42. Nyssa #2
“I can’t take it any longer!” he cried out.
My lip quavered. It hurt to see a friend break, knowing I was powerless to stop it. Even if I gave my own truth — which I could not afford to do with Hera present — it would not spare Archimedes from the pain. Just prolong it.
“I’m… I’m dying,” he choked out, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
“You’ve only been stabbed. You won’t die,” Hera sneered.
“No. That’s not what I mean.” Arch swallowed roughly. “My hidden truth is that I’m dying. A little at a time.”
My hand flew to my mouth in an odd combination of horror and confusion. We suffered no sickness; time would not weary us — I knew Archimedes was almost two centuries old, but that was still youthful by the gods’ standards. He bore no wound inflicted by immense power or by Titan blade.
I don’t understand.
“Do go on, boy,” Hera taunted, glee warping her dainty features into something wicked. Something evil.
I barely registered the sting of a blade coming down on my foot. But I felt the burn of pain as it was yanked back out.
“Ahhh!” I cried out, clutching my boot. I didn’t know how much more I could take either. My father had ensured my training included being able to withstand torture, but I doubted he’d imagined he’d be the one to inflict it.
I knew exactly why the mirror showed him. He was my truth. And revealing it would weaken the Underworld.
Not yet.
Not until I was out of options — out of resolve.
“I was tinkering in the forge one day,” Arch gasped, “when I stumbled across something I shouldn’t have. A voice whispered into my ear, told me exactly what to do — and I listened. I unknowingly forged a Titan dagger,” he sobbed. “I didn’t mean to!” he yelled at Caelus.
Caelus remained still, brows drawn low over his eyes like he did whenever he was trying to figure something out.
“I handed it to my father, knowing exactly what I’d made. He, in turn, handed it over to the King and Queen of Olympus.” Archimedes spat at Hera’s feet.
Oh, no. I had a horrible feeling that I knew exactly where this was going.
“My hands created the blade that pierced your father’s heart, Caelus… I’m so sorry,” he said softly, before hissing a breath at the new cut across his nose. “Ever since that day — ever since I channelled a power no god should be able to wield — my power has been waning.”
Arch dropped his head. I wasn’t even sure if Caelus breathed, he was so still.
“Every time I create something new, it takes a little more from me, feeding my power directly into that Furies-damned dagger,” he spat. “I don’t know how much I have left… But it’s only a fraction of what I had.”
“What will happen when it’s all gone?” I asked.
At first, no one answered. Then Apollo slowly lifted blood-slicked fingers.
Our power is what sustains us. When it’s all gone, so, too, are we .
He lowered his hands solemnly, eyeing Arch with profound sadness.
“You may go, Archimedes,” Hera said happily, as though dismissing a student from class. She waved a hand in the air and a single mirror swivelled outwards.
An exit for a truth.
“The Crown Selection ceremony will begin at sundown tomorrow. Don’t be late,” she trilled as Arch hobbled through the opening.
The second he passed through, his wounds vanished completely, as if they’d never been there at all.
Well, at least we have that to look forward to , I thought as the mirror sealed shut again, encircling us in its gleaming cage.
Hera stalked the perimeter, idly twirling her locket between her fingers. Somehow, she remained unaffected by the mysterious power of the mirrors.
Distracted, I didn’t notice my father’s move to strike.
I screamed as if I’d been skewered, sinking to my knees in agony — but when I looked down, nothing protruded from my thigh.
Just a wound, eerily similar to Arch’s. My gaze flicked up, and locked with Hades’ unsettling black irises.
He twirled a spear made of shadows, ensuring I saw it before he let it dissolve into nothingness.
Caelus crouched beside me and pressed a hand firmly to the wound, stemming the flow of gold — but he was bleeding just as badly from his own thigh.
“This is useless!” I yelled, aggrieved at the futility of it all. “What use are our secrets to you?!” I hurled the words at Hera, who only smiled — sharp and menacing.
“Why, child — were you not yet aware?” she cooed.
“Secrets are the true currency of the realms.” Her grin turned mocking, and Caelus’ fingers dug harder into my leg at the sight.
“The wealthiest are not those with piles of gold, but those who own the most secrets. And who know precisely how to wield them to their own advantage.”
“This is ridiculous, Mother,” Caelus spat. “You have no right to her secret — or anyone else’s.”
Hera’s glare could rival Hades’.
“Oh, but I do, son. That is the trial,” she snapped. “Give me your darkest secret and go forth for Crown Selection — or don’t. See what the mirrors make of you then.”
