My throat burns and I blink rapidly, hurrying to the booth and the relative privacy the shadows there offer. Godsdamned fucking hormones. I’ve never lost control emotionally before, and I’ll be damned before I do it now, embryo or no embryo.
Nephele slides in next to me, careful to keep a bit of distance between us, but Ixion just leans against the half wall next to the booth. Ready to leap into motion at the first sign of danger.
Nephele glances at me. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nothing to talk about.” I learned a lot of lessons growing up as the eldest daughter of a mother like mine, and the first among those is that you can’t trust anyone but family. Nephele’s offer seems to be her genuinely wanting to make sure I’m okay, which is honestly nice. I still can’t quite manage a smile. “But thank you.”
Nepheledoessmile, and easily. “Anytime—and I do mean that, Hera. It’s an open-ended offer to talk.”
“I appreciate it.” And I do, even if I’m more isolated now than I’ve ever been. I can’t reach the lower city due to Hades raising the barrier surrounding it. I refuse to abandon the city to my husband and his allies, so I can’t follow my mother and Psyche into the countryside. I’m a wolf without her pack, and I’m still not sure if that makes me vulnerable…or more dangerous.
Imbros appears with the drinks—iced tea for me, water for the three of them—and then shifts away to take a seat at the table directly between my booth and the door. Another method of defense against an empty bar.
I manage one sip before my bladder makes a shrill demand. It’s not the nausea and increasingly absurd side effects that irritate me the most. It’s having to pee every fifteen minutes. I sigh and push to my feet, holding out a hand when all three shift to follow. “There’s no one here and I have to use the bathroom. Just…give me a few seconds.” It’s past the thirty-minute deadline from the text, but there’s no sign of Circe yet. I should have time to pee.
Nephele ignores me and slides out of the booth. “I’ll watch the back door.”
I know from experience that there will be no dissuading any of them. At least she doesn’t follow me into the bathroom every time anymore. She just helps Ixion and Imbros cut off any access while I’m in there.Thatmade me popular at restaurants before everyone evacuated.
I slip through the door and into a stall to take care of the persistent pressure in my bladder. I don’t realize that I’m not in fact alone until I start washing my hands and the low sound of laughter raises the small hairs at the nape of my neck. “Oh gods, you reallyarepregnant, aren’t you? You carry the next Zeus.”
I spin around, drawing my switchblade and preparing to yell for help…but stop when I register the identity of the woman standing casually a few feet away. She’s a slim white woman with short dark hair and a face that’s pretty in a very changeable way. Right now, there’s none of the cutting beauty I witnessed at our late night meeting on the water, only a roguish charm that is strangely forgettable, as though if I look away for a moment, I’ll lose track of what she looks like.
Circe.
5
Hera
“Everyone is looking for you.” It’s such a silly thing to say, but though I expected her to come here, I didn’t expect her to pop out of a stall like a damn magician.
“I know.” She’s wearing a pair of fitted jeans, a tank top, and a leather jacket. Circe moves to the sink next to me and leans forward to swipe her thumb under one eye. “I told you that I’d reach out when I was ready. I’m ready.”
It takes a single breath to get my head on straight—or as close to it as I can manage. She’s here, which means I have an opportunity to twist this situation to ensure my family remains safe. She wouldn’t seek me out if she didn’t want something. “I’m listening.”
“Good girl.” Her lips twist. “I’ve been watching you for a while—a Hera who refuses to be broken by their Zeus. A warrior in your own right. Recruiting Poseidon was a clever move, even if it didn’t quite work out the way you wanted.”
My skin heats. She sounds admiring, but this is obviously a trap.Why else craft a compliment that stings so sharply? “You’re saying a lot without saying much at all.”
Circe laughs softly. “You’re Hera. You know what this city does to those who can’t fight back. Would you have married Zeus if the safety of your family wasn’t in the mix?”
“No.” There’s no point in lying. I did what I had to.
“Only one of the Thirteen is voted on by the people. Historically, the rest are pulled primarily from the legacy families, each more rotten than the next. The best and the brightest are supposed to be the ones who lead the city, no matter what part of the city they come from, but that’s not how the system actually works. All the Thirteen care about is their own power, not the responsibilities of a good leader.” She speaks with a practiced air, as if this is something she’s said many times before.
“A good leader,” I echo. I almost laugh. “A good leader likeyou, I suppose.”
She shrugs a single shoulder. “Why not? I’m intimately acquainted with how the majority of our citizens live, the ones who aren’t invited to those glittering parties in Dodona Tower. The ones Olympus is built on the backs of. I was one of those people.”
I was relatively young when Circe became Hera for such a short time. I don’t know what it was about her that had Zeus marrying her instead of adding her to the list of his more traditional victims. Olympus has always been willing to overlook the sins of the Thirteen, and Zeus especially.
The only person who dared challenge him was Hercules, hisotherson, after the horrible events with Leda. There was no justice for Leda. Hercules was run out of town and hasn’t been seen since.I know he’s still alive because there’s a text thread in my husband’s phone from a little less than a year ago. Zeus asked Hercules to come back now that their father is dead. Hercules asked if Zeus—Perseus, then—intended to take the title. When he affirmed that he did, none of the rest of his texts gained a reply.
I don’t know what my face is doing, but apparently it’s response enough for Circe. She drags her fingers through her short hair, ruffling it attractively. “The Thirteen are a holdover from a different time. We need to move into the future—a better future. Olympus should be ruled by a government that actually represents the people, under the guidance of, well, me.”
“Strange howyoudon’t need to be elected in this utopia you paint,” I murmur.
Her smile disappears. “Did I say that?”
