Bellanca sighed. Yes, she planned to steal Eryx’s kingdom, but she’d imagined herself more as a liberator than a usurper. But maybe that was what all conquerors believed? Right now, she didn’t care. She couldn’t possibly be worse than Eryx unless she changed so drastically she didn’t even recognize herself—revenge whippings aside.
She waited for remorse to hit. It didn’t. With a last glance at the burned and bloodied king, she turned and led Cleito fromthe building. No one dared get in her way, and the two of them walked out of the castle as easily as she’d walked in. What she chose to not look back at was the throne room. Regret was there for that, and heavy. She hadn’t planned on leaving dead soldiers behind her. They’d only been doing their job, and most of them had done it admirably.
But there were bright sides. Cleito was safe from Eryx. She’d avenged Carver. And she understood her new magic better. She could differentiate it from her fire magic now and use the two simultaneously. Conjuring the fire whips had only helped her concentrate and separate things further. She’d consider this a win for everyone except for the dead soldiers and the families she’d just left in mourning.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, wishing guilt could be exhaled as easily. Cleito stumbled beside her, and Bellanca stopped, remembering that the other woman was barefoot and weakened by abuse and deprivation. She used a dagger to slice through Cleito’s leash, letting the rough rope drop in the courtyard, and then moved forward more slowly, passing under the still-raised portcullis. Holding Cleito’s hand, she guided her toward the smoothest part of the road leading away from the castle. Slowing more wasn’t an option. An indefinable feeling urged her on. She’d won, but tension still whipped through her, building. Cleito looked this way and that, maybe sensing it, too. Her head swiveled constantly even though she should’ve been watching where she was going on the uneven cobbles. She seemed to search for something, and yet her wide eyes stayed unfocused and swirling with too much knowledge.
Cleito suddenly moved closer, as if seeking shelter. “The queen comes,” she whispered.
A chill scraped over Bellanca. On edge, she retrieved her bag from behind the laurel bushes but kept her helmet on. She’dremove it when she was farther from the castle and sure no one had followed. She swung down a side street and then circled back to where they’d been, getting behind any potential danger, but as they walked, she didn’t see anyone else on the dead-of-night streets of Atlantapol. Trying to shake off the unease gripping her, she guided Cleito down a long empty road parallel to the one she really wanted. When she was certain they were alone, she cut down an alley, got on the wider street going along the waterfront, and headed straight for her building, finally letting go of Cleito’s hand and removing the harpy helmet. She hid it in the bag again.
As they walked, Bellanca threw her head back to the star-smattered sky. Gods, it felt good to breathe without that metal thing shoving her heat back at her. She unwrapped her head and tossed the long cloth over the sandstone wall. The next high tide would gobble up what was left of the half-burned fabric. Cool night air filled her lungs, and she savored the deep breath, letting it out only to take another. Traces of night-blooming jasmine and orange blossoms rode a salt breeze. Waves gently lapped at hulls. Ropes creaked and bells chimed in the harbor. They’d become the scents and sounds of home.
Cleito suddenly stopped. Bellanca stopped with her, frowning. She lightly tugged on Cleito’s arm, but the other woman dug in her heels, her infinite gaze seeming to focus as she looked straight at Bellanca and spoketoher instead of muttering into the space around them. “Four. His ritual requires the four. He’ll have three. Ceremonial knife. Chalice. Virgin blood.” Her voice dropped to a low, shiver-inducing whisper. “Amulet.”
Goose bumps sprayed across Bellanca’s skin, and she touched her chest even though the medallion Persephone gave her was stashed at home under a floorboard. “The Shard of Olympus…” she murmured around her shock of receiving such a clear message from the Chaos Wizard.
Cleito glanced at the night sky then back at Bellanca. “Under Athena’s owl,” she confirmed just before a terrible crack rent the air above them. Both women ducked. Bellanca’s pulse surged, and she grabbed Cleito, tucking the other woman against her. Magic sizzled in her veins, and her eyes sharpened on their surroundings as she swiftly moved them toward the harbor wall to at least have their backs protected. A dull hum blunted her hearing, and she shook her head to clear it. It stopped, and her heart thudded loudly in the new silence. Was Zeus about to smite her? She looked skyward, but no lightning flashed. No thunder followed. Everything was suddenly too quiet.
