“Mistress. I beg for yer attention.”
Atalanta whipped around, stared down at the three-foot-tall troll-like creature whose pointy ears barely crested the wheat. “Galto, I’ve been waiting for word. I trust you’ve brought me something of use.”
The creature she’d recruited to help her in this plight—the one who was supposed to be monitoring the inhabitants of this realm, his directive from Hades himself—rubbed his scaly hands together and glanced back and forth with large oval catlike eyes that dominated his triangular face. “I have, mistress. But…these fields have ears. If ye will come with—”
“I’ve waited long enough, Galto. Tell me your news. Now.”
The creature swallowed hard. Though he knew, as she did, that she retained her godlike powers, she couldn’t use them to free herself from this vile holding cell. She’d been trying for nearly three months and had come up empty. Her only hope was now this pint-sized…friend.
And if he couldn’t help her, she’d use her powers to turn him to dust. She still had that much strength left.
He shifted on his feet. Leaned forward and whispered, “The gates to the human realm are watched. There’s no passage through there.”
“Bollocks.” She twisted away, the wind blowing her black hair behind her as she stared at the barren sky above. I will blast you for this, Demetrius. For every second I’ve been locked here. You and the daemon spawn who helped trap me here.
“But…” Galto whispered at her back.
She glanced over her shoulder. “But what?”
He looked around again as if searching for eavesdroppers, stepped close, and motioned her down with his gnarled hand. She bent to hear his soft words. “But rumors circulate of an Argonaut in the Underworld. One sent here by magic, not death.”
“An Argonaut, you say? Here in the Fields of Asphodel?”
“No, mistress.” He glanced around again. “In Tartarus.”
Atalanta stared down at the scaly creature as ideas, opportunities, plans solidified. Aside from death, there was only one magical force strong enough to cast people into Tartarus. And only one magical force strong enough to free them.
“Can you get me into Tartarus?” she asked.
“Of course, mistress. But the journey is fraught with danger.”
She looked across the undulating gray field again, only this time she didn’t see the drab wheat and colorless vegetation. She saw a way out. And a way to finally have her revenge.
“Danger, Galto, is only a matter of perspective. And where we’re heading, it’s worth it.”
Skyla didn’t stop at the gates of Olympus and announce herself as was customary after returning from the human realm. She bypassed the guards and headed straight for Athena’s temple.
The facade was as gleaming and ornate as Zeus’s palace, although the interior was a different story: plush furnishings, bold colors, rooms that bled from one richness to another and showcased the goddess’s affinity for whimsy.
She passed through the main hall with its canary yellow walls and purple tile-framed mirrors, down three steps into Athena’s living quarters where leather furnishings were paired with whitewashed tables and heavy eggplant-colored velvet curtains. She searched the whole of the palace before she realized the goddess wasn’t there. Glancing toward the clock high on the wall, she realized Athena would be with the Sirens at this hour. Training for kills yet to be made.
She closed her eyes, pictured the Siren Compound—well within the walls of Olympus but outside the gods’ domain—and flashed there, opening her eyes when the ground solidified beneath her feet.
Acacia and wild olive trees rimmed the compound. The five main buildings—Siren headquarters, the training facility, mess hall, and barracks—were made of wood, painted white to match the marble monstrosities of the gods but clearly meant for those less endowed. Bitterness brewing, Skyla skipped steps to reach the porch of the main building, pulled back the screen, and stepped into the lobby of the Siren Order.
Head shots of each Siren who’d ever served lined the white-painted walls, a veritable yearbook of those who’d served and died. But today Skyla had no desire to walk down memory lane. She wanted answers and she wanted them now.
The front desk was empty. She stepped out of the welcoming area, moved past Athena’s empty office, and reached the end of the hall, where she glanced out the back window toward the training field beyond. Just as she’d thought, Athena was at work with a group of six Sirens—mostly new recruits—covering mortal-combat maneuvers.
Skyla crossed the emerald green grass. And as if the goddess sensed her presence, Athena looked up and frowned.
Athena straightened from a crouch, eyes still cast Skyla’s way. “I’m afraid that’s all I’ve got time for, ladies.” She looked back at her newest recruits. “We’ll take a short break. Get some water.”
The newbies, three of whom Skyla had never met, sized Skyla up. When Skyla sent them a withering glare, they moved off toward the barracks across the field in a cocoon of whispers, leaving Skyla alone with her mentor.
The pain of betrayal burned hot in Skyla’s veins, but she capped her anger, knowing there had to be a logical explanation. Something that made sense of a situation that couldn’t possibly be real.
Athena braced her bow against the ground, brushed her chestnut curls over her shoulder. Though the goddess of war could have passed for a Victoria’s Secret model, she was as tough as they came. Her blouse was white silk, her hip-hugging trousers jet-black, and her goth boots as kick-ass as the ones Skyla wore. Yeah, it made sense Athena was the head of the Siren Order. She could lure a man in with simply a look, then gut him even before he knew what had happened. “Well, that was quicker than I expected.”
Skyla’s stomach dropped. And in her mentor’s eyes, she saw reality sharpen and clear.
“You know.” Betrayal burned a hole straight through Skyla’s gut. “You knew he was Cynurus and you didn’t tell me?”
“Oh, Skyla. You make it sound like I set out to deceive you. I had no such intentions.”
“What would you call it?”
Athena bent to pick up her throwing stars from the ground. “I call it an assignment, plain and simple. Who he is changes nothing. And had you not slept with him, you would never have known the truth. You did sleep with him, didn’t you? That’s the only reason you’d even know. My gods, Skyla. It’s been years since you fucked a mark. It didn’t even occur to me that you would screw a human, let alone a daemon hybrid.”
It hadn’t occurred to Skyla either. She hadn’t understood the pull she had toward Orpheus. All she’d known was that between seeing him in that concert crowd and tending his wounds in that stopover apartment she’d taken while she waited for him to show up, he’d awoken some primitive womanly part of her she’d shut down eons ago. And in that moment of release, when they’d been joined and her guard had been stripped bare, she’d seen into his soul.
Athena’s betrayal seared her heart. A heart she’d buried so long ago, she didn’t realize it could still hurt. “You should have told me. Keeping his identity secret was not your call to make. I had the right to—”
“To what?” Athena asked. “To decide his fate? That’s not your job, Skyla. Your job is to do as you’re told. If you remember, I tried to talk Zeus out of sending you on this mission, but you claimed you were ready, and I went along with you because I trust your judgment. Regardless, though, who your target was is of no importance. It’s who he is now that matters. And what he’s done.”