Fates and Furies (The Sphinx Book 4) Page 6

  Her words provided enough illumination into her mind, and Athan thought of the temple he’d just left. If Hope had seen it, he could only imagine what she’d thought. “No. It’s fine. I’m fine. No one got hurt.”

  The lie rolled off his lips, a sad excuse to try to comfort her. But it seemed to have the opposite effect. Like a dam bursting, Hope sobbed into his chest, her tears soaking his shirt.

  Xan cleared his throat and crossed into the living room. The son of Ares needed to shave, and dark smudges under his eyes made him appear haggard and exhausted. “I’m glad you’re safe. How did it go? Any luck?”

  While Athan kicked the door behind him closed, he pulled Hope into a tighter embrace. They stood on the tile squares of the entryway, and he met the other demigod’s gaze. Over the top of her, Athan shook his head. “He won’t help.”

  Hope pulled away, brushing furiously at the tears.

  Almost as though he’d anticipated Hope’s need, Xan held out a tissue, and she grabbed it as her features morphed into anguish.

  “Then why did he keep you for so long? Why be so cruel?” Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed, her skin splotchy with emotion.

  Realization sunk in, and Athan asked, “How long have I been gone?”

  “Seventeen days,” Xan answered.

  Athan’s heart dropped, and sympathy filled him. If the role had been reversed, he would’ve been in a panic. “Skata. I’m so sorry, Hope. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to be gone so long. I’m so, so sorry.”

  He swept her into his arms, spinning them in a circle and his heart swelled when she wrapped her arms around his neck, snuggled close, and whispered, “I’m so glad you’re home.”

  Xan led them into the living area, and Athan sat on the couch, Hope still nestled in his lap.

  Xan raised his eyebrows as he looked at them. Then he crossed back into the kitchen, pulled a chair away from the table, and brought it to the carpeted space. Straddling the chair, he faced them and asked, “What happened?”

  Athan gave a rundown of his visit with Hermes. It felt like only a few hours had passed, so the story remained short. Athan was both disappointed and proud of his father, and the two feelings competed in his heart, the emotions spilling into the tale.

  Hope’s tears ran their course, and she’d dried her eyes even before he’d finished speaking. When he was done, she surprised him.

  “He loves you,” Hope said, picking up his hand. Giving it a squeeze, she continued, “You can’t be mad at him for loving you. For protecting you. You have to respect that.”

  Xan stood. “I’m glad you’re back,” he said to Athan then turned to Hope. “We won’t go anywhere tonight or tomorrow. Enjoy your time. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “No!” Hope trembled. “Please,” she begged. “Please don’t go.” She didn’t leave the couch, but she clasped her hands together, wringing them as she pled for Xan to stay.

  The demigod son of Ares frowned. “Don’t you want some time—?”

  “I want you both here. Please.” She looked back and forth between the two of them. “You can get along, right?”

  Xan nodded, and Athan followed the lead when Hope turned to him.

  Xan sighed, picked up the remote, and collapsed on the couch. “All right. If we’re watching movies all night, I get to pick the first one.”

  Hope nodded as she yawned. “Fine. But I get to pick next.”

  Athan watched the scene unfold, trying to put the pieces together in a way that made sense. He wondered what had happened to unhinge both Hope and Xan and waited for the other shoe to drop.

  Xan crossed over to the television they had rarely used and flicked it on.

  Hope laid her head on Athan’s shoulder, and a few minutes later, she sagged into him as she collapsed into unconsciousness.

  As soon as she was asleep, Xan cleared his throat. “We have an hour, ninety minutes at most, afore she wakes up. If you’re lucky, she’ll wake up screaming.”

  “What?”

  “She’s had a lot of trauma, and that takes a toll on the mind, right? She’s still trying to figure out how to deal with it.”

  Athan thought of the risks Hope had taken to get into the conservatory, how terrifying it must have been to be threatened by the sons of Apollo, and then to watch Apollo kill them. The Underworld must have been just as harrowing, if not worse, even if she couldn’t remember it. Or maybe because she couldn’t remember it. “What else happened?”

