He is not my ally. He canneverbe my ally.
I smooth my shirt with shaking hands. My body aches from what we just did, but there’s no time to think too hard about how muchbetterthe sex was today. How he wasn’t cold and removed, how he was right there with me, our fury spiking desire higher. How good it felt for him to hold me, just for a moment, after. I shiver a little at the thought of next time.
No, damn it. That’s not the correct priority to be focusing on right now. I scrub my hands over my face. I have to get out of here.I push forward to shove out the doors…and almost trample Ixion in the process.
He catches my shoulders, his expression murderous. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I don’t bother to smile. That won’t reassure him at all. “Let’s go. We have a long drive and I have to be back by dinnertime.”
To his credit, he takes me at my word, even though he doesn’t look happy about it. Ixion and the others are incredibly protective of me. They also hate my husband, and why not? Historically, the number one threat to Hera is Zeus.
It will take several hours to drive into the country to where my mother and Psyche are currently overseeing Olympian civilians, but I can’t trust this conversation to a phone call. It’s going to be a hard enough sell as it is. Step down and abandon the city… As if that’s not the opposite of what my mother has spent her life doing. Circe set me an impossible task, but the consequences of failing are too damned high. Ihaveto make them see reason.
If I can get Psyche on my side, that will help immensely. She always knows the right thing to say, the right approach to take.
Ixion and Nephele wait with me while Imbros pulls the car around. The displeasure of all three is apparent, but none of them challenge me about being fine. They’re right to worry, but it’s not my husband who’s to blame.
It’s Circe.
Nephele climbs into the back seat with me. “It’s okay if you’re not fine, you know.” She waits for me to fasten my seat belt before doing the same. “He’s a monster.”
No, he’s not.
I bite down the words, not sure where they even came from. Of course my husband is a monster: he’s Zeus. Except he’s not entirely Zeus, is he? He’s also Perseus. That’s one thing I’ve never bothered to consider, that the man I married wasn’t always the cold and fearsome leader of the Thirteen and Olympus. At some point in the past, he was a baby, a kid, a teenager, growing up in the household of the last Zeus.Hewas a true monster, and if Persephone had married him the way she was supposed to, not even our mother’s machinations would have saved her from harm—or possibly even death.
Surelythatman didn’t save his violence and viciousness only for his spouses. Surely his children were subject to it as well.
My chest pings at the thought. My mother may be hard to deal with at times, and her plotting is often at her daughters’ expense, but we grew up knowing we were safe. Out in the countryside, the suffocating rules of the city proper are nowhere in evidence. No one cared if we were perfectly put together at all times. No one was trying to use us as pawns to get to or hurt our mother. We were just children, wild and beloved.
Even without knowing the details of my husband’s childhood, I know it wasn’t like that for him. No one creates such a perfect icy persona unless they have to in order to survive. His sisters went a different route—Helen with her golden perfection and Eris with her fury. And Hercules left the city, though the story is still muddy on whether that was his choice or not.
So, no, I don’t think Perseus had a safe childhood. Certainly not a happy one. It shouldn’t matter. Bad things happen to all sortsof people, and while it’s tragic, it doesn’t excuse their perpetuating abuse onto others.
Perseus just…hasn’t done that. Yet. But he will, won’t he? Because he’s not just Perseus, someone who might have had a chance to leave the generational trauma behind the way Hercules apparently did.
He’sZeus.
The changing scenery drags me from the death spiral of my thoughts. The city falls in increments, tall buildings giving away to shorter ones which in turn give way to rolling hills and fields. Although I have every intention of keeping my emotions locked down, my heart beats faster and my lungs feel like they expand to twice their size, as if I can taste the country air even through the windows.
Home.
It’s not, though. It hasn’t been home for nearly half my life at this point. Mother wanted us to have a clean break, so the interludes to the country became less and less common as we got older—as she became entrenched in the city’s intrigue.
“It’s beautiful,” Imbros breathes.
That’s right. Ze has never seen the Olympian territory outside of the city proper. I clear my throat. “It is.”
At least until it’s not.
It happens so fucking fast. One moment, we’re surrounded by the fields in late stages of harvest, and the next it’s a tent city. Ixion has to slow down as he turns onto a dirt road that leads into a converted field. The ground is a long way from frozen, so it’s a muddy mess.
All around us, the displaced citizens of the city move about in some semblance of a rhythm. People in every season of life, from a toddler barely able to walk to an elderly couple hunched with age. Kids run between the gaps in what I belatedly realize is a line of adults waiting for…something.
Ixion carefully navigates us through it all, slowly enough that it would probably be faster to walk. I don’t suggest it. I’m too busy picking up signs of my mother’s influence. We reach the head of the line, discovering it’s actually two lines—one for food and one for job allocation. It takes a lot of work to keep a displaced community running, and while my mother has an extensive staff, I imagine they’ll need help.
Not to mention, it’s not a good idea to have so many people in crisis without giving them something productive to focus on. We’ve displaced so many people in an effort to protect them; I suspect it’s not all for nothing.
We park in front of a large tent, which surprises me a little. My mother loves her luxuries, and while this is spacious and looks expensive, it’s hardly a house. Ixion leads the way, holding open the fold that functions as a door. I meet his gaze. “Please wait outside.”
