Page 8 of Where Darkness Bloomed (Of Stars and Salt #1)
Lightning tore at the night sky as Kore burst from the temple. Her heart pounded, echoing the thunder. She had fled the throne room the moment Zeus adjourned the council, not looking back.
Cool night air met her, brushing her flushed cheeks. Jasmine and honeysuckle perfumed the air, winding in blooming vines around the marble columns.
Outside, the pantheon poured from the temple like a dazzling tide, gods and goddesses drifting toward the open-air lawn. Torches were already lit and bonfires blazed, illuminating the feast that sprawled there.
Golden tables gleamed in starlight and fireglow, draped with silks and cascading garlands of grapevines.
Baskets overflowed with abundance: plump figs, heavy clusters of grapes, honeycombs oozing amber, pungent cheese, and warm, crusty bread.
Towering platters were filled with roasted game and fragrant olives, the aromas mingling with the rich scent of spiced wine.
Fountains bubbled with cascading streams of golden nectar and deep claret wine, twin rivers of gold and garnet. Laughter and music threaded the air, lyres and pipes weaving melodies against the steady beat of drums.
An arm looped through Kore’s, light but firm. She glanced up to find Thalia radiant with satisfaction, her gaze sweeping the revelry like a sculptor admiring her work.
“One of my finest,” the goddess of festivity murmured, eyes bright with pride.
Kore offered a slight smile, the tightness in her chest easing. “I never doubted it.”
“Marriages among gods are rare,” Thalia said, her tone grand as a toast. “So the celebration must be worthy of remembrance, echoing through the ages.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a softer note. “Besides, I’ve bought you a moment. Your mother’s gaze is elsewhere.”
Kore huffed a laugh. “Then you have my thanks.”
It was true. The table of honor was set beneath the starlit canopy.
Two central seats remained empty, awaiting the bridal couple.
Around them, the Olympians filled the other seats, gleaming in full, blinding splendor.
At one end, Demeter’s gold crown glinted like a steady flame through the swell of laughter and music.
Kore’s gaze slid past her mother to another empty seat. The pressure in her chest returned, subtle but sharp. Her eyes swept the crowd.
Where was —
“Come,” Thalia said, tugging lightly at her arm. “My sisters are waiting.”
Kore let herself be led through the gathering, their path weaving between the revelers. Laughter crashed like waves. Music coiled through the air, wild and alive, thrumming beneath the celebration like a pulse.
She glimpsed Thalia’s sisters, Euphrosyne and Aglaia, a moment before a trumpet’s fanfare pierced the din. The crowd quieted, every eye turning to the table of honor as a cascade of golden light rained down from the heavens.
From its brilliance emerged Heracles, the powerfully built son of Zeus. Against his side was Hebe, dressed in robes of glittering silver, her cheeks flushed.
At the sight of the newlyweds, a cheer erupted, roaring over the lawn in a wave of wild joy. Goblets spilled nectar as toasts rang out, music swelling once again.
“They seem content,” Kore said, her voice nearly lost in the swell of celebration.
“Content?” Euphrosyne’s laughter chimed, bright and teasing. She tossed her hair—a thick wave of caramel laced with gold—over one shoulder and gave Kore a knowing smile. “Wouldn’t you be content with Heracles at your side?”
Then, with a sly glance toward her sister, Aglaia, she added, “Or perhaps... your heart desires a more unconventional match.”
Aglaia’s cheeks flushed, though the warmth only deepened the goddess’s quiet radiance. She said nothing at first, but her gaze drifted toward the high table. To the god who stood slightly apart from the others.
Hephaestus.
Broad-shouldered and iron-strong, he wore a tunic the color of deep forest, simple but well-cut against his muscular frame.
Firelight danced over his hard features, catching in the molten depths of his eyes.
He stood in quiet conversation with Poseidon, fingers absently grazing the edge of his trimmed auburn beard.
Aglaia watched him for a breath. The silver wreath of jasmine woven through her raven-black hair shimmered as she tilted her head, thoughtful and still.
“He doesn’t gleam brilliantly like Apollo,” she said at last, her voice soft. “Or dazzle with the charm of Dionysus. But his beauty is a different sort, born of fire and creation.” A faint smile stole over her lips. “Striking, in his own way.”
Reluctantly, her gaze left the table, turning back to the conversation. She looked to her sisters and Kore once more. “As the goddess of beauty,” she added gently, “I can assure you, a beautiful face does not always promise lasting joy.”
“I imagine it certainly helps,” a sly voice cut in.
Hermes hovered overhead, silver-winged sandals a furious blur as he drifted through the night sky. His smile was sharp, eyes lit with mischief.
