Chapter 18
Bellanca’s already pounding heart nearly exploded in surprise while Carver whirled, keeping her behind him. He sucked in a pained breath, and she peered over his shoulder, careful not to put pressure on his injuries. Her alarm disappeared, replaced by a different type of concern and a good bit of curiosity. Why was Persephone in their living room?
“Persephone.” Carver nodded to the Queen of the Underworld. The goddess arched a perfectly sculpted brow in acknowledgment, her mouth puckering in what might’ve been a smile. It might also have been a frown.
Bellanca stepped forward to stand beside Carver. Their hands touched, his knuckles brushing her wrist. The physical connection she’d avoided for so long gave her the courage to ask the question that constantly burned in her mind with no one to answer it. “Is everything all right back home?”
Persephone waved a hand in the air, her skin glittering in a way that reminded Bellanca of the flecks of mineral in marble. “Fine—for now. Everyone you care about is in good health and thriving.”
Carver’s relief must’ve matched hers because they both sagged a little as the tension left their bodies. “Good. Thank you.” Bellanca wanted to ask a hundred questions, but she doubted Persephone was there to catch them up on friends and family. She cleared her throat of the sudden lump there. Time had helped blur the ache of missing the people she’d left behind, but hearing about them brought losing them into such sharp focus again that tears tried to sting her eyes.
“To what do we owe this pleasure?” Carver’s voice stayed smooth enough but there was no mistaking the wariness in it. Persephone had just shown up after six months of absence, and they had no idea why. They finally knew where the Shard of Olympus was, so unless Persephone was here to snatch Cleito back from Hera, the only thing they really needed from her was to heal Carver.
Persephone’s blue eyes glittered with amusement. “Barely a year at court in Thalyria and yet such a natural at diplomatic games.” Her fathomless gaze shifted to Bellanca. “Smart of you to want him as your advisor.”
Bellanca’s back stiffened. The fact that Olympians could be so all-knowing never failed to send a chill down her spine. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you tend to arrive with news that doesn’t make anyone happy.”
The goddess’s wind-chime laughter floated across the room, sharp and cool but still achingly beautiful. “And there’s the blunt end of this sword.” Her smile was as sharp, cool, and beautiful as her laughter, though Bellanca didn’t appreciate it blooming at her expense. “Perhaps I should visit in times of peace. My reputation might improve.”
“You’re welcome here anytime,” Carver said—ever the peacekeeper with anyone except for her.
Persephone set down the basket she carried, her alert gaze not missing Bellanca’s twin handprints charred into the table. Her lips curved in another real and oddly triumphant smile. “I had a bet with Hades. He said this”—she waved a hand back and forth between them—“ you wouldn’t happen unless Bellanca finished her mission. I said you’d have given into primal urges by now. I clearly won, and now my husband owes me a new three-headed dog. Cat and Griffin kept mine,” she added sourly.
Carver went rigid beside her, and Bellanca felt heat blast off her body. It wasn’t her magic. It was a flaming blush consuming her. The rulers of the Underworld had bet on them? Did gods really have no better way to spend their time? Trying to avoid worlds-wide wars, for example?
“Surely you didn’t come all the way here just to tell us you’d won a bet?” Carver flexed his hand between their bodies and then angled his fingers to grip Bellanca’s hand in his. He barely winced, but she had to wonder how badly his back was hurting him. When he put his mind to it, he was exceptionally good at hiding his pain, whether it was below the surface or above. It could make a person forget—or get swept away by kisses.
Her body still thrummed from the way they’d touched and moved together. She’d been so fearful of being awkward and stiff and unattractive, but Carver had made her feel the exact opposite. She’d stopped worrying and second-guessing and just did —like during battle.
Relief shot through her. If intimacy was like fighting, she could do it.
Persephone whisked an amused look in her direction, as though reading her thoughts and finding them entertaining. “I didn’t even know I’d won the bet until I popped into your home. That was a stroke of luck. Omniscience is a clutter in the mind and a burden of time, and most Olympians don’t bother watching humans unless they’re looking for something in particular.” Her head slanted to one side, her gaze sharpening on them. “Zeus, however, never misses a chance to spy, which is how he knows you’re loyal.” She reached to the side and traced a large Z on the table.
A flash of panic hit Bellanca like a quick, sharp punch. She could only hope that Hera had decided not to burden herself or clutter her mind with omniscience right now, or she’d also know which side Bellanca had chosen. And what if Bellanca had chosen differently with Zeus watching? Would a god bolt have come through the window and carried her off to Tartarus for eternal punishment?
