Fates and Furies (The Sphinx Book 4)

by Raye Wagner

  He blanched at the attention but nodded at the goddess. “Tisiphone, I hope you are well.”

  “Quite well, thank you. It seems the binding to the Underworld has been cut, and we’re to judge for righteous vengeance. I suppose Tartarus will have some new occupants.”

  “How could that be?” Athena hissed. Waving at the Fates, she continued, “None of you have the power to bind us to Tartarus. Who gave you the idea? I will have his name.”

  “I did,” said Nyx. “As is my right and duty, I have brought order.”

  Athena swallowed, and her gaze darted to the slumped figure of Hope. “How could she—?”

  “She is my daughter.” Nyx approached Hera. “I will have your shears and your needle. You are hereby stripped of your title, Hera. You are not fit to be queen.”

  “You have abused your power, each of you,” Nyx went on to say, after collecting the immortal tools from Hera. “You were given great power, but it was given so you could rule man. Not so you could lord over him. You will likely find the difference in Tartarus.”

  Alecto accepted the small scrap of black fabric from her sister. After running her hand over it, Alecto dropped it on the ground and indicated that they all back up.

  Athan stood, leaned over to pull Hope back, and swore as she left a trail of red and gold on the white marble. She whimpered in her sleep.

  “It appears that they tried to stop her.”

  “They drove their blades into her,” Atropos mumbled.

  As consciousness wiggled its way through the blanket of darkness, Hope thought about sitting up. She thought about what had happened on Olympus, and what the implications might be. Deep down she wanted to care. But that first time awareness tickled her, she pushed it away.

  The smell of saltwater and hot sand wafted through the open window, as well as the sound of the crashing tide. The warm air felt like a balm, and Hope ran her hand over the silky sheets, relishing the luxury. Rolling over, she wanted to snuggle deep into bed and never open her eyes. As soon as she did, she’d have to deal with reality, and she’d had too much reality of late.

  The door opened, and the smell of fresh bread and bacon teased her. Athan said, “Breakfast is here.”

  But his voice made her eyes snap open. She absorbed the whiteness of the room, recognizing they were still at Olympus, as her gaze traveled to his face.

  Athan wore at least one day of scruff on his cheeks, and he had smudges of dark that told of more than one sleepless night. But his beautiful green eyes lit from within when he saw her staring at him. He carried a dark wood tray holding several covered dishes and set it at the foot of the bed. He closed the distance and trailed his fingers over her face.

  “I thought I was going to lose you. Again.” He smiled, a sad lift of just the corner of his lips, and then perched on the edge of the bed. “Are you feeling better?”

  Better than what? It seemed an unfair question to ask. The fact that she was on Olympus and not in the Underworld meant she was still alive, and so was Athan. Her body ached, the soreness reminding her of working out with Xan, which immediately made her think of his death. She tried to remember the rest, and the pieces flashed together in an incomplete picture of chaos. She remembered sewing, and that was it.

  She sat up, the white covers dropping to a puddle in her lap. “Did we do it?”

  He nodded, withdrawing his hand to his lap. “You did it. The Olympians are bound to Tartarus. The Furies collected them and dragged them through a portal.”

  Halfway through her next breath, the sense of victory turned cold in her chest, and guilt wiggled in. Hope bit her lip, and her gaze dropped to the fabric in her lap. She fingered the divine bedding, rubbing it between her fingers as she thought through what that meant. The waves crashed in the distance, and the weight of what she’d done pressed on her. Without looking up, she asked, “All of them?”

  “All except my father,” he whispered. “Atropos recognized his thread. She never cut it.”

  Hope felt a surge of relief. Hermes had helped them, a little late perhaps, but his aid had been instrumental. The gods had been ready to harm him however they were able. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know . . .”

  Athan shifted on the bed. “I know.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not mad at you. It all turned out okay.”