Wary, she let fire race just under her skin and waited. If not Zeus, then what? Bellanca pulled Cleito deeper into the shadows, stuffing the Chaos Wizard between a cypress tree and the sandstone wall. Standing in front of her, she watched the street for movement.
Something in the distance grew bigger and brighter, and her head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. It came from the north, from Mount Olympus, and her flaming-hot blood suddenly froze solid. Only two things came from that direction—magical creatures or gods. Dread spiked inside her.
“The queen comes,” Cleito murmured.
Bellanca brutally beat down her panic and stood taller, trying to hide the smaller woman behind her. She could see more clearly now. A goddess flew toward them, her luminescent skin brightening the long, full gown floating around her. She grew bigger and more visible, beautiful and frightening details coming into focus. Tight curls. Somber visage. Cylindrical crown. Bellanca swallowed. She’d know Hera from any statue in this world or her previous one.
Her heart raced like never before as the goddess hovered above them, an icy stare hardening her terrifying countenance.Despair warred with recognition inside Bellanca. She understood now.Queen. Usurper.Cleito hadn’t been prophesizing about her at all. She’d been warning her about Hera, Queen of Olympus.
A queen trying to seize control over her husband’s kingdom.
Bellanca’s already pounding pulse intensified to a sickening hammering.Thiswas who was behind the Olympianomachy. Zeus’s own wife was angling for his throne. She wanted to supplant him and was pulverizing innocents in the process.
The goddess landed softly despite her height and obvious strength and the solid gold scepter she carried. Her golden necklace, armbands, and girdle alone probably weighed more than most grown women. She carried them effortlessly.
Bellanca refused to even acknowledge her rising terror and straightened her shoulders.
“Surprised?” Hera glided closer, almost serpentine in her movements, and Bellanca half expected her to hiss like a snake because this woman was cold, cold-blooded.
“Yes,” she admitted, anger and fear roughening her voice. “I expected the protectress of woman and children toprotectthem, not gamble with their lives and happiness for her own profit.”
“It’s time to get over Thalyria. Everything worked out for your precious Cat and Griffin in the end.” Hera’s lips thinned. “I wasn’t quite ready to reveal myself, but you forced my hand. Your sister holds all the information Zeus wants you to have, and I need that information working for me, not him.”
“My sister?” Confusion wound through Bellanca’s horror and rage. Two sisters were dead, and the other was in Thalyria. There was no way Lystra was passing along information to her here in Atlantis.
Despite Bellanca’s efforts to hide Cleito from Hera’s view, the Chaos Wizard came out from behind her and scraped a baretoe along the cobbles. Bellanca threw her arm out, still shielding her—or trying to.
Hera glanced back and forth between the two women in front of her, her hard but perfect features utterly expressionless. “Did you not notice the resemblance?”
Goose bumps shattered over her again. Shehadnoticed. Still, it was impossible. She’d never laid eyes on Cleito before tonight, never met her. “You can’t be serious. She’s from Atlantis. I’m from Thalyria.”
“Cleito was supposed to tip Eryx in the right direction and eventually gain me Atlantis and its people, but Zeus has a hold on her mind I can’t seem to break, and Eryx hasn’t proved successful, either. She wouldn’t give him the final ingredient, and now that I finally know where it is, Athena’s made it inaccessible to anyone but a Thalyrian.”
Anyone but a Thalyrian?Confirmation that the Shard of Olympus was truly meant for her and within reach got lost in the frantic, fiery rage erupting inside her for Cleito. The beatings. The whippings. The fear and humiliation. “Youlet himabuse her? You? The goddess meant to safeguard women?” And where had Hera been since Punishment? Definitely not intervening on behalf of anyone in Atlantis.
She suddenly wondered if her sun flare could kill an Olympian, because she was ready to try it.
Hera shrugged, the thick gold around her neck glinting in the moonlight. “That was his choice, his method. I had nothing to do with it.”
