Chapter 16
Carver looked at Bel. What was he to do with her?
She could defend herself—he’d always known that. But he hated that she’d gone off without him. And he hated that she’d drugged him. But his desire to rail at her for those things snuffed out the second she explained what happened in the most unnatural of monotones. She’d rescued Cleito only to lose her— a sister .
Bel tried to bury her devastation under a blank wall, but that just told Carver how bad it really was. Bel didn’t do expressionless. Her face was always in motion, every thought that popped into her mind manifesting across her features as if it needed to jump out and be heard. Same with her tongue. Impassive and quiet just gave away the true extent of her pain and made her palpable grief even more heavy in his heart and loud to his ears.
She stared vacantly across the table at him. Dragging himself out of bed and sitting up hadn’t been as hard as he’d feared, though he was careful not to let his back touch the chair. “Cleito spoke to you. That’s something,” he murmured in what encouragement he could give. “She recognized you.”
“Recognized me? She was a day old when Hera took her.”
“She’s a Chaos Wizard. Time has no meaning.”
“It has meaning now .” Some of the usual snap crept into Bel’s voice. “I have to retrieve the shard and return magic to Atlantis with the claim that it’s all thanks to Hera’s generosity and compassion, or she’ll kill Cleito.”
And if they did that, Bel failed in her mission, failed all the gods who’d planted her here for the exact opposite purpose. “If we keep the shard out of Eryx’s hands, at least he can’t claim to save Atlantis.”
She sighed. “I suppose. We can at least make sure he never gets the fourth ingredient for his ceremony.”
“Hera obviously doesn’t care who’s leading Atlantis, what human king or queen, as long as she gains the support Zeus wanted from Atlantians for herself.”
Bel nodded. “Other than learning a few things, last night was an absolute failure. I lost my sister.” Her voice went dead flat again.
“You punished Eryx.” Carver wished he’d seen that.
“I don’t even care.” She glanced at her hands, not toying with any flames as she almost always did when they were alone. “It seems…petty now.”
“It seems like he got what he deserved.”
She sat there, loss drenching her in shadow when she was usually so godsdamned bright, and the ache in Carver’s chest pitched toward his stomach. He’d never seen her like this.
“Cat wouldn’t have done it.” Her eyes found his again. “She’d have taken the high road. Somehow.”
Carver snorted. “Cat’s used some fire whips of her own, and it was definitely revenge-oriented. She also melted an entire army to keep them away from Griffin. But a lot changed, even before you met her. It’s her role now to show people, anyone , that they can strive for forgiveness—if they want it.”
Bellanca lifted her chin and sniffed once. Carver refused to call it a sniffle. “There are a lot of things I didn’t do when I probably should’ve, but this is the first time I’ve actually tried to do something important and failed.”
“How did you fail?” Leaning forward, he shook his head. The sewn-up skin on his back stretched painfully, and he fought off a wince. “Cleito might be better off with Hera than with Eryx—temporarily, anyway—and your sister gave you the knowledge she’s been struggling to hide from him for years. He’d already tortured three of the four items from her. How long until she either gave up the fourth or he killed her trying to get the information?”
“Persephone never mentioned anything about needing other ingredients.” Bel’s troubled gaze flicked to the floorboard hiding the medallion the goddess had slipped around her neck. “Even if we reunite the amulet with the shard, will it be enough to bring back magic?”
“Well, I’m not sacrificing a virgin,” Carver said sourly. Bel’s lips seemed to twitch. “Persephone brought you and the amulet here, Athena apparently brought the shard from Attica, and now Cleito’s told us where Athena hid it. It’s all coming together.”
“Except why do I only need the amulet, and Eryx needs a whole ceremony? Could he know something we don’t?”
“You’re already Magoi—and a powerful one. Eryx isn’t. That has to make a difference.”
She shrugged. “Maybe. But if not, we can probably steal the ceremonial knife and chalice from him. As for virgin blood…” Her eyes narrowed in thought. “How much blood? Maybe just a few drops.” She looked at her arm as if ready to slice it open and offer up a vein.
