Shattered Gods (Dark Olympus, #10)(3)

Happy people don’t start revolutions. They have too much to lose.

I clear my throat. “I managed a little sleep before staging my daring rescue. I’ll hold awhile longer.” I hate that it feels like a lie… Probably because it is a lie. Yes, I’m not as tired as I was before my forced nap, but it was, in fact, a forced nap.

“Text me once you’re done with Poseidon and heading for Apollo. We’re about to hit the last legacy family, and then I’ll do my best to convince Athena to make a tactical retreat to the lower city.”

“That’s my girl.” Damn it, I didn’t mean to say that. I clear my throat. “I’ll keep you updated. Stay safe.”

“You too.” So many emotions linger in those two words. I have a moment wishing things were different. What would have happened if I let Atalanta’s steady presence heal me fully? If I let myself love her the way she deserves instead of hatching a plot that still leaves me breathless with its ambition? If we’d settled down in the country, adopted some cute babies, and made a life there?

I shake my head and start down the stairs. It’s a pretty fantasy, but ultimately nothing would have changed. Circe, the love of my life, the woman whose death made my world dull and gray, still would have returned. She still would have sought the blood of those responsible for her pain. She still would have made her plans to conquer Olympus.

At least, this way, I have a chance of stopping her.





2

Atalanta




There’s something wrong with Hermes.

It’s not the setback—we’ve had plenty of those over the years. She might use the flicker and flare of cheer to distract people from the person she is beneath the mask, but she is positive to an overwhelming degree. The nature of this ambitious scheme is isolation. We’ve been able to talk more regularly in the last few weeks than we have in years, which has been a welcome change. When we set out on this path, we decided that there should be nothing to link us, to give the vultures of Olympus reason to look deeper. For years, we communicated solely through little messages passed secretly back and forth.

Even so, I know Hermes.

The worst part of being a soldier isn’t the discipline or ruthlessness required to fulfill the mission. It’s the personal sacrifice. The mission has to come first. Any distractions can mean literal life and death, not just for me, but for the people of Olympus.

I believe in what we’re doing. The Thirteen have spent generations isolating themselves more and more from the common people, turning their attention away from the growing suffering in Olympus. If it happens outside the glass and steel and concrete perfection of the center of the upper city, it might as well not happen at all.

Things have to change.

I’m just…tired. So fucking tired. We’re in the middle of a thankless task, and we won’t be praised at the end of it, even if we manage to figure out the Circe problem. Hermes says she has it under control, but I can’t help the doubt sprouting inside me.

There’s no time, though. I have to jog to meet Athena before she approaches the last family—Apollo and Orpheus’s parents. She waits for me just outside the doorway, a trim Black woman with warm medium-brown skin and a fade cut. She’s carrying—she always is—but because this is a diplomatic mission, she’s wearing one of her perfectly tailored suits, a deep plum today.

Athena gives me a cool look. “We don’t have time to waste.”

“I know.” I don’t bother to apologize. I won’t really mean it, and Athena hates people wasting their breath and her time. “I’m ready.”

“I dislike this.” She leads the way through the lobby, bypassing a frazzled-looking receptionist and using her override code for the elevator. A number of legacy families have discovered the unfortunate reality that Hermes isn’t the only title in Olympus who can get through a locked door. Thanks to Bellerophon’s skill with technology and Athena’s override codes, we’ve walked into every legacy family’s home like this.

Except this time we get a different kind of welcome. We enter a parlor with shining marble underfoot and soothing cool blue walls…and a stack of suitcases in the doorway.

Athena glances at me, brows raised. “Interesting.”

“Oh good, you’re here.” Calliope, Apollo’s mother, sweeps into the room. She’s a tall Korean woman with long black hair, pale skin, and luminous dark eyes. Once upon a time, she walked the runway, and the intervening years haven’t seemed to touch her.

Athena clears her throat. “Circe has reached the city and plans to target all the legacy families. You can claim sanctuary in the lower city, with the condition that you follow their laws. Hades won’t tolerate any abuses on his people.”

“Yes, yes, my boy already talked to me about all that.” She motions to the suitcases. “We’re ready.”

Athena doesn’t bother to ask which boy; rumor has it Orpheus is the favored son, especially now that he’s painting again. The fact that he’s doing it in the lower city while living with Hades’s second-in-command and Eurydice Dimitriou only adds to his mystique in the upper city—and the prices of his work. All of which Calliope seems comfortable using to solidify her own reputation.

Maybe that’s unfair. It probably is. But after being harassed, cursed out, and sent away from the other legacy families, I’m not in the mood to be fair. “Where is Oeagrus?”