The Cursed Chalice (Wanderlust Emporium Presents: Season One)

Prologue

“Ares, wake up.”

By the gods, my head feels like it’s about to explode. Who is calling me? I just need to sleep for ten more minutes.

“The capital of Thrace has been demolished. The streets are flowing with streams of blood.”

Is that Artemis? Why is my sister at my camp? The last thing I remember was drinking honey wine with Talia and my men.

“All of this was caused by her!” Aphrodite needs to stop shouting.

“Ares, my love, wake up.” I hear a hiccup. “Please.”

Wait, is that Talia’s voice? Where am I? If I can only open my eyelids, but they feel so heavy.

“We should place judgement before the potion runs out and he wakes up,” someone whispers.

My mind sifts through the conversation to hear, “My love, please, wake up.”

Yes, it was my Talia. I groan and roll to my side. Instead of the soft down of a goose, my hands plant onto cold marble.

“Kill her. That should be his punishment. Do it before it’s too late.” Dionysus’ nasally whining voice makes me open my eyes.

“No, we have to wait for Zeus.” That is the voice of Hermes, my half-brother. I see the winged sandals at my side.

I pull my hand and hear a rattle of chains and feel a searing heat around my wrists. The pain eliminates my last vestige of sleep. I roll up and sit on my calves. My eyesight is blurry, but it clears slowly.

“He is up,” my mother Hera’s voice cuts through the chatter.

I open my eyes to see her arranging her dress as she settles onto her throne.

It’s a monstrosity of silver and ivory with a lion’s head for an armrest and pillows of purple velvet.

Of course, there is a gaudy display of peacock feathers, behind her head.

I close my eyes and inhale, letting the air of Olympus rush through me.

The thrones in the pantheon are now filled by the gods of Olympus. Poseidon sits on his driftwood and coral motif throne. He places his trident on the side. Each throne celebrated the gods in its design.

“I can’t believe I have to waste my time on this today.” I groan when I hear the annoying, self-righteous voice of my brother.

Apollo fixes his toga and places his lyre on his lap. Unlike the other gods, Apollo glows. It could be because the sun has been shoved up his arrogant asshole. Or because of the radiant gold plate that sits behind his head.

“Be kind, brother. I am sure Ares has a reason for all of this.” Artemis climbs the stairs and sits on her throne.

Hera wanted to make her one with gold. However, Artemis refused.

Her mortals made her a throne out of white wood.

There are carvings of wolves, stags, and, of course, her crescent moon.

“Yes, the reason is that he is guilty. Anyone want wine?” Dionysus strides in.

I miss the days when Hestia sat on that throne.

It was a time of peace. Now Dionysus has the throne, and he decided that mortals need wine and revelry to live great lives.

Even his throne looks unkempt. Wine stains the beige pillows, and grapevines land haphazardly on the frame. His presence disgusts me.

Hephaestus walks in, limping slightly, then sits on his throne. There is a soft clicking and clanking under the chair and a glow of embers as he adjusts himself. Steam rises out from the side as the chair widens for him. The chair is not made of gold; no, it’s crafted from bronze and adamantine.

He is silent, observant, the creator of our weapons, and the wielder of a mighty hammer.

A white owl flutters past my face and rests on the bronze and stone throne meant for Athena. My sister steps from the shadows dressed for combat. Her face is clad in iron resolve. She already thinks I am guilty without even hearing the case. She may be wise, but she is judgmental.

“Glad you can make it,” Aphrodite says to Athena. Aphrodite props herself up on a rose gold pillow, eating grapes casually.

“I’m always here when the family needs me,” Athena replies as she examines the point of her spear.

My heart lurches when I see Talia bound to a stake.

Gold cuffs strain around her wrists, shackling them high over her head.

Her eyes flicker with fear as she looks at her surroundings.

The once elegant purple and gold dress is torn at her breast, covered in blood and ash.

Is that blood that stains her split lip?

One of her cheeks is flushed and bruised, like someone had slapped her. Someone hurt her.

“Talia?” I say, questioning my sanity as I stare at the only mortal I’ve ever loved. Why is she in Olympus?

“Let her go,” I whisper, pulling at the chains, the scent of my burning flesh permeating the air.

The chatter among the gods continues, as if I am not on my knees and she is not shackled.

“Be of peace, brother. We will try to get her out alive,” Hermes murmurs. Be of peace? The woman I love is shackled and beaten, and I must be of peace? Never.

“I SAID, LET HER GO, OR BY THE GODS I WILL KILL EVERY ONE OF YOU!” I shout, feeling my anger imploding inside of me. The room goes silent. No one speaks. I can feel rage humming through my muscles.

