Gruffly, he says, “You could grow horns for all I care. I love you. All of you. Inside and out.”
I take a deep breath. “Good to know.” In fact, it warms my heart immensely. “Because depending on which Gods added their ichor to my veins, which apparently a bunch of them did, I could end up with pointy ears or a beard someday.”
Griffin grunts, processing that, I guess.
“Speaking of Gods…” I look around, but the God of War is nowhere to be found. “Ares helped me out of the pit. He got the wings out of me. I’m part Nike—or something like that.”
Griffin grunts again—more processing, I think—and then murmurs, “Winged Victory.”
I frown, not feeling very victorious. Alive, though, and that’s what matters.
“Maybe Ares contributed something to my blood, too.” That would explain a lot.
Griffin doesn’t look okay with that. In fact, he looks downright pained.
“My affable nature?” I ask, trying to lighten his scowl. “My peacekeeping skills?”
Not even a smile. It’s too soon to joke.
“Is Little Bean all right?” Griffin’s eyes drop to my middle.
Glancing down, I smooth my hands over my lower belly. “Snug as a bug on a sheepskin rug.” I can sense her powerful life force inside me and feel her steady heartbeat. It’s faster than mine.
“Good Gods!” Mother’s voice slices through me like a knife made of ice. “I’m not even surprised. You land on your feet wherever you go.”
Griffin and I jump apart and scramble to our feet. Griffin throws out his arm, pushing me behind him. Shock roots me to the spot. There’d been no sign of Mother when I flew over the meadow and the house. I’d thought she was gone!
But now she’s within striking distance, one of my knives in her left hand and my sword in her right. She probably wanted Griffin’s, but it’s too heavy for her to wield. Ianthe’s pearls circle her head, holding back her loose hair. She’s dressed in her own clothes now and looking like herself again, although I hesitate to call that human.
“Nice robes,” I say, coming alongside Griffin. She’s wearing all black, and I’m sure it’s for the sheer intimidation factor.
“They’re for your funeral,” she answers.
I curl my mouth into a cool smile, forcing myself to show no fear. But the truth is, shedoesscare me. She scares the ever-living magic out of me.
“Or yours,” Griffin snarls.
Mother laughs that off, and I barely suppress a shudder.
“Wings.” She looks me up and down with distaste. “How hideous.”
I notch my chin up. She’s not fooling me. I see the envy in her eyes, turning them even greener. And I feel her lie punch through me, hot and pounding. “Jealous?”
She snorts. “Chances are, you don’t know how to use them.”
Truth. Unfortunately. “I figured out up versus down.”
Her tone cutting, she says, “Mediocrity suits you. It’s a good thing, since that’s all you’ve ever striven for.”
“And sheer evilness makes you special,” I answer in kind.
She smiles. Of course that doesn’t insult her.
I may have more raw power than she does, but I have no skill, and Mother knows it. So far, I’ve survived on luck, help, and accident alone, and today was no exception.
“Why did you ever even try to teach me about magic?” I ask, knowing that much of my ineptitude comes from refusing to listen to a word she said. I was so focused on not using my magic like she did that I ended up not using it at all. “So that I could be your spy in Galen Tarva’s court?”
“It was in my best interest for you to survive there. With proximity, you could have controlled him.”
