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“What are you doing here?” I ask as I walk past her to the liquor.
“Thought I’d drop in… see how things are going.”
“Want a drink?” I ask.
“I’m good.”
I open the decanter, pour a generous three fingers, and take a sip. I stay at the sideboard, my back to Zora, and wait for her to say something.
She remains quiet as a mouse, though, and my nerves are frazzled from the millions of questions swirling in my head.
I finally turn and ask the most important one. “How is she?”
I haven’t seen Zora since Nyssa left. I have no idea what she did with her, but I expect she gave her a great life near her brother as negotiated. I’ve resisted time and time again calling out to the god of Life to demand an update.
Zora taps her fingers on the armrest. “She’s good.”
Another sip of the bourbon. “Is she happy?”
“I don’t know.” She stares at me with her gem-colored eyes, and I know she’s going to make me work for it.
“You do know,” I accuse. “You know everything. You’re a fucking god, for fuck’s sake.”
Zora stares at me without expression, refusing to engage with my impertinence.
I tip the glass, pouring the bourbon down my throat, and give my back to Zora again. I pour another glass, this time almost to the top. Who knows, maybe I can get drunk.
The silence is almost deafening, and after taking another hefty swig, I drop my head and sigh. “I want her back.”
“I told you you were making a mistake,” she chides.
I glare at her over my shoulder. “Do you want a medal or something?”
Zora stands, her face a mask of anger. Her hair lifts and crackles as she says, “Careful, Amell. I have a soft spot for you, but it doesn’t mean it will always be that way.”
I should apologize, but I don’t. I just stare at my drink sitting on the sideboard, my hand curled around it. “I want to fix it with her. Bring her back to me.”
“I can’t,” Zora says.
I wheel around. “You can. You have the power.”
“I can’t,” she says. “Not because I don’t have the power but because Nyssa has a new life. She has free will. I’m not forcing her back here.”
“Then ask her if she’ll come so—”
“Amell,” Zora snaps, and I blink at her. “I’m not doing any of this for you. You want to fix it, you fix it, but leave me out of it.”
“I’d fix it if you’d let me out of this hellhole,” I grumble. “Lift my punishment.”
“I can’t do that either,” she says, and I have to resist the urge to throw my glass across the room. “It was a unanimous decision to punish you in that way, and I cannot rescind it or make an exception.”
“Then let me talk to all the gods and request it.”
Hope surges in me when she doesn’t immediately deny my suggestion, as she’s shot down everything else I’ve asked for.
“It’s Circe you’d need to convince,” Zora finally says.
My brows furrow, and I forget about the bourbon. Stepping toward Zora, I ask, “Why Circe?”
