“This is no time to regale me with stories of your virility, Zeus.”
He groaned, a genuine show of discomfort, as I tried lifting him again. At last, he got his feet beneath him, and we distributed his weight between us.
From where they had been hiding in the rock pilings, a dozen soldiers stepped into the open and obstructed our escape routes. Even the ledges above were guarded by archers. Decimus stepped forward, and a wintry frost coated my insides. I rejected the inner tug to go to him, and pain flared from the tag at the back of my neck.
“Althea,” he said, his tone like a disapproving father’s. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Zeus rolled his slumped head back. “Who’s this bastard?”
I couldn’t support his weight any longer. Lowering him to the ground, I whispered, “Stay down.” Then louder: “Release him, Decimus. It’s me you want.”
The general wore an amused smirk. “I don’t have to choose. I have you both.”
“You never had me.” Every muscle in my body, down to the finest sinew, quivered in protest as I raised the table knife to my throat.
Decimus’s expression hardened, even as he scoffed. “You bluff.”
“You don’t know what I’m capable of.” I drew the blade closer and pricked my skin. The blood was immediate, a warm trickle. My hand shook harder. I could have passed out from wrestling the influence of the curse, but I held firm.
Decimus aimed his sword at me, a poor move considering I already held a blade to my throat. “Althea, quit with this insanity! The Almighty has requested your presence. I’m to bring you to the Aeon Palace.”
“Let Zeus go, and I’ll come with you.” The icy punishment of disobedience began to numb my resolve. Gooseflesh covered me. I couldn’t resist the curse much longer.
Decimus chuckled at my trembling. “You’ll come, kitten, because I’m telling you to.”
Theo appeared above, descending the main pathway to the docks. He walked about freely and wore his colonel’s uniform. He would not look at me. Despite the sword in Theo’s hand, his arrival elicited no response from the general and his men.
“Colonel Angelos, you were right,” Decimus said. “We left Zeus out in the open, and Althea came right to him.”
I lowered the knife. “Theo?” I whispered.
He didn’t respond or react, not even to cast the briefest of glances in my direction. “The storehouse has been emptied, sir.”
“Theo,” I said more sharply. “You’re Zeus’s mentor. You cannot do this.”
“He can and did,” Decimus replied.
I aimed the knife at Theo, my shock wearing off. “How utterly stupid I am,” I breathed. “I knew better than to trust a man, particularly an officer in the Almighty’s military.”
“I had no choice,” Theo said, his tone defensive. “The Erinyes were hunting me too. They came to my bedchamber last night and assigned me an atoning task. After I deliver you and Zeus to the Almighty, I will be released from my oath to the throne, and my mother and I will be free.”
“I don’t give a damn what they promised you.”
“What would you do for your sisters?” Theo retorted. “For your soul?”
I refused to answer that. “I wish you were dead,” I snarled.
Theo recoiled, his first genuine sign of remorse.
“Prepare to disembark!” Decimus called.
A soldier disarmed me, but the vial of magical draught was still tucked away in my pocket. Two men seized Zeus and dragged him up to standing. The Boy God was steadier on his feet than before, whatever drug they had put in his breakfast wine wearing off. I was so incensed by Theo’s treachery, Zeus and I had been shoved halfway down the dock before I realized we may have been unarmed but we were far from defenseless.
“Zeus,” I said. “I think I see a storm coming.”
He frowned at the clear blue sky. “A storm . . . ? Oh.”
The Boy God tossed one guard into the sea and threw the other into the band of soldiers behind us, knocking Theo on top of Decimus. His excessive strength wasn’t a spectacular show of thunder and lightning, but it was effective. I kneed my guard in the groin, then pushed him into the water below.
On the far side of the dock where Zeus stood, Metis steered a smaller watercraft closer, directing the sail, and beckoned for him. Zeus leaped into the water and pulled himself aboard with her.
