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At long last, her magic connected with something. Frowning, Pandora extended her awareness, eyes still closed, as she searched mentally for what she was looking for.
“Ah,” she murmured, then stiffened. “What the hell?”
There was magic lining the outer walls of Elysium. Her own powers hesitated, worried she would trigger some sort of alarm and end her plans before they even began. Gingerly, her magic crept forward like the brush of a fingertip along the surface of the outer walls.
She gasped, then withdrew her magic before she alerted anyone.
Damn it all. Elysium was warded. Thick, heavy defensive magic surrounded the entire realm like an impenetrable breastplate.
Each realm had its own level of protection built into it as part of the magic of the land. But on top of that natural barrier, it seemed Apollo had infused his own magic as an added layer. Aidoneus had never done such a thing with the Underworld; he had always relied on the magic of the land itself.
Why would Apollo add his own magic to the walls of the realm?
She thought of what Sol had told her when she’d conveyed the news of the Underworld’s demise: We would have felt it. An entire realm destroyed? That would have impacted our realm, too.
“Not if this place is warded,” Pandora muttered, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the expansive shore before her: lapping waves, pearly white sand, swaying trees, and an array of cerulean roofs that indicated a village rested below the castle.
A village! Perfect. The wards would be strongest surrounding the palace. But the outer city? Apollo would be much less concerned with the welfare of civilians. If she was to find a flaw in the wards of Elysium, it would be there.
That was where she would make her move.
Itching to get started, Pandora strode purposefully toward the double doors, prepared to do some exploring, before she stopped short.
“Keep to my rooms like a good little girl,” she said through clenched teeth. If she wandered the castle, people would notice. Word would spread that Hecate, the lesser goddess of the Underworld, was roaming as she pleased among the glistening halls of Elysium.
She had to play her part. She had to wait for Apollo. Only after she’d gained their trust could she search for a weakness.
“Patience, Pandora,” she whispered to herself, massaging circles along the back of her hand to soothe the roiling tension within her. “You’ve waited this long. You can wait a few more days.”
But so much tension had built in her over these past years, and meeting her sisters for the first time had ignited something wild within her. It was part sorrow, part anger, part devastation at the family she’d never have. The family that had been stolen from her.
With an exhausted sigh, she sank onto the edge of the bed, closing her eyes against the agony. Oh yes, she would certainly have nightmares when she slept. Memories of Gaia and Apollo and her sisters were fresh in her mind, and the consequences were inevitable.
She would not sleep tonight. She found herself missing Cerberus, the lovable dog who had followed her around in the Underworld. He had been such a good listener… always willing to cuddle with her no matter what despicable acts she’d committed.
She hoped he’d somehow survived. He was a creature born of death magic, like all the demons in the Underworld, so she couldn’t have brought him with her. Perhaps he had survived somehow, and she could return and find him. He was a resourceful dog. He had no power, so the magic from her box would have no reason to attack him.
With this comforting thought, Pandora fell backwards, allowing her head to hit the soft pillows as she waited for oblivion to consume her.
APOLLO
PANDORA
For the tenth time, a heavy sigh escaped Pandora’s lips. Her eyes surveyed the grand surroundings with bitterness and resentment. Fourteen ivory pillars supported the curved, dome-shaped ceiling of the throne room. Large braziers at the bottoms of each of the pillars illuminated the marbled flooring, shrouding the hall in warm oranges and dancing shadows. Intricately carved marble icons and sculptures glared down upon her from the ceiling as she sat on one of the many birch benches surrounding the inner perimeter of the throne room.
Those expecting an audience with the almighty King Apollo were required to wait on these benches for the great god of sun and time to deign to grace them with his magnificent presence.
Pandora scoffed and crossed her arms, becoming more irritated by the minute. This place was too much. Every adornment seemed to make a mockery of Pandora’s life and upbringing, as if to say, Look at all this lavishness you were not allowed to have.
Soon, it wouldn’t matter. Soon, this place would be nothing but ash, just like the Underworld.
At long last, after making her wait an eternity, the double doors burst open, and a squadron of soldiers appeared. Pandora rose to her feet but kept the scowl on her face. Dozens of armed men marched inside and formed a line at the back of the throne room.
Last of all was Apollo himself.
Pandora held her breath. She had not laid eyes on the loathsome god in several years, but he hadn’t changed much. He wore a gleaming white tunic with intricate gold embroidery. A sword was belted at his waist, and a crimson robe was half-draped over one shoulder, giving an air of casual elegance. His brown hair was neatly slicked back, his beard short and trimmed, and his dark black eyes scanned the room with smug indifference. When they settled on Pandora, a smirk formed on his lips. He approached, his sandaled feet gliding smoothly along the vermilion carpet that ran down the length of the room.
“Hecate,” he said, his voice rich and smooth. “Such a pleasure to see you once again.”