“It’s also how we finally know who the enemy is. Zeus was watching you, and you forced Hera to reveal herself when you stole Cleito from Eryx.” Persephone offered the warmest smile Bellanca had ever seen from her. “Well done, Firebringer.”
Bellanca swallowed. So the king of gods had witnessed her throwing his name around at the castle. Luckily, that turned out all right. The rest hadn’t. “Can you help me get my sister back?”
Persephone’s smile faded, and disgust swept across her face like a spring storm. “Cleito was a surprise, too—though it makes sense with your Thalyrian sister’s lack of magic.” She shook her head, hard, silvery ice frosting over any remaining humor or warmth in her eyes. “Hera’s been busy for decades.”
“No wonder we never received her help in Thalyria,” Carver said sourly. “She wouldn’t ally with Zeus, even though she hadn’t yet overtly stood against her husband.”
“We should’ve known.” Persephone’s features hardened even more, the ice spreading until it glittered around her eyes like snow. “No one really questioned Hera’s absence because she’s been giving Zeus the cold shoulder for centuries.” She glanced out the window, as if directing her next words to the god himself. “That said, he hasn’t done anything to make her warm to him again, either.”
Bellanca looked out the window, too, hoping Persephone’s words reached Zeus’s all-hearing ears. If the King and Queen of Mount Olympus could make up, maybe they’d stop endangering humans and worlds.
“My sister.” She looked at Persephone again. “What about Cleito?”
“Hera has Cleito now.” Persephone shrugged in the infuriating way of deities who cared about a select few mortals and considered the rest to be expendable. “Defeat Hera. Get Cleito.”
“I doubt it’s that easy,” Bellanca ground out. “She threatened to cast Cleito to her death if I didn’t make all of Atlantis believe she’d singlehandedly saved them from Zeus’s Punishment.”
“And perhaps she will.” Persephone frowned, as if not quite understanding the problem. “It can’t change your course of action.”
“Can’t it?” There had to be a way to choose Zeus over an embittered, power-hungry goddess and still save her sister.
The frost melted from Persephone’s eyes and skin, sympathy peeking through like a watery sun. She still shook her head in denial. “Atlantis could sway the balance of power. You must complete your mission.”
“The balance of power?” Carver asked.
“If you proclaim that Hera ended Punishment—if you actually bring back magic and allow Atlantis to rise again—the islanders will love her. They’ll flock to her temples with prayers and offerings. They’ll be grateful for magic, for the true horizon, for the end of the daily sacrifices—something she should have been more concerned with than her decades of plotting,” Persephone added darkly. “They’ll rejoice in her name, and Hera’s power will be bolstered by the worshippers of Atlantis while Zeus gains nothing from them—and probably even suffers from their lingering resentment. And since they receive nearly equal devotion in Thalyria, that gives Hera the magical advantage.”
“Then she can openly challenge Zeus?” Carver looked sick at the possibility.
Persephone nodded. “They’ll battle for the high throne. And destruction will follow.”
The goddess’s awful words sank through Bellanca like a shipwreck. Was this why Persephone was here? To warn her to stick to her mission, despite Cleito’s life hanging in the balance? “But how can humans going to temples and tossing their coins at a holy man dedicated to this Olympian or that one make such a difference to millennia-old gods with colossal power?” She just didn’t see how it was possible.
“I’ll show you.” Persephone suddenly let off a bright pulse of translucent green power. The scent of spring rain and new grass filled their lodgings—along with a monstrous humanlike doll that hung over the table between them. It had four legs, four arms, and a head with two faces. It was two separate people, but they were joined together.
“The immense importance of human fealty to the balance of power on Mount Olympus is a well-kept secret. Otherwise, humans would wage constant wars over it. Every prayer and offering feeds a god’s power. They also directly affect the magic a god can wield—the might and scope of it.” Persephone pointed to the hovering doll. “When humans were first created, they resembled this. They were two souls joined as one, bonded and building off each other. They reached surprising heights of strength and courage—enough to endanger the rule of gods and worry core Olympians. When human power as a bonded pair became apparent, especially with magic involved, the gods came together to decide how to eliminate the threat. Some wanted to simply eradicate humanity—Hera included—but others had already understood the impact humans could have on their strength and reach. As cults grew and temples were erected in the names of the most prominent Olympians, those who received the most prayers and tributes from faithful followers gained in force and awareness and intensity. Zeus stood at the forefront already, his followers the most numerous. He understood the importance of worship in his name and found a solution that didn’t involve striking down all people. Do you know what happened?” Her questioning gaze flicked over them both.
