Chapter 34
Nyssa
The Temple of Athena was quiet when I arrived.
Godling, Velira trilled as our consciousnesses joined again. Are you alright?
Truthfully, no… it’s been a long night, I answered, mulling over everything that had happened in the space of the last few hours. Did Aph and Arch make it back okay?
They did, though ‘okay’ is a relative term. Archimedes has looked — and smelled — better.
He lost his father tonight, Vel.
Exhaustion and emotion weighed heavily on me. I barely made it to one of the stone benches lining the walls before collapsing onto it, fighting off a wave of sorrow.
Now that I was alone, I could cease pretending to be apathetic and nonchalant. It was for Caelus’ benefit only that I had pretended, before sending him out again to finish the job he’d started before coming to rescue me — but I wasn’t the damsel in need of rescuing in this tale.
No. In this one, I was the villain, the monster, the murderess.
Everyone else needed saving from me.
I killed him.
My heart was a solid block of ice in my chest; each beat sending frost further along every artery, every vein, until my extremities trembled from it.
You saved Archimedes, Vel intoned. She was somewhere nearby, that much I knew. You were the conduit for his father being able to save him.
Did I do the wrong thing? I barely had the courage to ask.
Aphrodite said you were dying. That Hephaestus chose to help — demanded to save you both. You do him a disservice by regretting his last decision.
I had no words with which to respond to her. She was right… and she was wrong. It was too tumultuous to narrow down into a single black or white ruling.
Rest, she murmured. Take your time. I will wait for you here.
And so, in the solitude and darkness of Athena’s temple, I sat — forced to reconcile the secondary losses of my loved ones. Two, without so much as a goodbye.
I sat — desperately trying to find a way to come to terms with the fact that I was the reason Arch had to grapple with his own grief now.
I sat — staring at the shapes on the wall, taking far too long to realise that they were painted scenes and not colourful blotches. One showed Perseus standing tall, with a shield raised before his face — Medusa opposite him half turned to stone.
Another portrayed Athena herself facing a vicious giant, her sword raised high and a war-cry on her tongue. A third depicted the goddess facing a mammoth spider. That one was left as a warning, however — beware your own hubris.
I pondered the paintings and the woman behind them for some time, wondering what parts of my own story might one day be rendered permanent in various shades of paint.
A slight cough broke the silence and pierced the din of my mind, startling me.
I whirled to see a lone figure leaning against one of the many marble pillars, watching me. The figure straightened and took one step into the torchlight. His haggard face was lined with years of bitter regret and drowning one’s sorrows in liquor.
“I figured you needed a minute… but that minute dragged into an hour, and then I felt inclined to bring you back to the land of the living, my queen,” he said with a half-hearted bow tacked onto the end.
I turned back to the painting, dismissing him as a threat. “Love and grief walk so painfully hand in hand that sometimes I get lost in the darkness of it.”
“If anyone can relate to that more than me, I’d like to meet them,” he grumbled, dropping gracelessly onto the seat beside me.
After minutes more in silence, each of us wrestling with our own thoughts of love and grief, he spoke again. “Why did you bring me here? Why not just leave me to my own devices?”
“Devices that weren’t succeeding in hastening your death by any measure?”
He grunted. “Devices that lessened the blow of waking up each day alive.”
“Fate — or something like it — led me to you.”
“Fate has no business with me,” he grunted. “Not anymore.”
I met his tired, grey eyes and saw my future within them. If I gave up on this war and the realms, I’d probably have worse vices than he did. If I lost Caelus — the other half of my soul — then I’d want to end it all as quickly as I could, too.
“I know who you are, Orland Pheus.”
“You know my name — congratulations, queenie.”
A slight smirk tugged at my lips. “I’m going to let that one slide, because I know much more than you think, Orpheus.”
He jerked backwards as if I'd struck him. “How—”
“Yours was one of my bedtime stories.”
At this admission, his face fell back into that severe scowl. “How quaint.”
“I recognised you, even as deep in your cups as you were. And given that Fate — albeit fate in the form of a black dog—”
“A what?”
“—led me to you, it seemed I should heed their prompting. You have power, Orpheus. You have the ability to make gods bend. You can make even Titans listen.”
“And, let me guess: you’d like to utilise that talent for your own gain?”
“Yes,” I said simply, surprising him. “But I intend to offer you a bargain for doing so.”
