by Raye Wagner
His lips were soft, and the kiss was a tender reassurance of his love, pouring warmth into her heart. She pulled him closer.
“Shh, my love,” he whispered between the brushing of their lips. He backed her into the wall and kissed her again.
The pressure from his body grounded her. This was reality. She was actually here. With Athan. And he loved her.
She met his fervor with her own intensity. Her hands, almost on their own accord, tangled into his hair, and she held him close.
His arms circled her waist, pulling her into him. Trailing kisses down her neck, he murmured his love for her. He made promises and sealed them with his lips. His caresses filled in the miniscule gaps deep in her soul as their hearts merged.
Touching his forehead to hers, he whispered, “I missed you.”
Her heart beat with emotion she’d thought was all spent. Was it wrong to feel this happy and sad at the same time? She didn’t even know this depth of emotion was possible. “I’ve missed you, too.”
Cupping her face with his hands, he looked into her eyes and said, “I’m so sorry about Xan.”
Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, and she tried to pull away. But he wouldn’t let her go, so she closed her eyes.
He kissed her forehead. “He loved you. Truly.”
Hope nodded at the truth before her.
“He was a good man and a good friend. He always did right by you, Hope.” Athan took a deep breath. “Always.”
There was no way to stem the fresh wave of crashing grief as it washed over her.
“I’m sorry.” She choked on the words, feeling guilty that Athan should have to see her like this.
Athan pulled her close, wrapping her in a hug. “It’s right that you should mourn him. I know how much he meant to you. So, please, don’t hide it from me.”
She stared up at him in disbelief. “You’re not mad?”
He chuckled, and the laughter rumbled through her chest. “Not at all. A little jealous perhaps, but he was there for you when I was not. He taught you things I never would’ve been able to. The fighting and weapons, and most importantly, he taught you to believe in yourself and your own capabilities.” Athan swallowed, and his eyes misted over. In a much more somber tone he said, “He was a good friend.”
She could only nod, and she buried her face back in his shirt.
Hermes cleared his throat.
Hope had completely forgotten about him, and from the blush rising on Athan’s neck, she guessed he had too.
“I don’t mean to pry, but are you finished with your reunion?” Hermes scratched the scruff on his cheeks. “I’m going to have to get back to Olympus soon.” He pointed at Hope. “I’d like to have a plan in place before I go because, well, I’m sure there will be consequences for leaving with you still alive.”
Athan frowned at his father.
Right. Her thoughts shifted, and she pushed down her emotions. Yes, she was angry. She was hurt, and she was grieving. And she would let her emotions fuel her energy, but she would need to act rationally.
“Do you have my Book of the Fates here?” she asked Athan.
His jaw tightened. “Yes, it’s in my room.”
With a nod to his father, he left to get it.
“Do you know where the Fates are?” she asked Hermes. “I want to make sure that this will work.”
He waved her toward the front of the house, and she followed him down the hall to the living room. He pointed at the couch, and her initial protest died on her lips. She was exhausted, and there was no reason to stand. Sinking into the cushions, the adrenaline waned, fatigue settling more firmly.
Hermes extended a bottle of water toward her. “I think you’d said yes, right?”
Her estimation of the god climbed with this simple kindness. She took the bottle, broke the seal, and drank the entire thing.
Athan returned carrying the thick tome of the Sphinx’s history and held it out to her. “Your story still isn’t there, but your mother’s is now.”
She held the Book of the Fates to her chest and stroked the soft cover. “Did you read it?”
Athan nodded with a wry smile. “I didn’t think you’d mind. I’m sorry that Symeon left her.”
Hope remembered how her father had gone to the conservatory before Apollo killed him. She thought of the little boy, a little Athan, telling her father to buy her mother chocolate. “His name was Luc Syemon. You were right, that other book was his. Apollo killed him.”
“Skata.” Athan sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry, Hope. I . . . I didn’t know. We always thought it was Skia. He left that night, and no one ever found his body.”