Beside her, Carver shook his head, but Bellanca knew the ancient history from childhood lessons with royal tutors. “Zeus ripped them in half.” She looked at the two-faced doll, her stomach flipping over. “He separated every soulmate to cull their strength, but he saved humanity from destruction.”
Persephone nodded. “Zeus’s plan not only spared humanity from annihilation, but it also doubled the number of living worshippers throughout the worlds. Attica. Thalyria. Atlantis.” She reached out and tore the doll in two, and Bellanca could’ve sworn she heard the screams of a million broken souls cry out inside her. She sucked in a breath, and Carver squeezed her hand. Their fingers locked together, their grip on each other crushing.
“But humans were despondent,” Persephone continued. “They’d lost the other half that made them whole. Apollo took pity and decided to ease their pain. He closed the gaping holes in their flesh, leaving only the navel as a reminder that they’d once been attached to another living being. But these early humans… Even healed, they couldn’t know true peace. Physically, they yearned to be completed by joining with the other.”
“That’s desire,” Bellanca whispered. “And throughout their lives, they searched endlessly for their fated mate.” A swell of emotion pushed hard against her ribs. “And now, finding your soulmate is a gift from Zeus alone, a rare and nearly unknown treasure.”
Carver gripped her hand so hard it almost hurt. “And otherwise?” he asked.
Persephone shrugged. “People make do with what they find. Contentment can certainly follow. Love and happiness, too.” She gave him a pointed look. “But your family has been particularly well rewarded.”
“Because we’re always doing exactly what Zeus wants,” Carver said hoarsely.
Persephone laughed, the sound more like cut glass than wind chimes this time. “Strength of will. Strength of character. Your parents displayed them so fiercely that Zeus took notice at a time when he was moving humans into place for his plans for Thalyria. The next generation was…watched over, shall we say, so that they’d have the tools to help them overcome overwhelming obstacles.”
“Because there’s nothing more powerful in all of humanity than soulmates joined together.” Bellanca knew exactly what was happening—and to whom—but it still seemed impossible. An incredible gift and yet a huge burden—the expectations of gods weighed on their shoulders.
Persephone’s gaze weighed just as heavily. “So far, there’s nothing Zeus’s reunited souls haven’t been able to accomplish. Cat and Griffin. Flynn and Jocasta, though two Hoi Polloi are less aware of the urgency and power of the connection. Piers and Sophie.”
“Piers?” Carver asked sharply. “Who’s Sophie?”
“That’s not my story to tell, but suffice it to say that your brother’s exile from Thalyria brought him great heartache but also great joy. He was integral in getting the Shard of Olympus to Athena, who placed it here in Atlantis in preparation for war. Piers lost his birth family, but he did his duty to the gods and was rewarded with the other half of his soul.”
Bellanca’s heart squeezed painfully for a man she didn’t even know. She couldn’t imagine how Carver’s heart must be exploding in his chest, all the happiness and sorrow twisting together into one big mess.
“And us?” Bellanca asked. She glanced at Carver, his strong profile suddenly the sharpest thing in the room. No wonder they’d never been able to leave each other alone. Always looking for a way to get under the other’s skin, even if it was through sheer antagonism. Always orbiting the other, always protecting each other to the very end. She swallowed. “I’m younger. Carver was chosen, and then I…” It couldn’t be that she’d been made to complete him. They completed each other, equal parts, different but joined. Two sides of the same coin.
Persephone’s huff was a quick burst, her words tart. “I’m glad to see there’s no idiocy of attempted denial, especially since I arrived to find you trying to crawl into each other’s mouths.”
Carver’s sharp inhalation whistled in his nose. “No idiots here,” he said stiffly.
Persephone cocked a brow. “Not so true at first. You both had this burning understanding that you shouldn’t be apart even if you drove each other mad.” The goddess looked at Carver. “You followed Bellanca to Atlantis without question. It wasn’t easy, but there was no hesitation in your heart. And you…” She glanced at Bellanca, her magic-charged eyes as sharp and assessing as ever. “You saw Carver pinned down in battle, Pan nearby and the satyrs pummeling him, and you—quite worryingly, to be honest—produced magic no one else possesses in order to reach him. You created it. You didn’t unlock unknown potential or receive a gift from the gods. You produced it yourself—from the strength of your bond, from the need to preserve it. This is the power of soulmates, especially when there’s a fiercely strong Magoi involved, that the gods feared enough to split the human race apart and scatter their halves across worlds. You were strong enough together to kill a god in battle. Pan—millennia of life, and then gone.” Persephone snapped her fingers, the symbolic sound of Pan snuffing out of existence as loud as a thunderclap in their living room.