Skepticism pulled at his features, already shoving him toward refusal before he’d even heard the terms of my deal.
“Before you say no, think about the one thing you want most in this world.”
“The one thing I want is no longer in this world.”
I levelled him with my gaze, allowing him to see the truth in it. “In exchange for joining us in this war and using your power however I, or my council, deem fit, I will bring her back.”
“You—” he blurted, gaze darkening. “Your father once promised me the same. Why should your promise end any differently?”
“Because my promise is not contingent on you avoiding temptation — we all know how vices go, and she was one of yours. My promise is contingent only on you giving in to your power and using it for something greater than derelict taverns.”
“Greatness has not been my ambition for a long time,” Orpheus grumbled, staring at the painting of the spider.
“Whether it is or isn’t, is irrelevant. I only care that you try. Sing them to sleep, coax them immobile — whatever the scenario calls for in the end, I only want your aid. With you, Orpheus, we have a chance to halt them with minimal cost of lives.”
He turned back to me, eyes brighter — barely daring to hope. “How would you bring her back?”
“Leave the how to me. If you help us, when we win, I will bring Eurydice’s soul back to you.”
His gaze flitted over every inch of my face searching in earnest for the deception; his tongue flicking at his lower lip like he could taste a lie on the air. “Unharmed?”
It took every ounce of self-control not to roll my eyes. “Unharmed.”
“Swear it.”
“Upon the River Styx, I swear to you, Orpheus, that if you help us win this war, I will retrieve, for you, Eurydice’s unharmed soul.”
That seemed to mollify him. He nodded once then dropped his head, drawing shallow breaths.
His hands, clenched into fists, trembled at his sides.
A heartbeat later, he hunched over as if an invisible string tied to his neck were pulling him toward the ground.
With his head wedged between his knees, Orpheus clawed for every breath — every inhale rasping, sharp, and broken.
Having been in the exact same position too many times to count, I knew the onset of a panic attack when I saw one. Orpheus needed something to snap him out of it before it could really take hold.
Disinclined to embrace a strange man, I did the next best thing.
The melody dropped from my lips like ink spilling into clear water, and Orpheus latched onto the sound like his life depended on it.
Perhaps, it did.
Memories linger in the halls,
Ghosts in different shades of grey,
They’re stories on your tongue,
Songs you’ve already sung,
Debts you wish you still had to pay.
Our hearts are beating like drums,
And veins are playing like strings,
If love is a melody,
Ours was a symphony,
And your dirge left me choking on rings.
“I’ll do it,” he whispered into the silence left by the end of the song. “I’ll help you.”
I grasped his shoulder, squeezing once as I stood. “Thank you, Orpheus.”
Then, I left a grieving man alone in the dark with the faintest spark of hope to guide him out of it.
I knew she was there before I’d even set foot on the grass outside the temple.
“Velira,” I cried, bolting to her.
Godling, she crooned as I wrapped my arms around her warm, scaled neck.
She tucked a membranous wing around me, coccooning us both within it like the rest of the world didn’t matter but for this brief embrace. And I tried to believe that — tried to hold onto that.
“Any word on when Caelus will be back?” I asked the great dragon whose eavesdropping knew no bounds.
None yet. He and Aros are still in Strathos, negotiating with the slimy king.
“And what of Athena? Has she heard from Dromaris yet?”
“Not yet, my queen,” came a muffled answer from beyond Velira’s wing.
Considering she hadn’t reacted at all, I surmised that the dragon had been aware of the goddess’ presence the entire time, and that the goddess in question had allowed me this small measure of comfort before delving into heavier topics.
Vel withdrew, and Athena came into view.
Stoic as ever, she stood mere feet away with arms clasped behind her back and feet shoulder-width apart — ever the perfect soldier.
Glaucus perched on her left shoulder, his shrewd yellow eyes trained on me, head tilting at an odd angle as I approached the pair.
Athena looked exhausted — more than I’d ever seen. Her hair had lost its sheen, her eyes, their sparkle, and she bore dark smudges beneath them. And though fatigue weighed heavily on her, her countenance betrayed no signs of grief — at least, not yet.
The others passed through here alone, didn’t they?
Yes. As far as I’m aware, they went straight up to Aphrodite’s rooms, though I believe Evadne is now stationed outside your doors, waiting.
“When was the last time you slept?” I asked the goddess gently.