Page 172 of A Touch of Chaos

“I have faith in them because they will not be yours,” he said. “They will be mine.”

Her mouth tightened. “Then you do not need me,” she said.

“Every god needs a mouthpiece,” he said.

He sensed that she stiffened, but he was not sure if it was from his comment or the fact that the dust hadbegun to stir, swirling until it took the form of a god. He was tall and broad, exceeding Theseus in size and height. He wore nothing save sheepskin around his waist. He had chosen to look neither young nor old, but he could not hide the depth of his ancient eyes, which carried a madness only present within those who had lived a long, terrible life.

“So you are the son of my son,” said Cronos.

“Your grandson,” said Theseus.

The Titan tilted his head, and there was a gleam in his eyes that Theseus had sometimes seen in his father’s, a menacing amusement. “Do you think the blood of my blood means anything to me?”

“It was you who brought up my parentage,” said Theseus.

It did not matter to him who Cronos was—grandfather or not, god or not. He only cared that he agreed to aid him in his battle to conquer the whole of New Greece.

A smile cracked across the god’s face. “A wise one,” he said. “You must take after your father.”

“You did not know my mother,” said Theseus.

Silence followed, a heavy and solid thing. Theseus had a feeling Cronos wanted him to shudder, to show some sign that his presence unnerved him, but he didn’t.

Cronos’s stare was steady.

“What do you want, blood of my blood?” he asked.

“An alliance,” said Theseus. “Your power over time.”

“And what would you do with my power over time?”

“I will end this world and begin again,” he said.

Rebuild what was broken.

He would bring about his dream of a golden age,and he would begin it in New Athens, and when word spread of its beauty and property and the fairness of its ruler, people would fall to their knees to worship him.

“If I destroy the world, you cease to be. Only gods endure.”

“I am the blood of your blood,” said Theseus. “I will endure.”

The corner of Cronos’s mouth tipped upward, but Theseus did not know if he was amused or impressed. What he didn’t like was the doubt blooming in his chest.

“I do not need an alliance with you,” said Cronos. “So what are you offering that might entice me?”

“I will give you worship,” said Theseus.

“Mortals dread the passing of time like they dread the coming of death. I do not need worship.”

Theseus had suspected as much. He tilted his head back just a little.

“A sacrifice then,” he said, and from the dark doorway behind him, two of his men emerged with Hera.

“Release me at once!” she demanded, unable to hide the alarm in her voice. She might have fought, but she was draped in the thin veil of a net and had no ability to resist. They left her on her knees between him and Cronos.

“How dare—” she began, but her words were cut short when she looked up into Cronos’s eyes. “Father,” she whispered on a shuddering breath.

Theseus had never heard her take this tone before. It was almost meek. He found it revolting.

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