Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
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 option now. “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 to understand. “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 and makes 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. “I am sorry 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 of them.”
“You were,” I say. “You aren’t anymore. You haven’t been for a long time.”