Page 20 of A Touch of Chaos

“Hecate says she has a fever,” said Sybil.

“Is that normal for a goddess?”

“She didn’t say it was bad,” she said and then looked at Persephone. “Perhaps her body will heal itself.”

Persephone watched Harmonia’s face, both pale and flushed at the same time. While she’d have liked to believe it was possible for Harmonia to heal without magic, she was not hopeful. It depended on how much Hydra venom had entered her veins.

What if Harmonia could not handle this?

Persephone tightened her jaw and pushed those thoughts away.

Losing Harmonia wasn’t an option.

“Any update on Hades?” Sybil asked.

Persephone swallowed around something thick and sour in her throat.

“Nothing yet,” she said.

“He will be all right, Persephone,” Sybil said, her voice a quiet whisper.

“Do you know that or are you just hopeful?”

“I know what I saw before,” Sybil said. “When I was Apollo’s oracle.”

When Persephone had first met Sybil, she had been in her final semester of college at New Athens University. At the time, she’d already caught Apollo’s interest and was poised to have a promising career as the god’s oracle, but he’d fired her after she’d refused his advances. It was a move Persephone had openly admonished only to face backlash from the public. Apollo, for all his faults, had endeared himself to the public, though now, needless to say, the God of Music had also endeared himself to Persephone.

“And now what do you see?” Persephone asked.

“I do not have a divine channel.”

“Does that mean you do not have visions?”

“I cannot ensure accuracy without a divine channel,” said Sybil.

“Would you like one?”

There was silence. Persephone looked back at Sybil, who was stunned.

“I don’t know if I will ever have temples built in myname or worshippers who seek my wisdom, but I must go to war with Helen and Theseus in the media, and I need someone I trust on my side.”

Persephone had yet to seek any news, yet to see what the world was saying about her—the goddess who had masqueraded as a mortal—but she knew Hermes was right. All she could do was tell the truth, and that would start with Sybil.

“Persephone,” Sybil whispered.

The goddess could not place the sound of the oracle’s voice or the expression on her face. Would she say no? She had seemed to lose interest in the position entirely after her experience with Apollo.

Sybil took Persephone’s hands in hers, squeezing.

“It would be an honor to be your oracle.”

Persephone arrived at the gates of Terme with Hecate on her left, Hermes on her right, and Ilias at her back. They were all draped in white robes, the color of mourning—a brightness that would lead souls into the dark. At least that was the prevailing belief of the living, though Zofie needed no assistance finding the Underworld. Still, Persephone dreaded the funeral rites. In some ways, it felt like facing Zofie’s death all over again.

As soon as they appeared, two guards who stood on either side of the gate knelt, bringing their spears to their breasts. Their bronze armor gleamed, ignited like the great flaming basins flanking them. Persephone could feel the heat of the fire, yet she shivered as if cold fingers were grazing her skin.

Movement within the shadowed entrance caughther attention, and from that darkness emerged Hippolyta. She was dressed in dark robes and draped in gold—a belt that cinched her waist, cuffs on her wrists and upper arms, long earrings that cascaded over her shoulders, a crown that rested against her forehead. Her hair was pulled away from her face, though ringlets slipped free from her binds, wreathing her stern but beautiful face.

Hecate, Hermes, and Ilias knelt while Persephone remained standing. It felt strange, but it was what Hecate had instructed her to do.

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