A strange addition to the Pantheon comes into view.Miranda, Wife of Hades. Then I see the text that makes my blood run chill despite the scorching heat emanating from the ground below Lethe.“Buried in the year 2020 A.C.E. Our good queen. Departed from this world too soon, a casualty of the rebellion.”
The gears in my mind start to turn. The people called her good… and she was dead.
That means that the second prophecy about the demigods’ wives wasn’t about my mother, it was about her—Miranda.
Which means…
I shut my eyes tightly before I finish the thought,Which means that my mother was more powerful than Phelix. And my father had my mother killed, just like he tried to have me killed.
Hot, angry tears pour out of my eyes as my body shakes. I am torn between wanting to remove my bastard father’s head from his shoulders and curling up before the statue dedicated to my aunt. The kindness in her eyes makes me wonder if she would’ve liked me.
The thought is ridiculous. Gods and demigods have no room for tenderness.
But she wasn’t a goddess, just like my mother wasn’t. Just like I am not. She could have been something entirely different. She could have taken me shopping for dresses not made by royal tailors and showed me how to paint my nails or gossiped about mindless things.
"I am sad I never knew you, Miranda," I murmur to the empty air.
When the moon is high in the sky, and exhaustion seeps through my bones, I am reduced to a defeated lump of emotions. I resign myself to the fact that I cannot get in to see my uncle tonight. Tears spill down my cheeks as I wander to a secluded corner of the square covered by a metallic roof.
There is nowhere else to go. I lay down on a bench and tuck my knees in as tightly as I can. I will sleep here tonight, and tomorrow… tomorrow I will find Aidoneus.
21
Left By All
ERIK
It takes five hours and forty-seven minutes to dock the ship and oversee the unloading of the cargo.
I know this because every minute feels like an eternity, and I spend several eternities staring into the crowded docks, trying to glimpse Helena. The bustling sounds of my crew chattering behind me fill my ears, but my men aren’t talking to me.
That's good.
I'm not in the mood right now. Helena would have known that. She would have taken one look at my tense shoulders, how I am gripping the railing with white knuckles, and sent everyone away before invading my space. She would have sent me some stupid text that plastered a smile on my face despite everything else. Helena would have made me feel something more than my sodden clothes and the salty air.
At least I have my impending death to keep me company. It's not like I plan on just rolling over and letting King Phelix's men kill me like a dog. But I'm also a realist. And a human, which is basically a death sentence in Aranthium. I used to think we were incredible, noble even, until my ninth birthday.
Gods. That lesson has haunted me ever since that fateful night. Twenty years have passed, but standing at the bow of my ship as the brisk wind blows past me, I am transported back into my nightmares. The sounds of the dock fade away, becoming something much more sinister. I’ve learned my lessons. Given the chance, anyone can and will betray you.
I am all too familiar with betrayal. Death. Violence. Echos of horror remain in my mind to this day. Shudders rush through me as the gods-awful sound of tearing flesh fills my ears. I shake my head, trying in vain to clear the memories and put them back into the box where they belong.
Instead, my mother's screams echo through my mind as she pleads for her attackers to end her life quickly. If I close my eyes, I can hear the Daemons chuckling as they close in on her. Their laughter sends shivers down my spine.
Whimpers, echoes of the boy I was, are trying to escape me. I shove them down brutally. I had wanted to help her, but she had made me promise not to come out, no matter what I heard.
It was the last thing she had ever said to me. At that point, my father was already dead. They had taken him out quickly. A liability, they had called him in their low, deep voices. But they had taken their time with her.
She had been beautiful. Not in the way that every boy thinks his mother is beautiful. No. In a people-stop-in-the-streets-to-stare-openmouthed-at-her beautiful. She had been stunning for a human. Tall, with long, windswept, wavy golden hair that had flowed down her back. She’d had a face that made you realize Angels weren’t the only celestial beings in our world. That's why the Daemons had targeted her in the first place.
Rubbing my palms against my eyelids, I try to shake the memory of that terrible night. It's not working. All I see is the darkness of the small closet. I'm lost in the memory, becoming that boy once more.
I’m huddled in a ball, shaking. Screams surround me, coming from all sides. They are ear-piercingly loud and filled with pain. So much pain. Something wet and sticky slides under the door, coating my skin. If I open my eyes, my hands will be painted red.
Tremors wrack my body as I remain in that small, confined space for hours. Long after the screaming has stopped and my tears have dried up, the door slides open a crack. I blink, then slit my eyes as I look up. An older man with a worn face grimaces in my direction. He has a scar running from his forehead down to his chin.
“I’m not going to hurt you, boy,” he says softly before pulling me to my feet. “Close your eyes. You don’t need to see this.”
The scent of copper, urine, and bile fills my nose as he hauls me out of the closet.