by Raye Wagner
Hermes cleared his throat, breaking through the awe of the moment, and said, “I’m being summoned from Olympus.”
“Get your book,” Lachesis said.
Hope grabbed the deep-red leather Book of the Fates.
“When you get there, don’t let them get their bearings,” Lachesis continued. “Use that coin in your shirt to call for Themis. Just drop it on the ground and call for an audience. She’ll have to come.”
“You’d better hope she’s not corrupt, too,” Atropos said.
“And deal with Hera as soon as you can,” Clotho added with her head bowed. Clotho was back to work on her threads, and Hope had to look away. No longer did it look like she was knitting a single thread, or even a cord of threads together. Instead, her needles pulled at the very fabric around them, feeding into the threads of everyone in the room.
Hope blinked, and the strands disappeared again. If it allowed her to free the Fates, this seeing strings, filaments, yarns, or whatever was a small price to pay.
“Thank you,” she said to Nyx.
Nyx studied her. “It was the best I could do.”
Hope turned to Athan to say goodbye. His smile was only a sad curve on one side, and he reached out to loop a curl of hair around his fingers. “I kinda liked the strawberry blond.”
Her hair was black as pitch, the color of the rocks around her. She glanced up at him, and when his lips parted in awe, she wondered what else had changed. She brought her hands to her face, but she couldn’t feel anything different. “Is it bad?”
He leaned over and kissed her. “You’re beautiful.”
She wanted to reply, but Hermes grabbed her wrist, and they lurched from the Underworld.
Hope kept her eyes closed while her stomach settled. There was the clink of glass, followed by booming laughter. The smell of char still hung in the air, but when Hope opened her eyes, the throne room floor was clean of ash. Only a single faint scorch mark told of the earlier violence.
Someone gasped, and Hope turned to face the Olympians.
Dionysus still sat in his throne, his eyes glazed, holding his drinking glass with less than an inch of the amber liquid left. Aphrodite was next to him, leaning over her seat into his.
Athena, Artemis, and Demeter stood at the buffet table, filling cocktail plates with bite-size hors d’oeuvres.
Ares was pushing into Apollo’s personal space with a glower, hand on the hilt of a broadsword at his side. Apollo glared at his half brother, hands balled into fists.
Hera perched on the edge of her throne with a satisfied smirk, and Zeus was slouched in his seat with his hand covering half his face.
“Is that Hermes?” Zeus asked, pulling his hand away and straightening in his seat. As soon as he saw Hope, he launched from the throne. “Who is this?”
Hera shifted back in her seat as she studied Hope. “What—?”
Hope extended the Book of the Fates. “I believe we had a deal.”
“Really?” Hera snapped. “I don’t recall that we did.” She dismissed Hope and turned to Hermes, “Where have you been?”
Hope turned to Zeus, who was slowly circling her. “You don’t recognize me?”
His eyes narrowed then widened when they met hers. Stepping back several paces, he glared at Hermes and demanded, “How could this happen?”
“The Underworld.” Hermes said nothing more as he crossed the throne room and took his chair. “I am messenger to the gods. Not just the Olympians.”
Hera crossed her legs at the ankles and frowned at her husband. “What is he talking about?” When Zeus said nothing, she turned her attention back to Hope. “I’m not sure what Hermes has told you, but we don’t make demigods into gods. Not anymore.”
They didn’t recognize her, except maybe Zeus, but even he seemed more surprised by her eye color than anything else. “I’m not here with Hermes,” she declared. “I’ve brought you something.”
Hope crossed the room slowly, aware of the penetrating gazes of each of the gods. Whatever they thought, they kept it silent as they filed back to their seats. Even Zeus returned to his throne, but he continued to wear his perplexity etched into the crease of his brow.
“Who is your mother?” Hera demanded. She stared at each of the goddesses in the room, but none acknowledged Hope as their own. Hera’s gaze returned to Hope, eyes blazing. “You seem familiar, but . . .” The queen of Olympus sucked in a loud breath. “No! How could this be?” She turned to Zeus and, in a shrill voice, demanded, “Get rid of her.”
