Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
My dead heart ticks in my chest with a heaviness that seems to beat from the crown of my head to the bottom of my soles.
I’m torn between the need to hear about my queen and the need to spit in Zeus’s face. I would rather smash the mirror into a thousand pieces than speak to him. The war still wages and it is on him to end it.
I wave a hand at the enormous grate in the wall, calling the flames for light. Fire in the grate reminds me of Persephone’s sweet body in the firelight. Her image flashes before me.
I stop a few paces away from the mirror, bow my head, and gather as much self-restraint as I can summon.
The glass is dark, obscuring my reflection, but when I step closer, the black shimmer swirls away. The glass becomes glass, surrounded by the familiar herringbone pattern. The back of my teeth clench as I prepare to see Zeus, the god of the sky, of weather, the god of gods, and the god who betrayed me.
Slowly, the mirror reveals the white walls of Olympus. The brilliant white has returned unlike Zeus himself.
His throne is vacant as I stare at it—another one of his games. No matter how long I keep him waiting, he will always keep me waiting a little longer.
Irritation pricks at the back of my neck.
The Underworld is ruined for me already. Nothing the Fates had to say about the situation made it any less bitter.
Zeus steps in front of the mirror, his back straight and his chin up, and sits on the throne. He adjusts his white cloak and as he does, the gold wreath of olive leaves stays firm on his crown. His gaze reaches mine as he sits regally, and the light in his eyes makes me want to strangle him.
His perfection is an insult.
“Hades,” he says, and tips his head as if he’s found me here by accident. Some bullshit happy coincidence. “I’m glad you could find the time to speak to me.”
My voice is gravelly and low in return. He must know of my suffering, so I don’t attempt to hide it. “What is it you want?”
He blinks, his eyebrows going up a fraction. “Has something happened? You don’t seem like yourself.”
My eyes narrow with pure hatred as I stare at him in the mirror. “Why don’t you tell me? Minox made it seem as if your request was urgent.”
Zeus spares me useless comments and clears his throat instead.
“Hecate has returned Persephone to Olympus,” he announces, his expression neutral. At least, it is meant to be neutral. It does not hide anything from me. Zeus didn’t want Persephone to return. He wanted her to be mortal and to dwell in the Underworld as a soul. Her power was to never threaten his. That way, the prophecy could not come true. She would not surpass him as it was foretold one of his offspring would. It was a tit for tat. I was to be given my queen, and he was to have a threat removed from his castle in the sky.
I suppose we both betrayed one another. I wanted my queen in her power, not for the life to be taken from her only so that I may possess a shell of the goddess she was.
“You’re aware she’s returned safely, yes?”
“Yes,” I say, after a beat. “I am aware.”
He waits.
I wait. The seconds burn between us. Questions collide in my mind, but my throat is too tight to speak them.
I let my gaze wander in the mirror, studying the blue accents on the walls behind Zeus and preparing some things to say if he insists on having this discussion for much longer. We both know Demeter has been on a rampage. We both know there are too many souls coming to the Underworld.
We both know that it is Demeter who must be convinced to see reason, not me.
“Demeter has not stopped—”
“You’ve gone too far,” Zeus says, leaning toward the mirror. One side of his mouth turns down.
It is difficult—almost impossible—to be in this room and to look at his face, even separated as we are by the mirror. I make my eyes wider to give the impression of mild surprise.
“Have I?”
Zeus narrows his eyes. The side of his jaw ticks, but he forces his teeth apart and takes a breath. “You know you have, Hades.”
I watch him in the mirror for a long moment, then hold my hand out in front of me and study my hands. I took out my anger on the Underworld with my bare hands, and they tell the tale with blood still dried under my nails.
The mortal souls have paid the price as well.
Zeus shifts in his throne. He’s never cared much for seeming to be impatient. He doesn’t like to let others know when they have gotten under his skin.