45. Nyssa
Nyssa
We shadowstepped to the place where it all began — the pristine marble Parthenon built into the side of Mount Olympus.
The Primal Council was already assembled, seated in their gilded thrones and dressed in their finest. After all, they were officially meeting their new monarch today. Their champions, if they had any, stood beside them waiting in silence.
Gasps echoed through the hall as my shadows receded. At least a few of those present recognised the black crown flickering atop my head. Each face in the grand hall was locked on mine — some with mouths agape in shock, others radiating fury through their cutting glares.
Only Caelus’ and Apollo’s council seats remained empty, the gods instead standing with Archimedes, Aros, and me in the centre of the atrium.
“I’ll leave you here,” Charon said softly, before striding over to Caelus’ conveniently empty throne and throwing himself down unceremoniously on the polished gold, right beside Hera’s. He shot a glare around the room, daring anyone to object.
Nobody did.
I guess the Ferryman holds a certain sway with the council , I mused.
More like they don’t want to be thrown over the side of his boat when their time comes, Vel laughed. I’ll go add a little bite to his bark. She grinned in that serpentine way of hers, smoke curling out of her nostrils, and sashayed over, settling on her haunches behind his seat.
A fire-breathing, equine-sized security measure.
Raising my chin under the scrutiny of those assembled, I strode forwards to fill the empty space between Caelus and Aros.
The champions were positioned in a half circle facing a small dais where Hera waited, eyes narrowed.
Beside her stood a white marble pedestal, and nestled on a deep purple cushion lay the burnished gold Crown of Olympus.
It lay dormant and unassuming — at least until the ceremony began.
Hera cleared her throat. “Congratulations, champions.” Her voice held no tremor, no rasp — no hint of the sobs and screams she had subjected it to last night. “You have successfully completed all twelve trials, demonstrating all of the necessary qualities Olympus requires in its ruler.”
And none of which you possess, I thought snarkily.
I wonder when the murder revelation will come out, Velira drawled seethingly.
I’ll leave that up to Caelus to decide.
“To begin the ceremony, each of you must approach the dais and offer the Crown a single drop of your blood,” Hera explained.
“It will then analyse every aspect of every trial within that drop, and every second of your life before that. Finally, it will select the most worthy of you to rule all of Olympus and the mortal realm.”
Hera’s glare cut to me. “You may have noticed that one of our champions ,” she spat, “is wearing something that should not belong to them.”
“Why does she wear Hades’ crown?” Ares hissed.
Poseidon chimed in, “Where even is Hades? He’s been notably absent for this entire Rite.”
“It’s unlike him to miss an event like this — even in wartime when the death tolls are catastrophic and he’s needed on the Isle,” Athena reasoned.
“Certain truths were revealed in my trial last night,” Hera began.
“Yes, they certainly were, weren’t they, wife of Zeus?” I drawled, raising a brow suggestively.
“What does she mean by that?” Demeter queried.
“Yes, girl,” Artemis intoned. “What do you mean by that?”
“Hera?” My other brow lifted, leaving the decision in Hera’s perfectly manicured hands.
“She means nothing,” the goddess in question seethed.
Hera inhaled deeply, ready to forge on with the ceremony — when a deep, thunderous voice interrupted her. A voice I knew intimately, last heard whispering my name as I drifted off to sleep.
Caelus spoke clearly, enunciating each syllable to leave no room for confusion.
“Last night, my dear mother admitted to the murder of our late King Zeus, Lord of Lightning. My father. Her husband.”
The blow hit softly.
Then detonated on a delay.
Gods flew to their feet shouting arguments and disbelief. Animal companions added to the cacophony with a chorus of screeches and roars. Hera shuffled backwards, genuine fear in her icy blue eyes.
And Charon watched it all unfold, with a shit-eating grin spreading across his face, from his front-row seat in Caelus’ throne.
Poseidon launched his trident through the air, snagging on Hera’s gown and ceasing her graceless exit. She wailed, struggling to extricate herself as the god of the seas prowled over and climbed the dais steps.
“You dared murder my brother? Your own husband?!” he roared, backhanding her. A red welt blossomed across her cheek as she dropped to the floor. “You sank a Titan dagger deep into his heart — and for what?! Because he dared sleep with someone other than you?”
