Hera sighed. It had been too long since she’d last spent time with Demeter. She had been distracted of late, her days plagued by a lingering fear that followed her around the palace like a dog.
A child could have been conceived and birthed in the time her husband had failed to erase the greatest threat the Olympians had ever faced. Yet here he sat, seemingly free from the worry that endlessly gnawed at Hera.
It had been a year since she’d confronted the girl from Prometheus’ prophecy, the mortal who was foretold to end her husband’s reign. Yet despite Zeus vowing to find her, she seemed to have disappeared like smoke. Hera shivered at the memory of battling her atop the snow-swathed Caucasus Mountains, the girl’s power so like her own. The altercation had almost claimed her life. When she had returned to Olympus, she’d expected a call to action. Instead, Zeus and Poseidon had sworn her to secrecy. Her husband had impressed upon her that of all the Twelve only the three of them, and Hades, knew of the Titan’s prophecy and that was how it must remain. The children must go on believing the so-called ‘last daughter’ was in fact a creature from the Underworld, created by Hades to plague them. Hera had known she must obey, but what troubled her more than the command was that neither Zeus nor Poseidon could tell her where the girl had come from or how she had gained her powers.
A drumbeat burst into life, joined by the steady clap of thenymphs ordered to fill the stadium’s seating. At Zeus’ decree, once a year, his children fought in the old way. They were forbidden to use their powers, relying only on the strength of their bodies, as mortals must.
The rhythm raced to a frantic pulse as the first pair of Zeus’ divine children ran out onto the arena. Hera and Zeus shared two sons; the rest were the result of Zeus’ dalliances with other women. Their eldest son, Ares, the God of War, was followed swiftly by his half-sister, Athena, the Goddess of Wisdom and Warfare. Ares had inherited Hera’s fine features and was built like a warrior, his muscle-corded limbs gleaming in the sunlight. But Athena had been blessed with their father’s piercing blue eyes, a feature Zeus prided above all. Hera’s son had toppled kingdoms, and still Athena, the offspring of Zeus’ other great love, was his favourite. Hera smoothed a hand across her brow. After all this time, there remained barbs in her husband’s heart she could not loosen.
Ares turned to the gathered nymphs, gesturing for them to cheer louder before he prostrated himself before his parents. Below the dais sat the rest of the royal children, who today played the part of spectators. They were all there, save Dionysus, the God of Wine and Pleasure. He had forsaken the comforts of Olympus, choosing to waste his endless life cavorting with a commune of mortal women.
Ares winked at someone below, and Hera glanced down to see Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love, married to her younger son, Hephaestus, lean forward, teasing her tumble of auburn curls across her bare shoulders. Hera pressed her lips into a thin line as Hephaestus stiffened. Hera knew that the God of Craftsmen despised these ceremonies, forced to watch his wife fawn over his brother, whom she had taken as her lover. The whore had abandoned her husband when heneeded her most, and for that Hera would never forgive her. Just as she would never forgive Zeus for what he had done to Hephaestus.
Hera’s attention was drawn to the youngest member of the royal brood seated at the far end of the row. Hermes, the Messenger of the Gods, reclined against the stone in full armour, his ridiculous winged boots resting on the back of the bench in front, his hands locked behind his helmet.
‘Hermes has no respect,’ she hissed.
Zeus followed her gaze and chuckled, which only inflamed her more.
As the years had passed, Hera hoped she would forget the faces of the mortal women Zeus had lain with, but they haunted her in the visages of their children, in every favour the King of Heaven bestowed on his offspring that were not hers.
Zeus lifted his hand. The drumbeat slowed. A pair of nymphs ran across the stadium to Ares and Athena, swiftly removing their golden armour until they stood barefoot, both dressed in nothing but a short leather kilt. The drumbeat shifted again, now swifter and sharper, as Ares and Athena dusted their hands and began to circle each other. Hera’s jaw tightened as Hermes flitted amongst the rest of the divine children, gathering bets on who they thought would emerge triumphant.
‘Brother,’ said Zeus to Poseidon, ‘who shall be the victor?’
Poseidon considered. ‘Athena. She has the greater skill.’
Hera laughed sharply.
Zeus raised an eyebrow. ‘My wife does not agree.’
‘Physically, Ares is Athena’s superior.’ Hera appraised her son’s muscular frame. ‘He is undoubtedly the stronger contender.’
‘You are blinded by your womb,’ said Poseidon.
‘You are just blind.’
Zeus raised his hand to quiet them. ‘What say you, Ganymede?’
The boy at Zeus’ feet tilted his head to look up at the King of Heaven. He blinked, his thick lashes fluttering over his cow-like eyes.
‘I could not possibly pass judgement, my lord. I am but a mortal and they are gods.’
‘Even so, choose.’
The mortal’s throat bobbed. He lowered his head to survey Ares and Athena. ‘The God of War will surely live up to his title.’
Zeus smiled and petted Ganymede like a dog. ‘See, wife, you have an ally.’ Then he turned his attention back to the arena. ‘Ares is strong, but my Bright Eyes is cunning. She may best him in the end.’
Hera fought the urge to roll her eyes.
Ares and Athena continued to circle each other, raking the imported earth of the arena floor and coating their hands with dust. Hera’s stomach tightened as she watched them, the desire to see Athena’s blood spilt wetting her mouth. Guttural grunts burst from the pair as they clashed together, grappling each other’s flesh.
Poseidon popped an indigo grape into his mouth, its sweet juice gleaming on his lips. ‘Ares will soon grow bored and try to end the match with brute strength, that is when Athena will strike.’
Hera shook her head as Zeus’ hand drifted to Ganymede’s shoulder, and the boy lifted the goblet to his master. Zeus took a deep drink of the fortified amber wine, his eyes never leaving his children.
After less than half an hour of wrestling, Ares pulled back, then with a roar launched himself at his sister. Heraleant forward in her seat, afraid to blink as Athena darted around him.
