Orpheus’s expression suddenly sobered. “Who’s taking her crown?”
“Who do you think?” I thought back to the image of those two crowns perched on their columns, blood splattering the marble. What would happen to them now? Would the columns remain as they were for future Nekros or would they take one of them away? Were we still the Thirteen Crowns?
“Of course he did.” Orpheus’s jaw tightened.
“So what do we do now?” I asked. “One of the crowns is dead. Half the Olympians blame me for what happened. The other half…well, I don’t know what they think because they got away from me as fast as they could. Zeus clearly plans for Nekros to continue, but everything just seems so…”
“Precarious?” he finished for me.
“Exactly. That’s a great word, by the way.” I tugged my journal from where I’d hidden it in the desk and added the word to the long list I kept on the back page.
“You should stop writing in that thing. If the wrong person got their hands on it…” His chair creaked as he leaned forward to read what I’d written down. But I snapped the book shut, hiding my scribbles.
“It’s fine, Orpheus. Just tell me what we should do about Nekros.”
He hesitated, that familiar three line pinch appearing between his eyes. I could tell he wanted to argue more about my journal, the way he would have done when I’d been young. My mother had given him free rein to supervise me, which meant he’d expected obedience from me. It had been difficult for him to let go of that once I’d been crowned queen.
But he sighed, acquiescing to my request. “We continue with Nekros. That appears to be what their god wants. And what their god wants, he gets. He cleared the sky so that the blood moon could kill Hera, and now he likely expects you all to carry on as if nothing has happened.”
And then I finally voiced the question that had been rattling around inside my brain since the moment it had happened. “Was it Erebus who did that? Or was it me?”
Orpheus gave me a long, considering look, then rose abruptly. “That is a question you should not speak out loud, not even in the privacy of this room. It was Erebus, Selene. He controls the night sky. Do you understand me?”
I frowned. There were things that had happened back in Troy. Things that had passed through the corridors in whispered rumors. I’d been born beneath a blood moon. And every year, on the celebration of my birth, the silvery light of the moon transformed into that vibrant crimson. I’d asked my mother many times what it meant, but she’d never had an answer for me.
Judging by Orpheus’s reaction to my question, her silence hadn’t been due to nescience. She knew why, and she hadn’t wanted to tell me. Just like a hundred other important things she’d kept to herself. She and Orpheus had always expected me to be content with the lack of answers.
And so I flipped open my journal and added another word to my list.
Orpheus frowned. “What in god’s name are you writing now?”
“One word,” I told him. “Malcontent.”
26
SELENE
Just as Orpheus predicted, the Olympians forged ahead to the amphitheatre the next evening, as if Hera’s death had been nothing more than an inconsequential wrinkle in an otherwise smooth fortnight. As the Third Crown, it was Athena’s night to make the sacrifice beneath a cloud-studded sky. The blood moon remained, but the crimson light was dull and fogged. Dense mist whorled through the amphitheatre.
I stood beside my column. The others took up their places and watched on with silent stoicism, very pointedly ignoring the empty space beside Hera’s crown. Athena led a frail mortal woman to the statue of Erebus, her curly gray hair fizzing in the humidity. There was no sign of the previous night’s sacrifice or ensuing battle. Whatever had remained of the blood and ash was gone.
Solemnly, Athena tapped the woman’s shoulders. The woman bowed her head and knelt before her queen. It was a stark contrast to the violent displays of the past two nights, though I wasn’t entirely surprised. Despite the vicious-looking broad sword she carried with her even now, Athena didn’t strike me as someone prone to dramatic displays of cruelty.
Within a matter of moments, Athena snapped the mortal’s neck and shared the blood with the rest of us. She only spoke to voice the required maxims, and then we all drifted back toward the palace. Half of the Olympians split off into the megaron, but I aimed my feet down the east wing’s corridor and back into my rooms.
An achingly familiar silence greeted me as I closed the door. Hector was out exploring the island, so I had only myself to keep me company. Me and my dark thoughts about the future of Hellas.
The following night passed in a similar fashion. Ares was the Fourth Crown, and he surprised me by handling his sacrifice more like Athena than like Zeus. He’d brought an elderly man, whose shuffling feet squelched in the mud. When he stumbled in the muck, Ares caught his arm and helped him along to the statue of Erebus. The man trembled, but he didn’t plead or beg or cry. He merely accepted his fate, like he’d expected it to happen.
After we passed the chalice around our circle, Ares reverently placed his crown atop his column and gazed up at the statue of Erebus. He bowed his head, then touched his fingers to his lips, mouthing a silent prayer. I fought the urge to scoff. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt almost…disappointed by this overt display of reverence. It didn’t seem tofit.
But nothing about him did.
His tense frame seemed to hum with a barely contained bloodlust. Like at any moment, he might snap and rip through someone’s neck. But he’d treated his sacrifice with respect. He hadn’t torn him apart.
And now he was worshipping the primordial being who had ordered them to murder innocent mortals in this pathetic ceremony, just for Erebus’s…what? His amusement?
My lip curled back as I stared at Ares, annoyed at the way his wavy hair fell into his eyes so perfectly.
