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Chapter Forty-One

The Newlyweds

Prometheus:

D espite my desperate prayers, I survive to see the dawn. And just as Zeus promised, the Caucasian Eagle rises with the sun.

I stare down at my tender stomach. It’s still not fully healed, but at least I’m not spilling everywhere. However, that will soon change.

Drawing upon every ounce of strength that regenerated last night, I struggle against the chains. If I can only slip out of them, I have a fighting chance. But my Primordial power doesn’t respond to my attempts to become something too small to be chained. And every time my skin brushes the lightning-charged metal I lose a little more of my fight.

Finally, I hang my head so I don’t have to see the approaching bird. Instead, I notice the amber hanging from my neck, symbolizing my marriage to a woman who likely despises me. How ironic, to know I’ve sacrificed everything for her, but she will only remember the trickster I was before she transformed me into someone a little more like her.

Despite Hebe’s insistence that I keep my amber necklace, she’ll likely rejoice when the Eagle inevitably snatches it away along with half my entrails.

Hebe is the real winner here. She has her life, the Fire, and her people’s safety as well as my powers from our bond. I have the chains, the pain, and the mere memory of our marriage that led to this tragedy.

But if that memory is all I have, then ’s what I will fight for. That memory, that marriage, and the girl I chose suffering to save.

Desperately, I lean forward, doing my best to reach the dangling necklace without the use of hands. I toss my head back several times until the amber bounces high enough. Then I catch it in my teeth, closing my mouth around it to protect it from the Eagle’s beak.

There’s nothing to be done to save my tender, barely healed flesh, though.

This time, my screams are muffled by my trembling lips, which I will keep closed no matter what.

Hebe:

Neither Atum nor I are paying any attention to our game of Terni Lapilli . We both abandon it gladly when Sia materializes before us, reverting from a beetle to the mortal-like form he wore earlier today.

I scramble to my feet, but Atum remains on the ground since he still cannot stand on his own.

“Did you see him?” Atum calls.

Sia shakes his head, looking utterly perplexed. “I saw no trace of Prometheus in Zeus’ temple. Not in any of them.”

“What about Prometheus’ temple?” I ask, like I haven’t opened a rift there twice already to check.

“He’s not there either.” Sia clasps his hands. “I could not see him anywhere I went.”

“What . . .” I lick my dry lips and tug on the necklace Prometheus gave me. Both it and the lionskin have been re-secured around my throat where I can ensure I don’t lose them, too. “What does that mean?”

“It means, I’m afraid, that even I cannot see what has become of Prometheus.”

Prometheus:

The pain is worse this time because I remember how agonizing it was yesterday. Now I can properly dread each slice the Caucasian Eagle makes into my gut.

Tears stream down my face until I have none left. My muffled cries become whimpers as I become steadily weaker.

Through it all, it isn’t until the Eagle has had its fill and flown away that I let my amber fall from my mouth. It dangles off me along with my shredded entails.

I finally scream. Long and hard. But the pain persists. When I am done, I am still chained to a rock, my blood still pouring out of me and my strength nonexistent. I still cannot transform into something that can save me while my body fights so hard to sustain itself.

Atum says the rain falls on the just and the unjust, but the lightning seems to disproportionately strike the innocence. Do I count as innocent? Mayhap if I do, I can at least hope for deliverance. But the Creator counted me as unworthy of His direct presence after He punished us at the River Styx for our joint rebellion.

For a while, the Tablets the Creator left were a comfort to me. At least there was some form of communication between us— or so it seemed. But the Creator still has not answered my prayer— possibly because I am not one of His precious mortals. Therefore He will not give me deliverance even through death.

There is one other name I could call. One that knows no mercy but must bargain. One who may be able to kill a Primordial because he is, in fact, the Guardian of the Dead.

I cannot lift my head, but I use what little voice I have left to cry out anyway. “Am-Heh, I summon thee.”

Hebe:

“We could summon him,” I whisper before bounding to my feet with fresh energy. “Then Prometheus will have no choice but to come to us!”

Dionysus looks up from his kylix and scowls. “Summon the Primordial who betrayed you into the temple where you brought the Fire? Yes, that sounds like a legendary idea.”

I bite my lip and glance down at the urn that hasn’t left my side.

“I still think it’s worth a shot,” Atum offers.

Dionysus grunts.

But Atum just turns to me, his expression soft. “Do you know Prometheus’ Ren ?”

My stomach clenches. “No, he never told me.” Considering he was plotting throughout our marriage, I don’t think he ever intended to. “Don’t you know? You were his master.”

“Prometheus was always a guarded soul.” Atum sighs. “A Ren is an intimate thing gifted to few. I’m afraid if he didn’t give it to his wife, none of us know it.”

I turn to Sia desperately.

Sia shakes his head.

So, I turn to Dionysus next.

Dionysus grunts again. “Why would I know it?”

“I don’t know. Many seem to know your Ren , so I wondered if you collected such names in return.”

“‘ Many ’ know my Ren ?” Dionysus scoffs. “Mayhap a few fair maidens here and there—”

“But my people’s High Priest— the one who summoned you— was a man.”

“I didn’t say my Ren was known exclusively to fair maidens . . .”

I slump against the trunk of the willow tree, not sure what to do with my disappointment.

“Well, isn’t this a pretty picture?”

Startling at the new voice, I turn to see a Primordial I have never seen in person. Yet fear turns my blood cold because I know exactly who he is thanks to Sia’s perception.

The Primordial is tall and dark— both in complexion and because of the shadows that seem to cling to him. A savagely beautiful smile stretches across his face as he glances from me to the rest if my company. “A widow consoled by her husband’s friend. If this isn’t a story as old as death.”

“Hades,” Atum hisses behind me.

But I care not for this creature’s identity or mockery. All I want is an explanation. “Did you say . . . ‘ widow’ ?”