Bellanca’s already hard-thumping heart accelerated. “Is that why I could control the new magic so fast? Because I made it myself?”
Persephone’s shrewd look scraped over her with a hint of pride. “What else can you make, I wonder? Zeus is always seeing a thousand steps ahead, but you surprised him.”
“So did Hera,” Carver muttered. “And maybe he should’ve been a better husband so we wouldn’t be paying the price for his neglect and infidelity now.”
Persephone nearly snorted, just barely blocking the sound behind closed lips. “I happen to agree. I’ve said the same to Zeus.”
“And?” Carver asked, frowning.
“He didn’t answer.” The shadow of a scowl darkened Persephone’s features as she glanced briefly out the window again. “But this is about more than punishing Zeus. Hera is covetous of supreme power. She always has been. She wants to rule. She has allies. She has powerful magic. She has many, many worshippers that greatly boost her strength. When Zeus listened to her, that was enough, and they ruled together. That hasn’t been true for a long time.”
“A majority of grateful Atlantians could truly tip the scales. That’s the army Zeus needs, that he wants from me—worshippers.” Worry plunged through Bellanca. “But Atlantians don’t have a particular love for Zeus to begin with. He’s Punishment to them. They mostly pray to Poseidon here.”
“But Poseidon backs Zeus.” Persephone drew a symbol in the air—a trident. It remained there, glowing. “What Atlantians can’t know or understand is that Zeus’s Punishment—the elimination of magic here—spared them the cruelty and violence that developed in Thalyria over the last several generations. The stratification of society. The imbalance of wealth and power between Hoi Polloi and Magoi. The vicious rulers too empowered by colossal magic to remember what it meant to lead and not to take.” She drew the island in the air with Mount Olympus in the north and Zeus’s thunderbolt pointing toward the city of Atlantapol. Her depiction shimmered between them, golden threads of light pulled straight from the atmosphere. “Hades remains an ally in the Underworld, but it’s the most separate of the worlds. Once a soul crosses the River Styx, there’s no returning to the living. As rulers of the Underworld, to the dead, we are the only gods who matter.” She drew Hades’s invisibility helmet beside the island in the air, equidistant to the other two glowing symbols.
“Those are the marks on my medallion.” Bellanca stared at the golden drawings hovering around the representation of Atlantis. “Zeus’s lightning, Poseidon’s trident, and Hades’s helmet. Those are the gifts from the Elder Cyclopes that gave them the power to vanquish the Titans.”
“The Shard of Olympus contains a piece of each gift.” Persephone swiped her hand through the drawings, shattering them into a cascade of golden sparks that faded as they fell to the floor. “It will amplify your already-powerful magic to the point of almost godlike abilities.”
“And Zeus wants me to have that?” Bellanca asked warily. “What’s to stop him from eliminating the threat of me once he has what he wants?”
“I suppose that’s up to the choices you make, the things you do with your power.”
Bellanca stared at the goddess, feeling as though a saw-toothed trap had just snapped shut around her leg. Even with Zeus, it was obviously toe the line or Tartarus. Where was the free will in that?
Persephone clucked her tongue. “Don’t look so shocked. You’re among the favored few in all the worlds. All you have to do is not ruin it for yourself.”
Like by trying to save Cleito? Bellanca clamped her mouth shut on the question that tried to spring out. The only way to save Cleito was by throwing her lot in with Hera—Zeus’s rival.
“Does Attica sway the balance?” Carver asked. “Isn’t it a huge world?”
“Attica is long lost,” Persephone said, a whisper of regret in her voice. “The magic there died when humans stopped worshipping us. Even our magic is weak there at best, and we have no real influence over events or people. Tartarus is a hopeless prison under Zeus’s control. It neither brings us power nor dampens it. And as I said before, the Underworld is Hades’s and mine and separate from Mount Olympus.”
“And that leaves Thalyria and Atlantis,” Carver murmured.
Persephone nodded. “Thalyria is far bigger, but prayer is spread across the pantheon, giving us all strength and vitality. Zeus barely has the majority, and Hera is close behind. She’s ancient, revered, and her role is important to all households. Guardian of women and children, of the sanctity of marriage…”
“A role she’s been betraying lately,” Bellanca said sharply. “Well, not the sanctity part.” Hera was trying to oust her husband and take his kingdom, not cheat on him. That was Zeus’s domain.
