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?some of the worst Daphne had ever seen—but when she listened for the sound of Helen’s heart, she heard it beating slowly but steadily.
It wasn’t much past dawn by the time they made it back to Nantucket from the caves on the Massachusetts mainland. In the early morning light, Daphne carried Helen up the Delos staircase and down the hallway to the first room she could find that seemed to belong to a girl. She looked regretfully at the pretty silk comforter that her filthy, blood-soaked daughter was about to ruin. Not that it mattered. The House of Thebes had a large enough fortune to replace it. A fortune that had, in part, once belonged to Daphne and Helen’s House—the House of Atreus.
Tantalus could scream “holy war” and rant about how it was the “Scions’ turn” to rule as much as he wanted, but he’d never fooled the Heads of the other Houses. The Purge some twenty years ago was just as much a grab for the other Houses’ wealth as it was a grab for immortality.
The prophecy that started the Purge said that when the Four Houses were made into One House by the shedding of blood, then Atlantis would rise again. The exact wording that Daphne had memorized stated that in the new Atlantis, the Scions could find immortality. The prophecy didn’t actually say that the Scions would become immortal—it just said they could find immortality there. Daphne wasn’t optimistic enough to think immortality was a sure thing. But Tantalus was, and he’d used this prophecy to rally the Hundred Cousins of Thebes around him to kill off all the other Houses.
The whole thing was a sham, as far as Daphne was concerned, sanctified by a lot of mumbo jumbo from the last Oracle—who they all knew had gone crazy after making her first prophecy. But it worked.
Lots of Scions left their vast properties behind to be plundered by the House of Thebes in order to play dead and avoid the slaughter—like Daedalus and Leda, Orion’s parents. Like Daphne herself. But Daphne had never cared for money. Then again, she’d never had any moral qualms about taking money when she needed it. Other Scions, like Orion and his parents, did have qualms about theft, and they’d struggled for the last two decades while the House of Thebes lived in luxury. Remembering this, Daphne placed Helen on the bed and destroyed the lovely comforter with a little smile.
Before Daphne could turn to get water and gauze to clean her daughter’s rapidly healing wounds, Helen disappeared and life-draining cold took her place. Daphne assumed that Helen had descended. Time ticked by. Daphne waited, her anxiety growing with each moment. She had thought that trips to the Underworld were instantaneous—that time didn’t pass. So much time went by that Daphne began to wonder if she should wake up the rest of the house, but before she made a move, Helen reappeared. Her body smelled like the barren air of the Underworld.
Daphne’s teeth chattered, not from the cold, but from the fearful memories the smell of that air awoke in her. She had nearly died so many times now that she could guess what part of the Underworld Helen had visited. The smell was not baked enough to be the dry lands, and there was a touch of damp mud clinging to Helen’s feet. Daphne guessed that meant she must have gone to the banks of the River Styx itself.
“Helen?” Daphne cooed. She smoothed her daughter’s hair and peered into her chilled face.
Helen had been terribly injured in her battle with Ares, but if she were going to die, Daphne knew she would be dead already. Helen must have used her ability to descend to the Underworld on purpose, probably to look for her newly dead friend—the envious one who’d unfortunately gotten himself enslaved by Automedon.
More than once, Daphne had gone on a similar journey looking for Ajax, but she did not have her daughter’s ability to come and go in the Underworld at will. She’d had to all but die to get there. After Ajax had been murdered, she had no will to live, but she knew that killing herself wouldn’t reunite her with her lost husband. Daphne had to die in battle like Ajax had, or she would never end up in the same part of the Underworld. Heroes went to the Elysian Fields. Suicides went—who knows where? She had thrown herself into every honorable fight she could find. She sought out the other Scions in hiding and recklessly defended the weak and the young—just as she’d done for Orion when he was a little boy. Many times, Daphne had been nearly killed in battle and made the journey down to the Underworld, always seeking her husband by the banks of the River Styx.
But all she had found was Hades. Unrelenting, enigmatic Hades, who would not restore her husband to life and take her instead no matter how much she begged or bargained. The lord of the dead did not make deals. She hoped Helen hadn’t descended in the hopes that she could raise her friend back to life. It was a fool’s errand—for now, anyway. But Daphne had been working for nearly two decades to change that.
“Can’t see you,” Helen murmured, and her fingers flexed, like she was trying to grab something. Daphne immediately understood. She, too, had wanted desperately to see Hades and had tried to pull the Helm of Darkness off his head. Eventually, after Daphne half died enough times to pay off all of her blood debts and rid herself of the Furies, Hades had finally showed her his face.
It was recognizing Hades that had set her plan in motion. The plan that had broken her only daughter’s heart by separating her from the one she loved.
“Oh. Sorry,” Matt said from the doorway, startling Daphne out of her spiraling thoughts. She wiped her damp face and turned to see that Matt had Ariadne draped limply across his arms. She was a ghastly shade of gray and barely conscious, having exhausted herself trying to heal Jerry. “She wanted to sleep in her own room.”
“I’m sure they’ll both fit,” she said, gesturing to the wide bed. “I didn’t know where else to take Helen.”
“Seems like there’s an injured person on every piece of furniture in the house,” Matt said. He carried Ariadne over and laid her down gently next to Helen.
Strong boy, Daphne thought, staring at Helen’s friend.
“It’ll be easier to watch over them together, anyway,” Daphne said, still surveying Matt.
He’d shaped up and put on a lot of muscle since last she saw him, but even still. Ariadne was a buxom girl, not a willowy thing like Helen, and Matt wasn’t even breathing hard after carrying her down the long hallway.
Ariadne mumbled something unintelligible to Matt before he pulled away, her face crinkled in protest at his departure. He stopped to smooth her hair. Daphne could nearly smell the love wafting off of him and filling the room, like something sweet and delicious baking in an oven.
“I’ll be back soon,” he whispered. Ariadne’s eyes fluttered and then stilled as she fell into a deep sleep. He ran his lips across her cheek, stealing the smallest of kisses. He turned to Daphne and looked down at Helen. “You need anything?”
“I can handle it. Go. Do what you need to do.” He gave her a grateful look, and she watched him stride out of the room—back straight and shoulders squared in the new light of morning.
Like a warrior.
Helen saw herself running down a beach toward the biggest lighthouse she’d ever seen.
It was strange at first. How in the world could she be watching herself like she was watching a movie? It didn’t feel like a dream. No dream had ever felt so real or been so logical. Still not understanding what was going on, she quickly got wrapped up in the drama and just went with it.
Dream Helen was wearing a long, diaphanous white dress, held together by a richly embroidered girdle. Her sheer veil had come loose from the pins in her hair, and streamed behind her as she ran. She looked frightened. As the giant lighthouse loomed closer, Helen saw her dream-self recognize a figure standing at one of the points of the octagonal base. She saw a flash of bronze as the figure undid the buckles at his neck and waist, and allowed his breastplate to fall into the sand. She saw herself cry out with happiness and pick up speed.
After shedding half his armor, the tall, dark young man turned at the sound of her voice and ran toward her, meeting her halfway. The two lovers crashed together. He caught her up against his chest and kissed her. Helen watched herse
lf throw her arms around his neck and kiss him back, then pull away so she could kiss his face over and over in a dozen different places—as if she wanted to cover every bit of him. Helen’s mind drifted closer to the entwined pair, already knowing who the other Helen was kissing.
Lucas. He was strangely dressed and wearing a sword around his waist. He had sandals on his feet, and his hands were wrapped with worn leather straps and covered with bronze gauntlets, but it was really him. Even the laugh he gave as the other Helen smothered him with kisses was the same.