“Hermes.” Aglaia greeted him with a respectful nod, though her stunning smile turned impish. “Please, do share your vast wisdom on marriage.”
Hermes sniffed theatrically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Must one be wed to recognize the folly of those who are?” he asked, descending in a lazy arc.
Aglaia tilted her head, eyes bright. “I imagine it certainly helps,” she echoed, the words rich with challenge.
With a flourish, Hermes landed beside Euphrosyne. He plucked a goblet of nectar from a passing nymph, flashing her a suggestive smile, wide and shameless, and she returned it without hesitation.
Kore’s attention drifted back to the head table. To the empty chair no one else seemed to mark.
It still waited. Silent. Unclaimed.
She looked away and found the bridal couple again.
Heracles leaned in close, holding a piece of fruit to Hebe’s lips.She accepted it with a smile, and his thumb lingered against her mouth, sweeping slowly. The gesture, simple yet intimate, sent a surge of familiar warmth blooming through her.
The sweep of his thumb was just like—
She turned away, face burning. “They will reside on Olympus?” she asked, more abruptly than she intended.
Hermes gave a throaty chuckle. His eyes glinted as he swirled his goblet lazily. “For tonight, certainly,” he said. “Heracles will have rather pressing, immediate plans for his bride. I do hope dear Hebe is well rested.”
Thalia choked on her wine. Heat flared in Kore’s cheeks.
Aglaia, unbothered, simply rolled her eyes.
She glanced once more toward the high table.
Her gaze found Hephaestus again, softening into something thoughtful.
Then, with a graceful turn, she looped her arm through Euphrosyne’s, and the sisters melted into the crowd, their laughter trailing like music.
Hermes lingered.
His gaze flicked between Kore and Thalia, bright and too knowing.
When he smiled, it was a slow, wicked grin.
“Every young goddess should taste the delights of marriage,” he drawled, each word heavy with insinuation.
“Lest you are tempted to tread the path of Artemis or Athena—chaste, eternal maidens. Tragic.”
He gave an exaggerated shudder. “A life without passion, without pleasure. Unthinkable.”
Neither of them responded, but the silence only amused him further.
“But there is no better tutor in such matters,” he added, almost idly, “than Eros himself.”
At once, Kore’s stomach knotted.
“Lord Hermes, no ,” Thalia hissed sharply. “Do not summon—”
“Summon what, my lady?”
The interruption was smooth, spoken in a voice like velvet, rich and dangerous.
Thalia’s protest died on her lips. Her mouth snapped shut.
From the darkness above, a figure descended with wings of gold unfurling like the gleaming edge of daybreak. Eros hovered in silence over their heads, gazing down with eyes of burning gold. A gaze that offered not warmth, but something wilder, more consuming.
At his back, a quiver of golden arrows gleamed ominously. A chill skittered over Kore’s skin.
Unruffled, Hermes wiped a drip of nectar from his chin, his crooked grin widening. “These young goddesses,” he began innocently, “were merely curious about the... pleasures of marriage, of passion. ”
He kicked off the ground, winged sandals flashing as he drifted into the air. “I leave them in your very capable hands.”
Then he vanished in a flash of silver, laughter echoing behind him, bright and careless.
Eros said nothing at first. His gaze slid slowly between Kore and Thalia, measuring and unreadable. Then he smiled, slow and predatory.
“Tell me,” he purred, “what would maiden goddesses care to know of passion?”
The silence that followed was heavy, dense as thunderclouds. The air itself seemed to shrink, growing tight.
Thalia recovered first, but her voice was strained as she replied, “Hermes misspoke.”
“Did he?” Eros asked softly, his gaze fixing on Kore.
The gold fire in his eyes deepened, burning too bright, too harsh. Like a flame pressed too close to skin. With a single beat of his wings, he dropped soundlessly to the grass behind her.
The air barely stirred before his warmth spilled against her back. Too close, too deliberate.
“Curious, are you?” he murmured, low and decadent, each word dripping like warm honey. “But words, sweet goddess, are such hollow things.” He leaned in, his breath grazing the curve of her ear. “Passion,” he whispered, “is not simply spoken of.”
A pause. The air coiled tighter around her.
“It must be seen,” he breathed. “And felt.” His voice dipped lower, darker. “Tasted.”
Silence clung to the air, breathless and waiting.
Then a rich chuckle came from behind her. “You’ll understand soon enough,” he promised.
Kore’s breath caught sharply. She spun, heart racing—but found only empty air. Far above, golden wings cut through the night, catching both starlight and firelight as he vanished into the dark.
“Hermes,” Thalia swore softly.