12. Where The Final Stage Is Set （And The Empress Becomes Even More Apprehensive…）
WHERE THE FINAL STAGE IS SET (AND THE EMPRESS BECOMES EVEN MORE APPREHENSIVE…)
“The museums in Greece are grateful for your contribution.”
Nemesis’s words caught Hera unawares. Just as she walked into the late morning kitchen and ran straight into a very cozy and domestic scene.
Nemesis sat at the breakfast nook, in shorts and a tank top, all muscled arms and long legs, working on her laptop.
She raised her eyes to Hera’s and took a sip of coffee.
Her hair, wet and brushed back from her face, glimmered in the morning sun that filtered through open blinds.
Her feet were crossed, her fingers wrapped around the steaming mug, her expression utterly relaxed, devoid of the shadow that had haunted her last night.
Hera sidestepped her gingerly and headed for the coffee machine. The complicated instrument purred under her touch, and as the strong scent filled the kitchen, she finally allowed herself to take a bracing breath and turn around.
“Did you really have to let them know who was behind the recoup of the collection?”
Nemesis shrugged nonchalantly. Too nonchalantly.
“It was Clio’s decision. These people are her connections. I didn’t think you’d mind the gratitude and the recognition one way or another, since Zeus losing the art was your priority.”
Hera wanted to say that she did mind. That there would be questions. That she was already being asked too many by the various Olympus dwellers. Her conversation with Erato from the other day had informed her that people were suspicious. Still, there was no need for Nemesis to know any of that.
“Indeed.” The machine beeped, signaling her espresso was ready, and Hera lifted the little glass cup to her lips, inhaling the aroma. She might actually miss this.
Nemesis watched her closely as she savored the first sip, before patting the chair next to her, the gesture confident and, dammit, sexy. As if she expected Hera to just… As if Hera would acquiesce just because—
Hera sat down in the padded chair and crossed her legs, her robe riding up high on her thighs. Nemesis’s eyes flowed over the material, almost scorching the revealed skin.
“Has he been in touch at all?”
Hera looked away, taking another sip.
“Yes.”
“Just yes? I don’t get details?”
Hera lifted a shoulder.
“It was probably the usual drivel, all thunder and brimstone or whatever, so I have not read his messages nor have I listened to the voicemail.”
Nemesis’s laughter was infectious.
“I bet he’s mad. I bet that voicemail is pure gold.”
“There’s one way to find out if you’d win that wager.”
Hera reached into the pocket of the robe and pulled out her phone. A few swipes of her fingertip and she set it on the table, face up. Zeus’s voice filled the warm, quiet kitchen, immediately ruining the space for Hera. The decibels were high from the very first word.
“You will fucking tell me you know nothing about this, but nobody else would dare, Hera! The Greek government released a statement about the return of all the art! Those pieces were mine! You hear me? Hera! Pick up this blasted phone! Pick it up right this second and explain yourself! My yacht, my company, my art! Woman, I will smite you off the face of the Earth if you don’t pick up this damn phone immediately! —”
There was a woman’s voice in the background, placating, questioning. Zeus’s decibels instantly lowered.
“Sweetheart, I need to speak to this harpy… Please, do not worry…” The rest was mostly cooing and kisses.
Hera took another sip of her coffee. Surprisingly, the nauseating display on the recording did nothing to spoil the wonderful taste.
Or maybe it was the little devils dancing in the eyes, studying her reaction closely, for once not cold.
Nemesis, relaxed, fingers steepled in front of her, her tank stretched over those exquisite abs, biceps good enough to bite.
Hera felt her mouth watering. Nemesis in the golden morning hours was gorgeous.
And a picture of mischief, which made her ten times more attractive, which Hera thought was simply unfair, as she was already sinful.
“Hera!” Zeus clearly had had enough cooing and kissing as anger returned in his voice.
“I will find out what you did, and you shall pay for this, mark my words. I don’t know how, but you shall!
” The line went dead. Hera watched the skin now uncovered by the tank as Nemesis leaned forward to rip off a piece of croissant.
The flaky pastry was buttery, leaving little shiny streaks on her mouth.
Hera’s first impulse was to lick her lips. Then Nemesis’s.
