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“Aphrodite, this is theprophecy,” another goddess said quietly, appearing at the far end of the room. She had more of an air of authority than the one I’d been speaking to—partly because of her stiff, white drapey dress and the impressive cloak of peacock feathers that trailed on the floor behind her, secured with a gold broach at her collarbone. Her hair and eyes were dark, a gold not-quite-crown sitting atop her head.
I stood up a little straighter, feeling as though I was under scrutiny as she approached, looking me up and down.
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Hera,” Aphrodite replied, staring at me. “Surely, this rather unimpressive creature isn’t the hero that was promised. His arms are like olive branches.”
Was that rude? I was pretty sure it was rude.
Rudeness, everywhere. Maybe it was a god thing.
“I think the prophecy was for my soul bond. Her name is Grace, and we love each other. But I don’t want her to get hurt, and my friend Dare—also her soul bond—probably doesn’t want that either, so I’m here.”
“Prophecies are foretold, yes,” a golden-haired man drawled, flopping dramatically down onto a sofa in the corner. “But above all else, they aredelivered. If the prophecy was delivered to you, then it is yours. If it was delivered to many of you, and you acted on it first, then it is yours. You certainly got here first.”
He picked up a stringed instrument, plucking idly at it while watching me from his spot at the furthest end of the room. Whoever this god was, he was deceptively pretty—with shoulder-length blonde curls and delicate features—but even from here, I could spot a hint of callousness in his eyes and smile.Humanity,Tartarus had said. I wasn’t sold so far.
“That’s Apollo,” Aphrodite said, leaning in close to inspect me again. It was deeply uncomfortable. “He knows all about prophecy.”
“Oh. Well, I know nothing about any of that.” I thought about asking them to elaborate, but I didn’t want to let my new friend down.Life. Love. Humanity. That’s what he’d said.
“Don’t you?” I hadn’t seen many people in my life—that I could remember at least—but the man who approached me was by far the most beautiful, with dark hair, a sharp jaw, and full pouting lips. “Are you lying to us? I recognize your voice, Oneiroi. I am Dionysus. I’ve heard your prayers. I make it a point to remember those who host orgies in my name, you know.”
I blinked at him, his words taking a moment to register. “I hosted awhat? No, that doesn’t sound right. I’m in love, you see. With two people. So I don’t think I’d have done anything like that.”
The god hummed, circling me with his head tilted to one side. “There’s no question it was you, but something has been done to you, hasn’t it? Your mind isn’t what it was. Do you remember who I am? Who any of us are?”
“You’re gods. Tartarus told me.” It came out a smidge more defensive than I’d intended.
“And who areyou?” Dionysus pressed. “Do you know?”
“I’m the Spirit of Dreams. I’m an Oneiroi. I’m a daimon. I’m beloved of Grace.”
Aphrodite sighed, all but swooning onto a long wooden couch, draped with blankets. “Oh, how sweet.”
“How tragic, more like,” Dionysus muttered, taking a swig of something from a golden goblet.
“He is rather old for an Oneiroi.” Amountainof a god strolled up to me, the others parting for him like water. He made the high ceiling of this strange cavern-palace seem low. His skin was golden, but everything else was silver—from his long curled hair, to his thick beard, to his eyes. While he didn’tneedthe symbol to convey authority, he wore a crown of leaves on top of his head. “Someone has extended his life by removing his memories. How interesting.”
“Is it?” I asked, staring up at him. If I were checking for signs of humanity, I’d say that was a negative strike, wasn’t it? There was no compassion there, no empathy. He looked at me as though I was a bug under a microscope, and I decided I didn’t like that feeling much.
I couldn’t let Tartarus down by choosing wrong. Tartarus seemed like he’d suffered enough, I didn’t want to add to that.
The god stared back for a long moment, his face unreadable before his beard twitched. “Ah, I see. All this time we expected a Prophêtis, a confident young woman with the ear of the gods, finding her way past Tartarus through violence or cunning to liberate us, golden armor gleaming in the firelight—”
“With a sword,” another god piped up, head-to-toe in golden armor of his own and a wistful look in his eye. “A sword with a name, as all the best swords have.”
The enormous silver god cut him an irritated look. “Yes, perhaps that is what we expected, but that isn’t you.”
Well, no. In every possible way, that wasn’t me.
“Instead what we have is Tartarus’ conscience. Come, sit. It is a heavy burden of duty for any mortal to carry.”
“Would it be rude of me to ask your name?” I said hesitantly, taking the seat he gestured to because he didn’t seem like the kind of guy I’d win an argument with on my best day.
“I am Zeus, Father of Gods and Men, god of the sky, weather, kings and fate, known also as the Cloud-Gatherer. Come now, halfling, the Spirit of Dreams. Ask your questions. Tell us of your humanity, and we will tell you of your history.”
Chapter 17
I’dseenWild.