I stepped to the ledge to jump into the sea, but Decimus locked his arms around me and dragged me back. I kicked and thrashed, elbowing him in his crooked nose. Undaunted, he dragged me farther and threw me onto the deck. My bad ankle turned and popped, sending pain up my leg.
“Get the Boy God!” Decimus bellowed.
Soldiers rushed to the side of the dock just in time to watch a white-capped wave pick up Metis’s boat and sweep it out to sea. The Oceanid and the Boy God quickly sped out of range of the archers, propelled by a great, unseen power.
Decimus reeled on Theo. “You should have anticipated this, Colonel.”
“Metis is a prophetess, sir. I couldn’t have known—”
“You failed to deliver Zeus. I’ve no more need for you.” The general gestured at the soldier nearest Theo and said, “Dispatch him.”
Theo rammed the soldier in the gut with the hilt of his sword, then dived off the dock into the water. Archers unleashed arrows after him and waited for his body to float to the top, but he did not resurface.
“Damn him,” Decimus growled. “Keep looking!”
I knew they would not find Theo. I was slightly annoyed with myself for caring, but it was satisfying to see Decimus lose.
“Wipe that smile off your face, kitten.” Decimus hauled me up and crushed me against his stinky body. “I’ve thought about this for a long time.”
“Throw yourself to the crows.”
“Be kind,” he warned, his rough hands groping my breasts and pinching my nipples. I suppressed the pain, refusing him any reaction. He nuzzled his sweaty face against my cheek and ear. “Alas, I can go no further until after you meet with the Almighty.”
Decimus slapped me hard on the bottom, then passed me off to another soldier while he finished overseeing the crew’s preparations to disembark.
My guard led me limping across the gangplank and chained me in plain view of the entire deck, securing me to the mainmast. Sailors came aboard, countless rowers taking their places at the oars, and then, at the direction of the helmsman, the piper called out the rowers’ rhythm. Their efforts drove the massive vessel into the briny winds, and we navigated out to sea, sailing closer and closer to the God of Gods seated in his throne atop the world.
22
Our return to Othrys cost me dearly. The trireme moved swiftly, but it was still a day’s voyage from the Midnight Mansion to port, and then an additional two hours’ trek up the mountain to the city. Less than a day remained until the Erinyes came for me.
The city was cheerless compared with years past. Though the procession of the Titans had been canceled, the Almighty must have permitted the people to continue some of the more subdued practices in his name. Weathered decorations for the First House Festival were everywhere. Strings of flowers hung across alleyways in zigzag patterns, their blossoms tattered by the wind. Alpha and omega flags draped out of windows, and sickles leaned against front doors, a token of allegiance to Cronus.
During the festival, a beggar could knock on any door and be invited in to break the traditional bounty bread with the hosts. At night, families held symposiums, dinner parties that began with a bout of drinking and ended with a large meal. Guests would enjoy entertainment provided by traveling performers, usually slaves, who danced and played instruments. Cleora’s favorite were those who performed acrobatic stunts over a hoop rimmed with knives. People usually dressed in traditional ivory woven robes, like the one Cronus wore when castrating his father, but with the theater performances and symposiums canceled, the streets were devoid of merriment.
The wagon halted outsid
e the palace gates, and a sack was placed over my head before we continued. Again, we stopped, and a guard hauled me out. I swayed on my feet, dizzy and weak from hunger. Decimus had refused to feed me anything after I retched up the salted fish he gave me yesterday on our voyage. I hobbled between two soldiers up several stairs. At the top, the flooring was more slippery, and our footsteps echoed around us. A door creaked open, and the sack was yanked off my head, revealing a grand bedchamber.
“You’re not here as an honor maiden,” Decimus said. “You’re a guest. Do not embarrass me. Eat and rest. You must look your best for His Excellency.”
Decimus pressed his lips to the side of my head in a slimy kiss, then took his leave.
Dirty and tired from my travels, I was out of place in the elegant chamber. From the furniture to the rugs to the draperies, the room was clean and exquisite. A balcony provided a stunning view of the well-tended gardens in the late-day sun.
