I waited for Bronte or Cleora to correct her, to remind Danica that she had been taken from us on the very night that Mama died giving birth to her. Neither of them said anything. I’d thought—hoped—that their coming here and bossing me around like they normally did might mean that they still had some memories intact, but they were well and truly gone.
Why would Cronus fabricate memories for Bronte or Cleora, creating a false home here, and send us an imposter posing as our half sister? It was beyond manipulative, beyond selfish. It was deranged.
Another rap came at the door. Cleora answered it.
“Oh, Mnemosyne! Come in.”
A petite woman floated into the chamber, moving with the grace of a dancer. Fiery-red hair, streaked with ribbons of white, framed her face. Her smoky-gray eyes glided over me, and her tiny rosebud mouth tilted downward. “I thought you were alone,” she said.
“We were just leaving,” Bronte replied, shoving a handful of nuts into her mouth. She took Danica by the shoulders and guided her toward the door.
Cleora hovered there, tugging on her lower lip. For a moment, I thought she remembered who she was and would step in to protect me, but instead, she reached out and pushed back a strand of my hair.
“You need a better brush,” she said, and strolled out.
I gaped again, in utter dismay.
The goddess of memory eyed me with a dissatisfied frown. “So you’re the Almighty’s third daughter.”
“I was informed that’s who I am,” I replied stiffly.
She shrugged. “We are who we were born to be.”
I strode to the wine cask on unsteady knees, my nerves still unsettled from the encounter with my sisters. “Would you like a drink?”
“No, thank you.”
“More for me.” I poured a second cup and held them both.
“Nervous?”
“Wouldn’t you be?” I countered.
Mnemosyne laughed, a short yet genuine sound. “No one has ever asked me that.”
“Perhaps you should consider how it feels to have your memories taken away and replaced with lies.”
Her eyes glittered. “You remind me of Stavra. She could always take a grim situation and turn it into something bearable.”
“Let’s make it more bearable, shall we?” I offered Mnemosyne the first cup of wine, the one I had poured earlier before my sisters arrived.
Mnemosyne hesitated, then pursed her lips and accepted the drink. For someone so petite and plump, she had extraordinarily long, slender fingers.
“You have beautiful hands,” I said.
Again, a light laugh. “You cannot flatter me out of doing this.”
“No? Then I suppose I’ll have to get you drunk.”
She sipped the wine. “I like you. I do hope this doesn’t change you too much.”
“Can we toast to that?”
Mnemosyne lifted her cup over her head. “To Althea. Long may she reign.”
I bowed my head in appreciation, then we tapped cups and drank deeply. My palms began to sweat as we set down our cups. I rubbed them off on my skirt. “What sort of things did you alter in Stavra’s memory?”
“I’m not certain I should tell you that,” Mnemosyne replied, then jeered at herself. “What am I saying? I can always remove from your memory whatever I tell you.”
I tried for a laugh, but it came out vacant.
“I will tell you one thing.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tassos’s death wasn’t an accident.”
The suddenness of this admission caught me off guard. I took pause, and shoving down my rising dread, I asked, “What do you mean it wasn’t an accident? Everyone I’ve spoken to about my father’s death told me he drowned.”
“A lie,” she replied grimly. “Occasionally, I’m unable to alter someone’s memories. Their mind is so intertwined with their soul, that to amend it would be to reshape their very essence, which is an ability I do not have. Tassos’s was one of the few whose minds I could not change.”
My voice shook as I replied. “What really happened to him?”
“To protect the existence and location of you and your sisters, Cronus had him killed, then I changed Stavra’s memory of Tassos’s death so she wouldn’t recall what really happened. She repeated that altered memory to others until the truth was buried.” Mnemosyne’s attention turned inward. “At times, forgetting the past can be a mercy.”
The truth of my father’s death nearly collapsed my resolve. Cronus had killed both my parents and convinced my sisters of his innocence. I pushed down my grief, my panic at becoming his next submissive doll, and refocused.
