Shattered Gods (Dark Olympus, #10)(77)

“I’m not sorry for Peitho’s death—or Artemis’s, for that matter. I maintain that the Thirteen should see justice for their crimes. But…” She glances at Hecate. “I’m sorry about Eros. I truly am.”

Right. She doesn’t know he’s alive. I sip my coffee. I might have slept with Circe, might be willing to consider a future that includes her, but that doesn’t mean I trust her. Trust takes time to build, and time is one thing we haven’t had. She can go on believing she killed Eros for a little while longer.

Hecate leans a hip against the counter and finally raises her gaze. “We’ve had this argument and you didn’t listen before. Are you ready to listen now?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Circe laughs bitterly “The people of Olympus will never accept me now. Demeter did her job too well. If the mob finds me, I’m dead, and I’m particularly attached to remaining among the living.” Her voice shakes a little. “My people were attached to remaining among the living, too. They came here, believing in the future I painted for them, and now they’re dead.”

“Yes, they are. But there’s no going back now,” I say. It’s not even comfort at this point; it’s truth. “The Thirteen have fallen. The city will never allow them to reclaim rulership. It’s simply a matter of the remaining members acknowledging that fact.”

“Right. Simple. I appreciate the relatively kind words, but it doesn’t change the fact I got my people killed.” She sips her coffee and makes a face. “Gods, Hecate, I know you can afford better than this.”

“I can. But I like this brand. It’s nostalgic.” Because it’s the one they used to drink all those years ago. Strange how the reminder that their history goes back further than mine with Hecate doesn’t sting like it used to. So much has shifted in such a short time. I’m finding it difficult to wrap my brain around that.

Hecate shifts. “We need to get you out of the city. The sooner, the better.”

“Not until she gives her word that she’s letting this go.” My chest aches a little, as if giving a reminder. “I don’t want to turn around and find a knife between my ribs. Again.”

“You stab someone one itty-bitty time, and they hold it over your head for all eternity.” Circe rolls her eyes, but she can’t quite pull off her customary arrogance. Not when her hands are shaking so badly; it’s a wonder she doesn’t spill coffee all over her fingers. “Suffice to say—”

“Circe,” Hecate says quietly. “Cut it out.”

“Fine. I’ll attempt to be transparent and honest.” Circe finally sets down her mug, which allows me to breathe a tiny sigh of relief that she won’t hurt herself by accident. “I am sorry I stabbed you, Atalanta. Truly. And yesterday scared the shit out of me. The river…” Her gaze goes distant. “If Antigone hadn’t shoved me off the bridge, the mob would have killed me like they…” Killed Antigone. She takes a deep breath. “I knew it was a risk to harness them like that, but I think a part of me didn’t really expect them to turn on me—on us. I’m not one of the Thirteen. I’m one of them.”

“You were,” I say. “You aren’t anymore. You haven’t been for a long time.”

“Yes, Atalanta, thank you for stating the obvious.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “The smart thing to do would be to let them get their aggression out, and then step in to pick up the pieces.”

Hecate drains the rest of her coffee, apparently impervious to the scalding temperature. “That is, in fact, the smart thing to do. But you won’t be the one to do it.” She hops up to sit on the counter and kicks out her legs, apparently feeling more like herself now that caffeine is hitting her system. “The movement needs a face, and it can’t be just anyone. They have to be willing to usher in this new form of government, and then disappear before someone decides to make them a figurehead. Or, more unfortunately, a martyr like poor Demeter.”

I cross my arms over my chest. Years ago, we talked through several options for the end of the Thirteen and how that transition would take place. None of our scenarios included a riot willing to kill the people they see as their enemy—namely the Thirteen and Circe and anyone associated with them. “I’m sure this is where you tell us that you are the right person for the job.”

“Ding, ding, ding.” She points at me. “That’s exactly what I’m about to say. This is what we planned, Atalanta. Maybe not this exact scenario, but the path changes nothing about the destination.”

“And what is the destination, if not you being crowned queen?” Circe asks slowly. “No matter what you’ve both said, I don’t see how your methods are different from mine.”

I give her the look that statement deserves. We may have killed to make our plan happen, but we didn’t orchestrate the kind of violence and destruction that could have leveled the city. It might still do it. “The destination is a proper democracy.”

“Because that will never be corrupt.” She snorts. “Don’t be naive.”

“There are more checks in place than with a single ruler—or thirteen of them.” Hecate’s energy dims a little, but she’s still kicking her feet, unable to stay still. “Right now, the upper city is overrepresented. The lower city has Hades and that’s about it. The countryside could theoretically say it had Demeter, but that’s a bit of a stretch considering how she operated. It needs to be equal.” She holds up three fingers. “A trio of representatives from each location, voted on by their respective communities. Nine people who then come together for the good of Olympus as a whole. They can make policies and laws, but only as a collective. No single person can do anything without a majority vote.”