A large black vulture landed on the terrace and stared in at me. The menacing bird hopped closer. I grabbed a pillow off the bed and prepared to toss it, but the vulture took off and flew out of sight.
I set down the pillow and feasted. After devouring cheese, olives, grapes, and cured meat—all of my favorite foods had been set out on the sideboard—along with a chalice of watered-down wine, I was pleasantly full and exhausted. I lay down on the bed and covered my face with a pillow to shut out the light.
I faintly heard a door open, then someone jumped on top of me.
“Althea!” Bronte threw the pillow off my face. “I was so worried about you.”
“Me? I was worried about you.” I hugged her so hard she made a funny little strangling sound, so I stopped. “Bronte, where did you come from? How did you get here?”
“I arrived from Crete last night. The slave ship brought me, along with a couple dozen women from the tribe. The warriors mutinied when we arrived at port. Euboea led the crusade, but she couldn’t get to me since I wasn’t in the cargo hold where they were. I was brought here, and the soldiers put me in a chamber off the solarium. Have you seen Cleora?”
“No, have you?”
The corners of Bronte’s mouth slid downward. “No. Where are Zeus and Theo?”
“I don’t know. We went to Helios’s palace and met with Metis, Zeus’s betrothed, and some of Zeus’s cousins. Helios, Eos, and Selene all plotted with us about Zeus’s overthrow of Cronus, but this morning, Decimus arrived. Theo arranged to exchange Zeus for his mother’s freedom. Zeus got away with Metis, and Theo escaped on his own. Decimus caught me and brought me here.”
Bronte’s frown deepened, and she touched my arm consolingly. “I can scarcely believe Theo betrayed you.”
“I should have known better than to trust a soldier.” I shrugged from her touch, too raw to accept her comfort or to tell her that Theo was a son of Prometheus. Theo’s parentage seemed irrelevant now anyway. I doubted we would meet him again. “Have you seen anyone since you’ve arrived?”
“Just my guards and the Almighty’s councilor, Mnemosyne.”
My pulse gathered speed. “Did she tell you anything to make you feel strange?”
“She asked questions about us, such as what we like to eat and how we prefer to spend our time. I told her you dance, and I sing, and other benign things.”
I hugged the pillow against my chest, holding it over my thudding heart. “Eos, the goddess of the dawn, told me that Mnemosyne can alter memories. Think hard, Bronte. Is there anything she might have made you forget?”
Bronte pondered for a long moment before answering. “I honestly don’t think so. Like I said, everything she asked was about our interests. I doubt she would alter that.”
I wasn’t as certain, but she seemed her normal self.
Bronte sat with her legs crossed and leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve been monitoring the guards in the palace. As Prometheus says, ‘Observation is the window to solution.’” She rambled off the number of soldiers she had seen since her arrival—forty-nine—and explained that the guards changed positions every thirty minutes, rotating in new men with fresh eyes and ears and full bellies twice an hour. She led me onto the balcony to show me their movements. We observed two shift changes transpire, and through them, the guards maintained full security around every doorway, gate, and garden pathway. Bronte’s observations were succinct and accurate, yet they mostly served to verify what I already knew. No prisoner escaped the God of Gods.
I slipped my hand into my pocket, wary of telling Bronte of the magical draught, in case spies were listening. Deciding it was not worth the risk, I kept it tucked away.
A knock came at the door. Decimus entered, flanked by his brother, Brigadier Orrin—or who I preferred to call Ratface—and three low-ranking soldiers. The general tossed us our velos.
“Put those on,” he said.
Bronte donned her snake mask, and I, my winged mask.
“Let’s go,” Decimus said. “The Almighty is ready to see you.”
The rich foods I ate ground in my uneasy stomach. If only I felt ready to see him.
We ascended a tower to the great hall. I lost count of the stairs we climbed, though my bad ankle felt every single one. Every once in a while, an arrowslit provided a glimpse of the outside world—the setting sun or golden-trimmed clouds. Otherwise, I saw nothing but the smooth walls and shiny floors of the tower.