Apollo broke next, buying us a little more time. He looked only at me as his fingers spelled out his hidden truth.
Your prophecy was mine , he began. It was I who had the vision; I who wrote the words; I who set you on this path.
He broke eye contact, bowing his head in shame.
“You?!” Hera screeched. We collectively ignored her.
I waited until Apollo looked up again before replying silently.
None of this is your fault. Whether you wrote the words or not, these things were always going to happen. We were always going to end up here. But you know I have to win — that I have to be selected?
He nodded.
The realms depend on it, Apollo replied. We are all relying on you to save us. His eyes flicked to Caelus. Both of you.
It was Caelus’ turn to nod, a message passing between their meaningful stares that I had no hope of deciphering.
Hera shrieked, “ You are the reason my husband went and murdered the Furies-damned Spring princess?!”
Apollo shot her a withering glare before turning back to me.
Yes. It was my words that killed your mother, Nyssa.
“No,” I breathed, shaking my head vehemently. “No, it was Zeus.”
He acted on my words, child.
“No!” I yelled — so loudly that Caelus flinched beside me. “They might have been your words, Apollo, but Zeus retained agency over his own actions. He murdered her all on his own. Accidentally, maybe — in an effort to get to me?—”
“What?!” Caelus exploded. “What does that mean?!”
My gaze clashed with his.
“Your father… Before he — after I…” The words tangled on my tongue. What I wouldn’t give for a bratty,but wise dragon in my head right now. I tried again. “Before I sentenced Zeus to Tart arus, he told me that my mother’s death was an accident. That his blade was meant for me.”
“But you were a baby?! You were… Furies, you were born that day, weren’t you?” he pressed, having connected the dots all on his own.
You never told me the whole prophecy, did you, Apollo? he signed succinctly. His suspicion was evident in every terse gesture.
Apollo shook his head, the corners of his lips turned down.
“Time to go, Apollo,” Hera seethed, wrenching open the same mirrored panel Archimedes had passed through. The sun god left in silence, offering no further explanation. The moment the panel slammed shut, Aros, Caelus, and I were attacked — faster than before.
Cuts slashed across our faces, hands, and legs; every inch of visible skin opened up. The flurry came swift and sharp.
“You can make it stop,” said Hera coyly. “Just say the words. Spill your secrets, and keep the others’ at bay,” she crooned.
“I guess it’s my turn then,” Aros sighed, his tone laced with resignation. The attacks relented. He heaved a deep breath and began softly.
“I hate my father. It’s no secret that the Ares’ children are many. What is less known is that we all have different mothers.”
“All of you?!” Caelus asked. “But there must be… what, a hundred?”
Aros nodded. “Well, most of us. And a hundred and two, at last count. My own mother is a goddess named Bia.”
“I recognise that name,” Caelus said quietly.
“Of course you do,” Hera scoffed. “She was one of your father’s lovers. Where is that winged wench now?” She scowled at Aros.
“Far away,” he bit back. “From you especially. Somewhere beyond Poseidon’s seas. Beyond even my reach.” His tone shifted. Sadness crept in. Abandonment. “She was the goddess of force and power — until she renounced those titles. Ares saw them as a challenge. One he could best… physically.”
“No,” I whispered, horrified.
“Yes,” Aros said. His sad amber eyes met mine. “I am the result of a shameful act of force. Of Ares twisting my mother’s strengths against her in the cruellest of ways. I am every reminder of her pain and defeat.”
“Oh, Aros…”
He stood abruptly. “I’ll see you at the Crown Selection, Nyssa. Hera, if you please. You’ve carved the secret from my flesh — I’d like to retire now.”
Hera smirked and wordlessly waved her hand. The exit appeared.
“And then there were two,” she crooned, a wicked smile carved into her features. She continued toying with the chain at her throat as she prowled, seemingly oblivious to our cries of pain.
My father continued slicing into me with his shadow dagger, taunting me with whispers.
“Say it.”
“Oh, go on, do tell them.”
All the while, he danced from mirror to mirror, echoing Hera’s mindless circles.
I closed my eyes, turning off the conscious part of my mind — just like he’d taught me. I no longer felt the nicks and scratches. Only the deepest wounds managed to elicit sound from my throat.
Time no longer meant anything. The only thing I did not lose track of was the feeling of Caelus’ fingers clasping my upper thigh.
Even as he curled in on himself, even as his cuirass fell open in tatters, he did not let go. Perhaps I was his anchor. Perhaps he was mine. Perhaps pain was making me delusional. Either way, I held tight to the knowledge that he was holding tight to me.
But eventually, I broke.