“Well, this was fun.” Nemesis chewed slowly. Hera blinked, realized she was being spoken to and tried to come up with a reply to Nemesis, who was clearly baiting her with nudity…
“Ah, yes… Maybe a bit much before breakfast…”
Nemesis narrowed her eyes.
“I thought you’d enjoy him going full crackpot over this?”
Oh…
Hera hoped her face showed none of her embarrassment. The idea of enjoying Zeus’s tantrum had not even crossed her mind. She must be losing… well, not her touch, but certainly losing something.
“Yes. It was fine.” She pivoted hastily, getting up for more coffee. Anything to hide the blush spreading over her face. Damn this woman.
“Are you okay?” Nemesis’s voice was too careful. Even with her back to her, Hera could feel the angular face becoming focused, concerned.
“Why would I not be?”
“Because he is exchanging saliva with some blonde right on this call?”
Nemesis phrased it as a question, but Hera knew what was really being asked of her. Was she hurt by Zeus and his new paramour?
The answer was surprisingly easy. She felt her shoulders drop, her jaw muscles relaxing.
“Zeus has been sucking faces with so many blondes, Revenge, at this point, I don’t care.”
It felt freeing to say it. To let herself articulate the words.
The smile that met her comeback was blinding.
Hera almost turned away again, just to avoid how beautiful it was.
How utterly stunning. And how unbelievable it was for her to be standing barefoot in her kitchen at 10 am on a Saturday, smiling like a fool at the most beautiful woman in the world, who was equally barefoot and comfortable in said kitchen, having made love to her all night.
Made love?
Hera bit the inside of her cheek before she blurted something entirely foolish and hurried to continue their conversation.
“It’s all part of the plan, Revenge.”
“The yacht stung him, the company infuriated him, the art scared him. Taking away the woman? Will drive him insane. All in all, I think this is one of your best payback plans.”
Hera flinched. Something in her tone of voice felt like a slap across the face. Was it the insinuation that her other plans of revenge had been bad? She shook her head, more instinct to ward off further criticism than to clear her mind.
Her long and largely misspent life had taught her not to dwell on things she couldn’t control. Like what others would say about her. They invariably said that she was nothing but a vapid, vengeful, scorned woman. She had played the role for far too long not to play it well.
It had been the case with Hades and Persephone, where Zeus and Hades herself had schemed, and Hera had been the one picking up the pieces of Demeter’s fury and pain.
It had been the plan he had concocted and pawned on her to marry Aphrodite off.
If not for her ability to act as an absolute asshole when necessary, Hera highly doubted Aphrodite and Athena would have found each other.
She had pushed all the right buttons, with Ares, with Artemis, with Hephaestus.
She had owed the Goddess of Love a large debt, after the millennia of abuse she had endured at the hands of every other male deity, which Hera rarely managed to stop.
Not that she would ever confess to being the main reason those two were loopily in love.
Hera could cop to the conception of their child.
The rest she would take to the Underworld with her.
The little manipulation she’d pulled on Demeter and Erato had been just that, a little manipulation. Again, all she needed was to push a few buttons, spin a favorable web of circumstances and voilà! Her sister was getting married to the Muse of Smut. At least the sex would be great.
And here she was, in her own kitchen, with a woman she found compelling, a woman she wanted to see her as more than just a vengeful harpy. Zeus was usually spot on with his epithets. And yet she didn’t trust that anyone would ever see through her act. See through her. See her.
“Hey…” The word was said too close to her, and Hera jumped, having missed Nemesis approaching her once again. “You seem distracted. It’s all coming together brilliantly. Your plan is a resounding success. Be proud of yourself.”
Hera nodded, head bobbing up and down weakly, eyes suddenly stinging with unshed tears. Was she proud of herself? Damn if she knew.
“Well, it’s not done yet, so let’s not celebrate prematurely. There’s still the matter of the woman.”
Nemesis’s grin was all arrogance.
“You really think that particular part will be difficult?”
For some reason, one that Hera decidedly did not wish to articulate to herself, all the boast did was light something unpleasant in her chest.
“You weren’t supposed to get bloody with the third task either. So slow your horses, Revenge.”
She turned away, escaping the encroaching confines of Nemesis’s body. She craved the warmth too much; she wanted Nemesis to hold her, to tell her she was wrong, tell her she was worried about nothing, tell her she was… well…
“You are just this good, Hera. This good at planning, at conceptualizing, at finding weakness and pressing the right buttons. This will not go sideways.”