“Humans don’t know what she’s been doing. We only just learned who’s been wreaking havoc ourselves,” Persephone pointed out. “Her faithful haven’t faltered.”
“And if she suddenly gains a swell of gratitude from Atlantians…” The magic in Bellanca’s veins heated as if preparing for battle.
“Then everything as we know it could change—and I don’t think for the better.”
Bellanca didn’t think so, either. She lifted her chin, straightened her spine. “We’re ready. We know where the shard is, but we can’t travel. Carver’s injured.”
“Which brings me to the true reason I’m here.” Persephone’s power-heavy eyes shifted to Carver. “Lessons in history and theology aside, I’m a healer.”
Carver’s sigh of relief filtered through a wry, maybe even bitter smile. “It should be easier than last time.”
“Last time you were dead. You just hadn’t crossed the Styx yet, so I could pull you back. Also, I’m counting on you not resisting this time.” She pushed the basket on the table toward them. “I have this, too.”
Curious, Bellanca reached out and folded back the cloth covering the basket. “Toy horses?”
“A gift from Prometheus. He debated coming in person to help you, but right now, Hera controls the Mount Olympus on Atlantis, which means she also controls the passageways under the mountain. Prometheus could use the hub of Olympus to join you here, but Hera would catch him as he entered.”
“How did you get here, if not through the hub?” Carver asked, reaching out and picking up one of the figurines. Bellanca could see that it looked just like Zephyrus, Carver’s dark-brown horse from Thalyria. It was an exact replica, right down to the wide blaze etched on its forehead antd the white socks on three of four legs, the back left leg being devoid of markings. Her heart squeezed out a hard beat. Carver and Zeph had been companions for nearly a decade, and Carver had barely mentioned the horse since they’d been in Atlantis. Zephyrus was just one more of the lost loved ones they avoided talking about.
“The primary Olympians don’t need the passageways and appear where they please. Same for me from the Underworld. Prometheus is Titan. Zeus prefers to be able to monitor where he might go, just like with other gods and magical creatures.”
Emotion cinched Bellanca’s heart surprisingly hard. It was too bad the Titan couldn’t join them. She could really use Pro right now, and not just for his magic and muscles. He was a friend, and friends were precious to a person who’d had so few of them.
Breathing through the sudden tightness in her throat, she turned her attention to the other figurine in the basket. It resembled her horse, Arete. They hadn’t been together for long—only since she and Carver had been going back and forth between Castle Thalyria and the army encampment outside the city—but the bay mare had quickly become a trusted companion, always giving her utmost in everything. Seeing Arete like this, a lifeless toy, felt like a cruel twist to the already cruel reality of losing her, and everything else besides Carver, to Thalyria.
His expression wholly closed off, Carver put the statuette of Zeph back in the basket. “Let’s get this over with.”
Annoyance twitched across Persephone’s face. “As much as I enjoy taking orders from mortals, don’t you wonder about the horses? A Titan god isn’t going to amuse himself by carving you decorations. These are your horses.”
“What?” Bellanca pivoted back to the tiny but lifelike statues, a shock of elation making her breath catch. “How do we animate them? Make them big again?”
Persephone shrugged. “Prometheus said you’d know.”
Bellanca didn’t. She glanced at Carver, her brow creasing. In answer, he shook his head.
“One more mystery to unravel.” Sighing, she tugged Carver toward his room. Persephone’s magical healing would hurt like the fires of the Underworld. “Let’s get you lying down.”
He nodded, following, and as they moved, her mind jumped to the gear and supplies she’d gather while Carver slept off the upcoming ordeal. Their mission seemed much clearer now but more difficult than ever. And if they finally succeeded…
Nervous fire licked through her. She’d been born a princess, but she never thought she’d become a queen.
Carver sat on his bed as she turned back to Persephone. “I hope I can succeed.” Her voice roughened, low and almost afraid. “I want to be worthy of Atlantis.”
Persephone reached out and gripped both Bellanca’s wrists, healing them of their burns in a sudden, searing burst of pain. “That’s why Zeus chose you.” Her steady gaze conveyed the same fervent conviction as her words. “You might think us all absent and unpredictable and uninterested in the fate of men and worlds, but you’re wrong. Punishment was because Zeus cared about the future of Atlantis and saw it going down the same path as Thalyria. He knows magic can do good in the right hands. He was waiting for yours.”