by Raye Wagner
Hera threw Hope back into her seat.
Hope felt like her brain was rattling around in her head, and she had a new respect for her slender ancestor. Clearly, the gods didn’t have to look strong to be strong. It had been a foolish mistake on Hope’s part to mention Apollo and Artemis’s mother to Hera. Stupid. “I’m sorry.”
Hera glared at her. “It is unforgivable—”
“But you are my grandmother,” Hope whispered, her ears still ringing from Hera’s abuse.
Hera froze. Vehemence drained out of her, and her already pale skin blanched. “Why would you even think that?”
Even if there had been a doubt, Hera’s response would’ve only served to confirm the accusation.
“I read it. In the Book of the Fates.” Hope pushed herself to the back of the chair and braced for another attack.
Hera waved her hand in a dismissive gesture and perched on the edge of her seat. “Impossible. Those books don’t even exist anymore. You must’ve been mistaken.”
“Do you know I just got back from the Underworld?” Did Hera really not know? “Even if I didn’t have access to my Book of the Fates before, I could’ve seen it then. But, we’ve always had ours. The Moirai gave it to . . .” Something in Hera’s look made Hope stop. The Moirai gave the book to Priska, who in turn gave it to Phaidra when she was old enough to have it. Exposing Priska’s part would only put her at risk for Hera’s wrath. “Us. We know you were Phoibe’s mother.”
“But the Books of the Fates were sealed,” Hera said in a hushed tone. Horror washed over her features, and she shook her head. “They were all bound.”
Hades had been right. Hera had gone to great lengths in an attempt to preserve her reputation. And here was Hope’s bargaining chip. “Not that one.”
Hera narrowed her gaze into a steely glare as she faced Hope. Leaning forward, the goddess asked in a voice like ground glass, “What do you want?”
Hope wanted to tell Hera that she needed to help Hope break the curse. If Hera was on Hope’s side, surely the gods would support it. But, her oath to Hades had to be honored. “Is it true that you bound the gods of the Underworld to protect your secret?”
Hera sucked in a breath, the angry hissing a chilling sound. Leaning toward Hope, she whispered, “Who said that?”
Hope couldn’t think of any reason not to tell the truth. “Hades.”
“Hades is a fool.” But the queen of the gods wrung her hands, twisting them in her lap.
“Look, I get that you don’t want your secret to get out. But, really, who cares? It was thousands of years ago, and you’ve been faithful ever since, right? If you acknowledge the truth—”
Hera pointed a manicured finger at Hope. “Don’t pretend in your little mind that you know anything about me.”
Hope held up her hands. “I don’t. I’m asking you to consider breaking the binding on the Underworld. There’s no reason not to.”
Hera clutched her hands together in her lap and straightened. She pursed her lips as if she were considering Hope’s request.
Seconds ticked by, and Hope turned her gaze toward the window. The sun had set, and the hue of the sky was deepening into a rich indigo.
“And if I were to consider this . . . request,” Hera said, her eyes cold and calculating, “where would I find your Book of the Fates now?”
Warning bells went off in Hope’s head. There was no way she would have Hera track Athan down. “Why?”
Hera leaned back in the chair. Crossing her ankles, she smoothed the fabric of her chiton. Finally, she looked at Hope, lip curled in contempt. The goddess sniffed, barely able to deign having a conversation with someone so insignificant, and said, “Bring me the Book of the Fates, and I’ll consider your request.”
Hope’s immediate response was to mentally kick herself for not bringing it with her. “It’s not here.”
Hera held out her hand, and Hope’s tattered backpack materialized. She extended the pack to Hope. “Is it in here?”
Hope grabbed the pack and held it close before answering. “No.”
Hera studied Hope. “You wouldn’t try to lie to me, would you? How do I know this isn’t made up, a story Hades fed you to try to get his way? If you died, the story would disappear with you, and no one would be the wiser.”
Games. Always games. Hope would need to call the bluff. “I’ve given it to a friend. If I don’t come back from Olympus, he’ll make sure the story gets out.”
