Chapter 11
The crowd thickened around them, making seeing beyond a couple feet impossible. It didn’t seem to bother Daphne, whom grabbed Fay’s hand, dragging her own, chatting on about different hounds they passed. Fay let the words wash over her, fall carelessly past her mind, as she tried to focus instead on the fray, to keep her bearings. Still, by the time the crowd finally seemed to thin a little, she still felt a little lost. She glanced over her shoulder but couldn’t see the camp. Somehow, they seemed somewhere else entirely, a sprawling field with no tent in sight.
Unease sharpened in her mind. Something wasn’t right but, rather than draw on Andromeda, she suddenly felt a heaviness around her. A think blanket was pressing on her mind, smothering her. She turned back to Daphne to tell her she was tired, that she was heading back, when the crowd suddenly vanished around her.
Confused, she spun around and saw the crowd and, at the front of it, Daphne. She was smiling, a cold, cruel smile. Lead sunk in Fay’s gut as Daphne snapped her fingers. A wall of black energy rushed up, momentarily hiding the crowd; in the next breath it was gone, clear as day, and the crowd was cheering – or looked to be, anyway. Fay couldn’t hear a word. She stared at Daphne, who gestured for her to turn around, smiling wickedly.
Slowly, Fay turned. The blood drained from her face,
“Amon?” The word choked out of her mouth.
Standing before her, Amon seemed, for one moment, as real as he had in her visions. The next, his skin turned semi-transparent, like that of a ghost. He stared at her, empty, as though nothing was really going on behind those beautiful eyes. Like he, too, was empty.
Instinctively, she stepped forward, one hand up, as if saying she was no threat. Unfortunately, he didn’t get the memo and a sword materialised in his hand. The Sword of Hades, realised Fay, well, sort of. It shifted in and out of phase like him, and the details on the hilt were hazy, like it was little more than an echo, a poor copy.
She stopped and looked at him cautiously. “Amon?”
He burst forward, sword drawn. She jumped clear as he swung his blade, the air cut with a sharp whistle. Before she could even think, he was on her again, slashing with no real skill. He was fast, that’s all but there was no direction, like he was doing it on instinct half asleep. Still, he was fast enough that as she jumped clear, he was at her again, and she couldn’t find her footing to take the offensive. She snapped her fingers, trying to summon some energy – any energy.
Nothing happened. She couldn’t frown, couldn’t even wrap her mind around it when he was coming at her again.
“Amon please! Andromeda wouldn’t want this,” she hissed as spun around so she stood behind him.
For a moment he stilled, like he heard her.
Then he moved, and the moment was gone. She jumped back but not far enough. He swung, the blade slashing across her chest – shallow but she felt it, an explosion of pain through her body. She let out a hiss of pain, staggering back. He slowed his attack and stared at her. For a moment she thought he was seeing her properly, maybe even seeing traces of Andromeda inside her, somehow.
He blinked. The expression was gone. He rushed forward, driving his sword straight into her chest. Cold metal pierced flesh, pain erupting within her. Then he yanked the blade out, staggering back. She sunk to her knees, gasping for air, blood spluttering from her mouth. She felt like she was drowning, dying slowly. Pain clawed at her mind as she fell back. She fumbled at her wound, trying furtively to stop the bleeding, like it’d do anything.
She tried to tell herself that she’d spin back up, that the pain would be over soon. As she gasped for breath, darkness and stars battling in her eyes, she saw Amon leaning over her. Horror lit his face but even as he looked at her, it was like he was somewhere else.
“Oh gods, what have I done?” He cried. The sword vanished in his hand and he clutched his head, as if it hurt him.
She didn’t hear what he was saying as she felt the darkness pull her under – not how she imagined being spun back up would feel. She felt herself slipping into somewhere cold, a vast darkness beginning to consume her whole. Just as she was completely gone something hot rushed through her, like molten lead through her veins.
Andromeda.