“There were thousands of them!” Hera cried. “Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be the goddess of marriage — devoted to worshipping and cherishing your husband — and know that he still chose to sink his dick wherever he damn well pleased?”
Caelus huffed a quiet noise of disgust.
“So your solution was to murder him?!” Poseidon bellowed, spittle flying out of his mouth in his vehemence.
“You committed treason against your King. Brought ruin to our doorstep — and that’s without considering the compounded effects on the mortals!
Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand? ” he seethed.
Hephaestus, who had crept up beside him unnoticed, laid an enormous hand upon the sea god’s shoulder.
“Because she deserves to suffer for her actions. A swift death — even with a sentence to Tartarus,” he paused to dip his head respectfully in my direction, “is far too lenient for such a crime.”
From a deep pocket in his chlamys, Hephaestus pulled a heavy-looking, bronze set of cuffs. The air around them crackled, and my instincts screamed not to go anywhere near them.
He crouched beside the cowering goddess and forcefully snapped the cuffs around her wrists. Then leaned in, his voice deep and deliberate, rolling across the floor as he spoke.
“Zeus was like a brother to me, Hera. In his honour, I will personally oversee his justice. These cuffs were forged by my son.”
I glanced at Arch, who offered me a sad smile.
“They are made with a new kind of magic and an old kind of power. You will not break free. Nor will any powers you still possess be able to save you. You are, in essence, no more than a mortal.”
Once Hera had finished thrashing and raging like an overgrown toddler, Hephaestus deposited her in an empty corner and stood guard, watching over the murderess like it was his sole reason for existing.
Hermes took it upon himself to continue the ceremony, hurrying up the dais steps two at a time.
“Now that that ugliness is settled — for the moment — let’s get back to the reason we are all gathered. Champions: one at a time, approach the crown and offer it a drop of your blood. Archimedes, let’s start with you.”
Arch strode to the pedestal and pulled a dagger from the sheath at his hip. With no hesitation, he pricked his finger, and we all watched with bated breath. A bead of liquid gold fell through the air, landing on the crown’s gilded surface.
Nothing happened.
Well, that was anticlimactic, Velira sniffed.
“Apollo, your turn.”
Thankfully Apollo had learned to lip-read sometime during his long life, because Hermes never deigned to sign. I wondered how isolated Apollo really felt. No music, no laughter, no conversation unless someone consciously decided to include him.
Apollo repeated Arch’s actions. Again, nothing.
Velira huffed a faux snore, which ricocheted around the inside of my skull, tickling uncomfortably.
“Aros.”
The fiery son of Ares stepped forward, disappointing Velira yet again.
Honestly, Vel. You have the patience of a child.
I am a child, in case you’ve forgotten, she replied drily.
“Caelus, come now.” Hermes beckoned with a come-hither motion, urging the storm-wielder up the stairs.
As the others had done, Caelus offered the crown a drop of gold and looked up as it fell. We locked eyes, and he smiled. In that instant I knew I was completely and utterly fucked.
I loved him.
Somewhere along the way, he had fractured the ice encasing my heart, wriggled his way inside, and curled up within that golden glow in my chest.
I loved him.
And whether it was the bound threads, fate, or something else entirely, I had forgiven him. For all of it. I no longer cared. I just knew I couldn’t imagine losing myself in the eyes of another or falling apart in the arms of anyone else.
I loved him.
“And last but not least, Nyssa. If you’d be so kind.” Hermes gestured to the crown with a flourish.
I stifled an eye-roll and made my way up to the pedestal.
I willed a dagger into my palm, smiling faintly as the shadows responded instantly. Just as I was about to prick my finger, Hermes hissed in my ear:
“Why do you bear the Crown of Hades?”
“I should think it obvious.” I addressed the room as a whole. “I am Hades.”
If I thought they’d lost their minds over the Hera revelation, I was woefully unprepared for the outburst at mine.
But I was absolutely done with the gods and their monotonous bickering.
“Enough!”
Somewhat surprisingly, the room obeyed, and I caught Caelus smirking. A warm, pride-filled sensation fluttered beneath my sternum. It was at that precise moment I understood all of the strange and unexplainable things I’d felt lately. These stirrings of feelings weren’t my own at all, but his .
He was proud of the way I’d silenced a room full of gods millennia older than myself.
And I am in love with him.