Just then, the door opened and Vrady walked in. She wore a violet chiton, a darker shade of her eye color, and her curls were pulled up in a messy twist. Tendrils of lavender framed her face. She smiled at Hope and Athan, but the goddess’s eyes narrowed when her gaze fell on Hermes. “What are you doing here?” She didn’t wait for his answer but immediately asked, “Are my daughters here?”
Hermes stared at the pale goddess like he was seeing an apparition of impossibility. His lips parted, and he breathed her name, “Nyx.”
Athan returned the primordial goddess’s smile. “They haven’t been here for a while.”
Nyx suited the goddess much more than the harsh name Vrady, but her interest in Hope and Athan made little sense. Why would the goddess of night care about Hope or what was happening with the Olympians?
Nyx crossed the room and sat on the couch next to Hope. Tucking her legs under her, Nyx leaned forward and whispered, “I told you I’d see you soon.”
Hope nodded, incoherent thoughts refusing to coalesce into actual words.
“Mother!” Lachesis exclaimed from the open doorway, joy lighting her face.
A gasp came from behind the Fate, and Atropos and Clotho pushed into the room. The three Fates charged forward, and Nyx rose to meet them. Clotho stopped knitting and embraced her mom, features mirroring the joy of her sister. Even Atropos was smiling.
Hope watched with awe as the family reunion unfolded. The goddesses spoke in a language Hope had never heard before, a musical inflection to the ancient dialect that held her rapt. They spoke over the top of one another, their laughter and enthusiasm filling the entire room. Athan seemed fixated on the scene, and even Hermes was captive to the reunion.
After several minutes, Athan took the seat next to Hope, and she curled up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. Closing her eyes, she let the music of their voices lull her to sleep.
“Hope?” Athan whispered as he nudged her with his elbow.
Her eyes shot open.
Sitting next to Hope, Nyx ran her fingers through Hope’s hair in a decidedly motherly fashion. “Sorry to wake you up, but we need to make our move if we’re to have any chance of success. I needed to make sure your intent wasn’t selfish before I was willing to commit myself, but my daughters have spoken very highly of you.”
Atropos, Lachesis, and Clotho sat on the rug in front of the couch, their hands empty and still as they stared up at Hope and their mother.
“What is your plan?” Lachesis asked.
Hope told them of Hera’s oath and held up the Book of the Fates. “If I give it to her, she’ll have to undo the binding.” Hope considered her next words carefully. “If the Underworld is unbound, the books would be freed. Then the Olympians could be held responsible for what they’ve done, right?”
Lachesis looked at her mother. “What have you been doing?”
Nyx straightened her spine. “It is about balance and order, is it not?”
Hope turned to the goddess of night and studied her. Hope was tired, her brain fuzzy with too much emotion and too little rest, and she tried to make sense of what Nyx was saying. But, balance and order had nothing to do with night.
“True, and not true, too,” Nyx replied.
Hope startled, realizing she’d spoken aloud, and hurried to apologize.
“No,�
� Nyx cut her off. “Chaos was first. He had to be, for all life stems from passion, turmoil, mayhem, and even a touch of anarchy. Chaos is the birth of realms, worlds, and universes, but without balance and order, Chaos will also be their death.” Holding up two fingers, Nyx said, “Chaos fathered two beings.”
Hope knew this. It was the creation of their world. Chaos was more than the first deity. He was the actual matter, and his children . . .
“Erebus is darkness. Chaos gave him the power of unpredictability, pandemonium, and turmoil. His power is vast and insatiable, and it surrounds us. It is the natural inclination of all creation to default to the madness of Erebus because the insanity of dark feeds itself.” Nyx took a deep breath. “In an attempt to provide survival, Chaos created a daughter, someone to balance the disorder of darkness. Night is the epitome of organized darkness. It is predictable and orderly, functioning on a regular system. It provides consistency and stability. That is the true meaning behind my name.”
“And each of my children was created to provide order or balance. That is their power and their responsibility, and we hold each other accountable for it.”
Hope’s lips formed an O as awe flooded her.