  As Xan filled Athan in on their trip to the temple and the plan to petition Artemis for aid, a sense of trepidation crawled over him.

  “I stayed out in the gardens, knowing Artemis wouldn’t look kindly on me or the bow if she knew it was from me. There was some commotion, but no more than what can typically happen at one of those temples. I heard screaming, and well, Hope has a way of finding trouble, so I decided to check.”

  He ran his hand through his dark hair, tugging on the ends over and over. “I was halfway up the steps when the light flashed. I’m guessing it was Olympian Fire. Even though it was morning, the blast lit the sky as it flared from inside the temple. I was blinded for several seconds, and then the earth seemed to shudder with the reverberation of the blast.” He blew out a long breath. “I’ve never seen or felt anything like that.”

  Athan could barely process what Xan was saying. Olympian Fire could only mean one thing, and its destructive power could level entire cities. “Where was Hope?”

  Xan bowed his head. “Inside. The whole bloody time. When I got up to the Olympian temple, your father was there talking to Hope. He yelled at me to take Hope and get out. She was a mess. My father’s priests attacked her, and one of them had an immortal blade. He was about to kill her when Apollo showed up and burned them all.”

  “Apollo killed your father’s priests?” It was unheard of. The gods weren’t allowed to kill the children or the priests of the other gods. It was part of the Peace Accords the Olympians had agreed to. To violate the agreement was a declaration of war.

  Xan shook his head and then rested his chin on the back of the chair. “Apollo killed everyone in the entire temple. Burned them all with Olympian Fire. The ash was several inches thick on the floor when I went in. Apollo was gone, and your father demanded I take Hope and flee.”

  Olympus would be in an uproar. “Do they know it was her?”

  Xan shook his head. “I don’t think so. If they did, we probably wouldn’t be here anymore.”

  Athan nodded as fresh horror sunk its weighty fear deep into his bones. He continued to stroke Hope’s hair, cherishing her life and her love, and feeling incredibly blessed his father had saved her.

  “She wakes up screaming, saying she can feel their bodies turn to ash. If you wake her up the rest of the way, when she’s thrashing around like that, she usually does all right. But sometimes she wakes up sobbing. She blames herself for all those deaths.” Xan shifted his gaze to Hope, and his brow furrowed. “When she wakes up bawling, that it’s all her fault . . . So far, nothing I do helps with that.”

  Anguish for her ripped at Athan’s heart, and he stared down at the girl he loved. Why was she cursed so? He rested his hand at her waist and unconsciously squeezed, wishing he could somehow provide comfort.

  Still sleeping, Hope nuzzled closer.

  Xan frowned. His eyes, usually full of fire, were deep pools of thought. The exhaustion etched over his very countenance made much more sense, as did Hope’s emotional outburst.

  “It’s not right, Athan,” Xan murmured. “No one should have to deal with that.”

  Athan ground his teeth in frustration. “What can we do?” he asked. Overwhelming helplessness met him at every turn. And Hope and Xan were no better off. “What can you do? What does she think she’s going to do? Gods, Xan, what in the name of every single god out there do you think you’re going to accomplish? Even if you make it to Olympus, then what? The gods will kill her and you.”

  The more Athan thought about it, the mo
re pointless the venture to the realm of the gods seemed. So what if Hope broke the curse? He would much rather her be a Sphinx and get to live out his life with her than have her be only a memory, or worse, a sad dream of what might have been.

  Xan rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath before meeting Athan’s gaze. “You’re thinking like she does.” Pointing at Hope, Xan continued, “She thinks this is about breaking her curse, and right now it is. But if she succeeds . . .” He leaned forward with excitement. “She will be the first to overthrow a god’s power. If she succeeds, she will set a precedent that it can be done.”

  Athan shook his head. “Please tell me you are not risking her life to set a precedent.”