  “Did it?” She’d been convinced of the rightness of what she was doing almost all the way through, but now that it was over, uncertainty gripped her. Everything she’d pushed to the side in her determination to break the curse, to prevent anyone else from being harmed by the gods, settled like a weight. She didn’t want to ask; she feared the answer, but she needed to know . . . “Did I make a bigger mess?”

  Athan was silent.

  Hope looked at his hands first, resting on his lap, then his chest. His fitted moss-green T-shirt reminded her of days in Goldendale. Funny how that seemed a lifetime ago.

  His chest rose and fell as he took slow, steady breaths.

  Her gaze traveled upward to his neck, chin, lips, nose, and his eyes. Eyes that had once held secrets, then held her confidence, and then gave her hope and courage, and finally love.

  But right now, storms of conflict brewed behind the pools of vibrant green.

  “You want me to tell you no, and gods, I want to. But the truth is I have no idea. No one does. You’ve done something no one else has ever done. So,” he said, shrugging, “I don’t know.”

  She swallowed, wanting to pull the covers over her head.

  “You did what had to be done. The gods were corrupt, using mortals as their personal toys, with no regard for the mess they left behind. That kind of corruption seeps down. It’s why you have demigods who treat mortals poorly, too. I don’t have an answer for what will happen next, but I know what you did was right.”

  She thought of the Olympians she’d bound and the countless minor gods still free. “Do you think we have to do something to the others?”

  The idea that she might have to do something like that ever again made her want to crawl under the covers and never come out.

  Athan’s eyes twinkled, and his lips turned up in a familiar smirk. “I think you’ve sent a very powerful message. And you have a very powerful family that supports you. I’d be surprised if anyone stepped out of line for a very, very long time.”

  Hope pointed at the tray. “Is anyone else still here?”

  Athan nodded. “Hestia is, as well as several demigods who serve with her. And there are all the minor gods. A bunch of them came up to Olympus yesterday to find out what had happened.”

  She was trying to listen to what Athan was saying, and Hope knew she should care, but the smell of bacon was driving her insane, and she leaned over to grab the large tray and pull it to her.

  Chuckling, Athan helped her arrange it on her lap, and while she ate, he explained what had happened.

  “The Fates left with Nyx to make sure the gods of the Underworld don’t interfere with the Olympians. They said they’d come back to check on you soon. As far as Olympus, my understanding is there will be a vote unless Hephaestus decides to come back and rule.”

  Hephaestus would be fabulous, but Hope already knew he wouldn’t do it. “What about Hades or Poseidon?” Not that she trusted Hades, and Poseidon had already made it clear he wasn’t interested.

  “Nope. They already have realms to rule. Hestia sent a message to both of them, but neither had any interest. Which I was a little surprised about, to tell you the truth.”

  Just thinking about the brothers of Zeus made her head hurt.

  A knock on the door saved her from her own thoughts, and Athan stood to answer it.

  “Hush girls,” Nyx said when the door opened.

  Hope straightened as Nyx, Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos walked into the room. The first time she’d seen the Moirai, each of the goddesses looked nothing like each other. But there were small resemblances, like their facial structure, their smiles, and their fluid movements. Clo was knitting, but Hope c
ould see the needles clacking in the air and bright threads bursting into existence within the fabric of reality. Lachesis leaned on her staff, and Atropos’s normally grim face was lit with a wide smile.

  “You’ve done it, my child.” Nyx scurried across the room and climbed up on the empty side of the bed. She pulled Hope into a hug and patted her on the back.

  Whatever strength Hope thought she’d woken up with crumbled, and she clung to the petite girl, who was oddly more mother than child.

  “We’ve brought you something,” Lachesis said with a grin.

  Atropos whispered something to Clotho, and the blond girl set her needles down.

  “I wanted to make you a little something as a way of saying thanks.” Blushing, she held out a small box to Hope.

  Hope lifted the lid and stared at the woven fabric. She reached forward and ran her hand over the top of it, her mouth opening in a silent gasp.

  “It isn’t finished yet. It still needs one more thread. But I thought you might want to be the one to stitch it in.”