“Maybe. But ‘sacrificial virgin’ seems like a death sentence and not just a cut that will heal.”
Her face fell, but at least that meant her forced impassivity was finally passing, thank the gods. “Persephone said to use my magic to ‘fan the flames.’ A little more guidance would’ve been nice.”
Carver grimaced, part hot, pulsating pain in his back, part annoyance. “The gods are all about a nudge here, a confusing shove there. Which way the wind should blow to serve some mysterious purpose or where to plant a seed of rebellion or a magical gift. If Athena had the shard, she should’ve just given it to us.”
Bel scoffed. “You know the gods don’t work that way. First, we might not have been here yet when Athena planted the shard. Second, the gods gave humans free will and expect us to use it. I wouldn’t trade the freedom of my choices, even within the outline of a bigger destiny, for all the clear directions in the worlds. Humans rule humans—for good, for bad, forever. The gods are separate. They live out their immortal lives on Mount Olympus and dabble in human affairs for entertainment and to serve capricious needs or desires they might have. They’re not there to hand us what we need to live, change, evolve, rebel… We’re responsible for ourselves. They are guiding, though. Helping those they choose to pull into their schemes and plans. We’ve seen it ourselves. And if we offend them too badly, we get a god bolt from Zeus.”
“Or an island without magic.” Carver glanced out the window, the blazing sunshine almost an assault on his somber mood. “But it’s not about us this time. It’s about them— their war.”
Bel brightened. He didn’t see actual sparks, but her hair regained some of its fiery luster, and her skin grew more luminous, shining with a pearly glow. “That’s true in a way, but their war for control of Mount Olympus affects us, and we have a role to play.” She drummed her fingers on the table, magic starting to gleam again in her jewel-bright eyes. “But at least they play by the same rules. Zeus sent Athena and Poseidon to help us in Thalyria. We received cryptic guidance and timely gifts, but they didn’t do the fighting on our behalf or solve the problems for us. Persephone brought us to Atlantis to help Zeus, but her intervention ended there. And here, Hera used Pan and his satyrs to go after the shard, and she sent Hephaestus’s automatons to gather her potential Magoi army and try to kill me, but she didn’t just pop into our house and slit my throat.”
Our house. A fist seemed to latch on to Carver’s heart and squeeze. “She took Cleito herself.”
“She said I forced her hand.” Bel frowned. “Now Cleito’s her hostage, and I have to choose.”
Carver watched her carefully, the pain in his back throbbing like a second heartbeat under his skin. “So who do you choose? Hera or Zeus?” Now that they knew who they were up against, it was even worse than he’d thought. Hera was ancient, powerful, vindictive, and furious . She wasn’t wrong to be angry, but she relentlessly took out her rage on beings that rarely had anything to do with the cause of her fury. She was finally taking the fight straight to Zeus—where it belonged—but she was still endangering the lives and happiness of innocent people to get to him. Hera’s eons of seething had twisted the goddess into a being Carver didn’t want to help, especially now that it was personal. She’d endangered his brother and Cat, their whole family in Thalyria, and their new kingdom. She’d sent automaton harpies to try to throw Bel out the window. She’d stolen Bel’s sister from the cradle and condemned a confused, vulnerable soul to a life of fear and torture with Eryx. And now she’d taken Cleito and was holding her for ransom. At this point, Carver was more likely to want to stab Hera in the eye than to help her steal Zeus’s throne from him.
But in the end, it was up to Bellanca. This was her mission, her future kingdom. He waited.
Bel twisted the ring on her finger—her fake wedding band. Her mouth turned down, and worry darkened her features. “Let’s get the Shard of Olympus. Then we’ll see how it goes.” Despite her words, she reached out and traced a slow Z on the table with her finger. Her gaze lifted, meeting his.
Carver nodded. For all his faults, Zeus it was. “And Cleito?” he whispered, barely mouthing the words.
The pain in her eyes speared him like a dagger as she sat back, wrapping her arms around herself. “I don’t know.”