“Where do you want me?” I asked.
“Sit on that chair,” she said.
I did as she requested. Mnemosyne stood behind me and put her hands on either side of my head, her fingers spreading to cover the back of my skull.
“The best thing you can do,” she said, “is to clear your mind and breathe.”
“Sounds easy enough.”
She exhaled over me. In the reflection of the tin mirror glass that faced me, I watched Mnemosyne bow her head and murmur something under her breath. A moment later, her head rose, and her brow furrowed. She raised a hand to her temple.
“Forgive me,” she said. “Suddenly, I’m dizzy.”
“Sit here.” I rose and offered her my chair.
“I don’t know what’s wrong. Perhaps I should have rested more before our session.” She rubbed circles at her temples, her eyes drooping closed.
I grabbed the two cords I had set aside, one long and one short, and tied her torso to the chair with the longer piece. As I tied it off, her head snapped up.
“What are you doing?” she said drowsily.
“I suggest you clear your mind and breathe.” I shoved the shorter cord between her lips, gagging her, then pulled an empty sack over her head.
I took the rest of her empty wineglass and dumped it out on the patio. Then, just to be safe, in case I somehow got the two cups confused, I poured out the other. The vial with the remainder of the magical draught was in my pocket. I had put half of it in Mnemosyne’s drink, since Metis hadn’t told me how much constituted a single dose. I poured the rest into my waterskin and closed it, hoping it would be enough.
Another knock came at my door.
“Who is it?”
“Cleora,” my sister called. “Are you and Mnemosyne finished?”
“We are.” I dragged the chair across the room, set the bound goddess of memory in the corner, and rearranged the heavy drapery around her.
“Father has summoned us,” Cleora said through the door.
“I’m coming.”
I smoothed back my hair, dried my sweaty palms off on my skirt, and opened the door. Cleora looked past me, into the chamber, at the wine stains on the balcony.
“Accident,” I said, slipping the strap of my waterskin over my shoulder.
She lifted a slim brow. “Did you enjoy meeting our long-lost sister? I expected more emotion from you.”
I had to pretend that my memory had been tampered with. “I suppose I was in shock,” I said, adding a profound sigh.
“Yes, it was wonderful of Father to reunite us. Come along. He won’t wait forever.”
Neither would I.
24
Cronus waited for us in the entry hall and embraced us one at a time, me last.
“Did you appreciate your surprise, Althea?”
“I did. Thank you, Father.” It burned to call him that, but I had to convince him that my memory had been altered.
“Then you will like this surprise as well,” he said, ushering us out of the entryway.
The guards opened the front gates. Through them, Theo led a donkey pulling a cart. My relief at seeing him safe was swiftly replaced by fury, mostly at myself for still caring about him. He stopped the cart a good distance from us but close enough to see its contents—a body in the back.
Zeus.
Ho
w Theo had captured the Boy God, I could not fathom, but once again, Zeus was unconscious.
“Colonel Angelos,” Cronus called. “You’re right on time.”
“Do you have her?” Theo replied.
The Almighty waved, and from around the side of the palace, guards brought an older woman in bindings. She walked, hunched forward but with her chin raised, showing neither fear nor reverence for the God of Gods.
“Your mother is free to go,” said Cronus. “Her service to the throne is fulfilled.”
The guards untied her. She gave them a squinty-eyed glare and hobbled to her son.
“What have you done, my boy?” she asked.
Theo wrapped an arm around her and led her to the open gates. “I arranged a room for you at the tavern, Mama. Go have a meal and rest.”
She patted his cheek and threw our group on the palace steps a glare. “Be careful, son.”
Theo waited until she exited the gates, then stepped aside from the cart. General Decimus ordered Brigadier Orrin and two other soldiers to haul Zeus into the palace.
“Who is that, Father?” Cleora whispered.
“Why, that’s your younger brother,” Cronus replied.
