My brother exhales slowly. “Congratulations?”
“You don’t really mean that.”
“Yeah, Perseus, I do. I know you want kids—and not just because you are a good, obedient Zeus who needs to breed heirs.” He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice has lost some of the venom. “Why are you calling to tellmeabout this?”
That’s the question, isn’t it? “I don’t know. She hasn’t told me. I don’t know if she’s ever going to, at least until she can’t hide it any longer. It’s not like we have a happy fucking marriage.” Children were always going to be part of it, though. It was in the contract we both signed before getting married. Zeus needs heirs, and Demeter intends for her daughter to be the mother of those heirs. The better to link her bloodline with the rulers of Olympus. But that’s Demeter’s goal, not necessarily Callisto’s. “I…”
Hercules, damn him, doesn’t cut in and offer me a reprieve. He simply waits, allowing me to fight my way through the fear thickening my throat until I can barely breathe past it. “Our father was a monster.”
“Yes.”
Each word feels like it’s dragged from somewhere deep, bloodying me in the process. “He…abused us.”
“Yes,” he says simply.
That simple acceptance is like a dam breaking inside me. Words pour forth, with only the night and my brother’s disembodied voice to witness. “I don’t know how to do this. The only fucking role model we had was an abusive, narcissistic monster. Mother died. We barely met Circe before she was gone, and Lamia didn’t last much longer. How the fuck am I supposed to be a father? I don’t know what to do.” I slump back in my chair, my bones feeling brittle and in danger of shattering. “And she’s no better. Her mother loves her and her sisters, but Demeter’s a goddamn monster, too. She didn’t hesitate to barter her daughters for more power. I’m nearly certain she’s killed as many of her husbands as our father killed wives. What kind of parents will we be?”
Hercules is silent for several long beats. Finally, he says, “The kind of parents you want to be.”
A rough sound escapes me. It’s not quite a laugh, far too bitter and broken. “It’s not that simple.”
“I think it is.” There’s the faint echoing sound of footsteps. My brother is pacing as he talks to me. “I never had much desire for children, at least not of my own, but there are a lot of parents around here. Our situation may have been somewhat unique because of the way Olympus is structured, but the sad fact is that abusive parents are a dime a dozen. We don’t have the market cornered on that experience. And you know what? It doesn’t matter. The people I know might have some shit to unpack, same as we do, but they’reputting in the work to ensure their children have a better life than they did. A safe life. A healthy life with loving parents who protect instead of harm. You can do the same.”
He makes it sound so easy, but it’s not fair to be mad. I just dumped a whole boatload of trauma onto his shoulders, and he’s handling it admirably. Now is the time to hang up, to release him from this awkward conversation, but I can’t quite make myself do it. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“This might be shocking, but I suggest you start by talking to your wife.” Hercules chuckles a little. “She could surprise you.”
“Maybe I’ll do that.” I don’t tell him that a mere hour ago I was on this very balcony, not entirely certain if my wife was going to push me off it or not. My brother wouldn’t understand, for all that he has a nontraditional relationship with the man who used to be called Hades and his consort, Megaera. Instead, I take a deep breath and force some brittle charm into my tone. “How are things with you?”
For a moment, I think he won’t allow me to change the subject, but finally he sighs again. “They’re good. Really good.” He goes on to talk about the various changes they’re making to the kink club he works in, gossiping easily about the various parents in question he mentioned earlier. They’re just names to me, and yet I allow my brother’s voice to soothe some of the ragged edges the night has exposed. I know he’s doing it on purpose, just like he’s always done.
Roughly thirty minutes later, Hercules’s voice trails off. “Go back to bed, Perseus. Things will be simpler in the morning.”
I’m not so certain, but I understand that this conversation is over. “Thank you. For picking up. For everything.”
“You’re going to be okay. The only person who expects perfection is you. Try to loosen up.”
The problem is that if I loosen up, people die. More people. That’s not my little brother’s problem. He’s got his own life to live and he’s made his boundary incredibly clear. He’s never coming back to Olympus, and so Olympian problems and politics and bullshit are no longer his business. Again, jealousy pricks me, hard enough to draw blood. What would it be like to walk away from all this? The very idea is inconceivable.
Who am I if I’m not Zeus?
I don’t have an answer to that question. I’m terrified of what it would mean to set aside the title I’ve spent my entire life preparing for. I would beno one. No goals, no power, no fucking personality. And no wife.
Callisto only married me because of the influence my title holds—and my promise to use that influence to protect her family. She never wantedme, Perseus, the man. And I barely knew her, her reputation speaking more than the woman herself. I think we’d had maybe one conversation in all the time she’s lived in the city proper.
Without my title, I’m nothing. I’ve experienced whatnothingfeels like at my father’s hands, and I will never allow it to happen again. No matter what plans Circe or Hermes or any of the others attempt to play out, one thing remains true.
When all the dust is settled and the bodies are buried, I will be Zeus.
Or I’ll be dead.
17
Hera
I wake alone. I should have expected it. Ididexpect it. Zeus and I may share our nights, but we work on vastly different schedules. My husband is an early riser; he’s usually gone well before I roll out of bed in the morning. Especially in the last couple months. Yesterday was a pointed exception—in so many ways. I stretch slowly, registering all the little aches and pains in my body.
I am absolutely not bothered by his absence. Not in the least. I’m the one who shut off the light last night, who turned away from the intimacy he offered. It makes no sense to crave his presence like a comfortable blanket I want to wrap around myself. Fighting with him is normal enough to ease my stress, that’s all. Or maybe the pregnancy hormones are fucking with my head.