The pain in her body dissolved, leaving only a tremulous ache behind. Gasping, she opened her eyes fully. Amon stood a few feet away, trembling, clutching at his mind, muttering to himself. She tried to move, to do something but all she could do as Amon’s mind seemed to crumble before her. Whatever had happened to him after Andromeda had shredded him to ribbons.
My love, whispered Andromeda. What have they done to you?
The grief suddenly hardened, fury kindling in her chest. Andromeda’s raw anger became Fay’s. She saw red, imagined tearing everyone apart, shredding Daphne’s mind until it was bloody ribbons at her feet. She tried to sit up but her body was slow to respond, her limbs only sluggishly stirring. It only made her angrier.
A savage cry tore from her lips as she forced herself to sit. The world lurched, her stomach twisted. She blinked, willing the world to settle, her mind to clear, when a hand fell on her shoulder. In a flash she had her hand up, shadow energy crackling dangerously, illuminating the dark eyes of Mariko.
She stared at Fay, undaunted. “Is this how you say thank you?”
Fay’s hand dropped. She saw the rest of the squad rushing towards her from behind Mariko, minus Marcus. Even Alexander was there, impassive. To her confusion Andromeda’s fury only intensified. Seeing Amon had left her in a blind rage, angry enough to tear down Olympus with her bare hands.
Andromeda, stop it, I’ll find out what happened to Amon but you need to calm down before you expose us both, Fay snapped.
For a moment it seemed like Andromeda hadn’t heard her. A slow hiss reverberated within Fay’s mind as Andromeda reluctantly retreated.
You better – or else.
When Andromeda was gone the squad encircled her. To her surprise it was Remus whom scooped her up into his arms, like she weighed nothing at all. In his warm embrace Fay felt the intensity of the fight, of seeing Amon, then of feeling Andromeda’s power, rush out of her, and she slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When she awoke pale light lit the stone ceiling above her, catching carved spiral patterns and flowers. Frowning, she stirred, her hands squeezing the soft blankets draped over her. She sat up, slowly, blinking several times to absorb the sun-lit room around her. Her gaze drifted to the open doors near her, revealing a sprawling balcony. She couldn’t see beyond it from where she sat, so she slowly swung her legs over the side, wincing as the cold floor hit her feet. With a deep breath she hauled herself to her feet and felt the thin shift on her body, cut mid-calf, settle around her body. She reached up instinctively and touched where the sword had cut her. The imperceptible bump that ran beneath her collar bone shocked her and, tugging the shift down she saw it. The scar, pale, as if it’d healed long ago. Gasping, she reached lower down where the sword had sunk into her and there, too, she felt the scar.
With shaking hands, she strode through the doors and out onto the balcony. The sprawling palace gardens stretched out before her. She froze. The last thing she remembered was Remus carrying her away, accompanied by the squad. So how had she ended up in Hades palace?
“You’re awake,” commented a soft feminine voice.
Fay spun around. Persephone stood at the threshold of the balcony, clad in a resplendent ruby gown, cinched around the waist with a gold band. Gold paint patterned her skin in dizzying swirls, leaving only her face with two golden tear drops beneath her eyes. Her golden eyes, stark against her rich olive skin, stared at Fay with kind amusement.
“How?” It was all Fay could manage as her mind reeled.
Persephone stepped forward and stood beside her at the railing, staring out across the garden. “Long ago, I struck a deal with a human girl. Said if I aided her she’d free me. I laughed and called her a fool but she argued with such an intensity that I jokingly agreed.” She glanced at Fay with a roll of her eyes. “Imagine my surprise when I later discovered who she was. I didn’t tell my husband of this, of course. I don’t fancy living in Tartarus, you know? Or worse!”
Andromeda. In Fay’s visions she’d seen Andromeda talk about deals she made, the alliances she set in place. Never in Fay’s wildest expectations did she think she’d aligned herself with Persephone. It made sense, given Andromeda needed an easy way into the palace, if only to get at the sword.
“What did she ask for?”