Theo brought a cask of wine and set it down. “A gift, Your Excellency, from Helios’s private collection. The soldiers left this one behind.”
“A considerate gesture,” Cronus replied, “from a traitor.”
Decimus closed in on Theo. “Your sword,” said the general.
Theo handed it over.
“Bring him in, and the wine.” Cronus cast a knowing smirk at the sun. “It will vex Helios to know I have it.”
Cronus led the way to the throne room. Bronte linked arms with Cleora, and the two of them walked ahead of me. I ended up by Theo.
“Althea, I—”
“Don’t.” I doubled my pace to catch up with my sisters.
The main-floor throne room was less grandiose than Cronus’s isolated one in the tower in the sky, yet its rounded arches and beams still outshone the grandeur of Helios’s mansion. The Almighty’s immense throne sat on a dais against the far wall and could have accommodated someone ten times his size.
Zeus was laid on an altar in the center of the room.
“Daughters,” Cronus said, “watch from over there.”
Cleora and Bronte moved to the outskirts. I stayed close to Zeus. If my disobedience bothered Cronus, he didn’t comment on it.
Cronus stood before the altar above Zeus’s unconscious body. He studied him closely, expressionless, then raised his attention to the rest of the hall. “Decades ago, an oracle predicted I would fall at the hands of my youngest son just as my father fell by my hand. Many Titans began to question the longevity of my reign. Hunger for power had already divided my family. Much to my regret, centuries have passed since my brother Oceanus and I have spoken. I wanted better for my progeny.”
Cronus signaled, and a soldier carried in a tray swathed in red velvet. He removed the cloth, revealing a jagged-toothed sickle. It may have been my imagination, but the tiny mark on the bottom of my right heel panged.
“Adamant can only be mined in the deepest trenches of the underworld,” Cronus continued. “When forged into a blade, this raw, indestructible material has the unique capacity to open a soul. To absolve my children of the yearning for my throne and alleviate any urge they might have to compete against each other for power, I divested them of their Titan strength. These children are fortunate; they live unburdened by the competition for power. Among these six are my three daughters. Cleora, please step forward.”
She did so.
“Before our daughters were handed off for mortals to raise, Rhea and I gave our oldest another name, a name by which she shall be known again, now and forevermore.” Cronus paused and gestured toward Cleora. “That name is Hestia.”
Cleora bowed her head and stepped back.
“Bronte, come forward.”
She did so.
“Her name,” Cronus continued, “is Demeter, chosen by Rhea and me on the day of her birth. Welcome home, daughter.”
Bronte stepped back and stood beside Cleora again. My stomach pitched. They both wore untroubled expressions. Neither one appeared distressed by this impromptu renaming ceremony.
“And lastly, our youngest daughter was also given an eternal name. Althea?”
I bowed my head.
“I named you myself,” Cronus went on, his voice full of pride. “You, my lioness daughter, are Hera.”
Hestia, Demeter, and Hera . . . I had never heard these names before, yet at the mention of “Hera,” a force began to unfurl inside me, like feathered wings flapping in my chest, beating against my rib cage.
“Rhea and I were also blessed with three sons,” Cronus said, suddenly crestfallen. “But the youngest was kept a secret from me. Rhea didn’t share my vision for our family, so she hid him away. Now, what I dreaded has happened at last. This boy—my son—has been turned against me. He was told that his fate was to overthrow his father, but this animosity among kin must end. Only then can my family reunite.” Cronus lowered the sickle toward Zeus and, with its tip, cut the string ring off his hand. “Family doesn’t abandon family.”
The familiarity of his delivery stunned me; it was as though he had repeated it many times before. All this time, I had thought those words originated with my mother, but they were his.
I felt the world flip, my mind dangling to hang on to my reality. Cronus couldn’t be our father. My sisters and I were mortal. I could hardly ever sit still. Bronte had a biting tongue. Cleora got after us when we didn’t make our beds. We were achingly mortal.