He didn’t, either. He just hoped they’d find a way. “One step at a time,” he said, giving her a firm look he hoped conveyed his determination to do everything in his power to rescue her sister.
She nodded, then her eyes skimmed over him, questioning. “When do you think you’ll be ready to travel? And to try to dive for the shard?”
“Without a Magoi healer, it’ll be a long time before I can safely do any of that.” He nodded toward her hands. “Besides, there are still your wrists.” Those burns hadn’t disappeared overnight, no matter how well Bel ignored them.
Resignation dimmed her inner glow again. “Then we wait.”
He grunted, and it didn’t sound pretty. “You mean you won’t drug me and run off alone?”
Her face sharpening, her words sharper, she snapped, “I will if you want me to.”
“Is that what I said? I think it was the opposite.”
“I think it was sarcasm.” Fire snaked down a red curl. “And it was annoying.”
He let the driest of smiles lift his lips. “At last. She understands sarcasm.”
“Is that more of it? It’s still annoying.”
“Sarcasm is annoying,” he ground out. “Waking up groggy to find you half-catatonic with grief is very upsetting.”
“You needed to rest after what happened with Eryx, and I could do what needed to be done. Hera would’ve taken Cleito whether you were with me or not. No one could’ve foreseen that.”
His huff was so intense it hurt his aching back. “Is that your apology?”
“Do I need to apologize?” He simply stared across the table at her, a mix of emotion and fury making his pulse pound too hard. “Fine.” She finally waved a hand and still-bandaged wrist over the table. “I’m sorry I drugged you— lightly —but I’m not sorry I went on my own. Your being there wouldn’t have changed anything, and it could’ve put you in danger. There was no point in that.”
“Ah, so I’m pointless now? Useless, maybe?”
Her jaw fell open. “Is that what I said?”
Carver already started to regret the things coming out of his mouth, but his temper rose faster than the Atlantian tide, and it was too late to stop. “You didn’t have to. We already know you can do everything you need to on your own.” He’d followed her to Atlantis. She’d never once said she wanted him to come.
Sparks popped in her hair. “Oh my gods, what is wrong with you?” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Oh. How bad is your back? Is it really hurting you?” Her face quickly softened with concern.
An icy-hot blast tore through him from head to foot. He didn’t need her pity. He needed whatever would stop his gut from twisting every time he looked at her and his heart from hammering every time she got near. “I’ll survive,” he muttered.
She didn’t seem to notice his volcanic stare. “I know that, but how awful is it? Do you need something? Food? Tea? More herbs?”
“It’s fine,” Carver hissed.
Frowning, she hmphed. Loudly.
“It hurts,” he grated. “Is that what you want to hear?”
She shook her head, her russet brows drawing close together. “I just want the truth.”
“I always tell you the truth. You’re the one who never knows what to do with it.” The words shot from his mouth like an acid-tipped lance.
Bel’s nostrils flared. “Don’t throw two conversations at me at once. You know I’m not good at that.”
“Something to work on. Your Highness .”
Bel stood, her eyes glowing blue slits and fire licking down her arms as she leaned forward and slapped her hands on the table. “ Why are we fighting?”
Carver sprang to his feet, pain stabbing through him. He bent in, putting them nose to nose, the smell of hot cherries and charred wood soaking the air between them. “Because we’re not kissing,” he snarled.
Her eyes shot wide. She sucked in a breath and lurched away from him, leaving two handprints scorched into the table.
Carver’s heart walloped his ribs. He straightened, his aching body creaking upright. “Forget I said that.” He speared a hand through his hair with a rough push back, and the fresh burst of pain under his bandages felt like a fitting punishment. He hadn’t meant to shout that out at all, let alone like an accusation.
“No.” Bel shook her head. She seemed to tremble, short of breath. Bright-red splotches spread across her face and neck, but her flames snuffed out, apparently doused by the idea of him . “And you don’t truly want to kiss me. You’re lonely, and I’m…here. Still around.” She stepped back from the table and half turned away from him. “Not dead.”
Shock managed to numb some of the pain thumping through Carver’s back. “Not dead ?”
