And then it begins again. We shift fluidly, Atalanta and I bringing Circe to a peak, and then Circe toying with me until I’m shaking and unable to form words. We take turns going down on Atalanta, each doing our damnedest to get that sexy little squeal out of her. Time ceases to have meaning. There are only us, this bed, and the pleasure we wring from each other’s bodies again and again and again.
Even though I know it can’t last past sunrise, I can’t stop myself from beinghappy.
30Atalanta
Dawn comes far too soon, the sun painting bloody fingerprints across the sky as it tries to fight its way through the smoke hanging in a haze over the city. Despite my assurances to Hecate and Circe, my shoulder hurts like a motherfucker from all the sex.
I slide off the bed and pad to the bathroom, my legs still feeling shaky despite getting a solid nap when we all passed out a few hours ago. The three of us together feels balanced andright,and there isn’t a shred of regret involved.
Unfortunately, key problems wait right outside our door. Primary among them: the entire city that wants Circe dead.
Both Hecate and Circe are awake when I reenter the bedroom. They take their turn in the bathroom, the silence careful andintentional, as if we’ve all agreed to hold the conversation until we can have it properly. With that in mind, I pull our clothes out of the dryer, get dressed, and head into the tiny kitchen to get coffee going.
Ten minutes later, we’re all holding mugs and staring at each other. For once, neither of them has something to say, so I sigh and dive right in. “Last night, I went to get a look around while you were both sleeping.” I keep talking over their surprise and worry. “It’s bad. The people of Olympus are rioting.”
Hecate shifts. “Surely you understand that your plan is ash. You won’t be able to control the riots, and any attempt will result in more death on both sides.”
Circe cups her mug, her energy diminished. In the past twelve hours, she’s nearly drowned—again—and had a good portion of her people killed by the mob. As Hecate said, the plans she’s spent more than ten years creating are ash. There’s no going back now. I try to dredge up some sympathy for her, but frankly, we’re in this situation because she wanted to play god-queen. If she’d come back in secret, had reached out to Hecate…
I don’t know. I just don’t know.
Even so, I hate how small she looks right now. She might be as much of a monster as the Thirteen, but she clearly cared for her people. Antigone’s death wouldn’t rock her so thoroughly otherwise. And nearly drowning a second time must be triggering as shit.
“Sunk cost fallacy is a real bitch, you know?” she finally says. “Olympus cannot continue as it has been.”
I bite back a curse. She’s proud, which I already knew. Failure has to sting, but I’ll be damned before I let her walk out of this apartment without convincing her that our way is the only optionnow. “We’ve already been of the same mind when it comes to that. It’s the method that we can’t allow.” It would be smarter to leave it there, but I need her tounderstand. “Our way isn’t bloodless, but it doesn’t involve further public executions.”
“I’m not sorry for Peitho’s death—or Artemis’s, for that matter. I maintain that the Thirteen should see justice for their crimes. But…” She glances at Hecate. “I’m sorry about Eros. I truly am.”
Right. She doesn’t know he’s alive. I sip my coffee. I might have slept with Circe, might be willing to consider a future that includes her, but that doesn’t mean I trust her. Trust takes time to build, and time is one thing we haven’t had. She can go on believing she killed Eros for a little while longer.
Hecate leans a hip against the counter and finally raises her gaze. “We’ve had this argument and you didn’t listen before. Are you ready to listen now?”
“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Circe laughs bitterly “The people of Olympus will never accept me now. Demeter did her job too well. If the mob finds me, I’m dead, and I’m particularly attached to remaining among the living.” Her voice shakes a little. “My people were attached to remaining among the living, too. They came here, believing in the future I painted for them, and now they’re dead.”
“Yes, they are. But there’s no going back now,” I say. It’s not even comfort at this point; it’s truth. “The Thirteen have fallen. The city will never allow them to reclaim rulership. It’s simply a matter of the remaining members acknowledging that fact.”
“Right. Simple. I appreciate the relatively kind words, but it doesn’t change the fact I got my people killed.” She sips her coffee andmakes a face. “Gods, Hecate, I know you can afford better than this.”
“I can. But I like this brand. It’s nostalgic.” Because it’s the one they used to drink all those years ago. Strange how the reminder that their history goes back further than mine with Hecate doesn’t sting like it used to. So much has shifted in such a short time. I’m finding it difficult to wrap my brain around that.
Hecate shifts. “We need to get you out of the city. The sooner, the better.”
“Not until she gives her word that she’s letting this go.” My chest aches a little, as if giving a reminder. “I don’t want to turn around and find a knife between my ribs. Again.”
“You stab someone one itty-bitty time, and they hold it over your head for all eternity.” Circe rolls her eyes, but she can’t quite pull off her customary arrogance. Not when her hands are shaking so badly; it’s a wonder she doesn’t spill coffee all over her fingers. “Suffice to say—”
“Circe,” Hecate says quietly. “Cut it out.”
“Fine. I’ll attempt to be transparent and honest.” Circe finally sets down her mug, which allows me to breathe a tiny sigh of relief that she won’t hurt herself by accident. “Iamsorry I stabbed you, Atalanta. Truly. And yesterday scared the shit out of me. The river…” Her gaze goes distant. “If Antigone hadn’t shoved me off the bridge, the mob would have killed me like they…”Killed Antigone.She takes a deep breath. “I knew it was a risk to harness them like that, but I think a part of me didn’t really expect them to turn on me—on us. I’m not one of the Thirteen. I’m one ofthem.”
“You were,” I say. “You aren’t anymore. You haven’t been for a long time.”
“Yes, Atalanta, thank you for stating the obvious.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “The smart thing to do would be to let them get their aggression out, and then step in to pick up the pieces.”
Hecate drains the rest of her coffee, apparently impervious to the scalding temperature. “That is, in fact, the smart thing to do. Butyouwon’t be the one to do it.” She hops up to sit on the counter and kicks out her legs, apparently feeling more like herself now that caffeine is hitting her system. “The movement needs a face, and it can’t be just anyone. They have to be willing to usher in this new form of government, and then disappear before someone decides to make them a figurehead. Or, more unfortunately, a martyr like poor Demeter.”
I cross my arms over my chest. Years ago, we talked through several options for the end of the Thirteen and how that transition would take place. None of our scenarios included a riot willing to kill the people they see as their enemy—namely the Thirteen and Circe and anyone associated with them. “I’m sure this is where you tell us thatyouare the right person for the job.”
