“The sooner, the better.” Atalanta doesn’t blink. “Hecate—or, Hermes, rather—needs to be the thing they unify against in order to pull them forward into a new form of government. I’m not leaving her here to do it alone without anyone to watch her back.”
If I leave Olympus and they spend potentially months in each other’s arms, they’ll have all the opportunity in the world to realize they don’t need to make their twosome a threesome. That I carry more baggage than the two of them combined. That I’m more trouble than I’m worth.
They’d be right.
I swallow down the words I’d need to convince them to let me stay, to hide until it’s time for us all to leave. If we have any chance of something developing outside of trauma and forced proximity, I have to do the right thing. Ihatedoing the right thing. “I don’t know the extent of my surviving people’s injuries, but it’s safe to assume our best option would be taking a ship.”
“You need to—” Atalanta cuts herself off and blinks. “You’re just giving in without a fight?”
“I can listen to reason. Occasionally. Yesterday rocked me right down to my foundations, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to having doubts after Eros’s death.” It takes more effort than I want to admit to meet her gaze. “After everything I’ve lost—we’ve lost—I won’t be the reason you fail.”
Hecate smiles, though it’s bittersweet in the extreme. “We’ll get you a ship, Circe. But you have to takeallyour people—even the ones in the lower city.”
A flash of fear goes through me. What she’s asking is all but impossible. “Hades won’t bring down the barrier, and he certainlyisn’t going to march my people safely through it if he knows where they are.” I can’t be responsible for deaths of more people who believed in me enough to risk everything and come here.
Going back to Aeaea isn’t an option, not when the nobles retreated with their tails between their legs. They’ll be looking to punish someone for their weakness, and without me, my people don’t have the power to stand against them. Even if Icarus is somehow victorious in his efforts to change Aeaean politics,hewon’t look kindly on my people, either.
“I’ll ensure they make it to you safely. No one else will die.” The way Hecate says it, firmly and confidently, I almost believe her. She glances at Atalanta, reading some unspoken communication there. “It’s time.”
Part of me wants to retreat, to walk into the bedroom and shut the door, maybe to take a shower for good measure. Every instinct I’ve developed over the years has been in the effort of only allowing part of myself to be perceived. If they can’t see all of you, they can’t hurt you, not really.
What Hecate is about to do is the equivalent of dancing naked in the middle of the street, but if she’s brave enough to broadcast this vulnerability to the entire city, then I can be brave enough to witness it firsthand.
She arranges herself on the couch in front of the phone we’ve positioned on a makeshift stand: a stack of books and other things we found around the apartment. I hate how alone she looks. I hate…
Atalanta sits next to me, close enough for her thigh to press tightly to mine. She takes my hand and laces our fingers together without saying a word—a silent acknowledgment of how fuckinghardthis is…and not just for me. Her thigh contains the faintest tremor, as if she’s forcing herself to hold still instead of knocking the phone off the pile of things and wrapping herself around Hecate.
Hecate who looks soft and tired and all too vulnerable in this moment. But the recording has started, and it’s too late to do anything but bear witness.
Hecate smiles softly at the camera. “You know me. Or at least you think you do. I’ve held the title of Hermes for roughly ten years. In that time, I’ve been your favorite form of entertainment, a court jester for you to laugh at and with in equal measure. But I wasn’t always Hermes. It’s time for me to introduce myself properly.” She takes a deep breath. “My name is Hecate, and this is my story.”
I know the events she’s relating by heart, and yet it feels like she’s stripping me down piece by piece as she speaks.
“I was born in the countryside. My father died in a work accident when I was seven. My mother died several years later of a cancer she likely got from breathing in the fumes fromherwork without the proper ventilation and equipment. My aunt and uncle took me in and did their best, but it wasn’t an easy life.” The pain is there in her dark-brown eyes, so open and honest.
“When I was a teenager, I fell in love with a girl.” Her attention doesn’t move from the phone, but I swear I feel it flick to me all the same. “Even as hard as things were, we were immortal in the way teenagers believe themselves to be. When we were sixteen, we dropped out of school and took jobs for the last Demeter.”
We wereso sureit was the right choice. The only choice, really. Her aunt and uncle were having their own health problems by thatpoint, and Hecate didn’t want to be a burden. I had no one but her; I would have done anything she asked, anything to carve out a little place in the world that was just ours.
“It wasn’t a perfect life, but we were happy for years.” She pauses, gathering herself. “And then my girlfriend took a day trip into the city to buy me an anniversary gift—a wedding ring.”
I flinch. How did she know that? I’d never confessed my plan leading up to the trip, and I certainly hadn’t told anyone about it in the time since.
Hecate’s eyes are luminous with unshed tears. “You know at least part of the story from here. While she was in the city, she had the grave misfortune of drawing Zeus’s attention. He was in want of a wife, and she didn’t have the power to tell him no.” She shakes her head. “No one in Olympus has the power to tell Zeus no. Not the legacy families. Not even the Thirteen.”
Atalanta squeezes my hand again, a silent comfort. I hadn’t realized I’d started rubbing my chest, for all that my discomfort isn’t physical. I’ve told this story, but it’s different now. Hecate isn’t using this tragic tale as leverage the same way I did. She’s laying herself bare.
“She was too fierce, too wild, and he killed her for it.” A single tear slides down her cheek. “Or at least we all thought he did, but that’s not part of this story yet.” She wipes the evidence of her grief away hastily. “I was distraught. I fell into a pit I didn’t think I’d ever get out of again, one I only survived with the help of a friend.”
Now it’s my turn to rub my thumb over Atalanta’s knuckles, giving comfort as she joins the path through ugly memories.
Hecate leans forward to prop her elbows on her knees and lacesher fingers together loosely. “I looked around and so many things became clear. We live in a world where one powerful man can take a spouse against their will. Where he can kill them without fear of consequences. Except it wasn’t just one powerful man. It was thirteen people and the legacy families that feed their positions. The entire system is corrupt down to its very bones. We are allowed to vote foroneof those positions, and that election is flawed because only the rich and powerful have the resources to run a proper campaign. It has to end.”
Now she straightens, blazing with her truth. “I became Hermes to dismantle the system from within. While things haven’t gone according to plan by any stretch of the imagination, we now find ourselves at a place where we have a chance, as a city, to make a different choice.” She takes a deep breath and launches into the invitation—and threat—giving the details she’s already relayed to the lead figures of the various factions of Olympus. Just as we planned.
And then it’s over, and it feels like she’s sucked every bit of air from the room. I huff out a pained laugh. “There’s no way they won’t listen after that.”
Atalanta wraps an arm around my shoulders and tucks me against her side. “Come with us to the university. Hades won’t bring the barrier down in the next two days—and maybe not even then, depending on which way the wind blows. You and the rest of your people need to stay out of sight.”