The king of the gods shook his head and held up his hands. “You know I can’t.”
A nervous twitter came from the gods, but Hope didn’t even bother to look at them. She held her head high and, for the first time, felt admiration for a god’s interference in her life. “I’m Hope. Nyx has claimed me.”
Aphrodite dropped her glass, and the crystal shattered on the marble.
“Impossible,” said Hera. “Nyx is bound. She has no access to humans.” She tapped her manicured finger against her lip and turned to Hermes. “Did you take her one? I would hate to think you had something to do with this.” Her features twisted into a sour expression. “If you did, I promise you the consequences will be severe.”
Hermes flinched under the weight of her bitter threat, but he recovered quickly, tilting his chin up in defiance. “I probably had no more to do with her creation than you, Hera.”
That was enough to stop the queen of the gods.
“Here is the book you desired.” Hope held out the heavy red leather tome again. “The Book of the Fates for the Sphinx.”
Hera made no move to retrieve it. She sniffed and folded her arms in her lap. “I want no Book of the Fates.”
Hope ground her teeth. It was like they were playing more games with her. “Would you rather it go to the mortal realm?”
Hera batted the question away with a wave of her hand. “I care not what you do. I want no part, and I refuse to be blackmailed.”
Hope shouldn’t have been surprised, but Hera’s refusal only reinforced the importance of freeing the Underworld from her binding. Hope pulled out the heavy coin and stared into Hera’s emerald eyes.
“I wish an audience with Themis,” Hope said, and she dropped the coin to the ground.
The metal coin rang like a bell when it touched the marble. Hermes blanched, like he knew what was coming, and the other Olympians twittered and gasped.
Hera glared daggers of hatred at Hope.
“What is this?” Zeus cried, storming toward her. “I am the king of Olympus; I shall pass judgment. You cannot call Themis here.”
Hope willed herself not to cringe but couldn’t help shifting away from his vehemence.
“You cannot do this!” He stopped, and horror washed over his face. Bending over, he retrieved the heavy bronze coin. “Where did you get this?” He gaped and stepped back a pace. In a voice filled with awe, he whispered, “What have you done?”
White and silver lines crossed through her vision, filling up the space all around her. A translucent shimmer blossomed in the fabric, and Hope blinked several times, desperate to clear her vision.
The throne room materialized again.
Zeus remained frozen, holding the coin. Hera, Apollo, Ares, Demeter, Dionysus, Aphrodite, Artemis, and Athena all gaped at the apparition in the middle of the room. Only Hermes seemed unsurprised.
Themis was tall, at least as tall as Zeus, with alabaster skin. She wore a gray chiton, belted at the waist with a simple woven leather cord. Her brown hair was plaited, and she wore a gauzy blindfold in the same color as her dress. In one hand, she held a small scale by the pillar, the pans swaying up and down. In her other hand, she clasped the hilt of a broadsword. “Who has summoned me?”
The power of this deity shimmered in the air, pulling on the threads surrounding her. The blind Titan goddess commanded attention, and Hope’s heart raced. With a deep breath, she answered, “I have, Lady.”
“And you have paymen
t?”
Hope wondered if she should’ve kept the coin after all. “Zeus has your coin.”
Themis extended her hand holding the scales. “Place it here, Lord Zeus.”
Zeus extended his arm and dropped the coin onto the scale. The payment clinked on contact, pulling the one side down. The empty tray swung out, waiting for its deposit.
Themis turned toward Hope. “I will now hear your petition.”
“Hera and I agreed that if I gave her the Book of the Fates for the Sphinx, she would release her binding on the Underworld.” She held out the dark leather tome.
Themis remained where she was but pulled the sword from its scabbard. She didn’t turn toward the queen of Olympus. She simply placed the tip of the sword on the ground and asked, “Hera, is this true?”
Hera tossed her head back. “My dear, Lady Themis. This girl looks nothing like the one to whom I swore my oath. Furthermore, how do I know this is the one? Hermes is the trickster god. He showed up with this demigod only moments before. How do I know this is not a joke he is playing?”
