Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 95187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
She waves that away with crimson-tipped nails. “Hades set his condition when he put up the secondary barrier. When the Thirteen are unified, he’ll come back to the table. Our goals are still in alignment. Nothing has changed except the timeline. There’s no space to fuck around any longer.”
She has a strange definition of fucking around. I know for a fact she worked with Minos, at least indirectly, to bring down Dodona Tower. Even evacuated, its destruction would have caused untold devastation. I never agreed to that plan, but I was outvoted. And, to be honest, better that we knew when Minos would strike. I understand the logic, even if I find the whole thing distasteful.
I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m assuming this desire to cease fucking around is the reason why you’re in my home right now.”
“Precisely. If all the information about Circe is correct, then her vendetta is against Zeus. Not Olympus. That doesn’t require a war to rectify.”
I’m already shaking my head before she finishes speaking. “If that logic held true, she would’ve sent an assassin instead of an army—and she would have done it years ago, before the last Zeus died. She’s coming for the city. I know you’re not naive, so there’s no way you’re entertaining the idea of handing over Zeus and hoping she’ll be happy enough with that to walk away.”
Hera lifts a single eyebrow. “Doing so would certainly solve one of our problems.” She shakes her head. “But no, that wasn’t my plan. It’s one thing for Zeus to die, but if we hand him over to our enemies, the rest of the Thirteen will turn against us. His death can’t be linked back to us. It’s unfortunate that the best patsy to blame for that outbreak in violence is now dead.”
She doesn’t out-and-out accuse me of being incompetent, but the meaning is clear beneath her words. Minos died in the fight at the marina—or, more accurately, before the fight at the marina. I was there, so the blame lands with me.
For all that Hera is someone whose purposes align with mine for now, she’s no different than the rest of the Thirteen. She lies as easily as she breathes, shielding her true meaning under different words and tones. She’s better at it than most of the others, but we’ve interacted enough that I have a relatively good bead on the truth of her.
Most of the time.
I wait. She obviously has a reason for being here, but she’ll get around to it in her own time. People like to talk. I’ve found that staying silent often provokes them to speak even if they have no intention of divulging information.
Sure enough, it only takes a few sparse seconds before she continues. “You have a member of Minos’s family in your custody. If would be a shame if he escaped and went on a murderous rampage. Or at least the beginning of a murderous rampage, starting with my dear husband. We would accost him directly after, of course.”
I think about Icarus, mostly naked and covered in cuts. He’s as much a liar as the Thirteen, but a murderous rampage? “That surpasses the realm of belief.”
“Does it? He attacked Pan at that cursed party, after all.”
Yes, Icarus smashed Pan over the head, but it wasn’t a fatal wound and when his foster brothers were out attempting to murder the other members of the Thirteen at that party, he took no part in it. By all accounts, he hasn’t done anything remotely violent since. Still, Hera has a point. He’s an enemy. Even if he’s not quite a believable perpetrator of violence, what does that matter when the fiction is so compelling? It’s as good a plan as any, and yet I find myself hesitating. “I still think the time for this particular plan has passed. Circe isn’t going to sit out there in her ships for long. She’s going to attack, and we need to call another vote before then so we can present a unified front when she does. We need to get defenses in place…”
Hera looks around. I have to wonder what she sees. I inherited the property when I inherited my title, but in the years since, I’ve preferred to spend my time here in the guesthouse. Even that’s still rife with elegance and luxury that makes me feel ill at ease, like if I move too fast, I might knock a painting off the wall or do some damage to the dainty furniture.
The main house is worse. Every time I turn around, I expect my uncle to appear, red-faced and furious. I’m tempted to raze the whole building to the ground, but that feels like letting him win, even though he’s dead and I’m still among the living.
I much prefer my little apartment in the shipyard. I tend to sleep there more nights than not. It’s simple there; no conflicting emotions. That space has only ever been mine.