Page 25 of A Touch of Chaos

“Worse things have haunted me, Daughter,” said Zeus. “But in this moment, nothing more than your words.” A heavy silence followed as Zeus assessed the gods. “Those who stood against me on the battlefield will suffer my wrath. Apollo, Hermes, Aphrodite—you are hereby stripped of your powers.”

“Father—” Aphrodite said, taking a step forward.

Zeus held up his hand, silencing her.

Hermes’s mouth fell open before he slammed it shut and glared at his father. Only Apollo seemed unfazed, having faced a similar punishment before.

“For one year, you will know the struggle of what it means to be mortal,” Zeus continued, as if he were foretelling the future. “To those who stood with me, I offer my shield to the one who brings me the Goddess of Spring in chains. Let it serve as a symbol to be bestowed on the greatest hunter among us.”

Apollo glared at Artemis, who had straightened in her throne, eager for the honor.

Hermes’s aura burned with anger, a halo of gold blazing around him.

“Will Hephaestus suffer the same?” Aphrodite asked. “He was only defending me.”

Theseus knew why the Goddess of Love inquired after her husband. He was the blacksmith of the gods, responsible for forging their powerful weapons—ones she would need without her powers.

“And in doing so, he has illustrated where his loyalties lie,” said Zeus.

“Oh, give him a break, Brother.” Poseidon chuckled. “We all know Hephaestus is limited in the ways he can please his wife.”

Aphrodite’s jaw ticked, but she did not speak, waiting for Zeus to make his declaration.

“If Hephaestus goes without punishment, then you must take his year.”

Aphrodite swallowed but did not hesitate. “Fine.”

Hermes grimaced, shaking his head.

“So be it,” said Zeus, a grave edge to his tone. “You shall live two years as a mortal. Enjoy watching your fellow Olympians pursue your beloved friend while you are helpless to defend her.”

“And are you prepared to face Hades’s wrath?” Hermes asked.

The corner of Theseus’s mouth lifted. Hermes’s question was akin to a scare tactic. He knew Hades was missing and that no one could protect Persephone from what was coming for her.

“The question you should be asking,” said Zeus, “is whether Hades is prepared for mine.”

Theseus manifested outside Hera’s orchard, which was known as the Garden of the Hesperides. Its walls were high and white, obscured by tall and pointed trees. Beyond the iron gates where he stood, he could see an extensive maze of low hedges and topiaries, among which colorful peacocks roamed. The orchard grew among rolling hills. Atop the tallest was a tree, more magnificent than any other. Its trunk seemed to twist from the ground, and its branches unfurled like a palm, open to the sky, fingers splayed. Each limb was heavy with dark green leaves and golden fruit.

It was the fruit Theseus sought. One bite would cure him of his one weakness: vulnerability.

He ground his teeth, and a surge of white-hot anger warmed his chest, reminding him of how he’d been injured, both by Dionysus and Persephone. He’d taken the God of Wine’s thyrsus to the stomach and five black barbs to the chest from the Goddess of Spring. Both wounds had been slow to heal, but what made him most angry was that his vulnerability was no longer secret.

Hades had known, which meant Dionysus had told him, and before word spread, Theseus intended to be invincible.

He took a step toward the gates of Hera’s garden but was blocked as the goddess appeared.

“The audacity of a man,” she said, her expression severe. “To encroach upon my sacred space.”

“The audacity comes from my divine blood,” Theseus replied.

“Yet not even my husband would dare set foot here.”

“Growing favorable toward him, Hera?” he asked.

She glared at him, her lip curled in disgust. “You are not entitled to my things just because we are on the same side.”

“Do you wish to win or not?” he asked.

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