“Daughter of Nyx?”
Hope glared at Hera. They both knew she was lying. “I am the same girl. Nyx had Clotho weave one of her threads into me so I could return to Olympus. This is the same Book of the Fates I discussed with Hera, and she promised on the River Styx that if I gave it to her—”
“I don’t want it anymore,” Hera declared. “You can keep it.”
Themis remained still, but the empty side of the scale tilted up until it was even with the one holding the coin.
Hope took a deep breath. It didn’t matter if Hera was childish, petty, or vindictive. It only mattered that she kept her word. “She made an oath on the Styx.”
The clink of metal rang through the room, and the scales tipped the other way as the coin disappeared. Themis wrapped her hand around the hilt of the weapon and swung it up in a graceful arc, making the air around it sing.
Justice was supposed to be blind. It was supposed to be equitable. Truth was supposed to be sharper than a sword.
The goddess of divine justice dropped the golden scales, and before they hit the ground, they disappeared.
“Why do you want the binding undone?” Themis asked.
Certainty had a way of showing up when Hope least expected it, but as she thought of all she’d learned of the Olympians, she was absolutely certain about several things. The Olympians were corrupt, and their unlimited power and lack of responsibility created true monsters. Hope wasn’t foolish enough to believe she had the power to fix it. But this was a start. There was power and knowledge in the truth. And maybe mortals would care enough to look for truth. Maybe the balance of power would shift.
“I want justice.” For her. For Athan. For Xan. For Dahlia, Priska, Leto, Luc, Phaidra, Jamie, Phoibe, and Isaak. For every mortal who’d refused a god, for every monster who’d been cursed.
“I am justice,” Themis said. “Hera, daughter of Cronus and Rhea, you have given your oath on the River Styx to the girl Hope. If you break that oath, you will be subject to the river, set to burn for an eternity therein.”
The beauty of Hera was renowned, but in that moment she was truly ugly. Her nostrils flared, her creamy skin was mottled and reddened, and her eyes protruded with the anger and bitterness that twisted inside her. She stomped down the dais toward the Titan goddess, teeth bared like a wild animal.
Themis didn’t flinch as the Olympian goddess approached, but Hope did. Just before Hera reached Hope, Themis dropped her arm, the sword shielding her from Hera’s fury. “Rein in your emotions, Hera, or you will have more regrets than your hasty oath.”
“I don’t fear you,” she spat.
“Then you are more foolish than I first thought,” Themis stated. Her words were cool and unemotional, and the expression on her face hadn’t changed. “Come now. You must release your binding.”
Hera snatched the tome away from Hope, lip curling in disgust. “This is not the end.” She turned her back on Hope and stomped toward the doorway. “Well, come on.”
Thinking of the Fates, Hope bit her tongue and followed Hera from the throne room, while Themis trailed behind.
They crossed back through the Hall of the Olympians and into the marble passages. Hera stormed through, taking turns without even glancing back to see if Hope was following. Occasionally, Hope had to run to keep up, but somehow Themis glided silently behind, keeping pace.
Hope recognized the markings on the door. Hera’s favorite symbol, the vibrant peacock, had its tail feathers spread in full display, with thousands of small eyes keeping watch. The animal appeared ready to step from the dark wood.
Hera pushed the door open but didn’t step inside. Waving her arm through the doorway, she said, “In there.”
Hope had thought it was the same room she’d been in, but as soon as she stepped through the doorway, she knew she was wrong. This room was empty, completely void of contents, just the pale stone of Olympus.
She turned to ask Hera where the binding was, and the queen of the gods glared at her. Hope blinked, and the threads appeared. The bright peacock-blue pulsed in Hera’s frame.
Hera brushed her hand over her abdomen and pulled a thin string from within. She ran it between her fingers until a single strand was separated from the thread and stretched it between her hands.
“You want me to break my binding on the Underworld?” She snapped the thin line, and the ends frayed. She dropped the side not connected to her, and it floated toward the ground. “There. I’ve broken my binding.”
