He didn’t say anything else. There was nothing left to say.
The boat was a twelve-meter rigid inflatable that the Dionysus estate kept for coastal errands. It handled the open Mediterranean well enough, cutting through the morning chop at thirty knots. But the moment I crossed into the Strait, the water changed.
I felt it through the hull, a shift in the texture of the current beneath us. From the random churn of open sea, it turned into something directed. Something aware. The engine laboredagainst a resistance that had nothing to do with tide or wind. The water itself was deciding where and how to take me.
But it had no reason to block my way. The invitation was genuine, at least in that respect. Maris wanted me on his yacht. He wanted to finish this face-to-face, on ground—on water—where the outcome was already decided. The only question was whether he intended to make it quick or whether he planned to enjoy himself first.
TheOdysseymaterialized out of the morning haze like a white cliff. Sixty meters of steel and glass riding the Strait’s current with the stillness of something planted. There was no visible crew on deck. No movement at all. Just the yacht, the water, and the ancient cliffs of Sicily and Calabria rising on either side.
I killed the engine and let the current carry me alongside. A boarding ladder had been lowered on the port side, the rungs polished and waiting. I tied off the inflatable, climbed, and stepped onto the deck.
Orion Maris waited at the bow.
He looked exactly as I remembered from the Norway meeting. Tall, composed, dressed in white linen that moved with the sea breeze. Sea-colored eyes reflecting the water beneath us. Barefoot on his own deck, at ease in a way that made the distance between us feel like the full depth of the Strait. A thin shell of steel was the only thing between my shoes and a kingdom he could collapse with a thought.
“Lord Stormwright.” He inclined his head. “Thank you for accepting.”
“Thank you for the dolphin.” I stopped ten feet from him. Through the soles of my shoes, I could feel the Strait’s current humming against the hull like a low, continuous growl. “Original touch.”
“Traditional. House Poseidon has used marine messengers for centuries.” He gestured toward the stern. “I had coffee prepared, if you’d prefer to talk before—”
“Where is Andromeda?”
The pleasant expression fell away from his face. “She’s below. Safe, comfortable, and here because she wants to be.”
“I’d like to hear that from her.”
“You will. But first, I think there are things you should know.” He turned to face the open Strait, and the wind caught his hair. He was too calm for a man about to fight the head of House Zeus. “Andromeda accepted my offer. She agreed to bond with me.”
I’d expected that. I’d been telling myself for weeks that this was the likely outcome. A woman who’d jumped from a plane to get away from me was not a woman waiting to be rescued. But expecting it and hearing it confirmed were different species of pain. The second one was worse than I’d prepared for.
“Freely,” Orion continued. The generosity in his tone was the worst part. He wasn’t gloating. He was offering condolences. “No coercion, no manipulation. I told her the truth about what was happening between us, and she accepted.”
“Then let me speak to her, and I’ll leave.”
“There’s more.” He turned back to me, and the calm in his eyes had an edge now, something sharp beneath the surface. “She asked me to kill you, Alexander.”
The Strait went quiet. Even the wind seemed to still, the sea holding its breath around the yacht.
“She said that as long as you’re alive, the curse will always have an anchor. That some part of her will always be tethered to you, and she can’t live with that.” He paused. “I don’t take pleasure in telling you this. But you deserve honesty before what comes next.”
His deck was warm beneath my feet. The Mediterranean sun glided over my face, almost mocking. And the woman I loved had asked another man to end my life.
The knowledge should have broken something in me. It should have made me turn around, climb back down the ladder, and drive the inflatable back to the coast.
Instead, something clarified. A cold, clean focus that settled behind my eyes the way lightning settles into a rod. All thescattered energy of my grief and rage converged into a single bright point.
“Then let’s not waste time.” I shrugged off my jacket and let it fall. “You and I both know you didn’t invite me here for coffee.”
The first bolt left my hand as soon as I finished speaking.
It should have hit him square in the chest.Instead, a wall of water surged up from the port side, swallowing the lightning midair. The elements collided in a deafening hiss, instantly flashing into a blinding white wall of steam. The ocean drank the strike, violently dragging the lethal energy down into the dark depths of the Strait.
Orion didn’t flinch. “You’re on my water, Stormwright. You’re fighting the entire sea.”
I fired again. Three rapid bolts aimed at different angles—left, right, overhead. The water rose to meet each one, walls and columns of it lifting off the surface with a speed that defied gravity. The yacht shuddered under the force of the sudden steam explosions.
“Every bolt you throw, the Strait buries.” Orion raised one hand, and the sea responded.