Chapter Thirty-Six
“Please…” Deimos stares, wild-eyed, into the face of his king. “ Please , my lord.”
I steal a glance at Eros’s face. It’s ashen. I think perhaps he, too, will beg for his brother’s cause now that we have come to this. But though he looks ill, he makes no such plea.
With a nod of Zeus’s head the earth splits further, crumbling under Deimos’s feet. His one wing beats frantically as though to save him, but the chains shudder and yank as though pulled by an invisible hand. He cannot leave the ground. He doesn’t look down at the fiery chasm beneath him, but instead at us: his father, Eros, and me. His eyes are red as fire, a mix of hate and fear. And in the next moment the chains yank again, and he disappears beneath the earth, his cry of dread echoing up through the great black canyon.
My heart thrums against my ribs as a great shudder wracks my body. My own sister lies dead on the ground beside me. I tell myself Deimos at least deserves his fate, but his cry still echoes in my ears and I think of what Eros said—how his brothers were not always as they became.
“So.” Zeus turns toward us. “Now it is your turn, my valiant warriors.” He looks from Athena to Ares to Nemese, and finally to Eros and me. “Who wrested the blade from the hands of a thief. And yet,” he looks at Eros, eyes narrowing, “I hear some rumor of divided loyalties.”
My stomach churns. That fiery seam is still open before us, and if I were not already kneeling I would be shaking too hard to stand. I grasp Eros’s hand in mine as if my grip could anchor him here forever—by my side, safe.
“My lord-” Eros bows his head.
“Not so, my lord,” Ares interrupts. His voice is shaking. He, too, must still be hearing Deimos’s final cry; one dark, shining tear runs down his face. “Eros is loyal. He has always been loyal.”
Leave me my last-born, I beg you . He does not speak the last words aloud, but I hear them anyway.
Zeus turns his flaming gaze on Nemese and Athena.
“Is this true?” he demands, in a voice that makes me tremble. Nemese doesn’t hesitate.
“It’s true, my lord. Eros is loyal.” She glances at him. “To a fault, even.”
Zeus frowns. His gaze moves toward Athena, his favorite. She stares at Eros, then at me.
“He is loyal, Father,” she says at last. Her voice is quiet, but hard as stone.
“As for the girl,” she says, “she is a fool, but not worth your wrath. She thought to take the blade for safekeeping, that is all.”
My breath is shallow in my throat; I feel tears of gratitude threaten behind my eyes. Zeus’s gaze falls on me and the weight of it brings a strange, numb terror. I know, without the slightest question, that he could unmake me as easily as the wind snuffs out a candle.
“They say you are a halfling,” he says. His tone has changed, his voice coiled like a rope. “Whose seed are you, girl?”
My blood runs cold again. Does he guess, after all?
“She does not know, my lord.” Eros speaks from beside me. “Nobody does.” His voice doesn’t quaver. I don’t dare look at him. I don’t dare look at Zeus or Ares, either.
“My lord,” I force myself to say, “it’s true. They say my mother was seduced by a god, but she never saw his face, nor heard his name. But I am a poor, humble creature. I cannot think my parentage is of any note.”
Zeus considers me.
“You have not been claimed?” he probes. His voice gives nothing away. I drop my eyes again.
“No, my lord,” I manage. “I have no great strength or skill. There is little about me for a god to take pride in.”
He eyes me, saying nothing. I raise my gaze to Ares, who’s looking at me with fire in his eyes. But no matter what he knows or suspects, I do not think he can give me away. If I am guilty, so is Eros. He cannot seal my fate without risking his son’s, too.
“Very well,” Zeus says at last. “You have my thanks, then, son of Ares, for retrieving the blade—and it seems this consort of yours has caused no harm. Now, girl.” He looks at me. “Hand me the blade, and stand aside.”
Stand aside ? I glance behind me to Nikos—his wild, blue stare, his hand still grasping Dimitra’s where she lies.
“My lord?” I stammer.
“The boy is mine,” Zeus says, as though sharpening a blade. “The boy was at the helm of Poseidon’s army and is Poseidon’s son. He sought to unseat my daughter as his father sought to unseat me. Now he will answer for his crimes.”
My breath shakes. “He is my nephew, my lord. A child. He meant no harm.”
“No harm!” Zeus scoffs.
“The child is greatly favored by Poseidon, my lord,” Eros interrupts. His voice is steady and clear. “If you punish him, I fear more war.”
“Do you?” Zeus gives him a grim look. “I do not fear it at all.”
Eros bows his head. “My lord, he was acting out of loyalty to his own father. It was what he had been taught.”
“And now he will pay the price,” Zeus’s voice flares. He looks past Eros, to me. “There is nothing more to be said. I will have the boy. Be thankful that I treat you with more mercy. Now, come: give me my blade.” He holds his mighty hand out across the red gap in the earth, waiting for me to approach. The gap has shrunken now, no longer a chasm, but the sight of it still strikes terror.
“My lord,” Eros says. His hand is on my arm as though to keep me here. He thinks he can do the talking for us both. He thinks that the right words can make Zeus listen and relent. But didn’t Zeus tell us himself? He is not a merciful god. Heart battering, I slide out from under his grip, and stand.