Nyx reached out and stroked Hope’s hair again. “If you can unbind the Underworld, I’m fairly certain I can help find a way to provide order.” The primordial deity looked at her daughters, and her gaze landed on Lachesis. “Show me Hope’s thread.”
Lachesis pulled a thread from her bag—two threads.
Hope recognized Athan’s green thread bound to a golden one that looked much duller than it had when she’d last seen it.
Nyx frowned. “You’ve woven them together, Clo.”
The blond goddess nodded and pointed at a small metal ring. “Yes, but if you pull there, it will easily unravel. I wasn’t sure how to keep them both alive. It was the best I could think of at the time with the tools available.”
Nyx took the thread and rubbed it between her fingers. “It seems so fragile.”
“He’s mortal now, Mother, and she’s fairly close to it, too,” Atropos replied.
Nyx leaned back on the couch, and her fingers continued to worry Hope and Athan’s combined thread. Staring at Hermes, the goddess sat up with a triumphant smile. “You love your son, right?”
Hermes’s forehead creased, but he answered emphatically, “Yes.”
Nyx touched Hope’s arm. “Do you still have that sewing kit?”
Hope pulled the small gift from Hephaestus from inside her chiton belt. “I’m pretty sure you aren’t going to want me to sew anything.”
Nyx patted her then took the kit. “Don’t worry. We’ll have Clo do it. She’s quite good. But I do need you to cut something, if you would.” Nyx went to Hermes and pointed at his core. “If you give her a bit of your thread, Clo can stitch it back into Athan.”
Hermes shut his eyes, and his hand went to his abdomen. A vibrant glow pulsed in his core, and he pulled a shimmering thread into the air. He held the wisp between his hands and nodded to Hope.
With the Olympian immortal shears, she snipped the thread and handed it to Clotho.
Clotho opened the sewing kit, and the furrow on her brow disappeared. She plucked the teardrop-shaped item from the folds of fabric and opened it. Placing the bronze filament into the thin wire loop, she was able to thread the small needle. “This is the best sewing kit I’ve ever seen. Where did you get an immortal kit?”
“Hephaestus gave it to me.” But watching Clotho sew, Hope had a suspicion. “But maybe he didn’t make it.”
Nyx laughed, a soft carol of bells. “He did not.”
Hope was filled with a sense of exultation as Clo stitched the glowing thread into Athan’s green one. He would be immortal once again, returned to his demigod status. She reached out and pointed at the hasty binding between her thread and Athan’s. “Now you can pull that other strand, right?”
“No!” Atropos yelled.
Hope’s hand froze.
“If you pull that binding, you will not be able to return to Olympus,” Atropos admonished. She gazed at each member of the room. “The curse is broken, and she is no longer immortal.”
Hope blinked at the reminder. Right.
Nyx grabbed Hope’s shoulders, turning her until they faced each other. “Why do you want to unbind the Underworld? What is it about Olympus that you wish to fix?”
Hope’s first instinct was to shout for revenge for Xan, but it was far more than that. She’d wanted to break the binding when she’d met Hephaestus, but her reasons then were more about her and the curse. Now that she’d been to Olympus and had personal experience with the gods, she had a better understanding of what the gods truly represented. “When Xan and I walked through the Hall of the Olympians, almost all the gods had these huge mountains of offerings piled in front of their daises. They take from their worshipers, and they take from the humans, and when they give, it’s really so they can take some more.”
She remembered Tristan’s story of his father offering Demeter ‘anything’ for a good harvest. He’d been trying to provide for his family, but Tristan had lost his mother in the goddess’s selfish granting of their bounty. Glancing at Athan, Hope thought it must have been even worse for Tristan’s dad. “Their selfishness has no check, nothing to balance it.”
With her gaze boring into Hope, Nyx asked, “If you unseal the Underworld, do you think it will provide such a balance?”
Hope shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe? But the histories in the Books of the Fates will all be available, right? People will have access to what the gods really are, so they won’t get a free pass. At least the mortals will have the information there so they can see how selfish the gods are.”
