It’s far too early to go home and I have far too much to do. I’m so fucking tired. When I was younger, there were whole days and weeks when my father wanted to ensure I had the endurance to be Zeus. I learned to go for a very long time without sleep—and to mask the symptoms that come as a result. Among other things. I don’t like to think about those times. I especially don’t like to admit that he might have been right, at least in this.
I make my way from the center city and out to the shipping docks. After the attack on Circe, I allowed Poseidon’s bleeding heart to convince me to have the Aeaean sailors escorted to a safe space instead of tried as enemy soldiers. It was a calculated decision on my part. I owe no loyalty to Aeaea. But after seeing them, Icarus’s claim that they are just people trying to provide for their families struck truer than was comfortable. Those defeated sailors kneeling on the deck weren’t warriors. Half of them seemed confused about why they were even there in the first place.
I know what my father would have done in that situation. Itdoesn’t matter why an enemy is an enemy; there’s only one way to deal with them. You destroy them. But I’m not my father and, for better or worse, I never will be. Recent events have more than driven that truth home.
My only hope of coming out on top of this conflict with Circe is to keep Poseidon and Hades on my side. It’s not worth burning those bridges for the sake of vengeance and frustration. So, when Poseidon asked this of me, I didn’t even try to fight him.
He should be back in Olympus by now, having completed his self-appointed task. Sure enough, when I finally track down his second-in-command Orion, they point me back to the house where the title of Poseidon has traditionally lived. I know for a fact thatthisPoseidon, a surprise inheritor of the title after his uncle and cousins died unexpectedly from a strange illness, chooses to live in the guesthouse behind the manor proper.
I understand that. His uncle left a toxic shadow, the kind that almost makes me believe ghosts are real. It’s the same reason why I haven’t set foot in the penthouse owned by my father since his death. No one knows that, though. As far as my sisters are concerned, I took the burden of dealing with our former family home upon myself so they wouldn’t have to. It’s a testament to how terrible our father was that neither of them questioned it after the initial conversation.
The truth is that…I tried. A new Zeus can only ascend once the previous Zeus has been put to rest, and though there’s a headstone in the legacy family’s graveyard with my father’s title and birth name on it, nothing about that man has been put to rest. Going into his residence—into my childhood home—is…
There’s no use thinking about it now. Maybe once I’ve removed the threat of Circe once and for all, it will finally feel like a manageable task to go through his things and dispose of everything. To clean out that place I will never again call home and to sell it to some bloodthirsty hopeful who believes living in the same residence as a past Zeus will result in his power rubbing off on them.
Except…Poseidon isn’t at the house. Or the guesthouse. Or on the grounds. My frustration blooms with each failure to track him down. This was supposed to be a relatively quick errand, and it’s turning into a grand waste of time.
Just like the search for Circe.
Going off a lingering suspicion that I’ve been played, I finally find Poseidon back at the shipyard in a meeting with Orion and Pallas. It seems to be winding down, which just confirms that Orion sent me on a wild-goose chase to get me out of the way. I give Poseidon’s second-in-command a long look, and though they can’t quite meet my eyes, they don’t shrink into themselves at my displeasure. It makes me respect them more, for all that they wasted time I don’t have in abundance.
Poseidon, naturally, doesn’t seem pleased to see me. He never is. If ever there was a man uncomfortable with the cloak of power that comes with a legacy title, it’s this one. He doesn’t play the games Olympus is known for, doesn’t engage in any kind of drama, doesn’t leave his shipyard more than he absolutely has to. It’s convenient. He’s never causing problems…or at least he never used to.
One day soon he and I are going to have to have a very frank conversation about the fact that he worked with my wife in the attempt to assassinate me. But not today. I have bigger fish to fry.
Poseidon is a massive white man with deep-red hair and beard, and the kind of body that looks like he tosses around kegs of beer for fun. His skin is a little paler than normal, no doubt from stress, making his freckles stand out in stark contrast. He’s still wearing the same clothes he had on last night, all black, and his hair is wild from him obviously running his fingers through it. “Zeus. What are you doing here?”
I look from one of them to the other, finally settling on Pallas. “I think the more important question is what isshedoing here.” Pallas is the daughter of the late Triton, the oldest of seven. The youngest, Zuriel, slipped through the barrier some time ago and ran off to Carver City. That fucking city seems to be a magnet for wayward Olympians. Like my brother.
There’s no use thinking about Hercules now. Focus on the task before you.
Pallas is a couple of years younger than me and beautiful in the way that all her sisters are. Triton had more wives than my father—which is saying something—and as a result, all seven of them look remarkably different. Honestly, it’s a blessing they favor their mothers. Triton wasn’t much to look at—or to be around—but he was useful, at least until he betrayed this city and lost his life as a result.
Pallas is short and petite, her long straight black hair pulled back from her delicate face. Her light-brown skin is smooth and perfect, no doubt with the help of both genetics and a horrendously expensive skincare routine. I’ve seen what my sisters consider reasonable when it comes to that sort of thing, but my wife doesn’t seem to share the same fascination.
No. I’m not thinking about Hera right now.
Poseidon shifts, attempting to draw my attention away from Pallas. “No point in wasting time beating around the bush. After this conflict with Circe has seen its end, I’m stepping down and Pallas will ascend as the next Poseidon.”
I blink. “What?” Surely I just heard him wrong. He may not have wanted it, but once people have titles, they don’t give them up without a fight.
Except Eris did. She only held Aphrodite for a few months. Bearing the burden of Zeus was easier with her sharing the load. It’s different with Helen as Ares. She wanted to become Ares to prove that she’s more than a pretty face. She’s done a damn good job of seeing her responsibilities fulfilled.
With Eris, we both understood the burden that comes with holding this kind of power. We both were trained from the time we were children to be able to bear that power. But, while Eris was willing to marry for the benefit of Olympus, she actually had the audacity to fall in love with her husband. She almost died in the wake of that mess, and the only thing she asked me while lying there in the hospital was to release her. It’s not something she technically needed my permission for, but I gave it all the same.
I know what my father would say. That I’m a sentimental fool. Eris is a sharp tool and was willing to be used ruthlessly in the pursuit of stability for the city. If I’d pushed, she would have folded. It’s what we were trained to do.
I couldn’t do it. She never asked anything of me but this, and watching her find such unexpected happiness in her little polycule has been bittersweet in the extreme.
As a legacy title, I don’t have that option. We don’t step down.We cling to our power until death takes us. Except Poseidon isn’t following the rules.
He doesn’t shift nervously as I contemplate him. He’s not even tapping his thigh in the way that he always does when stressed. He simply meets my gaze steadily. “I’m stepping down,” he says almost gently. “I’m starting Pallas’s training now to ensure a seamless transfer. She’s more than capable of holding the title.”
If there’s even a title to hold at that point. I haven’t forgotten about Hermes’s little visit, or the way she seems to want the downfall of Olympus just as much as Circe does, admittedly in a slightly less murderous fashion. “But why?”
Poseidon glances at Pallas and Orion. “Could you give us a minute?”
They don’t quite bolt out of the room, but they move with great efficiency. And then it’s just Poseidon and me. I don’t like what I see on his face. He’s always been shit at masking his expressions, and right now, he’s looking at me with something akin to pity.