Yes, Hera wanted to hear she was good. And Nemesis, murmuring her name, maybe for the first time, started something strange and painful in her sternum.
But… She didn’t want to hear it like this.
She sighed. Story of her life. The Empress of Olympus had everything.
Everything but what she really wanted. It was what it was.
“Just don’t get cocky.” Hera murmured and Nemesis’s grin became all mischief, as Hera waved her hands in front of her face to stop the incoming joke. “Absolutely do not even think of going there!”
“You like me cocky. And you like it when I go there, Your Majesty.”
“Anyway! Can we please move on from this?” Hera sat, meticulously arranging her robe, mostly to give herself something to do.
“Sure thing.” Nemesis poured herself another mug and plopped another pastry on her plate. Hera found it endearing that the woman could eat in times like these.
Endearing? Fates take her; she was losing her mind.
“So I checked his calendar, and he has a big event, some kind of gala, in a week. It will give Clio and me enough time to arrange things. But it looks honestly straightforward, as in there will be nothing straight about it.”
“You’ll just swoop in and charm the girl, and that’s that?”
Hera felt bile coat her mouth. Why was she reacting like this?
“I mean, it always works.” Nemesis set the flaky pastry down. “I am not actually going to do anything to her. All that is needed to break his heart is the woman choosing me over him, right? He’s in love, so it will be enough to make him a broken man. Are you concerned I will be rejected?”
“I’m not concerned about anything!” Hera knew she’d said it too fast and made a face at her own gaucheness.
Nemesis reached out and covered her hand with cold fingertips.
“Will you talk to me? You really seem off. Did something happen while I was gone?”
Hera looked into the honest, observant eyes and shook her head. There was no way to explain what she had gotten herself into. There was no talking through the whys and the hows. It was done.
“I was worried about the plan. That’s all. And other than your face taking a beating, I was worried for nothing.” Hera chose to infuse her answer with some truth.
“Just the plan?” Nemesis’s eyes were still searching her features.
“Just the plan.” Hera gulped down coffee that had grown cold.
Nemesis looked at her for a long while and then reached for the phone that had been quietly vibrating on the kitchen counter next to them.
“Clio is doing the legwork for me on this one. And I know you got Sabine to fire whatever arrows she will to make this match happen. Though, if you must know, I find the entire idea of perfect matches stupid.”
Hera decided that she did not care to debate the theory of the work Aphrodite and her cohorts were doing. She had seen it succeed; she had seen it fail. When it was a success, it was a spectacular one. The failures were equally amazing in their magnitude.
So she forewent delving into that particular discussion. But Clio… Her curiosity deserved to be assuaged on this account. If only to keep the conversation away from herself and the penetrating eyes that seemed to draw the truth from her.
“Why are you involving the muse so much?”
Nemesis shrugged.
“I told you she’s lonely or whatever.”
“Is that a good enough reason?” Hera raised an eyebrow.
“Are you jealous, Your Majesty?”
Hera almost spit out her coffee. Dammit, this really wasn’t the direction she expected this conversation to go.
“Absolutely not! Why would I—”
“Because you have that look on your face, where you don’t know whether to reward her for saving me or to throw her off Olympus for being there with me in the first place.”
“Furies take me, you said you needed her expertise!” Hera threw her hands up.
“I mean, I did, but she’s also a friend going through a hard time.”
Hera rolled her eyes.
“Then find her someone! Alecto is more vicious than ever, even for a Fury, probably because she’s bored. Hecate is in her own world, ignoring humanity entirely and that witchery of hers is a bit spooky. Hestia has been gone from the scene for far too long and Artemis…”
Hera trailed off, lifting her eyes to Nemesis, who undoubtedly wore exactly the same expression as hers.
“You know we should probably not meddle in the affairs of the Virgin Goddess of the Hunt and the Moon and the Muse of History.”
Hera felt her face relax into a smile.
“I know, but it can be fun. On occasion. To meddle.”
Nemesis planted a loud kiss on her cheek.
“Now you’re more like the Hera I know and adore.”
She barely had time to register the words before Nemesis extended her palm, and Hera had no other choice but to slap it. The high five felt right. And the word adore kept ringing in her ears for the entire day.