“Then I suggest you have a talk with your pathetic friend,” Hera sneered. She stood and crossed over to Hope. “Now. Before he’s dead.”
Hope’s mind raced. Could Hera really know whom Hope was talking about? She clutched her backpack. Hope opened her mouth to ask, to plead, to promise, but the words disappeared as she was transported.
Athan flipped through the pages of Hope’s Book of the Fates again. The crimson leather was wearing thin on the corners that had blackened with time, and he traced his fingers over the golden lettering on the front. Athan knew hiding the truth was wrong, but he also understood the shame that came with mistakes of the past. Hera’s desperate actions to cover up her infidelity made sense. Her hypocrisy could be exploited by one of the other gods, the perfect tool for manipulation.
But it still wasn’t right.
“Do you mind if we write in it?” a woman asked.
Athan startled with the question. Three beautiful women crossed the dark rock toward him, and his heart raced as he recognized the Fates.
The Moirai goddess, Lachesis, looked intently at him as she strode forward, carrying her measuring rod as though it were a walking stick.
Tucking the heavy tome under his arm, he jumped up to greet his visitors.
Lachesis, Atropos, and Clotho looked exactly the same as the last time he’d seen them in the throne room of Hades. All three wore matching traditional chitons, and the leather messenger bag they always had with them was slung across Lachesis’s chest.
Clotho, the blond goddess, continued to knit, but she leveled her intense gaze on him. Both Lachesis and Atropos also stared at him, with similarly penetrating gazes, and he self-consciously ran his hands over his shirt and pants to smooth out any wrinkles.
With no way to accurately measure time, Athan wondered if he looked a little worse for wear. When was the last time he’d changed his clothes or taken a shower? Was it hours or days that he’d been trapped in the Underworld?
Atropos pointed at the thick book. “May I see it?”
He hesitated long enough for awkwardness to settle between them.
“I promise I’ll return it,” she said with a huff of impatience.
“It’s not that,” he said, anxious to reassure them. “I was just wondering if you touching it would affect it being bound here.”
Clotho smiled. “Very astute, but no. Our touch will not affect the book’s ability to leave here. We are tied here. The other books are connected to this realm only because we are. In truth, the Olympians can call for a psychopomp to transport them.” She raised her eyebrows and continued, “Like your father.”
Athan held it out toward the three goddesses, and Atropos took it. Opening the book, she skipped past the pages of writing until she got to the blank pages. Then she touched a pair of shears to the paper, and black script appeared, page after page of angled writing. When she was done, she held it out to Lachesis, who did the same. Touching the etched rod to the paper, more script appeared. This writing was flowy, with loops, embellishments, and doodles in the margins. When she was finished, she held it out to her sister. Clotho touched her needles to the blank page, only for a second, before she pulled them back to resume her knitting. Another writing, with distinctly different penmanship, appeared, this one a hurried scrawl. They then handed the book back to Athan.
“Is Hope’s story in there?” The thought that he could read about what she was doing made his heart swell with anticipation.
Lachesis shook her head. “No. Her story isn’t finished, yet.�
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The initial disappointment washed away as understanding dawned. At least he knew she was still alive. “Can you take me to her?”
Atropos barked a short laugh. “Impossible.”
“We are still bound, Son of Hermes.” Clotho continued to watch him as she knit, her eyes full of warmth. “Our power is limited to the Underworld. But perhaps we can make your accommodations more comfortable.”
“It’s okay,” he said. He didn’t want to be in debt to any other god, and more than that, he didn’t want to be stuck in the Underworld long enough to need such things. “I don’t—”
Lachesis pulled a thread from her bag, as well as a small silver ring. Clotho took the ring and, with a couple of loops, set the stitch marker in place. Then she took the thread from Lachesis and started to knit.
The black rock of the Underworld became liquid night around him. Walls formed with doorways then halls. Curtains on windows, a kitchen table, cabinets, counters, and a sink.
“You can give me running water?”
