He nods. Ironic that he and the others are less worried about me with my family than they are with my husband. Not that my mother would ever overtly hurt me. However, if a few eggs get cracked in the making of her grand design, she counts it as a worthy sacrifice. Even if those cracked eggs are her daughters.
I see Psyche first. Even here, in the midst of the worst crisis the city has seen in our lifetimes—maybe ever—my sister is every inch an influencer. She’s wearing fitted pink trousers that hugher generous hips and a cute knit black sweater over a polka-dot button-up shirt with a Peter Pan collar. Her hair is perfect, the long brown strands curled and pinned back from her pretty, round face.
She lights up when she sees me. “Callisto!” Psyche crosses the distance between us and enfolds me in a hug that instantly lowers my blood pressure. She’s so fuckinggoodat that. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I’m not here for long.” I hug her hard. “Fuck, I missed your face.”
She laughs a little and waits for me to loosen my grip before she steps back. “I missed you, too.” She swipes her forehead with the back of her hand. “Mother is out surveying some problem with the western fields, but she should be back soon.”
I glance back at the entrance to the tent. “How did she manage to put this together so quickly? We’re miles away from her property.”
“This area was privately owned by some corporation or other who wasn’t utilizing it. She bought it for a song.” Psyche shrugs at my bewildered expression. “You know how Mother is when she gets her mind set on something.”
Yeah, I guess I do. “Smart of her to bring the people to this space instead of overrunning the farmland necessary to the city’s survival.”
“It was. Speaking of… Have you eaten?”
It’s tempting to lie, but she’ll see right through me. “No.”
“I think we have the makings for turkey sandwiches around here.” She starts to turn away.
My stomach lurches at the very thought. “No!” I take a breathand try to temper my tone. “No, that’s okay. I’m not hungry. I’m not feeling particularly well these days.”
“You should eat. Or maybe drink?” She says it slowly, watching me closely. “I could use a glass of wine. I’ll pour two.”
Psyche is arguably the smartest of my sisters, the one who sees the most. I already know what I’m giving away when I shake my head slowly. “No,” I whisper. “No alcohol.”
My sister studies me intently. I can actually see her cataloging the circles beneath my eyes, the broken blood vessels in my cheeks from throwing up earlier, the tense way I hold myself, ready to protect my stomach. Her hazel eyes go wide. “Callisto…” She shifts closer and takes my hand. “Honey, are you pregnant?”
I’ve been muscling through this mess on my own for months, doing what I needed to in order to protect the ones I love. Asking for help just brings the risk of endangerment, so I haven’t dared. Instead, I’ve pushed through with alliances with Poseidon and Dionysus, two people I don’t trust as far as I can throw them, in order to remove my husband and ensure I was in a position to protect my mother and sisters.
And for what? Circe still came, and if she’s offering me an out—one Hera to another—it’s such a long shot as to be a death sentence. I’ve never been clever with my words like Psyche or quick to use a sunshine mask to manipulate like Persephone orgoodlike Eurydice. I don’t see a way through.
Here, with my sister’s sympathy wrapping around me, I buckle. My knees give out and I would have hit the ground if Psyche hadn’t caught me around the waist and half carried me to a nearby chair despite our height differences.
She urges me down and disappears for a few seconds, returning with a bottle of water. “How far along?”
The pregnancy is the least of my problems, but it’s easier to focus on that than everything else in play. At least for a little while. “Seventeen weeks, I think.” I accept the bottle, but don’t open it. “I haven’t gone to a doctor yet. I can’t risk everyone in Olympus knowing.”
She drags over a second chair, close enough that our knees touch. “How long haveyouknown?”
Admitting the truth will hurt her, but lying will hurt her more. “Four months.”
Psyche nods slowly, a line forming between her brows. “Callisto…” Every time she says my name, it’s a balm to my very soul. “I’ve kept quiet because you made a choice that saved my life, perhaps literally. I’ve let you keep your own counsel, even though I know you’re making moves that put you in danger.” I start to speak, but she holds up her hand. “But you’renotalone. You have us, and you’ve always had us. If you can’t talk to anyone else, talk to me.”
Months of keeping my own confidence have my mind screaming that I need to stay quiet and not involve her, but it’s too late. Psyche’s in as much danger as the rest of us, and I’m the only one who can save her. I just need to cooperate with Circe, to backflip through the hoops that bitch has set out, to talk my mother and Hades into leaving Olympus.
I…can’t do it alone.
The thought makes me dizzy. I reach out, my vision blurry, and Psyche catches my hand and clasps it between hers. “Please, Callisto.”
I crumble. “Do you have ginger tea in here by chance? This might take a little while to lay out.”
“I think so.” She squeezes my hand and then heads toward the back of the tent where there’s an honest-to-gods kitchen. Because of course there is. Our mother wouldn’t know the concept of roughing it if it slapped her in the face.
I stand on shaking legs and follow Psyche to where she’s filling a kettle with water. “It started on my wedding night…”
10