“You heard me.” Lifting her chin, she faced him again. “You already chose someone, and you’re all the same in your family. Great, undying loves. You don’t change your minds. It’s for life… In death…”
“It’s a great, undying love when it’s reciprocal!” It took him long enough, but he’d finally understood. He’d seen . “Otherwise, it’s just one idiot holding on to something that doesn’t exist.”
She almost looked offended on his behalf. “I don’t think you’re an idiot.”
“Well, that’s something at least,” Carver fumed as he rounded the table. If that piece of wood separated them for one more second, he would destroy it, and he liked that table. It was their first purchase in Atlantis. “But you’re right. I did choose.” He stopped in front of her. “Look where I am. Look who I’m with.”
Fire abruptly drenched every lock of hair on her head. She made a visible effort to calm the surge, then roughly said, “I’m just the substitute.”
Outrage flooded him. The substitute? “Are you godsdamned kidding me? I haven’t wanted to spend a day without you since the moment we met, even though you enraged me.” His feet instinctively carried him a step closer before his thoughts caught up, but Bel didn’t bolt. “All I wanted to do was fight you, tease you, best you, infuriate you until you burst into flames, because then I actually felt something. Like I was alive again. Excited. Not sure what might happen next. Fascinated. Angry. Happy. Do you know how long it’d been since I was happy?” he growled. “And I don’t mean fooling everyone day in and day out until I’d almost fooled myself. I mean the real thing.”
She swallowed. “Yes, I think so.”
“Konstantina crushed me. We all know that. But do you know what the best thing about seeing everyone else find their happiness is? Learning to believe I might get that same chance myself.”
She went white as a sail. “Don’t make me responsible for your happiness. I’m not capable…”
“Not capable?” He almost laughed. “I chose you. I came to Atlantis with you because I couldn’t imagine a day without you in my life. And you know what? You chose me, too.”
She shook her head, her breath coming fast and short. “I would’ve left you behind.”
“You wouldn’t ask me to come. It’s not the same thing. But just before that, you traded your life for mine.”
Confusion dented her forehead. “I’m not dead.”
“And that’s only because of the healing stone Persephone gave my sister. You didn’t know she had it. I didn’t know. We both thought that was it—the end. I saw you breathe your last breath. I held your hand as it went slack. Only the magic of the Queen of the Underworld, who has a hand in life and death, brought you back. You chose me over your own life. And because you don’t appear to understand it, that’s love. I chose you over everything. Do you know what that means?”
Her near-panicked gaze darted to his. “That…you love me?”
“Don’t frame it like a godsdamned question, Bel!” He clenched his fists and even that hurt. He’d be in blazing pain for a week, but it was nothing compared to the fire in his heart.
“But there are all kinds of love.” She spread her hands in front of her, almost a shield to hold him back. “Family and friendship, simple goodness…”
“Intimacy,” Carver supplied since she wouldn’t.
She sucked in a breath. “I’m not good at that. I told you, I’m not what you want.”
Who you want still tainted the air between them, and Carver’s temper flared again. He waited a calming moment. It wasn’t Bel’s fault she hadn’t understood his signals. He hadn’t really understood himself until very recently, and Bel wasn’t good at reading people unless they were coming at her with the intent to kill.
Voice softening, he took a slow step closer. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
Her mouth squashed into a tight seam, and Carver got the impression she was arguing with herself behind closed lips. Finally, she said, “Don’t you get it? I’m all sharp edges and burns. I don’t know how to kiss. I don’t want to be touched.” Doubt flashed in her eyes. A flush swept over her face, and he wondered how sure she was of her words.
He forced his hands to relax and his whole posture followed. He didn’t reach for her even though every beat of his heart begged him to. “Then you do the touching,” he said. “I won’t move. Just do what you want.”
Bright crimson splashed across her pale skin. Sparks zipped down her curls, outlining each one in reddish gold. She stared at him, and unease sank through him like a ship with holes.
The moment stretched on without either of them moving. Good gods. I really am an idiot. He was about to back away and apologize when Bel lifted her hand.
“Touch how?” she asked, cautiously reaching out.