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)
Nothing makes sense here. He’d been angry about the wine. He had threatened me with the mortal realm, and why?
I already had to come to terms with the idea that I might spend my days as a nymph. It has always been a possibility that I might choose to spend some of my time in the mortal realm. But my father threw it at me like he was thinking of banishing me from Olympus. Condemning me to the mortal realm, not wishing me well on a visit.
I’ve not spoken to him since. He is the god of gods, but there is always a consequence to every act. I do not put it past him, but I would fight to return to my mother. Just as I would fight to return to Hades. And what of the pomegranate seeds? When will there be a decision on what consuming the seeds would do?
That conversation could be what is waiting for me. I don’t think it will be a pleasant one, but it might be polite, at least.
Over wine, I think, gazing at my altar, my gaze soft. Because he wanted me to drink the wine so badly that it infuriated him when I did not.
I push the thoughts of my father out of my head and practice my powers and prayers once again. The repetition fills me with more of that bittersweet joy. I had felt such panic and grief at losing my powers. I cannot help being happy that they are back.
But I wish I could show Hades. I could demonstrate them through the mirror, of course, but scrying is not the same as being in the same room. If he was here, he could put his hands over mine. He could feel the blooms rise up with his own fingers. He could see how truly worthy I am. How I can bring life.
I wish he could.
My mother’s scream echoes through Olympus, startling me. I suck in my breath and turn with wide eyes. I put a hand to my chest with a gasp and sit still, frozen, so I can hear if she screams again.
“Persephone?” Beatrice’s voice is concerned. “Are you all right?”
I get to my feet, turning to face her as I do. “That was my mother.”
We look at each other for a silent heartbeat, and then we both move for the door, walking quickly. I do not wish to run. I know that things on Olympus have been unsteady. I know my mother has taken her rage out upon this place, too. So I do not want to run.
As Beatrice and I hurry down the halls, an earsplitting crack makes me jump again. In bare feet, we pass through a pavilion that’s open to the sky, with columns draped in ivy, and we both look up to see the sky torn into two. My mother lets out another scream, this one pure rage.
Both Beatrice and I break into a run toward the god of god’s courtyard. We enter the main hall and almost collide with each other as we come to a stop. My mother is on the floor, and Zeus stands over her, his staff to her throat. They are not alone in the hall. Rage brews inside of me. The sight of my mother, laid on the ground with her dress a mess around her. My heart beats slowly as heat rises in me.
Hecate is there as well, her eyes blazing just as hotly as my mother’s. As hotly as Zeus’s. All the tension of his lightning bolts hovers in the air.
The ground beneath our feet trembles with the threat of a crack as my mother’s hand presses against the earth. Threatening the world to quake. Her eyes are narrowed and pained as much as enraged. What has this come to? More tragedy and war? More threats and destruction? My head spins and my lungs fail me. I cannot stand idly by.
I step forward, my hands out.
“Stop this!” I call. “Let her up!” My throat is horse from my cry. My mouth goes dry and somehow I take another step forward.
To defy the god of gods is unwise. But I will not see him harm my mother. I would do anything for her and she for me.
Zeus turns his back on my mother, the cloak whipping through the air as he does. Quickly, Demeter climbs to her feet and stands there, trembling, venom in her expression. I swallow thickly, barely able to glance at her before being forced back to meet Zeus’s furious gaze.
“Tell me what happened,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Tell me what I need to know.”
Hecate is the only one to meet my eyes. “You must return.”
I know, I almost say. But my mother cries out in protest. Quietly, I ask again, “What has happened?”