We emerged from the stairwell into a glossy foyer with lofty double doors on which giant knockers hung so high up they seemed frivolous, for no man could reach them. Then again, they were probably ideal for a Titan.
As we approached the doors, they opened of their own accord.
Lyre music carried out, a gentle composition that resembled birdsong. Soldiers stepped aside at the threshold to let Bronte and me enter.
The great hall, constructed of gleaming marble and cool stone, appeared the same as in the vision that the oracles had shown me. Dozens of massive columns held up a towering rotunda that opened onto expansive balconies on three sides. The rectangular room stretched on and on. Our view of the sun setting over Thessaly was partially obscured by gilded clouds.
Another hundred steps or more, and the music stopped.
Cleora strode in from one of the balconies, a silver lyre in hand. “They told me you had arrived,” she said.
We hurried to her, and she embraced us lightly. She smelled not quite herself, an odd combination of juniper berries and autumn frost. Her long, rich red hair had been curled—a style she had never worn before—and she was dressed in a yellow chiton, her least flattering color. The thin gold crown upon her head brought me the most confusion.
“What’s all this?” Bronte asked. “You look ridiculous.”
Cleora overlooked the insult and took each of us by the hand. “I have so much to tell you,” she said. “You may remove your velos. You don’t need them here.”
“I’ll leave mine on,” I replied. My contrariness was not to vex her. I merely wanted the familiarity of wearing my mother’s mask. Bronte left her velo on as well.
“Let them in, Cleora.”
The male voice was not loud, yet it filled the hall. I could not see anyone, though, let alone anyone who might have suited this resonant voice.
“Come,” Cleora said, beaming.
Nothing struck me as more out of place than her smile.
Bronte and I exchanged side glances as we followed her. Decimus and Ratface trailed behind us, close enough for their presence not to be forgotten. More than halfway across the length of the hall, the other side of the room finally became visible.
There, the God of Gods occupied one of six thrones, three empty on one side and two on the other. The black vulture that had visited my terrace was perched on a mount behind him. The bird stand was crafted from a dead hamadryad, the spirit’s face etched into its trunk. In size, the Almighty appeared average in most ways. He was not fifty feet tall like I had been led to believe, but of medium build and height. His trim fi
gure was well proportioned, and as with all gods, he had a handsomeness that could not be denied. I had expected someone of extraordinary magnitude, splendor, and allure, yet his physique was unassuming.
But the rest of Cronus was far from ordinary.
White flames shone from his hair, and his inky eyes sparkled with stars. His skin glowed a comely bronze, and his perfectly red lips were waxy. I became the focal point of his intense, penetrating gaze. Wisdom and intellect flickered across his face as he appraised me.
“Cleora,” he said, still focused on me. “Won’t you introduce us?”
“Your Excellency. These are my younger sisters, Bronte and Althea.”
“Althea,” Cronus mused to himself. “What a unique name.”
“Our mother chose it.” I couldn’t stop myself. “You might remember Stavra Lambros?”
“Of course. Cleora and I are pleased to have you in our home. Please forgive all the steps you had to take to get here. We thought you might relish the view.”
“It’s . . . notable,” Bronte admitted, a tad begrudgingly. She sounded as disconcerted as I was.
“Come see the view from the balcony,” Cleora suggested.
She led Bronte outside while I remained with the Almighty. The general stationed himself away from the thrones while the brigadier monitored my sisters on the terrace.
“That’s an interesting ring you’re wearing, Althea,” Cronus remarked. “May I see it?”
“No,” I replied flatly. “What did you do to Cleora?”
“Do to her?” Cronus questioned. “She’s perfectly at home in the palace, and she’s free to leave at any time.”
“She’s your prisoner. Her fear of what you did to our mother holds her captive.”
“What I did to your mother,” Cronus said, repeating my statement with naked opposition. “Stavra Lambros was content here until she grew too big in her pregnancy for comfort, and then I sent her back to you and your sisters.”
Wings of Fury Page 23
