Chapter 21
Nyssa
Speechless: that’s how he left me.
When I awoke this morning, I’d never have believed that my day would turn out like this.
Struggling to wield on the bank of a still, black lake felt like a faint memory — like that last wisp of a dream that clings even as your eyes peer open, unsure if you’re in the dream still, or if the world you’re waking into is the illusion.
The memory was buried under various layers of silt in the form of recent occurrences: battling serpents, chasing ghosts, finding legends, and turning down a marriage proposal.
A furies-damned marriage proposal.
In hindsight, perhaps I should have agreed — we weren’t guaranteed any of our tomorrows, or any more dreams — but was it too much to ask for a proposal that didn’t include vomit-covered footwear?
Definitely not, Vel chimed in from afar. You are a queen. And more than that, you rule over three realms. Not even Zeus could claim that title as much as he might have wished otherwise. Your status dictates more for an occasion such as this.
It’s not that, I admitted, skirting the mess on the floor as I approached a second conjured gateway. You know I don’t care for grandeur. I sighed. I don’t know what use this knowledge is to a dragon, but we haven’t even… slept together.
Yes, you have — you do nightly.
Exasperation fled me in the form of a long exhalation. Not sleeping… sleeping. You know… surely you must know… do dragons not know?
Her snort was audible in my brain, vibrating my sinuses enough to extract a high-pitched sneeze. She laughed harder as realisation sank in.
She knew. She knew exactly what I meant and simply preferred to watch me flounder.
Vel!
She chortled again, the sound scratching the inside of my skull in an oddly satisfying way.
I just mean… what if he changes his mind after—
That is a conversation best left to goddesses of desire, she interrupted with a lingering trace of amusement.
My nose wrinkled. You’re right. Aphrodite — and Aros, for that matter — will love this.
But, godling?
Mmm?
No one — not even your soul-bonded — has the power to diminish you unless you hand it to them. And I happen to believe that Caelus would be horrified that you considered him capable of that, even for a moment.
My head fell back as I stared at the grime-covered ceiling of the derelict tavern, wishing I could look upon the Underworld’s constellations instead. I exhaled heavily, rolling my shoulders back, and just paused for a moment.
You ought to offer a prayer of thanks to Tyche, I suggested, stepping through the flickering archway.
And what do I need to thank the goddess of good fortune for, exactly?
You’ve been right twice in one day. Clearly, she’s smiling upon you.
Vel’s scoff rolled through my eardrums as I exited the shadowgate and reappeared beside her.
In the warm orange glow of sunset, the carnage that lay before us seemed somehow softer; somehow less.
But without the din of swords against scaled hides, monstrous shrieks inspiring terror, and cries of the wounded, the wailing of mourners seemed tenfold.
It struck me deep, wounding me where no weapon could reach.
I had failed them.
No, Vel snapped. Her long, sinuous neck twisted around so that she could better glare at me through half-slitted lids. This is not your doing. Kronos sent them. He is to blame for the deaths of innocents. She swivelled, eyes alighting on a young woman kneeling in the rubble.
One of her hands clasped the weathered fingers of what I could only assume was her mother — same heart shaped face, same bronzed skin — the other hand tore at the pale fabric covering her own torso.
As though she could physically claw out the pain of her loss.
A gentle movement to her right snagged my attention, and it was Demeter’s green eyes that stared back at me across the space — two shades darker than my own.
If anyone could understand the woman’s pain, it was her.
It was us.
For I knew grief, too. I had danced with it, fought with it, accepted that it was to be my silent companion until I took my last breath — because what was grief but a continuation of the love you bore someone you could no longer reach?
There could be no love without it.
The goddess dipped her head in acknowledgement, gliding over to the woman, the skirts of her long, wheat-coloured peplos trailing behind her. She spoke softly, wrapped a bloodstained arm around the woman’s shoulders, and helped her to her feet.
I watched them go, slowly traversing the unclaimed bodies and crumbled stone. I watched until they disappeared, until the skies faded to night, silently paying tribute to the fallen.
One by one, others joined me — gods, goddesses, mortals, and beasts. No one uttered so much as a word, instead offering up their own silent prayers for the dead.
I knew, because I heard them.
Hades always heard them.
Eventually, though, a sliver of concern pierced our soundless gesture. Caelus’ emotions ached behind my breastbone, and I blinked up at Selene’s moon, realising just how much time had passed since we’d parted in that grimy little tavern.
