“May I ask why?”
Hades is blunt. “My brother has apparently been obsessed with you for some time, and my niece is nothing if not vindictive.”
Prickles spread across the back of my neck. Poseidon? “But ...” I swallow, glancing over at Hermes. His face is expressionless, yet I can see fists curled under his arms as they cross his chest. “Surely I have nothing to fear from either of them. Po—” I cannot say his name, though. “He ... it’s been thousands of years. I am nothing to him.”
Persephone looks down at her list. Hermes stands up suddenly and heads over to one of the wide windows. “Yes, well,” Hades murmurs, “it may seem like that to you, perhaps, but ...”
I can feel my eyes widen significantly. What is he insinuating?
“Not now,” Hermes snaps, his back still to us. “She has enough to focus on without having to worry about that sick fuck.”
As I’ve rarely ever heard my friend curse, I’m shocked into silence. Hades’ eyebrows shoot up and then back down into a vee. Then, to me, he says, “In any case, most of us have escorts ourselves. Persephone’s handmaiden always accompanies her out. Standard procedure and all.”
The truth is, I’m not comfortable with what they’re suggesting, not when independence, even if brought about under the falsest illusions, is so firmly engrained in my character. Yet, Hermes appears more stressed than I’ve ever seen him before. Persephone’s face is creased with worry. And Hades ... The Lord of the Underworld appears as if my agreement to these terms will come one way or another, whether I like it or not. So I bite back the burgeoning frustration steadily growing in my throat and chest and give them a nod.
The conversation turns to more mundane things, but as they talk, my attention wanders over to the windows. Glass separates us from a beautiful vista, of trees and grass, of plants wild and cultured, and of fountains and art. Somewhere beyond that is a city—and yet, somehow, despite the proximity I’ve finally gained, I feel like Poseidon and Athena still have me trapped in the middle of the sea.
As Hermes left an hour back to go on an urgent errand for his father, Kore is the one to bring me to a gym located in the west wing of the villa. Unlike the ones I’d seen on my computer, this one isn’t crowded and filled with sweaty people hitting on one another; pristine, sparkling machines and gorgeous mosaicked walls greet me instead.
Meeting us at the entrance, an extremely tall, well-built man says something in a language I don’t understand to Kore. She answers in kind, motioning toward me. He’s dressed in all black—black t-shirt (fitted so tightly across his chest that I wonder if he can breathe), black cargo pants, and black, highly polished boots that reach halfway up to his knees. Despite us being indoors, he’s also wearing black sunglasses. A small corkscrew wire curves from his ear down into his shirt, and from the expression on his face, I must admit, I’m a bit intimidated, especially as I’m at a disadvantage sitting in a wheelchair.
But then he inclines his head toward me and says, “I am Talos.”
Uh ... okay?
“Talos is one of Lord Hades’ finest Automatons,” Kore says, as if this clarifies matters.
I hate feeling ignorant; normally, I’d just whip out my computer or phone and search for whatever has got my mind itching, but as neither are with me, I’m forced to ask exactly what an Automaton is.
“The Automatons are the elite soldiers of the gods,” Kore says. Her words are delivered patiently, as if it’s not a burden to have to explain even the most mundane things to one as ignorant as me.
So this is the guy Hades said had to, and I use this word loosely, escort me around Olympus if and when I choose to leave the villa. He looks less like an escort and more like a mercenary from some war movie. I let out a tiny sigh—can’t seem too ungrateful, after all, not when the gods
Hades is blunt. “My brother has apparently been obsessed with you for some time, and my niece is nothing if not vindictive.”
Prickles spread across the back of my neck. Poseidon? “But ...” I swallow, glancing over at Hermes. His face is expressionless, yet I can see fists curled under his arms as they cross his chest. “Surely I have nothing to fear from either of them. Po—” I cannot say his name, though. “He ... it’s been thousands of years. I am nothing to him.”
Persephone looks down at her list. Hermes stands up suddenly and heads over to one of the wide windows. “Yes, well,” Hades murmurs, “it may seem like that to you, perhaps, but ...”
I can feel my eyes widen significantly. What is he insinuating?
“Not now,” Hermes snaps, his back still to us. “She has enough to focus on without having to worry about that sick fuck.”
As I’ve rarely ever heard my friend curse, I’m shocked into silence. Hades’ eyebrows shoot up and then back down into a vee. Then, to me, he says, “In any case, most of us have escorts ourselves. Persephone’s handmaiden always accompanies her out. Standard procedure and all.”
The truth is, I’m not comfortable with what they’re suggesting, not when independence, even if brought about under the falsest illusions, is so firmly engrained in my character. Yet, Hermes appears more stressed than I’ve ever seen him before. Persephone’s face is creased with worry. And Hades ... The Lord of the Underworld appears as if my agreement to these terms will come one way or another, whether I like it or not. So I bite back the burgeoning frustration steadily growing in my throat and chest and give them a nod.
The conversation turns to more mundane things, but as they talk, my attention wanders over to the windows. Glass separates us from a beautiful vista, of trees and grass, of plants wild and cultured, and of fountains and art. Somewhere beyond that is a city—and yet, somehow, despite the proximity I’ve finally gained, I feel like Poseidon and Athena still have me trapped in the middle of the sea.
As Hermes left an hour back to go on an urgent errand for his father, Kore is the one to bring me to a gym located in the west wing of the villa. Unlike the ones I’d seen on my computer, this one isn’t crowded and filled with sweaty people hitting on one another; pristine, sparkling machines and gorgeous mosaicked walls greet me instead.
Meeting us at the entrance, an extremely tall, well-built man says something in a language I don’t understand to Kore. She answers in kind, motioning toward me. He’s dressed in all black—black t-shirt (fitted so tightly across his chest that I wonder if he can breathe), black cargo pants, and black, highly polished boots that reach halfway up to his knees. Despite us being indoors, he’s also wearing black sunglasses. A small corkscrew wire curves from his ear down into his shirt, and from the expression on his face, I must admit, I’m a bit intimidated, especially as I’m at a disadvantage sitting in a wheelchair.
But then he inclines his head toward me and says, “I am Talos.”
Uh ... okay?
“Talos is one of Lord Hades’ finest Automatons,” Kore says, as if this clarifies matters.
I hate feeling ignorant; normally, I’d just whip out my computer or phone and search for whatever has got my mind itching, but as neither are with me, I’m forced to ask exactly what an Automaton is.
“The Automatons are the elite soldiers of the gods,” Kore says. Her words are delivered patiently, as if it’s not a burden to have to explain even the most mundane things to one as ignorant as me.
So this is the guy Hades said had to, and I use this word loosely, escort me around Olympus if and when I choose to leave the villa. He looks less like an escort and more like a mercenary from some war movie. I let out a tiny sigh—can’t seem too ungrateful, after all, not when the gods
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