“I’m the most obvious person alive,” she protested, her voice rising. “I say exactly what I think. All the time.”
“Just look…” He smirked, his gray eyes hard, his smile harder. “We’re arguing like an old married couple, and it’s not even real.”
Bellanca snapped her mouth shut. She stared at him across the table, tension squeezing her hard enough to pop out a few sparks. “Do youwantit to be?”
Carver stared back at her. Finally, a stiff, self-mocking twist of the lips warped his features. It was her least favorite smile of his. “Who’d want to be married to me?”
His idiotic words hit Bellanca’s hard-beating heart like shards of ice. Most people usually thought they were ten times better than they actually were. Carver always seemed convinced he was ten times worse. “Probably just about every woman in Atlantis.”
“Hmm.” He looked her up and down, his gaze scathing and hot at the same time. “Just about.”
Chapter 10
Bellanca froze, staring at Carver. It shouldn’t be this hard to breathe. Suddenly, Carver leaning toward her on the beach came back in an all-encompassing burst of sensation. A mix of fear, regret, and…longing, maybe? Even grief? Whatever the last thing was surged up from deep inside and made her feel as though she were missing something vital—something she’d lost and needed back in order to ever feel whole again.
Her skin heating, her hair brightening the room, and her eyes probably glowing an eerie aquamarine, she sat there, a lump in her throat and a physical ache in her chest. Why was Carver doing this? Didn’t they make a good team? Nothing had to change. Different wasn’t always good.
Except, everything was already different. It had been since the day they arrived. And sometimes, when he coaxed her out of her comfort zone, like insisting she shore up her skills with a sword and master some of his fancy footwork, itwasa good thing. But things like that didn’t changethem. Conversations like the one they were having right now might, though.
And he hadn’t answered her question. He’d answered with another question, which she’d always hated, but digging deeper was too hard for her right now.
The oil lamps on the table were attracting moths, and she reached out, turning the closest one down. Even the slight twist of her fingers made her wrist ache, and she knew she was in fordays of pain. “We finally got some good information tonight. Automatons. That’s new, at least.”
Carver looked at her for a long moment before shifting his already shuttered gaze to the side. He picked up the change of subject—thank the gods. “Hephaestus crafts automatons to help him in his workshops. He makes metal beings become animate to perform certain tasks. Taking you off the game board must’ve been tonight’s task.”
Keeping everything stiff, Bellanca wafted her arms in the air, trying to dry her wrists faster. “His history on Mount Olympus is unclear. He’s either the son of Hera and Zeus or the son of Hera alone.”
“Like Athena for Zeus?”
She nodded, her galloping pulse calming as the new topic took hold. “Just one parent. Hephaestus might’ve been Hera’s revenge for Zeus popping out Athena on his own.”
“So Hephaestus could’ve already been anti-Zeus from the start?”
“Maybe…” Not sure, she shrugged. “That never stopped him from being the blacksmith to the gods, making their weapons and equipment, and living on Mount Olympus—until he was cast out by either Hera or Zeus. The stories aren’t clear on that, but I’m guessing we might know for sure now.”
“Attacking us means sidingagainstZeus.”
“That’s my take on it.” Bellanca checked her wrists. Still wet. And still throbbing, although the cool cloths had helped. “Zeus must’ve been the one to exile Hephaestus from Mount Olympus and brutally toss him off the mountaintop. Hephaestus was gravely injured in the fight. They say he still limps.”
The thundercloud sitting on Carver’s brow slowly dissipated. Looking pensive, he said, “Do you know what this means? We might be the only humans to actually know who cast Hephaestus from Mount Olympus.”
“Ifwe’re right,” she cautioned.
“Assuming we are, then who has he sided with now? Who’s behind it all?”
At a loss, Bellanca shook her head. “Maybe Cleito can tell us.”
Doubt dimmed Carver’s features as he leaned back in his chair. The wood creaked, loud in the quiet room. “We have a lot riding on Cleito. We have since the beginning, but now that we know she’s a Chaos Wizard, the stakes are even higher.” Thinking, he slowly tapped a finger against the tabletop. “But if I can get her alone and somewhere she feels safe, maybe I can get something directly from Zeus out of her.”
Bellanca scoffed. “What are the chances of getting that much quiet time with Cleito?” An idea sparked. “Wait.” She pitched forward, her elbows rocking on the table. “Let’s steal her.”
Carver frowned. “Steal Cleito?”
“Yes. No one knows I can burn them alive if I want to, you’re fast and good at stabbing things, and now we have big metal harpy helmets to disguise us as we storm the castle.” She pivoted and pointed toward her bedroom. “It’s perfect!”
“Our definitions of perfect must be very different,” Carver grumbled as he reached out and planted both her elbows back on the table. He held on to them. “Stop waving your arms around before I can wrap them.”
“I’m drying them.”
