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The question is so unexpected, I almost trip. I glance back at Ares, still not quite sure if I’ve heard him correctly. But he seems to be waiting for a response.
“Yeah. Yes, I’m alright. Or I will be, once I’m out of the Underworld.”
My hand comes up, cupping the pendant. I can feel Janie’s presence, I’m sure of it. It’s not just wishful thinking. If I close my eyes, I can feel the pressure of her little hand all those years ago as she skipped along beside me, asking a million questions with machine gun intensity.
I have the insane urge to summon her out of the relic, to check and make sure she’s really in there, which is silly because I watched her go in, and so I’m not summoning her back until we’re safely out of the Underworld.
Ares’s dark eyes flick to my hand on the pendant. “I’m glad your sister is returned to you.”
It’s such an odd, stilted way of saying it that I have to look at him fully. He’s rigid for a guy who just got released from Hell after however many millennia. It takes me a minute to recognize the statement for what it is; the closest thing to an apology he can bring himself to make.
I won’t be able to forgive Ares, not until I have Janie back, at least, but I do offer him a small smile. That causes some of the harsh angles of his body to smooth as he relaxes, which shifts my attention to his broad shoulders. And then the memory of clinging to those shoulders, clawing my pleasure into his skin as he rose above me, a dark god of conquest. I have to whirl around before he can see the blood flooding into my face.
So not the time for this. Plus, with any luck, I’m about to be reunited with Adonis, and who knows how that will go, and good gods how did I get myself into this mess?
The standing stones shine with a soft radiance, and even a few steps away I can feel the sheer amount of power humming inside them. It’s like hearing a choir from another room, glorious music, but whisper soft.
The power surges around us, voices arcing up into a crescendo, and I glance back one last time to where Rhiannon and Arawn are standing.
Her death shroud is gone. The fabric has grown lighter, and draped down to the floor, shimmering with the same soft radiance of the standing stones. She looks like she’s wearing a dress made of starlight. A coronet of light and white fire rests across her brow, a crown fit for a queen. But all of it pales when compared to the light in her face as she smiles up at Arawn, absolutely glowing with joy.
I think they’ll be okay.
She manages to tear her gaze away long enough to lift her hand and wave to me, and then the light folds around Ares and me, and we’re gone.
FIFTEEN
PEN
I emerge from the frozen lake in Morevna’s winter wonderland palace.
The goddess herself is sitting on her throne, blonde braid tossed over one shoulder. She’s slumped forward, elbows on her knees, looking relaxed and comfortable like she’s sprawled on a cushy armchair instead of a throne made from a hundred different shades of ice.
The casual position surprises me, and I don’t know why. I mean, I’ve met my extended family, and that should have squashed any expectation of godly dignity out of me before I reached puberty. And yet, even having watched Dionysus sleeping off another bacchanal, and seeing Zeus, the king of the gods, playing grab ass with a bunch of nymphs, apparently, I still don’t expect to see the goddess of death lounging around like a woman in her housecoat.
Then my eyes settle on the man she’s having a conversation with, and all other thoughts fly out of my head.
Adonis shakes back his mane of golden hair, seemingly relaxed in Morevna’s presence. But more than that, his skin is a healthy bronze, no longer tinted blue and black with Chaena’s freezing curse. He looks healthy and whole, and while there are some lines of tension on his face, and a tightness around his eyes, my Scythian King looks as well as I’ve ever seen him.
I must make some sort of noise, or maybe she just senses me, because Morevna turns to give me a look, one brow quirked into an arch.
“You’re alive,” she says, with an insulting level of surprise. “I suppose I owe Erio one of my books.”
My face puckers up like I’ve just bit into a lemon. “You bet against me?”
Morevna remains unmoved in the face of my indignation, only lifting one shoulder in an extremely lazy shrug. “I’m a practical woman. And you have to admit, the odds were against you.”
“Gee, thanks,” is all I get out, before Adonis is on me, sweeping me up off my feet to spin us both around.
“Penelope.” My name whispered in his voice sounds more like a prayer than anything offered to me before. “Penelope, you’re alive! You’ve come back.”
I hug him, a grin stretching my mouth as I bury my face in his hair, breathing him in. Because I know what he means. Having him here, whole and healthy, and in my arms? It’s more than I could have hoped for.
“I’m here.” His arms only clutch tighter, so I repeat myself, trying to make him hear me. I know Azhrea liked to play mind games with him, to spin illusions. So, I press myself to Adonis’s chest, dig my fingers into his shoulders, trying to prove to him I’m real and not just some wishful daydream. “I’m here.”
He finally pulls back just enough to see my face, his eyes taking in every feature, like he still can’t bring himself to believe it. “Your sister, is she...?”
I lean forward and press my lips to his ear. “I have her.”