I used that knowledge to bolster my resolve as I continued.
“My father, the original Hades, King of the Underworld, is dead. For all intents and purposes.”
Ignoring the rising tide of questions, I sliced my palm open and let a solitary golden drop fall. It landed on the crown’s blood-spattered surface, and I watched intently as each offering dissolved.
Then the crown vanished.
I scoured the heads around the room. No mysterious gilded coronet graced any of them, champion or otherwise.
Minutes passed, and then — a flicker.
A hint of gold glinted above five nervous heads in turn, never settling, constantly shifting:
A flash above Aros.
A glimmer above Archimedes.
A spark above Caelus.
A gleam above Apollo.
A heavy weight upon my brow.
I grimaced at Charon, who was leaning intently over his knees, raptly scanning for the crown’s whereabouts. I almost missed the split-second of a glint above my best friend’s golden hair.
My eyes widened.
The crown had put Charon in contention, however briefly, even without a bloody offering.
Any chance to question it was stolen as a familiar, heavy weight settled atop my head with a sense of finality.
Judging by the gasps of horror and the two dozen sets of eyes boring holes into my face, I guessed the Crown of Olympus had made its decision.
Me.
Vel ? I whispered.
She answered not with words, but with an image — me, my disbelieving face, and a head that bore not one, but two crowns. The golden Crown of Olympus nestled snugly between the smoky spires of the Shadow Crown — as if the two were always intended to be worn together.
Apollo approached slowly, hesitantly, as though I were a creature he might spook. The sun god firmly squeezed my hands, dropped to a knee, and pressed a gentle kiss to my fingers. He let go to sign a single phrase, awe etched into every line of his face.
But its bearer must be death.
One by one, every god and goddess present sank to the floor and dipped their heads. Even the beasts bowed.
It was an uncomfortable kind of respect. I hated it. I especially hated that Caelus was among them — even knowing he was wholly content to do so.
I strode purposefully to where he knelt, my boots clacking against the marble floors, and softly grasped the base of his chin, tilting it upwards.
“Never again,” I commanded softly, voice low and even. “You bow to no one.”
I withdrew my hand, relieved when he followed it to stand. He tenderly placed each scarred, calloused hand on either side of my face and leaned in close.
“I bow only to you. My Queen. My woman.”
A whoop of cheer came from Aros’ direction as Caelus dragged my lips to his.
I didn’t care that we had an audience, didn’t care what they made of it.
He deepened the kiss, and I fell into it — into him — wholeheartedly and eagerly, knowing that I was in love with him and those same golden feelings were echoing down the bond back to me.
He loves me too.
A metallic clink tore me from my reverie just as Caelus shoved me backwards hard. I crashed into Aros, who grunted as he caught me. A sharp pain flared in my heart.
My gaze snapped back to Caelus, just in time to witness Hera’s face morph from malice to horror; just in time to see Caelus’ mouth part in shock as his eyes flicked down to his chest.
And to the bronze dagger now protruding from it.
Hera screamed as Caelus fell to the floor with a jarring thud. I fell beside him a moment later, barely registering the sting in my knees.
“No,” I whispered.
He stared up at me, the silver swirling in his irises slowing.
“No, no, no, no, no, no.”
Golden ichor dribbled from his perfect mouth — a mouth that had claimed mine just seconds ago.
“Don’t you dare leave me,” I sobbed, fingers fluttering over his face, his chest, desperate to land in a way that mattered.
I could not stop this.
He raised a shaking hand to my cheek.
I felt the thread between us fraying, one tendril at a time. His heart slowed beneath my fingers, and his lungs stuttered with every laboured breath.
“Night…shade…” Caelus sputtered, more ichor coating his tongue.
“No!”
Tears flowed down my cheeks, falling onto his torso, mingling with the gilded blood of a god.
My powers over death stirred, and I knew, deep down in my soul, that this was a goodbye of the permanent kind. And, like my father, this was a farewell I would never recover from.
His soul brushed tenderly against mine one final time. Then it retreated down the almost entirely frayed thread of fate.
“I love…” Caelus’ voice trailed off as his hand dropped from my face with a lifeless thud.
His eyes stared blankly; the swirling had ceased completely.
I cried out as the thread snapped with a painful twang , releasing its hold on my sternum, and I knew he was gone.
Caelus was dead.