Persephone waved a hand before her, tendrils of golden light danced through her fingers. “My power. My aid. She gave me these strange pearls, which I later realised she’d gotten somehow from Poseidon’s palace. These pearls have visions within them, memories of a sort. They rupture and deliver the recipient a kind of message. Due to our deal I keep them on me and over the years they’ve ruptured. I’ve done many tasks for her. Then, for many years, none ruptured. Imagine my surprise when one ruptured.”
“Do you have any left?” Fay finally asked, her voice soft, tentative.
Persephone turned her hand over, exposing her palm and the lone pearl within, glimmering white in the bright sun. “Just one.” She held it to Fay. “In the last one I was told to save you and, that this one is for you.”
“For me?”
She nodded and set it into Fay’s hand, curling her fingers around it. The pearl was warm in her palm, humming softly. She looked up at Persephone, whose gaze fell on the distant horizon, dark clouds gathering within her gaze. A deep breath fell from her lips.
“I am a fool,” she declared, then pushed back from the railing. “A silly fool to trust Andromeda but the only place I can go now is Tartarus. I used to hate that idea but it’d be away from him, so it can’t really be that bad.”
Nothing in Fay’s mind could’ve chased the demons from Persephone’s mind. She was dancing the knife’s edge of being exposed for treason, for betraying the Gods to their worst enemy. She knew it, saw that threat loom before her. Still, whatever Andromeda had said, it had tempted her enough, given her hope even of being free from Hades. To be free of him was something Fay could respect, feel a common goal with her. That in itself was a novel thing that made her smile.
“Does my trouble amuse you?” She asked, arching a perfectly manicured brow.
Fay sobered. “No. Just something random I thought of. So, out of curiosity, how much attention am I going to get going back to the camp? It’s got to be unusual for a hound to get such attention.”
Persephone nodded, understanding my concern. It was strange to see the understanding, even the sympathetic look in her eye. We were, quite literally, two different species. She’d lived thousands of years, watched hounds come and go, yet she was willing to gamble what little she had left on someone the Gods wanted dead, plus a hellhound that wrestled with authority. Among other many faults.
“I arranged it so the others outside your squad think you’re simply being interviewed over the events, just like many others there that night,” said Persephone. “Using souls for entertainment, apart from being morbid and horrid, is illegal to my husband. To us all. Those involved will be dealt with severely.”
“Tartarus?” Fay offered.
Just one nod said everything.
“I suppose that’s better than them thinking I’m being favoured too much by you guys. Doesn’t look good, you know, nor does it make things easier for me,” said Fay with a low laugh.
“Do you want things easier?”
Fay was silent for a moment. “A little less complicated, maybe, and if I’m being faithful to resisting Hades control, I’d like to be free.”
The corner of Persephone’s mouth twitched. “You sound like Andromeda. She spent her whole mortal life fighting; first to be free of the God’s damned prophecy of her, then she seemed to change her tune and was determined to rage her war.”
The shift of tune had been evident in the visions. Something had happened to make Andromeda on the offensive. She’d always thought it was the ‘death’ of Abe, then his immortality. Upon deeper reflection she felt that was too simplistic. Andromeda had invested too much effort over such a simple reasoning. So, if it wasn’t that, what really drove her? What was driving her now, given Abe was out of the picture and she was in Tartarus?
“Do you know what it was?”
Persephone shook her head, grave. “She never said. I knew it was to keep her pawns exactly where she wanted them. The control, I think, was vital to her plan, whatever it was.”
“I wonder what she’s scheming, what the end game is,” reflected Fay.
“Whatever it is, may Chaos have mercy on us all,” intoned Persephone quietly, touching a finger to her finger, a kind of prayer. “She’s certainly not someone I want as an enemy. The fools at Olympus don’t see what she represents.”
“And what does she represent?”
Persephone glanced at her. “The end of the Gods. The dawn of a new era. In my mind the only ones who will survive will be those who can adapt and that’s where I plan to be.”
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