“ Psyche ,” Eros hisses. He cannot imagine I would give Nikos up so easily. And he’s right.
I feel as if I’m moving underwater as I approach Zeus. Nothing around me feels real. I know the other gods are watching, but their stares barely touch me. Somewhere behind me lies the body of my sister. Somewhere to my left, Yiannis’s body. The Cycladic armies have taken to the water, most already fled. Soon this beach will be empty again, like the beach in my dream.
My throat tightens. I see once more the old woman, the oldest of the Fates, and the gleaming shears she holds in her hand. In my mind’s eye I see my sister standing on the beach behind me, her hair whipping in the wind. Waiting.
I keep walking, right up to the molten line in the sand. A bottomless darkness calls out from it. It’s hungry, I can feel it. It wants to claim me, to claim everything, the whole world. I stand at the lip, dizzied by its terrible spell. I want to step away, to step backward to safety, but this half-formed plan—if I can call it that—depends on me staying right where I am. The king of the gods is watching.
“My lord Zeus.” I sink to my knees again and feel the hot flare rising up from the canyon, searing my face. “I wish that I could do your bidding. Only the most foolish of mortals dare to refuse you. But the boy is my only kin, and I am honor-bound to protect him. I say this humbly: he has a greater claim on me than any god. So, you see, I have no choice. I must bargain for his life.” And I hold out the knife—not for Zeus to take, but over the flaming edge of the chasm. I struggle to keep my hand steady. I know the enormity of what I’m doing, the bargain I’m trying to make.
When I look up I see the imperious eyes widen. He cannot believe that I would dare. I hear the breath hiss out of him, and feel his power thrumming in the air around us. A power that, if released, could shatter mountains. Could raze and remake the world.
I drop my eyes. “Please, my lord, believe me that I take no pride in this.” I glance at Athena, the one they say is his favorite child. “You are a father as well as a god. Perhaps some part of you can understand.” My hand quivers then—I don’t mean for it to, but the dizziness, the heat, the fear all come together as the knife hovers in my grip. Zeus draws a quick breath. He knows what it means if I were to let it drop.
“I could kill you in an instant, woman. You know this?”
I nod, not raising my eyes. “I know it.”
My hand burns where the heat from the canyon envelops it. The blade seems to grow heavier in my hand. I hardly dare blink, afraid I will lose consciousness and tumble into the void below.
“Your audacity serves no purpose,” he says. “You think to bargain, but you would only delay the inevitable. The boy is mortal. The mortal who does not die today, dies tomorrow. You might as well gift a mayfly one more hour.”
I raise my eyes to his.
“And it would be an hour more precious than any treasure, my lord.”
He scoffs, but holds my gaze. His flaming eyes narrow. I see something shift; a decision made.
“Enough.” The word is sharp as a thunderclap. “Give me the knife, you foolish chit. You will have your way. I will not harm you, nor the boy.”
I feel my body collapse into itself, a wave of slackness flooding me. It’s as if my very bones had softened. Everything shakes so hard, I have to grip the knife with both hands. I hardly know how I get to my feet. I hardly feel the blade leave my fingers.
Then Zeus claps his hands together, a sound that cleaves the air.
“It is done,” he calls to the gods behind him, and then: “Hermes, take the boy.”
My heart stops. My blood turns to bile. The seam of molten earth seems to rear up toward me.
“But you said…you promised…”
Zeus looks at me, the fire in his eyes still burning.
“I said I would not harm him and I will not. But Olympus, I cannot speak for. We will take him to stand trial there, before the gods. The Pantheon will decide his fate, and see justice done.”
“No,” I murmur. My voice finds itself. “ No !”
“My lord!” I hear Eros’s voice somewhere behind me, joining in my protest. He knows as well as I do what it means when the gods speak of justice. “He’s just a boy-”
I turn. Nikos stands staring, lost and alone. Eros has tried to block the path to him, but Ares locks an arm around him, restraining Eros the same way he held Deimos. As Nikos’s blue eyes meet mine I try to push toward him, but someone has a grip on me, too.
“Hush.” Nemese’s voice speaks in my ear. “You will not free him this way.”
“He would have seen us all dead,” Ares’s voice rises angrily above the fray; he wrestles to keep Eros in his grasp.
“You don’t understand!” I push against Nemese’s grip on me. When Nikos was an infant, I held him in my arms. I saved his life once before—and for what? For this?
“There may be a way,” Nemese says in my ear. “But Psyche, listen to me. For now, you must let him go.”
“I can’t .” I don’t turn toward her. All I can see is my sister’s face. Protect him , she said.
Behind me, I hear Nemese sigh.
“I thought as much.” I feel her grip tighten further.
Nikos doesn’t even struggle as Hermes sweeps him into his arms.
“No!” I’m screaming. Tears run down my face; the world blurs.
“ Skotos .” Nemese speaks the word quietly in my ear. A word I have time to recognize, but not to fight. It is barely uttered when the darkness comes over me, and I sink, helpless, to the ground.