  “Come on, Hope. Put the book down and come watch a movie with me,” Athan said from the living room of their campus house.

  Hope rubbed the back of her neck and rolled her shoulders. She’d been sitting at the square table in the kitchen for the last several hours, studying for her anatomy test. The nervous system was fascinating, but the rote memorization took the fun out of learning about the human body. She stared at the outline of the asexual body in the book, the gray, green, and blue lines of nerves branching from the spine through the organ systems out toward the extremities. She closed her eyes and began to recite the autonomic nervous system function, alternating parasympathetic and sympathetic effects on salivary glands, heart, lungs—

  “If you don’t know it by now, an hour or two isn’t going to make that much difference,” he said, much closer this time. Athan’s warm hands rested on her shoulders, and he kneaded at the tension in her upper back. “You’ve got this. You’ve made me quiz you at least a hundred times.”

  She snorted. “Not a hundred.”

  But Hope kept her eyes closed as she leaned back in the chair, relishing Athan’s touch. Life was better now, normal and quiet. She had no plans to go back to the Underworld or Olympus, or anywhere else the gods resided. Yes, she’d had nightmares, but it helped to know the gods would not be coming for her. They couldn’t. Even knowing that, there were times when her mind stuttered or stuck on a replay of some horrible event in the past few months, or was it years? When it got to be too much to handle on her own, she had a solid support system she could rely on. Athan was especially good at talking her through the survivor’s guilt, or mourning with her, or just holding her.

  The memories were still there, always there, but they weren’t quite so raw today. It had taken months before she felt capable of a phone call to Priska, and even then, Hope had choked her way through a much abbreviated version of what had happened. But the noise in the background was a reminder that life in the mortal realm had moved on, and Priska’s rushed condolences made Hope feel like she’d intruded.

  Perhaps one day Hope would be able to stop by for a visit. Priska was busy with her brood of children, and Hope didn’t feel right burdening her with one more thing. It wasn’t that Hope didn’t think Priska wouldn’t care, but the daughter of Artemis had given thousands of years to Phaidra, and well over forty to Leto and Hope. All of Priska’s attention now was on her own children, and somehow that seemed almost sacred. Hope wasn’t going to lay her nightmares at Priska’s door.

  Athan pushed Hope’s dark locks over her shoulder and kissed her neck. “Stop studying and come be with me. I miss you.”

  Those three words touched her heart.

  Part of her coping mechanism was to bury herself in her classes; it always had been. And here again, Athan helped her keep balance and sanity. She sighed and closed the book. “What movie do you want to watch?”

  Athan pulled the chair back from the table then scooted around to pull Hope up. “You pick.”

  They stepped into the living room of their small house in the U-district of Seattle, and Athan sat on the couch while Hope flicked through the movies. The craftsman home had been built in the early 1900s, but the previous owners had updated everything from the kitchen to the bathrooms, so it had all the modern amenities she could want. It was within walking distance to a grocery store and the light-rail, and they were able to take the bus to campus. Hope was going to University of Washington, majoring in Pre-Med. Athan was pursuing a Marketing degree. Sometimes it felt like she was trying to pretend everything was okay. Most of the time, she was just trying to get through the day.

  They’d tried to go back to Goldendale. Hope had wanted to finish high school there, like she was starting over. Like going back would get rid of everything that had happened. But it didn’t work. She’d been gone for seventeen years. One drive through the now much bigger town was enough to convince her that it wasn’t the same. And she wasn’t the same, either. They’d even changed the name of the Red Apple.

  Eventually, it wouldn’t hurt so much. That was the one drop of wisdom she’d gleaned from her conversation with Priska. So Hope held on to that knowledge, waiting for the ache in her heart to mend.

  She shrugged. “You know I’m terrible at picking movies.”

  The last three times they’d flipped through the subscription service, she’d picked depressing tales where the hero or heroine died. The last one had been the worst, about two soldiers who looked almost identical. They traded places, one going to the gallows and the other went back home for a fresh start. Only he discovered the man he was impersonating had a wife. They fell in love, had a family, only for the man to be condemned for the first man’s previous illegal activity. Hope had sobbed for hours after it was over.

