward the door opposite from the entrance of the tower and swing it open. I’m half-hoping that Zeus is on the other side to give me someone to direct my wrath toward.

He isn’t inside, though. What is present are velvet couches arranged parallel to each other and a balcony across the room from me. There is a glass roof that reveals an empty room above. If it houses the sun like the silver tower contains the moon, I suppose it would be empty during the day.

None of that matters though, because in the center of the room is a short marble column turned table. Sitting on the table is the glowing urn I’ve been seeking.

Rushing forward, I scan the depictions of war and torment painted on the dark urn for any hint of a trap. Some of Prometheus’ caution must have rubbed off on me . . .

No wonder Prometheus despised me at the beginning. I represent everything he is opposed to.

Gritting my teeth, I take hold of the urn. It’s still too full despite how much must have been used to destroy the temple.

With the cursed urn in hand, I dive to the side.

I hold my breath, bracing for a volley of spears to fly at me. However, the only consequence of my theft is the marble pillar disintegrates with the absence of the urn.

Just like my marriage.

Prometheus said he loved me. He probably does like me— as his “possession.” I suppose I can forgive him for that. I was given to him, after all, and he was not given to me in return.

What I will never forgive, though, is that he tried to trick me into turning my back on my people. I thought mayhap I wasn’t fully Awoken yet, and that is why Zeus’ protections did not work on me. It turns out, they did not work because they did not need to— Prometheus was not one of Zeus’ enemies. Prometheus is perfectly willing to stand back and let the world burn.

And here I am fretting over one selfish wretch instead of focusing on all of humanity— just like Prometheus would have wanted.

Hissing, I imagine myself as a bird, one wearing my gown and clutching this urn within its claws.

A moment later, I am a turtle dove. The urn is nowhere to be seen, absorbed along with my clothes and waiting for me to revert. At least, I need it to be so because there are footsteps just on the other side of the door.

I dive toward the balcony and soar away from every Primordial who has made themselves my enemy.

Prometheus:

“I had already decided to join you, as you well know. I merely went to retrieve what little Atum let me have to my name.” My bitter scoff isn’t faked.

Zeus looms above me, far taller than necessary when the threat of lightning fills the air. My hand must be standing on end. “And the so-called treasure you were most adamant about. Did you salvage it?”

“No.” I close my eyes, thinking of Hebe somewhere in the gold tower and risking both our lives. “I’m afraid she was lost to me forever.”

I need to make my excuses and leave. Hebe is clever, but she is too bold to be cautious. Any moment now, she will alert Zeus to her presence, and he will probably strike me down in his rage before he even realizes we’re bound. And when he does find out. . .

My fingers flex, desperate to open a rift to my temple. I need to go before Zeus tortures me. Before he makes me suffer Hebe’s screams. Will my temple even be safe if Zeus posses the portion of my Primordial power in Hebe? Will going home without her even be bearable when I will be haunted by the one time I wasn’t alone?

Suddenly, Zeus stiffens. Then he turns and storms into his golden tower, leaving a mighty gust in his wake.

This is my chance, and yet I find myself shadowing him.

Zeus strides into the farthest room of the Golden Tower— the one that houses the sun by night. In the center of the room is a pile of dust. And in the distance I see a turtle dove against the sky.

Hebe.

“Who has done this?!” Zeus thunders, the entire temple shaking in fear of his wrath.

My wife. The mortal I bonded with. The woman I love.

The sacrifice I must make to spare myself. Any moment now, Zeus will see Hebe flying away and pursue her as an enemy Primordial. If I point her out now, I can spare myself his inevitable wrath.

Hebe will suffer. Her people will burn. But I will survive.

I will be alone.

My stomach lurches like that is the worst suffering I could face, when in fact it is the one I am most used to. It’s comfortable at this point— or used to be. Either way, it is inevitable because no matter what I choose, I will be alone.

But . . . Hebe might not be alone. Her people may still be spared. She might not have to suffer.

Power surges through the room as Zeus levitates off the ground. “Who. Has. Done. This?”

Hebe is still not out of view. But I can ensure that he never sees her all the same.

“I’ll l keep us safe. I’ll keep you safe forever.”

I step forward. “It was me! I stole the Fire.”

I’m expecting a demand for an eplanation. What I receive is a lightning bolt to the chest throwing me backwards. All the power I just restored focuses on healing me, leaving me helpless to defend myself against further attacks. Or mayhap it’s the pain itself disarming. I can’t feel my torso, and I wish I could feel nothing else. The stench of burned flesh fills the air, making me ill. It reminds me too much of when Hebe lay dying.

I suppose mortals and Primordials burn the same. Atum would love to know that connection. Personally, that is knowledge I wish I never discovered because the price of suffering is too great.

But I fear knowing the cost of loving a mortal will be even greater.

Zeus hovers toward me. Barely contained wrath flashing in his eyes as he stares down at my pathetic form lying flat on my back. And then he looks . . . confused.

So am I. Never in all my lifetime have I purposefully put myself in harm’s way, and Zeus knows that.

“Who are you?” Zeus demands, like I might be another Primordial in disguise.

I suppose that makes more sense than a man taking the fall for a wife who hates him and a people who abandoned him. Yet, here we are.

“As my wife, you will have no choice but to learn, to live, to see, to explore, and to experience.”

And so she shall. Just . . . without me.

Using the last of my strength, I lift my head from the ground. “I told you. I am the thief . . . of Fire.”