A slow smile spread across Clotho’s porcelain features. “Yes, but remember where you are.”
Right. He couldn’t drink the water or he’d be bound. Even so, the idea of a shower was pretty appealing.
She continued her pattern until they were standing in the middle of a very modern living room. Then she pulled the string from her needles and handed it to Lachesis, trading for her previous project.
“Your room is at the end of the hall,” Atropos said. Her sharp gaze went to Clotho and then returned to him. With a troubled expression, she said, “The other three are ours.”
Shock rippled through him. “You’re staying with me?”
Lachesis cleared her throat, and the three goddesses were silent as troubled expressions settled over their faces. Finally, Lachesis nodded. “Our mother asked us to look after you for a while.”
Which also meant he wasn’t leaving any time soon. With a deep sigh, he turned toward the hall. “I’m going to take a shower.”
Lachesis laughed.
He didn’t catch Clotho’s response, if she even had one, because he’d already started down the hall. But Atropos’s words followed him all the way to his room.
“Good idea.”
As soon as the room materialized around her, Hope sensed the wrongness of it. The smell of metal and blood made her stomach turn, and her vision confirmed the sense of foreboding as she took in the splashes of red against the marble walls. She swallowed back the fear crawling inside her throat, turned, and gasped. Her backpack slid from her hands to the floor.
Xan was chained to a wall. Chained. His face was distorted from the torture, his eyes swollen shut and his nose smashed, probably broken in several places. Dried blood caked his chin, and his lower lip oozed from a deep split. Again. Black and blue contusions mottled his chest, the tattoos mixing with the bruises in grotesque patterns of pain. Xan’s pants were mostly still intact, although his belt and waistband were saturated with dark moisture from the lashes on his torso. Then she noticed there were rips and tears in his pants as if torn from a whip? Blood pooled underneath him, and even his bare feet were swollen and bloodied. The rattled wheezing of his labored breathing was the only indication he was still alive.
With a cry, she ran to him but stopped herself from touching him. She searched his body, looking for somewhere free from Ares’s wrath, but the god had been meticulous in his torture.
“Hope?” Xan tilted his chin up and grunted in pain.
“Oh, gods.” She choked on the words. The guilt of letting Ares take him strangled her. How could she have not demanded to follow? How could she have showered, and eaten all that food, while he was down here? She was the worst person ever. Hera had called Hope selfish, and she was. Oh gods, she was.
Hope ripped off a piece of the flowing chiton and dried her tears. Then she took the moistened fabric and dabbed at Xan’s face. “I’m so sorry.”
The guilt and horror were just like after being at Ares’s temple, but so much worse. Hope wiped the blood from Xan’s face until the green fabric was red. Her tears continued to run, and she ripped a second then a third piece from the dress as she attempted to clean off the blood. Slowly, Xan began to heal. Every second felt like an eternity, but she wouldn’t stop her ministrations.
Her heart was broken, her chest empty and hollow, and she threw the now saturated fabric into the corner with the others. Studying her much shorter skirt, she looked for a way to rip off another bit of fabric.
“If you take any more off, and we actually get out of here, Athan won’t just beat me up,” Xan said.
Hope looked up into Xan’s face. Fresh tears cascaded down her cheeks, and she wrapped her arms around him. “I thought he’d killed you.”
Xan’s chest rumbled as he chuckled. “I already told you he wouldn’t do that. Now, where did you get the new threads?”
Hope wiped her face on the loose fabric covering her shoulders. “Hera.” She outlined the conversation she’d had with her great-grandmother. “She thinks you have the Book of the Fates.”
Xan studied Hope, weighing the information she’d shared. Finally, he said, “Don’t tell her the truth. Right now, you have control. Don’t relinquish it to her.”
“But I don’t even know where it is.”
Xan winced as he nodded, his arms twitching as if he wanted to pull them from the chains. “But she doesn’t know that. You need to get her to swear an oath to you, something that will bind her. Find out how much she’s willing to give, and then hold her to it.”
