Hector cawed, sensing my inner turmoil. I sighed and brushed my cheek against his feathers.
“Thank you for waiting outside,” I whispered. “I know it was the last thing you wanted to do.”
Hector cawed a mournful sound. It reminded me of when I’d buried my mother’s ashes. He’d gone with me, singing to keep the painful silence at bay. His birdsong had been a tribute to my grief.
I’d taken her ashes deep into the ruins near the city, where vampires and humans had long buried their dead. There was a cave hidden inside the crumbling structure, the entrance engulfed by vines. No one knew about that cave, save for my mother and me. Not even Orpheus knew where it was. When I’d barely been old enough to comprehend, my mother taken me from the city and she’d shown me that place. And then she’d pulled my hands to her face, and she’d begged me to scatter her ashes there.
When I’d asked why, my mother had said, “I promise on the moon above I will tell you when you’re older.”
But just like everything else she’d promised to tell me, she’d died before she’d had the chance. I supposed she’d assumed she had more time, never realizing just how precious life was, even for someone who could live a thousand lives. Even for an immortal. There was never any guarantee that tomorrow would come.
Hector hopped off my shoulder and landed on my knee, blinking up at me. And as our eyes met, I swore I could understand his thoughts, as much as that was an impossibility. No one, not even my mother, had known how to explain the bond I shared with Hector. It was as if we’d been born beneath the same moon and forged from the same stardust.
One of my first memories was of Hector. I’d been crawling around on the throne room floor while my mother and Medea—whose name I’d been too young to know at the time—were arguing about something. I’d been tugging on the bottom of my mother’s gown, desperate for attention. There were no other children in the palace for me to play with, and I was bored.
Until Hector had appeared, his form backlit by the full moon beyond the windows. He’d flown right to my side, his talons clicking against the floor. Then he’d cocked his head and blinked. Instantly, I’d been enamored by him, and he by me.
He’d been by my side as I’d grown from a crawling, bloodthirsty babe and into a gangly legged adolescent, when I’d fallen in love for the first time with one of the mortal warriors who guarded the wall. Though, I had to admit now, it wasn’t so much “love” as it was an unrequited infatuation with someone who never would have dared look at me twice, even if I’d been of age. It was the crimson eyes; mortals didn’t much like looking into them.
Regardless of his disinterest, my mother discovered my crush and locked me in my tower for weeks, even after banishing the poor guard from Troy. I’d cried for days. Hector had never strayed from my side, even bringing me vials of blood from time to time to keep up my energy.
And then he’d been with me years later when I’d tried to scale the outer wall of the palace to explore the city under a full moon night, just to breathe and stretch my legs and feel the mist racing along my skin. The second my feet had touched the ground, I’d been caught, of course. Hector had perched by my side during the long days that followed, when I’d been locked in my rooms once again.
And he was with me now, too. He would be with me always. Not even Zeus or Ares or the whole bloody lot of Olympians could tear him from my side—for they’d never even know he was here.
I read all this and more in Hector’s eyes as we sat in the faint candlelight, breathing in the scent of sea wind and thinking of our kingdom, far from Aiaia’s shores, where mortals did not fear death every time they stepped beyond the threshold of their homes.
A knock sounded on my door. I rose from the bed, my hands clenching. I knew better than to hope for Orpheus. It would be Ares, having abandoned the party to track me down and continue his harassment.
“This room is mine. I claim it,” I whispered.
He knocked again, this time harder. I scowled at the door. Now that I’d claimed the room, he couldn’t enter unless I invited him inside. It was one of the few protections anyone had against vampires—Titans and Olympians alike. If he wanted to antagonize me, he’d have to wait until tomorrow.
“High Queen Selene,” the knocker called out through the door. “Please open up. We need to speak with you. Urgently.”
I frowned. The voice was soft, feminine. I crossed the room and reached for the door, sucking in a calming breath before I slowly turned the knob. When I tugged the door open, I peered into the hallway. Aphrodite and Hera stood between the flickering torches, casting furtive glances over their shoulders.
When Hera saw I’d opened her door, she began to step forward, but stopped short when her body hit the barrier.
Her gaze fiercely narrowed. “You invoked the threshold curse?”
“Yes, and you’d be smart to do it for your room, too, especially after what happened during the feast,” I answered in that steady, queenly voice I’d honed to perfection. Gone was any trace of the mess I’d been only moments before.
“It sends a message I don’t think you want to send,” said Hera. “If we are committed to our peace treaty, we have no reason to invoke the threshold curse.”
“It isn’t my commitment I’m worried about,” I said. “It’s Zeus and Ares, the two who orchestrated my mother’s death.”
Aphrodite pursed her crimson lips. “You’re right to be wary of them. That’s why we’re here. We need to speak to you about Zeus while he’s distracted by his drink and music.”
I considered them both for a moment, then I stepped outside my room, crossed the hallway, and pushed inside the door opposite mine. I paused on the threshold, brow raised. “If you want to speak with me, you can do so in here.”
Hera scowled, but Aphrodite smiled and inclined her head. “Very well. We’ll speak in there.”
At that, Hera’s scowl fell. Sighing, she followed us through a thick layer of cobwebs lining the door. I batted them away, trailing inside the empty room. It was empty, save for shadows. Hera shut the door behind her.
“You know you have nothing to fear from us,” Hera said without any preamble. “We can’t kill you, not unless we wish to risk the wrath of the gods.”
“There are some who might decide my death is worth the risk,” she said.