Hermes sighs and moves to Zeus’ throne. In his white and gold toga, holding his caduceus in his hand, he says, “All rise for the thunder bringer, the lightning holder, the god of all Olympus, Zeus.”

Everyone rose except for me. The air around me feels charged.

The clouds roll above me, becoming darker.

A crisp metallic scent fills the air. The thunder rumbles loudly.

Small streaks of lightning zap through the clouds.

A large bolt hits the ground, and I squint my eyes from the bright light.

The lightning-wielder king sits on his black marble and gold throne.

He looks bothered that he has to be here.

His white hair falls down his back, and he strokes his long white beard.

His eyes are white, with lightning flashing in them.

“Shall we begin?” Hera says.

I kneel, hearing the venom in Aphrodite’s voice as she weaves the tale of the land of Thrace.

That one day, the queen of Eyphra, Talia, came to my temple to pray, and I listened to her.

I heard her pray for the end of her husband, King Orinon.

Aphrodite passes before the hearth as she regales the hate that Talia had for Orinon.

I remember the night Talia came to the temple. Orinon had beaten her before his guests and had her raped by them while he watched. Her prayers were like bitter incense invading my nostrils. What was I to do? As a god…

Aphrodite stops and points her well-manicured nail at me. “He possessed King Thrissur, king of Thrace, and during a banquet, he killed King Orinon.”

“They beat and raped her.” What was I to do?” I shout, spittle flying out of my mouth.

Talia stares at me and bows her head. Shame. I brought her shame.

“You could have just killed Orinon. Instead, you executed a nation,” Poseidon’s voice rumbles.

Artemis shakes her head and says, “You can’t be judge, jury, and executioner, Ares.”

I remain silent. It was all true, but trying to defend Talia would only make it worse.

Dionysus sips his wine and grins. “It’s all so primitive if you ask me.”

Athena huffs and folds her arms over her armor. “With the help of Phobos, Deimos, Eris, and Enyo, he went to war. Apollo and I begged him to stop. But he refused.”

“It was too late,” someone says. My eyes meet Talia’s, and I see a single tear roll down her cheek.

Aphrodite walks down to the dais, past the bowl hearth, to stand in front of me, blocking my view of Talia.

Her voice floats through the room like sweet poison.

“Why did he do all of this? For the love of a mortal woman. Her! She implored him to kill King Orinon.” Her eyes burn with vexation and jealousy.

Aphrodite’s chest heaves as she points to Talia.

“So love clouded your divine judgement?” Zeus stands. “Do you deny it, Ares?”

I look up at Aphrodite, and I remember a time when I fawned over her lips, her clear blue eyes, and her lush hair. I was willing to burn the world for her at one time, but it wasn’t enough.

“Why am I being condemned for a love I didn’t betray? You, who turned into a swan to seduce a mortal woman. Is that not deception? Is that not the highest form of disrespect to my mother?”

The crackle comes, and then a painful, intense burn hits my face and eyes.

I scream out, pulling at the shackles. I bend forward trying to curb the pain of Zeus’ lightning bolt.

Blood drips from my face onto the ground.

My skull burns. My chest heaves, and my eyes water. I can smell the burned skin on my face.

“Please, please don’t hurt him,” Talia shouts.

“No, Talia,” I groan out, my gaze holding hers, and I shake my head.

I feel warmth spread through my neck and face, and the searing pain eases. My skin tightens as it mends. Hermes’ hands are over my wounds.

“Don’t get rid of the scar,” I whisper.

“But, brother, your face.” Hermes’ eyes are filled with sadness.

“I want to remember…leave the scar,” I reply.

“You want to remember? All who think Ares is guilty, say ‘aye,’” Zeus says.

I close my eyes, letting rage roll through me. I hear the “ayes” go around the room.

“All done.” Hermes stands and zips to Hera’s side.

“The ‘ayes’ have it.” Zeus looks down at me.

“What of the woman?” Dionysus asks. All eyes shift to Talia. I watch as she transforms from a timid, frightened woman into a queen. She throws her shoulders back and lifts her head. The small twitch of her chin is the only sign that she is frightened.

“For the lives lost, for the blood spilled on the streets of Thrace. She will be put to death by lightning bolt.

“No, please, no! Father, please show mercy!” I shout, pulling harder at the chains. Sweat blooms on my forehead.

Dionysus’ laughter booms. “The God of War begging for mercy. What’s next? Demeter’s shy daughter will fall in love?”