Of course. Even beaten and bloody, Xan could think straight and know what to do.
“What about you?” She fiddled with the metal shackles binding him to the wall. “How do I get you out of here?”
“No.”
She froze, unable to believe what she’d heard. She stepped back from him so she could see his face, and she was shocked with the determination found there. “What do you mean?”
“If you help me get out of here, every god on Olympus will know I can be used against you, and you will lose all your power.”
A sinking sensation sucked away her confidence. Everything he said was true, but he was all she had left.
“But if you leave me here, they won’t know. They’ll wonder and doubt at your decision, and you will still hold the cards. Come on now, lass,” he continued, “Ares may have beaten me, but these were all flesh wounds. He’s ecstatic. Hera is raging mad, and Apollo is running around politicking and bargaining. The others are livid because they now know Apollo was the cause of destruction in the Olympian temple, and he’s trying to do damage control. They are all desperate with fear, and all of Olympus is in an upheaval. The gods are bickering and fighting with one another, flinging accusations and blame. Ares loves it.”
Xan was lying, at the very least about the flesh wounds, but she had no doubt he would tell her what was in her best interest. Even so, Hope knew her goal of breaking the curse was hopeless. This power Xan thought she had was an illusion. Apollo had to acknowledge the fulfillment of the curse, and Hope had no enticement to force his hand. Hera wanted the Book of the Fates to keep her secret safe, but Hope didn’t even know where it was, and without that, Hope had no collateral for the queen of Olympus.
Hope sat on the floor at his feet, brushing off the dried blood. “But I can’t actually do anything.”
“One thing at a time, luv. Get her to swear an oath on the Styx, if you give her the Book of the Fates, she must release the binding on the gods of the Underworld. At least you know you have allies there.”
True. The Moirai could help if they were here.
“What about you?”
Xan smiled, and the macabre sight was oddly comforting. “When Ares shows up and kicks you out, make him actually kick you out. He probably won’t touch you because of Apollo, and if you refuse to leave through a portal, he’ll have to literally show you the door. At that point, you’ll be in the hallway. See what you can figure out f
rom there. Any information about the lay of the land could be helpful.”
She didn’t want to tell him how she’d seen the hallways curve and disappear. She pushed back the doubt and fear, determination sinking into her soul. She could figure it out. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“That’s my girl.” He dipped his head, and his gaze fell to her backpack. “How did you get that back?”
“Hera gave it to me.” Hope sighed and scooted across the floor to get it. “I have no idea how she got it.” Hope tried to remember the last time she’d had the pack. “Would your dad have given it to her?”
Xan grimaced. “If he did, he would’ve had a reason for it. What’s in there?”
She grabbed the pack and sat cross-legged in front of Xan. Opening the flap, she pulled out a thick cream envelope. She’d forgotten all about it, but Athan must’ve put it in her pack after she gave him her Book of the Fates. “There’s a coin in here. From Myrine. She gave it to me when I was in Goldendale.”
She set the envelope on the floor and turned back to the bag.
“Wait.”
Her hand froze in midair.
“Show me the coin, please?”
She tore open the envelope and dropped the heavy coin into her palm. Holding it up for Xan, she showed him the side with the scales then flipped it to the side with the cornucopia. “He told me it was a gift, or maybe it was an apology.”
Xan’s mouth dropped open, and his hands flinched in the metal shackles. In a reverent tone, he said, “That’s a coin from Themis. You’d better keep that safe.”
Hope went to put it in the backpack, but Xan’s words stopped her.
“Safer than that, Hope. Keep it on you.”
Blushing, she tucked the coin into the top of her undergarments and then reached back in the pack. She pulled out a bottle of water and gave a chirp of triumph. She held the water to Xan’s lips while he drank it. All of it.
With a deep sigh, she resumed her seat, pulled out the buttery-yellow Book of the Fates, and frowned. She’d taken the book with her everywhere since returning from the Underworld, until she lost it at Ares’s temple. So far the yellow book had been useless. With a sigh, she set it on the floor.