And yet.
Something wild resided inside my bones, something that had always intimidated me. A side of myself so big, so monumental, that I feared what I might shatter should it break away.
Cronus turned Zeus’s arm so his wrist faced up. As he lowered the sickle, I noticed five pairs of wings on his forearm—the same artwork I saw in Zeus’s cave.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“A prick on his foot won’t suffice like I gave you and your sisters when you were infants. As a grown man, opening his soul requires a larger incision.”
“Don’t hurt him!” I charged forward, but Decimus and Orrin grabbed me and held me back. “Cronus, don’t do this.”
Cronus halted, the sickle just above Zeus’s skin. “You still have your memories, Hera?”
“Enough of them that I know Danica isn’t of my blood. What did you do to our real half sister?”
“I traded her away to Hyperion, with all the half-Titan bastards. She’s traveling the world with the nomads from the east, last I was told.”
I breathed hard to fight back my rising tears. “Was anything you told us about her true? Even her name?”
“Danica is the daughter of a slave. I paid her and her mother well for the girl to pretend she was your sister. I don’t know what Stavra intended to call her half-Titan babe.” Cronus tilted his head to the side, feigning sadness. “Bastard children don’t belong in our fold. I do what must be done for the good of my family, just as you do, Hera.”
“My name is Althea, and I’m nothing like you.”
“But you are. Though you had the opportunity, you didn’t turn yourself in to save Hestia. Nor did you offer yourself in place of Demeter. You allowed them to be taken. You make difficult decisions that no one else will, for the betterment of everyone. Who else does that emulate?”
He had no idea why I did what I did. All my life, everyone had said I was like my mother. I hadn’t believed them until now. Stavra never let anyone know how much she was willing to bleed for those she loved.
“Take me instead,” I said.
“You’re already divested of your strength.” Cronus gave me a pitying look. “You know what must be done. Have faith. When this is finished, your brother will be just like you.”
But I wasn’t me. I was who Cronus told me I should be. The “me” I w
as fated to be had been taken away, drained out by a prick on my heel.
He lowered the sickle again, then stopped as flapping noises came from above and shadows fell across the floor. All eyes lifted to the open windows high above the throne room. There, the Erinyes were perched, scourges in hand, glaring down at me.
I had run out of time.
25
Cronus lowered his attention from the Erinyes above to those of us standing around him, his blade stopped over Zeus’s arm. “What are they doing here?” he demanded.
“They came to collect me,” Theo announced.
“You?” I replied. “But you completed your atoning task.”
“I was never given an atoning task.” He stared at me intensely. “I was playing dead.”
My mind ran circles around itself. None of this made sense. Theo said the Erinyes had promised his mother’s freedom in exchange for delivering Zeus to Cronus. And he had done just that. Why tell a different story now?
Unless Zeus wasn’t really unconscious . . .
Unless he was playing dead.
“Your Excellency,” Theo said. “May I have one last drink before I go? I carried that cask of wine all the way from the Midnight Mansion. I’ll not be having wine like that in Tartarus.”
“I could certainly use a drink,” Bronte said, sounding so much like herself I wondered whether she, too, had tricked Mnemosyne. Then again, I had never known her to turn down a cup of wine.
“Yes, Father!” Cleora chimed in. “We could toast to our family reuniting.”
“Allowing the colonel one last drink would be the merciful thing to do,” I added.
“Father is always merciful,” Cleora replied.
Cronus’s smile resembled more of a wince. “All right,” he agreed. “One celebratory drink, for my daughters—Hestia, Demeter, and Hera—for the return of my son Zeus, and for the colonel’s years of service to the First House.”
The slaves brought in chalices and opened the cask. They filled a canter and watered it down a little, then half filled the cups. My sisters, Theo, Cronus, and I each took a chalice. I diluted mine further using my own waterskin, which I had emptied the last of the magical draught Metis concocted into.
Wings of Fury Page 25
