I don’t tell Perseus I’m sorry. Those words mean nothing. I can’t go back and change the past, and if he thinks for a second that I pity him, he’ll resent me. It’s notpity. I don’t know what to call this feeling inside me. I would blame the damned parasite, but the truth is I’m growing increasingly sure the sensations inside me are not physical in nature. They’re emotional.
Imbros bursts through the door and skids to a stop, zir eyes wide. “I brought the clothing you asked for.” Ze glances at Perseus. “Do you want to—”
Perseus snatches the clothing out of zir hands. “Either leave or turn around.”
Imbros looks to me for confirmation, and while I don’t fully understand what my husband is doing, I nod. Ze hesitates but finally turns zir back on us. I know it’s a testament of zir lack of faith in Zeus that ze refuses to leave the room, but I don’t comment on that, either. I’m not commenting on a lot of things right now.
Perseus sets out my clothing with regimented organization: dress, then bra, then panties, then socks, boots going on the floor.Then my husband, the so-called king of Olympus, goes to his knees before me. This isn’t about sex—it would be easier if it was—and the shock holds me paralyzed while he takes one of my feet and slides the first sock onto it. He’s gentle and firm and perfectly polite. As if he’s a different person entirely.
While I’m still recovering from my confusion over this strange turn of events, he gets my second sock on and slides my panties past my feet. “Can you stand?”
“It was only a graze. I can dress myself.”
“That’s not what I asked you.”
This isn’t a battle I’m going to win. I’m so bloody tired; I don’t have the stamina for another fight today. Or that’s what I tell myself as I slide carefully onto my feet. I wobble a little, and instead of reaching behind me for the bed, I grip my husband’s shoulder. He slides my underwear up my legs and into position. I find myself holding my breath the same way I did last night when he stroked my stomach. I am not ready to talk about it. I’m not ready to admit the only reason I allowed myself to get pregnant was so I could kill him. I’m sure as fuck not ready to admit that part of the reason I’m withholding this knowledge from everyone is because I…don’twantto kill Perseus.
His hands linger on my hips, his eyes on my stomach, for a beat too long. I tense, certain he’s going to make a comment, but instead he simply rises and snatches my sports bra from the pile of clothing. If he finds it strange that I’m wearing a sports bra instead of something more traditional, he doesn’t comment on that, either. My older bras don’t fit anymore, and the thought of dealing with an underwire makes my already achy breasts protest wildly. I can’tbuy new bras for the same reason I haven’t bought new clothes: People might talk. There’s no graceful way to put on a sports bra, but somehow he manages. And then all that’s left is my wrap dress.
Except that’s not all that’s left. As soon as he ties the wrap, he nudges me back to sit and sinks down to put on my boots. I clear my throat uncomfortably. “I really can do this.”
“I’m faster.” That’s almost logical, but how would he know if he’s faster? This almost feels like care. But that can’t be it. Our marriage is two comets crashing into each other, the devastation intense enough to end worlds. There’s no space for quiet tenderness. I don’t know how to deal with it, so I ignore it.
I clear my throat. “Imbros, please find out where my sister’s room is.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Perseus rises and takes my hand. “I have all the information. We can go there now. Orpheus was in surgery last I heard, but I think he should be out soon. We will find out more when we talk to Persephone.”
My heart gives a strange sort of wobble. I don’t understand this. He should be furious with me for meeting with my sister without the proper protections in place. If something happens to Persephone, Hades will rampage and his fury will be a thousand times worse than Circe or Hermes can gather. For that alone, my husband is deeply invested in keeping Persephone safe and alive. But keeping her safe and alive doesn’t have to include sharing this information with me just because he knows I want it.
I am so confused. I even forget to take my hand from his as we walk out of the room and down the busy hallway to another, mostly identical room. One that contains my sister and a furious-lookingMedusa. Persephone starts to sit up when she sees me, but Medusa plants a hand in the center of her chest and gently but firmly holds her in place. “Absolutely not. The doctor said you need to stay still.”
“Medusa—”
“No. We’re not doing this again. This is the second fucking time my general good nature has been used against me by the person I’m supposed to be protecting—which resulted in that person getting hurt. Inyougetting hurt this time. I let you sweet-talk me into attending this meeting, Persephone. And now I have to explain to my boss—your husband—why I allowed his pregnant wife to get shot. Lie still or I’m going to tie you to that bed until Hades gets here.”
My sister’s brows wing up and her chin lifts, a sure sign that she’s about to lose her cool. I step forward before she can go nuclear. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry. I should have had better security. No one knew about our meeting but us, so I didn’t think—”
“I’m okay.” Persephone gives one last glance at Medusa and then reaches out for me. I have to slip free from Perseus to take her hand, but I do so without hesitation. She glances over my shoulder at him but wisely doesn’t comment on his presence. “I know what we talked about, but surely these events prove that bending to our enemy’s demands just means more people get hurt.”
“No.” I shake my head sharply. “That’s not what today’s events prove. If anything, they prove that you being the queen of the lower city and me being the queen of the upper city just put us further in danger.” I almost keep speaking, but even in my strange state of mind, I’m aware of my husband listening in. If he knows I talked to Circe… If he knows I made a deal with her even after everything… he’ll never forgive me.
Later, I’ll worry about why I’m so concerned with my husband’s forgiveness.
The door slams open before Persephone can formulate a response. The man who walks through is a personified storm cloud. Hades is a white man with shoulder-length dark hair, a closely trimmed beard, and a perpetual glare on his handsome face. That glare passes right over Perseus and lands on me. “You.”
“Hades, I think—”
He points a harsh finger at Persephone. “No, little siren, I don’t want to hear from you right now. We will talk about your propensity for putting yourself in danger for no damned reason as soon as we’re safely back in the lower city.” He turns back to the door and lifts his voice. “Let’s get moving.”
A team of three nurses come through the door with a rolling bed. I watch in something like awe as they transfer Persephone over despite her protests. It takes seconds. They even strap her down over her hips, careful of her stomach. “This is absolutely unnecessary, Hades,” she snaps, batting at their hands.
“You. Were. Shot.” With every word he speaks, it becomes more readily apparent that the Hades I’ve come to know is nowhere in evidence. This is the king of the lower city, and he isnotsatisfied. “So help me, Wife, if I have to gag you to get you out of the upper city and to safety, I will. Donottest me right now.”
Persephone opens her mouth but seems to reconsider whatever she was about to say. Finally, she meekly folds her hands over her round stomach. She gives me a glance that’s almost sympathetic. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Hades motions to the person closest to him, someone whoappears to be the head medic for the team he apparently brought to the upper city to transport his people back. “Orpheus is out of surgery and in the recovery room. The second team needs to go to him. I want transfer initiated as quickly as possible without further harming him. Do whatever it takes.”
Medusa shifts on her feet, looking distinctly contrite. “I’m sorry, Hades. It was just—”
