Save for Izi and my blood-bound legion, the last immortal I’d spoken to of such things had been Athena.
I was confident the goddess of wisdom had not done anything so cruel as to betray Hell’s trust by harming my human, but even the nymph, Nai, who’d been with me when I’d spotted Eleni’s shimmering soul at the fountain, could have been a weak spot. She’d witnessed my visceral reaction that night. Nai could attest how lost I was the moment I’d seen my human.
The clock ticked inconsistently. It passed here. It passed above. But still, it passed.
Until I knew what this meant—until I understood my own stakes and motives—I didn’t dare include my legions, no matter how loyal they were to me, knowing they served their king and kingdom above all.
I needed a plan, and I wasn’t sure how much I trusted anyone to execute it, as I barely trusted myself.
I had nine mortal months before her soul would reenter the earth.
Eight now? Four? One? Had she already been born? What was this godsforsaken entanglement with time and my damned relationship to it.
I remained at my desk, writing nothing, reading nothing, unmoving, save for the mental tally I made of prospective enemies.
As it stood, two members of the Hellenic pantheon could identify my human’s shimmering aura, if pressed. Was I ready to make an enemy of one of the strongest pantheons? I thought of Athena and the miraculous hand she’d granted in our moment of need, but I wouldn’t let a moment of benevolence sway me if she had the chance to betray Eleni, Shala, Love.
As the first son of Hell, I had godhood in its own right.
Fae, cryptids, supernatural entities from all realms could live forever unless their life was ended by a god. Only gods could kill their own.
I thought of Eleni’s barefoot, tear-soaked night bathed in silver moonlight in front of Athena’s temple. The night she’d gone from a Hellenic devotee to mine.
My enemies were numerous, both real and imagined.
Age. Disease. Every human in existence. Nai. Athena. Izi.
If she was on Grecian soil again, would I fight Olympus for her?
Tick, tick, tock.
I had the ability to kill a goddess if I needed to, but it wouldn’t come to that.
Athena would keep my secrets, not for me, but for wisdom’s sake. Nai the water nymph, a minor deity in her own right, would have to go. As an immortal, they’d know a god-killerwas to blame, but I couldn’t risk the leak. Whether or not my kingdom had a fallout with the Hellenic pantheon as a result would be a problem for tomorrow.
I’d slay my own sister tonight, in this palace, if I thought it would serve my human.
Any moment now, Love would be reborn.
What I was going to do when that time was over, however, I had no idea.
Chapter Eight
318 BCE
Dry, irritating, prickly, endless sand.
I scoured red mountain dunes of infinite desert and nomadic people atop their camels. I searched the caves of mountain tribes. I swept the rolling green hills of equestrians clad in furs with eagles for familiars. I went further south than any god had been. Every village, every city, every language, every, every, every, every.
Castles, rooftops, taverns, windows, villages, huts.
I verged on madness as my nine planned months bled into nine savage years before I found her. One would imagine it would be difficult to see diamonds and pearls against the blinding sparkle of never-ending snow, but I knew her the moment I saw her.
There were nearly two hundred million mortals wandering the earth, from baking deserts to lush gardens to mountains that pierced the heavens. Why, then, for the love of all that was holy and good and immortal did mankind ever spread to the desolate Arctic?
The last place I’d searched was an expanse of frozen nothing, lit by the shimmering green of northern lights, threatened by the ocean that licked at the sea floor underfoot. Of all the places my human could have been, why had these mortals chosen to carve homes from a never-ending misery of ice when there were lands where one could eat fresh fruit and walk barefoot year-round? I’d love to grab every member of her new people by the shoulders and beg them to return to a land with grass and crops and warmth.
There was an agoraphobia that came with the endless sky, the endless land, the flat blue in all directions above and flat white in all directions below. It was a purgatory of its own design.
