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)
The voice might be my uncle’s, but it strikes right to the very heart of me. I was never particularly good at Olympian games, and that’s even truer since becoming Poseidon. In those first few years, I was outmanipulated by the rest of the Thirteen and those around them over and over again—until I stopped playing the game entirely. That’s the only way I could if not win, then at least minimize losing. “They’re not going to turn on her based on your say-so.”
His smile dims. “No, they won’t. Which is why I have plenty of evidence to support my information.”
Betting the entirety of Olympus on Icarus’s word is a terrible idea. I can’t do it. “I’ll think about it.”
His smile vanishes completely, and my chest aches at being the cause of it. It’s on the tip of my tongue to take my words back and tell him that I do trust him, that I’ll get him a computer and whatever else he needs, but he speaks before I have a chance to walk back my words. “Sure, Poseidon. Whatever you need.”
17
Icarus
There’s no reason for Poseidon’s lack of trust to sting. He’s shown every evidence of being a smart man, and a smart man would never trust someone like me. Someone who was, until a few days ago, an enemy to him and his people.
But it does sting.
As I follow him through the day, witnessing the way he interacts with his people, that awful feeling in my chest only grows. He shows every evidence of being a good person. He knows every single one of his people’s names. As we make the rounds, checking on the stations they’ve set up to keep watch on Circe’s people, he pauses to ask them about family members and friends, about spouses and children, to inquire on the health of sick people in their lives. So many little details, all stored in that impressive brain of his.
And they love him for it. It’s there in the way their eyes warm when they catch sight of him, the way their spines straighten as if they want to ensure they make him proud. It’s certainly there in the way their distrust for me blossoms when they catch sight of me at his back.
I didn’t know you could be a leader like this.
There’s plenty of shame inside me as I marvel at that realization. The rest of the Thirteen rule by an ever-shifting combination of fear and ambition and even lust. Hermes wasn’t wrong. It’s fucked. The leaders back on Aeaea mostly just rule by instilling fear. Fear and power, the combination that sends the masses to their knees.
But not Poseidon. Again, I wonder at how he came to take this title. I highly doubt he had anything to do with the death of his uncle and cousins, but even in my short time here in Olympus, I’ve heard about what kind of man his uncle was. He fit right in with the Thirteen, using his position to abuse and terrify those under his command—and even those who weren’t. To have him gone, replaced by this man?
Honestly, I’m surprised no one has slipped a knife between his ribs. It seems like offering the possibility of a different way of ruling is something the rest of the Thirteen would want to discourage. Permanently.
It’s what my father would’ve done. It’s what he had done, more than a few times over the years. Oh, he kept quiet about it. He had his reputation to protect, after all. He might have chosen to rule by fear, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be disliked. It’s a strange conundrum, but he danced at the knife’s edge with legendary skill.
Now the only place he’s dancing is his grave. My thoughts slow. Did he even get a grave? I have no idea. It didn’t occur to me to ask.
“Poseidon?”
He steps away from the pair of people he’s been speaking to in low voices and crosses to me, his expression concerned. “Is everything okay?”
It’s a testament to my conflicted feelings that I don’t laugh in his face. Nothing’s okay. It hasn’t been okay for a very long time. I’m not certain it’ll ever be okay again. But this is Poseidon. He’s not trying to be irreverent or sarcastic; he genuinely wants to know. Gods, he truly is too good.
It’s almost enough to make me second-guess my plan to seduce him until he’s emotionally compromised and chooses to keep me safe, to stand between me and any threat that will inevitably come. Almost. But my self-preservation is too strong. I thought I didn’t care if I lived or died, but apparently the drive to live is too strong. I always was a coward.
I swallow hard and fight against the instinctive desire to shy away from whatever answer I’m about to receive. “What happened to my father’s body?”