Clearing my throat, I shifted, searching for Athena. Unsurprisingly, I located her within the crowd of silent witnesses recognising a particularly devastating chapter of history as it was being written.
I wondered how many of these moments the goddess had witnessed in her lifetime.
“Do we know how many fell?” I asked when she joined me.
Hers was a soldier’s stance — feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped at the small of her back — and when she spoke, it was with the forced detachment of someone who had long since mastered the art compartmentalisation.
“One hundred and seventy-eight mortal lives ended today, your grace. Forty-two Athenian warriors, and a hundred and thirty-six innocents before we arrived.”
My lips parted, though no sound slipped out.
“Those numbers, in addition to those lost in Neros, total twelve thousand, six hundred, and twenty-seven who have fallen to Kronos’ army in this war.”
Horror held me in its grip, squeezing the air from my lungs, rooting my feet in place.
“That is too many.”
“It is.”
An icy breeze brushed my cheek, freezing the teardrop that had unknowingly fallen. I pressed a hand to my face, knowing exactly what I’d see when I turned around. Knowing who I would see.
My lip quivered when I spun to face my somber army. There, right at the forefront, was the gentle, dimpled smile of my ghostly shadow.
Charon held my gaze, passing wordless messages across the chasm of life and death that separated us.
You did it.
I’m proud of you.
I’m sorry.
Decades of companionship meant that I could translate every flicker that crossed his face — as he could mine. He knew the sorrow that lingered in my heart, the blame I placed on my own shoulders. And he couldn’t save me from it. No one could.
He sidestepped and held out an arm, gesturing to the crowd of people who were looking to me — waiting for me to say something, do something.
Lifting my chin and inhaling deeply, I spoke.
“One hundred and seventy-eight innocent people died today.”
I did not shout, but they flinched at the words regardless.
“We stand on roads stained with blood. Where children once played, and now names of the lost live only in our throats.
“Speak of them. Speak of them often. Remind each other of those you have lost today. Let them live on in your memories and in each other.
“They did not deserve to die, and they do not deserve to be forgotten either.
“There are those who would shield you from the truth, lest you fall prey to it. I do not share that belief, and I hope your King does not either, for I will tell you that you have unwittingly become a battlefield in a war between gods.”
Gasps rang out. Mutterings began — words that would condemn us: their gods.
“Like Neros, Kronos has sought to use you, knock you over like a pawn on the chess board that is his war. He believes that your lives are the currency of surrender; that if he spends enough, we will all succumb to his rule.”
Hundreds of eyes bore into me — considering, weighing, measuring my words.
Those eyes widened as shock rippled through them like a wave — the crowns lay heavy upon my brow, augmenting my next statement.
“I swear to you that I will fight — forever if I must — to ensure you aren’t another tally for the pages of history. Upon the River Styx, I will fight for you until Atropos cleaves my thread.
“You are my people just as much as they are,” I said, indicating the gods at forefront. “While no ichor was spilled today, make no mistake: the blood of Olympus still fell. Because you are our power; our purpose; our lifeblood. Without you, we are nothing.”
But pretty words meant nothing unless actions backed them up. And so, I knelt. I speared Nightbreaker into the earth, wrapping black-stained fingers tightly around her hilt. I closed my eyes and dipped my chin.
“With the Fates as my witness, I pledge myself to you. To the people of Ephemeron, and the gods of Olympus. To the halflings, the creatures, the spirits. To the bonded, the broken, and the dead. I shall be your sword in this war against evil. I shall be your shield against those who would seek to oppress you. And I shall be your torch to guide the way in the dark times that await us.”
Thump.
My eyes snapped open.
Thump.
My brows creased.
Thump.
Emotion lodged itself in my throat.
One, and then more, and then many — fists against breastplates. Feet against stone. Swords against shields.
Faster and faster they pounded. Every last one. From civilians to soldiers to beasts.
All of them demonstrating the highest honour they could bestow.
“We stand with you,” Aros roared, his axe with its single flame held aloft. “Queen Nyssa!”
“Queen Nyssa!” they repeated, raising their weapons.
“Queen Nyssa,” Charon echoed, lifting a solitary fist that flickered in and out of view.
And as I joined them, as I held Nightbreaker high, they cheered.
And for the first time since the Crown chose me, it felt right. Like Fate hadn’t made a grievous error. Like I really could save them.