  “Do you think for one second I would do that? Do you think I’ve encouraged this in any way?” Xan whispered. “I would rather serve in the realm of Tartarus than see her hurt again. Breaking the curse is what she wants, and no matter how naïve or insane it sounds, don’t we all want to be free to blaze our own path? How can I refuse to help her?” He tugged his hand through his hair again. “But time, and lots of shite-sad experiences, have pounded a bit of wisdom into me thick head. If she lives long enough, at some point, Hope will realize this is not just about her.” He stood, stretched his hands up to the ceiling, and released a long, muffled yawn and then spread his arms out wide. “That defeating a god’s power isn’t a precedent about her.” His arms fell to his sides, and his gaze fell on Hope. A look of infinite tenderness softened Xan’s features as he stared at her for several seconds. Then his attention returned to Athan. “It’s about all of us. Even you.”

  Athan cringed. At the onset of Xan’s lecture, Athan was ready to defend his stance, why it would be better for everyone if they dropped this insane quest to break the curse. But Xan’s words filled Athan with shame. He saw his desire for what it was: his own selfishness and protectiveness. Neither was really bad, but it wasn’t right to push his agenda on her. If Hope decided to give up her quest, it should be her decision. Even if it meant she died trying, it was her decision. “Do you really think she has the power to free us from the reign of the gods?”

  Xan gave Athan a withering stare. “We’re talking about Hope. I believe she has the power to change whatever she sets her mind to. I will count myself lucky to accompany her for as long as I can.”

  The truth in Xan’s words wormed its way into Athan’s heart, pushing out the doubt and fear. Even while the rational side of his brain screamed impossible, he couldn’t deny the power of hope. Gods, her mother had been an oracle when she named her. “Do you have a plan?”

  Xan shook his head. His look was not one of defeat but rather resignation. “I think there’s only one Olympian left we can even ask.”

  Athan blanched with the thought of petitioning the fierce god.

  “Me bleedin’ father.”

  Athan tried to shake off his worry. Over the next several days, Hope seemed to improve. She slept better if someone stayed with her and silenced the nightmares as soon as they surfaced. But there was no way to prevent them from happening. She’d experienced so much atrocity, but her determination to move forward spoke volumes of her refusal to give up and accede to Apollo’s curse.

  Athan watched Hope’s perseverance and persistence, and his reluctant acceptance of her decision turned to admiration. The more he watched, be it the tenacity with which she studied her Book of the Fates or the diligence of her training, the more he admired her strength and resolve to right a wrong, not only for her but for her mother and grandmother, and also the daughter she hoped to have.

  Hope and Xan returned to training, and Athan accompanied them on their afternoon runs. Hope’s energy increased, and then her appetite returned, and finally even her sleep was better. She never spoke of her experiences with Apollo, and Athan didn’t push. Hope spent hours staring at the yellow Book of the Fates she’d brought back from the Underworld, and she occasionally drew flowers or wings in the margins. She told him it was cathartic to watch the ink seep into the pages and disappear. A couple weeks later, Hope stopped crying.

  Time was moving too quickly, racing toward a separation Athan both desperately wanted and feared.

  Athan turned the handle and nudged the apartment door open with his foot. He’d gone shopping while the others worked out at the gym, and his hands were laden with groceries for the next week. He stepped inside and kicked the door closed.

  Hope and Xan sat at the table, paper scattered out between the two of them.

  “You’ve been planning this for a long time,” Xan said. Then he looked up, met Athan’s gaze, and pushed the papers together toward Hope. “We can finish this later. Let me help Athan with the food.”

  Xan passed Athan on the way out the door. “I’ll bring in the rest.”

  Athan brought the bags into the kitchen and set them on the cleared portion of the table.

  “What are you planning?” It wasn’t really a question because he already knew there was only one option, but he wanted to hear it from her.

  Hope slumped, and she collapsed in on herself. “We’re going to petition Ares. Xan thinks his father might be willing to help.”

  Athan’s heart froze. Even knowing what she was going to say beforehand didn’t stop his panic. The god of war was not known for helping his children, let alone complete strangers. And Hope was considered a monster. All those years ago when Xan led the charge to slay the monsters, it wasn’t on his own volition.

