Shattered Gods (Dark Olympus, #10)(11)

I’m so focused on Hecate, staring at me with those pretty, wide brown eyes as if I’ve shocked her by doing exactly what I said I intended to do, that I don’t see Eros coming. He launches himself over the edge of the stage with a smooth move I’d admire in other circumstances and sprints toward me.

I take one measured step back and raise my gun. “Not another step.”

“Circe, don’t.” Hecate’s voice cracks on the last word. She sounds so much like her old self that my head whips around to look at her when I should be focusing on the incoming threat.

Her beauty breaks the shards of heart left in my chest even further. Gone is her splashy fashion, bright and shiny like a two-bit magician. She’s wearing black pants and a black hoodie, her boots laced up tight. She looks a lot like the girl I used to love. Enough to give me pause.

The distraction costs me.

Eros grabs for the gun, and he’s much more effective than Hecate was. His blue eyes, so like his mother’s, are murderous. “I’m putting an end to this now.”

He’s stronger than me, but that matters little. I release the gun, using his confusion to pull my second one. Every plan must have contingencies, and that includes personal defense. “No, you’re really not.” I shoot him twice in the chest.

The shock on his face, the condemnation, stings as he stumbles back and presses his hands to his wound. He goes to his knees and slumps over, going paler yet as his blood paints the stage around his body. This man has as much blood on his hands as I do, and yet he looks at me as if I’m the monster in the room.

Demeter shoves me aside, reaching his fallen body the same moment Psyche does. The women sink to their knees, their dark heads bowed almost identically as they frantically try to stop the bleeding.

Antigone starts to move forward, but I shake my head. “Leave him.” I turn the gun on Hecate, but she’s standing with her arms down, shock written all over her pretty features as she stares as Eros. At least that will be simple. “Take her.”

Antigone snatches the knife from Hecate’s nerveless fingers and roughly wrestles her arms behind her back, driving her to her knees.

Psyche’s head jerks up, tear tracks marking her round cheeks. She opens her mouth, but Demeter puts a hand on her arm, no doubt worried what I’ll do to her precious daughter if she challenges me publicly. Demeter’s hazel eyes go hard. “You killed him.”

I shrug. There was a time in my life when killing a person, let alone two, would have given me nightmares for years. Now, I feel nothing at all. “He would have done the same to me.” I lift my hands, all too aware of the crowd. “Was it poorly done?”

They roar in response, the spectators of a public execution who showed up for violence and got more than they were promised. They’re pleased. They’ll remember this and show up for the next and the next, until I’m finished. It will be tricky to navigate them back to their normal lives once we’ve accomplished a full transition to power, but I have a plan for that.

I have a plan for everything.

I motion to my people, signaling for them to open the doors around the auditorium. Then I give my full attention to the crowd. “You’ve seen what we can accomplish together. The Thirteen are terrified of your power—and they should be. They’ve fled to the lower city, taking refuge behind a barrier identical to the very one that kept you trapped at the whims of their power. Will we stand for it?”

“No.” The word is more felt than heard, vibrating my body down to my very cells.

“Show them,” I say simply and point to the doors. “This is your city, not theirs.”

They manage to file out of the room in a mostly orderly fashion, helped along by my people at the exits. Within a handful of minutes, the final stragglers have dispersed. I can hear them chanting something out in the quad. Good. Things are coming along nicely. Now it’s time to button up this small mess.

I turn back to find Hecate on her knees, still being held by Antigone, her skin waxy and her chest heaving with each breath. “What have you done?” she whispers.

“What I had to.” More words press against my tongue. It didn’t have to be like this. I never wanted to be your enemy. You drew your line in the sand, and the only option I have is to step over it. I swallow them all down. I don’t owe her an explanation, and beyond that, it would weaken my position among everyone gathered.

I motion to Nerissa. “Get this mess cleaned up.” There’s much to do and little time to accomplish it. I walk out of the room, Antigone dragging Hecate behind me, leaving the bodies of the last remaining members of the Ambrosia family on the ground where they fell.





6

Atalanta




Hera smiles slowly, a predator sighting prey. “I’m surprised you dare show your face here.” Before I can come up with a response to that, she turns to the rest of the room, every inch a queen of Olympus in this moment. “Atalanta isn’t to be trusted. She’s been in league with Hermes this entire time. She’s likely been a mole in your operations, Athena—and Artemis before you.”

There’s a beat of silence where a small, naive part of me that should have died ages ago is certain no one will believe her. She’s Hera, after all, and at least half of this room is aware she was actively trying to kill her husband only a short time ago. Unfortunately—for me, at least—a lot has changed between then and now.