A decade ago, I would have stood by cheering while she rampaged. Even as a teenager I recognized the way the poison goes bone-deep in the legacy families—the same families responsible for most of the people who’ve claimed the titles since the founding of the city. But now? Now that my mother is one of the Thirteen? Now that Persephone is married to one of them and pregnant with his heir?
I’ll rip out Circe’s throat before I let her touch my family.
I hoped that killing Zeus would be enough to dissuade her from full-on invasion, but so far I’ve been unsuccessful. Time is running out to find a path forward that protects my mother and sisters.
My phone vibrates in my hand, a notification of a new MuseWatch article being posted. The site is a plague on this city, but it’s useful at times. I open it mostly to distract myself than anything else…at least until I see the headline.
Legacy titles engage in coup despite lack of votes! Circe’s blockade broken!
“What. The. Fuck.” I quickly scan the article, my heartbeat racing in my ears. Zeus and the other two came together in the deadof night to attack Circe, despite the fact that we explicitly didn’t vote for them to do so.
The article frames it as a positive thing, of course. They won. The blockade is broken. Trade can resume immediately. What it notablydoesn’tsay is that Circe has been apprehended. And Zeus’s poor mood last night suggests he, at least, considers the whole thing a failure. It all adds up to one conclusion.
She got away.
I pace another circle around the living room and grab my phone. I memorized Circe’s number rather than risk keeping it in my contacts. It takes seconds to type it out, my heart beating too hard. This has all gotten so out of control. I recognized the risks when I agreed to marry Zeus and become Hera, but those risks feel like child’s play compared to what I’m dealing with now.
The call rings and rings and rings before clicking over to a recording saying the voicemail inbox is full. I curse and hang up. “After all the trouble you’ve caused, the least you can do is answer the fucking phone.”
A text comes through a moment later from an unknown number. It’s only a location—a bar in the theater district where I used to spend time with my sisters—and a time—thirty minutes from now. Barely long enough to get there.
I don’t text back. The timing is too coincidental to actuallybea coincidence. It’s Circe, playing games just like she has been from the beginning. I shove my phone into my purse and yank on a pair of boots. My plans might be in shambles, but I knew I would be fighting an uphill battle from the moment I stood at the altar with Zeus and agreed to be his wife. I might not have anticipated Circeand all the trouble she brought with her, but I’m smart and can think on my feet. It would just be helpful if she spoke plainly about what shewants.
Ixion meets me in the parking garage the moment the elevator opens. Like everyone else on the small team I’ve gathered around me, he is an Olympian orphan who grew up in the orphanage that’s every Hera’s one responsibility in the city. When I took over, it was in a sorry state, barely getting by with a skeleton staff and far too many children. Children the city likes to pretend don’t exist.
One of the first things I did upon marrying Zeus was divert all of the available funds associated with the Hera title to fixing the place up and hiring more people. A month later, Ixion approached me. In Olympus, when orphans reach eighteen, they’re consigned to Ares, Poseidon, or Demeter—soldiers, fishermen, or farmers. Ixion and his crew had chosen the former, but they wanted to pledge themselves tome. Not my husband. Not my mother.
To a Hera who actually wanted to do their job.
As long as I continue to ensure the orphans of the city are taken care of and protected, they are loyal to me and me alone. It’s an easy enough task. The Heras before me might have ignored their responsibility in favor of playing spouse to Zeus—willing or no—but power can be found in unexpected ways. Ixion and his team, trained and ruthless and perfectly loyal, prove that with some time and effort, Hera always had the potential to be just as powerful as the rest of Thirteen. I have every intention of reclaiming that power.
Ixion nods. “With howhestormed out of here this morning, I figured you wouldn’t be far behind.” His brown eyes search my face just as they do every time he sees me, looking for evidence thatmy husband has hurt me. Finding none, his shoulders relax a little. “Where to?”
Going to meet Circe with only my trio as backup is ill-advised. I know that. I should damn well turn around and go back to the privacy of my home until I can get my head on straight. Or I should call one of my sisters or my mother for more security. I don’t. “Wine About It.”
If he’s surprised I’m asking to be taken to a little bar in the theater district at this hour of the morning, he gives no sign of it. But then, Ixion never reacts to anything I ask him to do or witness. If I were a better person, my heart would hurt at the fact that his loyalty has been purchased solely because I took care oforphans.
The drive takes no time at all. Normally, the streets would be clogged with cars and pedestrians, but the city is mostly a ghost town now.
It’s not until Ixion pulls into the empty parking lot that I pause long enough to wonder if Wine About It will even be open. But when Ixion pulls at the door, Nephele and Imbros flanking me, it swings easily before his touch. Imbros touches my shoulder before I can follow Ixion inside. “Wait, please.” Ze is always so damned polite. Ze is shorter than I am, with a thick body, dark-brown skin, and long locs pinned back from zir face.
On my other side, Nephele peers in the door and waits for Ixion’s all clear. She’s the same height as Imbros but built deceptively delicately—deceptive because I’ve seen her take a man twice her size to the ground when he came at me too quickly—with light-brown skin and shoulder-length black straight hair. She nods and motions me forward. “We’re good.”
I don’t tell them that they’re being too cautious. Even before Circe’s siege, her machinations had Olympus in chaos. She orchestrated the revelation of a little-known clause that allowed anyone who assassinated one of the Thirteen to take their position. The results were to be expected—seemingly endless attempts to murder the current Thirteen. I’ve dealt with less than the others, but some peoplereallywant to take my place in my husband’s bed.
If they’d asked me, I’d tell them that they’re more than welcome to him.
I ignore the twinge the thought brings and step through the door into the low light of the bar. I haven’t been here in years, not since my sisters and I held season tickets and would stop by after every show. It was always loud and packed and filled to the brim with energy of people high off the excellent performances we just watched.
Now, it’s as empty as the streets.
The bartender is the same old man it’s always been, though I can’t for the life of me remember his name. He smiles when he sees me but doesn’t rush over. It’s the first normal reaction I’ve had in a long time. I value it greatly.
I take one step toward the bar, but Imbros edges into my path. Ze nods to the curved booth in the corner. “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll grab…” Ze clears zir throat. “Drinks? Food?”
“Iced tea.” I haven’t been able to eat much in the last couple of weeks, due to… Gods, I can barely think it. My hand twitches, wanting to press to my stomach, but I muscle down the urge. I can count on one hand the people who know about the little parasite currently clinging to my uterine lining, fucking up my entire system.Nothing smells right. I no longer have access to my nightly wine or the joints I would smoke on the balcony to unwind. I hate it.
Except…I don’t. Not entirely.