Hope picked up the frayed end. Following it, she turned around and stepped into the room. She closed her eyes, willing her vision to be clear, and when she opened them, the room exploded with the bright hue.
Tangles of Hera’s thread wound throughout the white, gray, and silver strands of Olympus. In the corner of the room was a glowing lump of blue, a massive knot of snarled filament.
“What have you done?” Hope whispered, but when she turned toward the doorway, Hera was gone.
The room was a web. Deep within the tight lump, dark threads of the Underworld peeked through, as did the strands of Olympus, but everywhere and all between were Hera’s threads. How had she done this? And how was Hope to fix it?
“She has broken her binding?” Themis asked.
Hope blew out a frustrated breath and looked back on the snarled mess. “I guess you could say that.”
Themis chuckled. The sound made Hope freeze, and she slowly turned back to the Titan goddess.
Her sword was now gone, and Themis pulled the blindfold from her eyes. Her clouded gaze stared into the room. “She has found a way to fulfill her obligation without fulfilling its meaning?”
Hope sat down on the marble floor, watching as the threads pulled and bounced with her movement. “That is exactly what I mean.”
She plucked at one blue thread and then another. She thought back to the mess she’d made during Thenia’s craft classes and said, “I suck at sewing.”
Themis sat on the floor next to Hope. The titan’s stature contracted, and the milky film faded from her eyes until she was looking eye to eye with Hope. The goddess of divine justice had gray irises with a hint of violet around the pupil. Raising her eyebrows, she asked, “Do you need to sew?”
Hope looked at the mess of knots in blue. She ran her hand over the chaos of thread. “Do you know if there’s a right or a wrong way to unsew something?”
“Sewing and cutting are hardly the same thing, young sister.”
Why was she helping? Hope faced the Titan goddess and shook her head. Themis wasn’t the daughter of Nyx, was she?
As though Hope had spoken aloud, Themis said, “Nyx is my grandmother. She is also my patron goddess. We are both goddesses who bring order.” Themis pulled a gray gauze strip from the air and bound her eyes. “When you see her next, give her my love.”
The goddess of divine law disappeared.
Hope sat for a moment, absorbing what h
ad just happened. Then her hand went to her belt, and she pulled out the Olympian shears. No need to sew. Right.
She stood and walked into the threads. When the thick mass prevented her from going any farther, she grabbed a handful of the vibrant peacock-blue threads and started cutting. Again, and again, and again. A handful at a time came loose and was then discarded. When she saw more black than blue, she cut what she could. Other times, she pulled the fabric apart and watched as the blue strands unraveled.
The closer to the corner of the room she got, the more of a pattern she saw. Blue threads covered and enmeshed with white ones, and then there were more blue snarls covering the black threads of the Underworld. She pushed aside the knots and continued her cathartic cutting of Hera’s bindings.
Hope had no concept of time while she cut. It could have been minutes or days. But when she was done . . .
She looked at the chaos around her, the massive mess and bedlam of thread. She could see deep within the disorder of blue, white, gray, silver, and black, the beauty of night, and the gaping chasm of Erebus. She knelt on the edge and ran her fingers through the threads. With a single blink, the lines disappeared and there was only darkness.
“Nyx,” Hope called into the black void. She wondered if the goddess would come. If Hope had succeeded in freeing the Underworld, how would she know?
She waited, counting first to ten, then a hundred, then a thousand. But there was no response, so she stood and brushed the lint from her pale, singed chiton.
The room had shifted, or maybe she was just now seeing the furniture that had been under the woven mass of thread. A twin-size bed was pushed up against a wall, and a narrow doorway opened into a sterile bathroom in Olympian white marble.
Curiosity sparked, and she crossed into the facilities. The surprise she’d had with the strawberry-blond hair and gray-blue eyes was nothing compared to the shock of her reflection now.
Her lavender eyes were a striking contrast to her now black hair. Her skin was pale, almost alabaster, and most of her freckles were gone. But her nose was the same, and her lips, and her cheekbones. She reached out to the mirror, and awe filled her as her reflection met her outstretched hand.
