Page 55 of A Crown of Hopes and Sorrows

“Before you go.” I gasped, a cry building in my chest that I had to fight. “Is it true Hera caused your death?”

The smoke-form of my mother studied me for a moment before she spoke again. “Yes. Your father veiled you before your birth. And until we separated, that veil extended to me. After you were born, Hera sought me out.”

“I’ll make her pay.”

“No.” Mother’s voice came stern. “Don’t let vengeance distract you. That’s always been Hera’s shortcoming. Focus on your task and trust that Hera will face the consequences of the life she’s led.”

“I need to ascend?”

She inclined her head, her long lashes brushing her cheeks. “Seek your father, have the veil removed, rise to power, and help your brother do the same.”

“That last part may be the most difficult.”

The corners of her lips turned up. “I don’t doubt it. But they are all tasks you can manage, my daughter. Do not forget who you are. And don’t lose sight of the goodness in your heart.”

The image disappeared as the fog receded.

Only the navy darkness of the beach, the outline of the jungle, and the two women standing on the shore by me remained.

I released a breath and hit my knees.

Sappho dropped beside me. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

Hecate slumped. “I shall take my leave now. If you ever need me again”—her golden eyes pierced into me—“you may call me.”

She reached out, handing me a bronze key on a chain.

“Thank you,” I said, accepting it.

The earth shook.

And Sappho and I sat alone on the shore.

I sighed. Sappho wrapped an arm around me, her palm circling my back. “Is there anything else I can help you with, my dear?”

I clenched my teeth, my fingers digging into the key, but then lifted my face to hers. “Do you know how to call on Poseidon?”

22

Hyacinth

“May I walk you back to your room?” Zephyrus said, his eyes flaming with a desire that left me feeling queasy, my palms growing damp. “To pick up our discussion?”

The party had cleared out, deities finding their ways to bedrooms. Lights had dimmed and fires glowed low and peachy in hearths. “Of course,” I said.

As we weaved our way through the few lingering souls in the rooms, I searched for Apollo. But he wasn’t anywhere on our path. He must have already turned in for the night. For the briefest moment, I thought of the goddess that had her hand tucked around his arm and had draped in towards him, whispering. He couldn’t be with her, could he? I gave my head a shake. That was ridiculous. I trusted Apollo and letting jealousy—unfounded at that—color my views of things because I missed him and longed for him, was senseless. He was probably asleep.

I wished to seek him out, hold him, feel the coarse texture of his curls as they brushed against my fingers, listen to whatever burdened him and share in turn.

But we were leaving the next day.

And tomorrow night I was spending several hours in his arms, regardless of where we stopped for the evening. I was ready to scream our relationship to the mountains, solely so I could hold his hand.

“You can see, after tonight,” Zephyrus said, stealing into my thoughts, “how close many of the low deities are.”

We turned to the hallway that led to my room, torchlights flickering over tapestries that covered the gray stone walls. “Yes, I noticed that. It appears that their loyalties lie in a different direction than I had expected.”