Hermes shook his head once more. He clasped his hands behind his back to hide their tremors. ‘I only saw the destruction it left, the scorch marks –’
‘That is all? You are sure you found nothing else?’
‘Nothing,’ Hermes whispered, his heart threatening to break loose from his chest.
Zeus closed his eyes and released a long breath through his nose.
‘Come here, my son.’
Hermes rose and walked towards the King of Heaven, pausing at the steps leading up to Zeus’ throne. Poseidon was staring at Hades’ long-neglected statue, fresh tears staining his cheeks.
‘Closer.’
Hermes advanced until he stood on the final step.
‘Sit.’
He obeyed.
‘Remove your helm.’
Hermes’ heart sank. He hated baring his boyish face in the presence of his family. If it were anyone else, he’d have refused. But no one defies the King of Heaven. With shaking hands, he lifted the golden helmet from his head.
Zeus smiled. ‘Remind me how long it is that you’ve been searching for the Underworld creature.’
A familiar fear, cold and immobilizing, seeped through Hermes’ limbs. ‘A month,’ he whispered.
Zeus’ irises were almost entirely golden with life-threads, yet despite their glow they were colder than a winter wind. ‘If you had caught her, Hades would still be alive.’
Hermes’ stomach hollowed. He turned, looking to Poseidon for support, but his uncle’s face was just as stony as his father’s. Then Zeus grabbed his jaw in his gauntleted hand and turned Hermes’ head to face his own.
‘You will look at your king when he speaks.’
Hermes screamed.
His skin blistered beneath his father’s metallic fingers. The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils, white-hot pain searing through his face until it blinded him. Zeus released him, and he tumbled down the marble steps.
‘Go.’
Hermes grabbed his helm from where it had rolled across the floor and fled from the megaron.
He ran down the corridor, barely able to breathe through the agony. Just as he turned the corner, a nymph came strolling towards him. The girl barely had time to open her mouth before Hermes had clamped his gauntleted hands aroundher neck and drained the life-threads from her body. But the pain in his jaw lingered, long after his skin had healed.
The palace blurred around him as he ran back to his chambers. The look in his father’s eyes as he burned him had been one of such loathing; Hermes had truly believed that Zeus might kill him.
Even now, far from his father’s gaze, that loathing burrowed into him, crawling beneath his skin. His father had trusted him, above all his siblings, and he was failing.
He must find the girl, before he ran out of chances.
24. The Way of the Mother
The day after Metis freed Danae of the collar, the woman led her across the sun-rusted earth, towards the northern reach of the island. As they clambered over the rocks Danae paused by a cushion of spiny spruce, a perfect grey circle marring the plant’s centre.
‘What happened to the spruce?’
Metis glanced over her shoulder. ‘I used much of my ichor to save your friend’s life. It needed replenishing.’
‘Ichor?’