Nyx stared at Hope with focused intensity. “What would you be willing to sacrifice to bring order to Olympus?”
She wanted to scream that she’d already sacrificed enough. She’d lost almost everyone she’d ever loved in this quest. But, like Xan had said, this was bigger than her. This was humanity. All of them. And even if they never chose to use the information, even if they willfully ignored it, wasn’t her one life worth it if it gave all of them a chance?
She couldn’t help but look at Athan. Gods, she loved him so much. And selfishly, she wanted to quit so she could be with him. But she knew that what she’d told Hermes was just as true for her as it was for him. She couldn’t live with herself if she did nothing. Eventually, ignoring the problems the gods created would cost her or someone she loved, again. Tears filled her eyes, and Athan’s image blurred. Blinking away the tears, she met the lavender gaze of the goddess of night. “I would sacrifice whatever I needed to.”
“Even your life?”
“Hope,” Athan whispered.
But Hope couldn’t look at him. She would not be selfish, not now. Hope swallowed her fear and nodded. This was her journey, and she would honor the sacrifices already made and everyone who had made one. She would choose courage. “Even my life.”
Nyx kissed her cheek then stood in front of Atropos. Like Hermes, Nyx brushed her hand over her abdomen, and a shimmering thread of amethyst appeared.
But Atropos didn’t move. “I have no shears for your thread, Mother.”
Nyx studied the array of scissors her daughter wore and grimaced.
“These will likely do,” Clotho said, holding up the small pair of pinking shears from the sewing kit. “Hephaestus has been holding out.”
Nyx gasped and held her hand out over the shears. The colors of live flame and smoke rolled and swirled in the handles and over the blades. “Unbelievable.” Tears pricked her eyes, and she turned to Hope. “Hephaestus gave these to you?”
Hope nodded, unsure of the significance.
“Then you will be the only one who can wield them unless you give them to another,” Clotho said, extending them to Hope. “These are the shears of Chaos.”
Hope could hardly believe it. She turned to Nyx and asked, “Is the needle and threader y
ours?”
“For every item that destroys, there must be something to create or mend. But the power still has its limit.” Nyx held her thread out to Hope, and Hope’s hand trembled as she cut the vibrant purple fiber.
“His wife is a fool for letting him go,” Lachesis muttered, fingering the silver case.
Hope watched in awe as Clotho again threaded the needle. With small stitches, she wove the lavender strand into the dull gold one that had once been Hope’s immortal thread.
She could actually feel it. A sense of strength knitting into her, and with it an old sorrow that dwarfed her own. A longing crept into her, a despondency so strong it threatened to drown her in sorrow. Her chest screamed for air, and her vision tunneled. Hope closed her eyes, and her body swayed. She worried she’d pass out from the overwhelming gloom, but then it settled, nestling deep into her until it was only a tender spot in her heart and mind that made her ache with sadness if she touched it.
“If you let it alone, it will not consume you.” Nyx brushed her hand over Hope’s face. “I’m sorry.”
Hope opened her eyes and gasped. The Underworld had morphed into thin filaments of color, as if the world was nothing more than three-dimensional fabric. There were threads everywhere. Threads woven together to make up walls, furniture, the ground beneath them, and even the air. Hope raised her hand and watched as pieces frayed and broke and others knit together. She could see the glow of thread where Athan, Hermes, Clotho, Atropos, and Lachesis once stood. No longer bodies, but fibers woven together. At the core of each image was shockingly vibrant color: lavender, bronze, steely gray, mossy green. Clotho swirled with colors.
Hope’s strands tangled and pulled as she brought her hand to her mouth.
“Blink,” Nyx commanded her in whisper.
Hope did, and the threads disappeared. “What was that?”
“It was the only way I could think to give you the vision you would need. You may learn to control it with time. But if it ever gets to be too much, just blink. You have enough mortal still in you that your mind won’t usually see it.”
“Is it all like that?” Hope asked, looking from Nyx to each of the Moirai.