  Athan laughed and pulled her toward the couch. “You’re right. I’m choosing.”

  “Let me go change my clothes,” Hope said, and she turned toward the bedroom. “I’ll be right back. Go ahead and set everything up.”

  She squeezed his hand before pulling away. Hope felt Athan’s weighty gaze on her all the way down the hall. He was worried about her, but he wasn’t following her anymore. They were making progress. She was making progress.

  She pulled on her gray sweats and an oversized sweatshirt. Going into the bathroom, she grabbed an elastic and pulled her ebony hair up into a messy bun. When the light was bright, she could see violet streaks in the dark tresses. Most of the time she liked the darkness, loved how it signified her triumph over Apollo and the Olympians. But sometimes she missed the blond and who she’d been back then.

  Hope stared into her lavender eyes. She thought of sparring with Xan, eating ice cream with Dahlia, the bonfire with Haley, riddles with Mr. Stanley. Hope thought of her mother. All the love Hope had been chasing. But she didn’t have to chase love; it had found her. In all those relationships, she’d felt loved. Athan was out in the living room, and from the smell of it, with popcorn, waiting to watch a movie with her . . . and loving her.

  She would be okay. And that girl in her anatomy class, what was her name? Mari. Hope decided she would accept her invitation to study. Maybe Mari needed someone, too.

  Courage was a choice. Hope had brought down Olympus. By the gods, she could choose to make a few friends.

  Hope watched her reflection in the mirror as her lips twisted into a wry smile. She was bruised but not broken. Hurt but still loved.

  Hope came out of the bedroom and stopped. She recognized the movie score and smiled. Her chest filled with warmth as she ran several steps and then slid on the hardwood floor into the living room.

  “I love this movie,” she said, flopping onto the couch next to Athan and stealing the popcorn bowl.

  On the screen, the plaid suitcase dropped from the conveyor belt, and a masculine hand grabbed the brown handle.

  “I know,” Athan replied, grabbing a handful from the silver bowl. He munched on several popped kernels befor
e continuing. “Did I ever tell you I bought it? I think I’ve seen it at least a dozen times now.”

  She stared at him in wonder. “Really? You like it that much?”

  He chuckled low and pulled her flush to his side. “Really. My favorite part is the courtroom scene at the end, the judge with all the pills.”

  They watched the comedy unfold, both of them reciting lines at different parts.

  Hope snuggled next to Athan and rested her head on his shoulder. Her eyes were heavy, and she closed them, just for a second.

  A pounding on the door startled her awake. Hope bolted upright, reaching for weapons at her waist as she stood. She had no weapons, and terror gripped her. She looked at Athan’s wide eyes, and he pointed at the bedroom.

  At some point, either demigods would retaliate or a god from the Underworld would try to seize power. Something was bound to happen to fill the void of Olympus, and Hope knew it was only a matter of time, even if she’d never said it out loud.

  She raced to the room to get his daggers and her sewing kit, just in case.

  “Bloody Hades! I know you’re home, Hope and Athan. Open the feckin’ door!”

  Hope was halfway down the hall when she heard his voice and laughed as the tension disappeared.

  “What the Kracken, Xan? It’s after ten,” Athan yelled at their friend as he fiddled with the lock. “Why aren’t you home or out on a date?”

  “Shite. If you don’t open the door, I’m going to kick it in. My day’s been all kinds of arseways—”

  Athan opened the door.

  When Hope had traveled with the Fates to the Underworld, she could hardly believe what Clotho said. The idea had been too preposterous, but Hope had been desperate to try to make things right by Xan.

  And now he stood in her doorway. Whole. His dark hair was spiked up in the front and neatly trimmed on the sides like he’d just had it cut. He wore jeans that hung low on his waist and a fitted black thermal that covered his tattoos, and he had a couple of days’ worth of scruff that almost hid his dimple. “Hey, luv.”