  Athan wrapped a lock of Hope’s golden hair around his hand, and then let the silky strands flow between his fingers. He went through each of the Olympians in his mind, weighing their strengths and weaknesses. Everything in him said it was a mistake to go to the god of bloodshed for help. Worse than a mistake, it was madness.

  “He’s brutal, Hope. Ares is cruel, vicious, and heartless.”

  Sadness pulled her features into somberness, and her lower lip quivered. “There is no one else. And he’s still Xan’s dad.”

  Athan shook his head, even as it fought with his heart. “He might be his father, but there is nothing paternal in him.”

  As soon as the words slipped out, Athan wished he could take them back. Arguing would do no good, and he needed to stop. There simply were no other options, but at that very moment, Athan hated Hermes for not doing more. Taking a deep breath, Athan reminded himself he loved Hope and being supportive was a conscious decision. Regardless of his own worry, he needed to do all he could to help her. “You should prepare yourself, just in case.”

  Hope nodded. “Xan said the same thing.”

  Gods. Being supportive was torture. He stepped closer and brushed the pad of his thumb over her cheek. “I believe in you. And I believe you can do this.”

  Hope’s eyes widened, and she wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you.”

  She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him. Her lips were soft and warm, and as their chests pressed close, he could feel her heart racing. Overwhelming love pulsed in response, and he pulled her closer. She was strong and beautiful and so, so determined. “I love you.”

  She sighed, a happy sound of knowing. “I love you, too.”

  Then she kissed him again, but this time there was no passion in the small act of intimacy. “Come here.” She pulled away but took his hand. “I want to give you something.”

  Hope wasn’t naïve, not like she’d been before. She knew Ares was ruthless. She and Xan had spent hours discussing possibilities, trying to find a link to the other gods of Olympus. But there were none. Hope had even called Priska, who in turn reached out to Artemis. But the goddess of the hunt, virgins, and night was completely distraught about an attack at the Olympian temple, and she told her daughter she would rather help Medusa than the monster that had damned her only daughter. Artemis’s anger was much like Hermes’s, and Hope couldn’t blame them. Not really.

  So even though it was risky, Hope suggested they petition Xan’s father for aid. The worst he could say was no. The plan had been to leave this aft
ernoon—until Athan walked through the door with enough food for a week and a look that tugged at Hope’s heart.

  “Wait right here,” she said, pushing him toward the couch. She needed to do this now, because starting down the path was the only way to make sure she moved forward. With a glance over her shoulder, she ran back to her room.

  Hope grabbed the ancient red leather Book of the Fates from her nightstand. All of her grandmother’s history was contained within it, and something told her she didn’t want it to get misplaced again, and she definitely didn’t want it to fall into the hands of the gods. If something were to happen to her, Hope wanted proof of the curse to still exist. She didn’t want her ancestry to become just another myth. And maybe the record would serve as evidence of the abuse of the deities in power.

  She walked out of her bedroom, hugging the dark-red Book of the Fates to her chest. Emotion surged from deep within, and Hope swallowed again and again to push it down. Extending the book to Athan, she said, “I want you to have this.”

  Athan sat on the couch, staring at her in shock. His lips parted, and then his features crumpled into despair. His gaze darted to Xan putting away groceries in the kitchen and then back to her.

  “Your Book of the Fates?” Athan shook his head. “No. That’s like saying you’re giving up. That you don’t think you’re going to make it. That’s admitting defeat, Hope. You can’t do that.”

  His panic pulsed from him, across the room to her, and she raced to correct him. “No. No. That’s not it.” She rushed through her explanation. “I just want the proof of the gods’ manipulation and selfishness to be here. I don’t want them to have easy access to it. If I take it with me . . . This is just in case.”

  Just in case seemed to be her new motto. She wasn’t sure how to explain it any better than she had. But it seemed to be enough to appease Athan. He waved her over, accepted the heavy tome, and set it on the arm of the couch. He pulled her to him, and she settled on his lap. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her hair.