Chapter 5 Caelus
Caelus
The immediate loss of childlike joy after Themis left with Aletheia was like being doused in a bucket of ice water — abrupt and sobering.
The little spark of Nyssa’s amusement fizzled out in my chest, and I immediately mourned its absence.
I could physically feel her rebuilding those impenetrable walls in her mind, locking me out. Locking everyone out.
So, when she finally turned around and her beautiful face was devoid of emotion, I was unsurprised. Disappointed, perhaps, which hit twice as hard when I realised she could feel that in return and probably thought I was disappointed in her, though that couldn’t be farther from the truth.
Loss had sharpened her like a whetstone does a blade. If she wasn’t careful, she’d slice herself open, instead of the ones who’d caused it.
Kronos.
Hera.
Fate.
Even me, to some degree.
It’s not like I asked to be stabbed, but I’d do it again in a heartbeat to save her.
Nyssa had possessed me from the moment I laid eyes on her. She had etched her name into my heart the second her eyes locked with mine, and had woven herself neatly into my soul since I hijacked the sisters’ trial.
Maybe even before that.
I would never — could never — regret that decision. Not even now, when I could simultaneously feel her pulling away and hear the sweet whisper of her inner monologue.
She had no clue — of that I was certain. I’d tried to speak back to her a few times, but it was like shouting into a void. My words just disappeared into the nothingness. Not at all like how I communicated with Lykos. They just faded into oblivion. Unanswered. Unheard.
Nyssa cleared her throat, snagging my attention. In that precise moment, seeing that blank look upon her face, I decided I wouldn’t let her drown alone.
Not anymore.
We were in this together, for however long the Fates allotted her. I would fade willingly with her when Atropos’ shears finally snicked shut on her thread, knowing that I would not have survived a second without her anyway.
And I’d be damned if I let her spend one more second of the time we had left — which might not be long at all with war on our horizon — as this empty, depthless shell.
Aros reentered the chamber then, taking up his father’s throne with only a sliver of hesitation. He dropped into it with a heavy sigh, his breath ruffling the fiery strands that had fallen into his eyes.
“Poseidon is safely tucked away, although I doubt he’ll see reason anytime soon,” he huffed.
I leaned across. “Who did you assign as his guard?”
The right corner of Aros’ lips tugged up into a rueful smirk. “Evadne.”
Hermes scoffed. “You know he didn’t sleep with that many women because of the size of his cock—”
“Or lack thereof,” Aphrodite coughed.
Artemis sniggered, translating for Apollo who beamed delightedly.
Hermes shot her a look of disdain before continuing, “He’s cunning. Slippery. He’ll be between her legs and out of his cell faster than you can say Pin -dick Poseidon.”
Snickers echoed around the vast marble chamber. It even managed to breach Nyssa’s walls — her lips twitched with suppressed amusement.
“Ah, but not Evie,” Aros replied, sitting up. He eyed Hermes until he fidgeted. “She’d sooner chop off his dick and feed it to him before she let her duties slip between her fingers.”
Nyssa’s grin was one of wicked delight and my heart did a backflip at the sight.
“Come to think of it, she’d probably claim that as part of her duty, anyway. Maybe I should go check on them,” he mused, brows increasingly furrowed.
“I like her already. Who is she?” Nyssa asked.
Aros blushed, rubbing the side of his neck. “Apparently, someone I forgot to previously mention.” He smiled sheepishly. “She’s going to murder me,” he said under his breath. “Evadne, or Evie to family—”
“And me,” I added, rather unhelpfully.
“And Caelus.” He glared, as if to say: the hole I’ve dug myself is deep enough, thank you. “She’s my sister.”
Aphrodite gasped, putting the puzzle together before anyone else, even with all its scattered pieces across the board.
No one ever gives her the credit she rightfully deserves.
Your bonded does, Lykos yawned.
You’re right, she does.
“Twin, actually,” Aros added, adding another foot to his metaphorical hole.
Nyssa’s dark brows shot up her forehead. Her gaze darted between Aros, Apollo, and Artemis.
“But twins are—”
“Rare, yes.” Aros winced.
“Exceedingly rare, actually,” Athena cut in. “So infrequent that they are usually cause for concern.” The goddess frowned, her gaze seeming to pierce right through Aros.
I do not envy him. I bit my lip to keep from laughing as he wriggled in his new seat.
Nor do I, my wolf rumbled.
“Twins born to full-blooded gods can end in one of two ways,” Athena continued. “Infamy,” — she eyed the gods of sun and moon — “or tragedy.”
The room sobered, its silence strained.
She began pacing the length of the room.
“Consider Otos and Ephialtes, who accidentally murdered each other while hunting a deer.” She paused to raise a brow at Artemis, who avoided her gaze.
“Or Phrixus and Helle, who escaped certain death only for Helle to fall off their gold-fleeced mount and drown in the Ceraunian Sea.” Athena turned back to Aros, concern softening the lines of her face.
“Your mother must have been terrified for both of you.”
Aros’ gaze dropped to the floor. He nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “My father kept Evie hidden… ensured that you all believed she’d died in childbirth.”
Athena’s brows rose, realising what Aph had moments before: Evie had been a well-kept secret, and the fate of these twins was yet to be determined.
Aros addressed Nyssa. “She hates our father even more than you do… she’ll relish the chance to swear fealty to you,” he swore.
My Nightshade rose gracefully. “Athena, could you please summon the others? There is something else we need to discuss.” She shot me a well-placed look and I knew she was referring to her dream — and the resulting bedroom wall.
Athena dipped her head, then exited.
“In the meantime, can I meet her? Evadne?” Nyssa asked Aros, who launched to his feet, nodding eagerly.
“Of course! She’ll be thrilled. Maybe even speechless, for once in her godsdamned life.”
“We’ll be right back,” she told the others, looping her arm through Aros’ extended elbow.
After pausing briefly to look back, she murmured, “Coming, Golden?” Her smile was an olive branch — small, tentative — but it rejuvenated me.
Her grin grew a little brighter, a fresh sense of hope tentatively tugging on our bond.
And so I offered her my own arm, relishing her touch when she accepted.
One moment at a time, I told myself.