Strider and Torin shared a look, then both of them nodded.
Cronus closed his eyes. Several more minutes ticked by in that lethal silence. Then his shoulders slumped, and he sighed, facing them. "If Rhea dies...I die. We are...connected."
Strider's first thought after absorbing the news? Oh, shit, no. Not good. Not good at all. The Lords needed Cronus. For the moment, anyway. Bastard he might be, but that bastard was helping them in ways they hadn't known they'd needed. He'd provided them with ancient scrolls that listed all the immortals possessed by one of Pandora's demons, giving the Lords a chance to capture them before the Hunters did. He was able to whisk them wherever they wished to go—like the fiery pits of hell. He had given them necklaces that prevented other gods from being able to spy on them.
Strider fingered the necklace in question. A butterfly with blade-tipped wings, exactly like the one tattooed on the left side of his hip, dangled from the center of an unbreakable chain. What would they do without Cronus's aid?
Return to a life of being ignored by the gods? Sounded good in theory, but what if someone else, someone who didn't want them to succeed, took an interest in their cause?
Torin stopped typing and swiveled in his chair, peering up at the king. "But Rhea's helping Galen. And Danika—" the All-Seeing Eye "—predicted Galen would kill you. If Danika was right, Galen will also be responsible for Rhea's death. So why would your wife aid him?"
Good point. They'd known for months that Galen would make a play for Cronus's head, but they hadn't known why. Until a few weeks ago, when Strider and a few of the others had finally gotten the surly deities known as the Unspoken Ones to cough up some answers. Whoever presented the Unspoken Ones with the god king's head would be given the Paring Rod, the last of the artifacts needed to find Pandora's box.
Only problem? Each of the Unspoken Ones was part man, part animal and all venom, and he didn't trust them.
They were slaves to Cronus—slaves that would be freed upon his death—and would say anything to gain release. Hell, they may not even know where the Rod was.
Besides, there was no telling what kind of havoc they'd wreak if they were loosed. They liked to eat humans, after all. As in, chomp them out and spit out their bones.
The Rod wasn't worth risking the end of the world. Yet.
"Since Rhea flashed the Hunters here," Strider said to Cronus, "can you flash them elsewhere?" He could have patted himself on the back for that one. Someone should probably dub him Master Strategist.
A shake of the king's head dashed his hopes for such a prestigious (and brilliantly invented, if he did say so himself) award. "She'll simply flash them back. Perhaps inside the fortress next time."
"Okay," Strider replied, thinking aloud. "Currently we're missing a chunk of our forces. Which means we won't have an edge if we fight these Hunters. Which means we could lose. Which means it'll be best if we split up. I can take one of the artifacts. Reyes can take Danika, and Lucien and Anya can take the remaining artifact. We'll all go in different directions. The Hunters won't be able to track us all. And with our new necklaces—"
"I prefer manlaces," Torin said, sounding more like his old, irreverent self.
"Fine." Damn. Why hadn't he thought of that? "With our new manlaces, even Rhea won't know where we are."
Cronus stroked his chin, seemingly lost in thought.
"What about the others?" Torin asked, clearly recognizing a phenomenal idea when he heard one.
Strider started designing a Master Strategist plaque for his room. "Maddox can take Ashlyn somewhere. As protective of her and that bun in her oven as he is, he's probably already built a bomb shelter in the city. Now that Gwen's back from her trip to the clouds, she and Sabin can take care of themselves. They aren't in any danger. Aeron's off on his mission to hell and Olivia's taken Gwen's place in the sky, from what I can tell. The others, well, Kane, Cameo and Paris, can stay here with you and defend our home. Gideon can help when he returns." If he returns.
He will. Strider wouldn't believe otherwise.
A moment passed in heavy silence, but at least there was no cutting edge to this one.
"What about the fourth artifact?" Cronus asked, returning to the conversation. "Who's going to look for it?"
Bottom line was, they couldn't allow the Hunters to get it. Even at the expense of Cronus's head. "I can," Strider said. "I'll take the Cloak of Invisibility with me. That way, I won't have to fight anyone if I find it. I can just grab it and go."
Torin arched a black brow at him, green eyes glowing. "Do you have any idea where to start looking?"
Yeah. He did. The Temple of the Unspoken Ones.
Cronus must have realized the direction of his thoughts, because he gave another growl.
"I'm not going to betray you," Strider assured him, palms raised in a mimic of Cronus's earlier gesture. Like Gideon, he could easily lie. Whether he was lying or not, though, he didn't yet know. "I'll remain invisible and listen. If the Hunters arrive, if the Unspoken Ones mention anything about the Rod, I'll be there. I'll find it first."
Cronus relaxed somewhat. "Very well. You may go with my blessing."
"And, uh, we had best get everyone on the same page and on their way," Torin said, his voice hard once again. "The Hunters are on the move."
Strider's gaze returned to the monitors, and sure enough, the groups of Hunters were closing in on the fortress. "You tell everyone what's going on," he said to Torin in a rush. "I'll grab the Cloak and kill as many of those bastards as I can on my way out."
Defeat sat up again, once more happy and eager.
Happy and eager himself, Strider palmed a blade and a semiautomatic, his favorite weapon combination. One stunned, allowing him to close any distance, and the other destroyed up close and personal.
This, he thought with a grin, was going to be fun.
DEAR...GODS. The heat was unbearable, the smells of sulfur and rot thick in Amun's nostrils. Thousands of screams assaulted his ears, each more tortured than the last.
Why had he agreed to come here?
Oh, yeah. To save Legion. For Aeron.
Like Amun, Aeron and William were seated in the small but sturdy boat Cronus had summoned for them after flashing them here. Of course, they'd had to promise to do the bastard a favor in return for the flashing as well as the boat.
They were currently navigating the River Styx, careful to remain as still and steady as possible. One drop of that liquid upon their skin, and their life force would begin to drain.
"So, why is Lucifer afraid of you?" Aeron asked William, cutting through the silence as he gently rowed.
The warrior, who was reclining at the stern of the boat, plucking at the tip of his blade, merely shrugged. "Just is."
"There's always a reason," Aeron insisted.
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I'll always talk about that reason."
William made sure to keep his mind blank, Amun noticed, preventing Amun from reading his thoughts.
Such a delightful journey already. And this was only the beginning.
They had to follow the river to where it merged with the four other rivers flowing inside this vast lair. Phlegethon—the river of fire. Acheron—the river of woe. Cocytus—the river of wailing. Lethe—the river of forgetfulness. And they had to do it without disturbing Charon, the boatman of the underworld responsible for carting the dead to whichever section of hell their lost soul had been condemned to. The fires, the endless pits, the persecution caverns.
Until recently, they wouldn't have had to worry about Charon at all. But upon Cronus's release from Tartarus, the god king had returned this realm to its original state, including the rehiring, so to speak, of its guardians.