Page 33 of The Trickster's Heart

“Hermes,” Perseus purred in a sick, twisted voice.

“No, no, no, no…” Hermes muttered, letting his head fall as he cursed the sky.

“Hermes Trimigestus, Argeiphontes, Sokos Eriounios…”

“What is he saying?” Hercules looked increasingly anxious, and Hermes’s stomach fell to his feet.

“Hermes Dolios, I have a message for you to send,” Perseus crooned, sounding like oil. “Go to Zeus Aetnaeus on Mount Olympus, and tell him the mighty hero, Hercules, is not his son.” Hercules gasped, and Hermes grit his teeth, pushing back against waves of nausea.

“Hermes,” Hercules sounded broken as he extended a hand towards the god. “Y-you can’t? You wouldn’t…”

Hermes’s helmet appeared, and the wings on his sandals reemerged. Hercules took a step back as if the image burned him.

“No…” Hercules whimpered.

Perseus laughed as he watched on.

“I have to,” Hermes shook his head, feeling his chest start to break in two.

Every good feeling from that morning had dissipated, leaving only a cold, rotten sensation that physically sat on his heart. Hermes despised himself. He hated the moments like this that eventually meant everyone would turn against him.

“I told you,” Hermes whispered, forcing himself to look away from the tears falling down Hercules’s cheeks. “I told you, eventually you’d learn…”

“How could you?” Hercules cried, his voice sounding raw. Hermes felt it like a physical blow and hunched over as if he’d been hit, still shaking his head.

“Did you not know?” Perseus chimed in, sounding pleased with himself. “Anyone who utters the name of Hermes and his epithets can demand his services. He has to send any message they desire.”

“It’s my job,” Hermes sighed pathetically, the fight leaving his body. He forced himself to look at Hercules, a small, pathetic smile on his face. “For what it’s worth, I love you, pet…but this is why no one can ever fall in love with a trickster.”

His words echoed on the wind as he vanished, cursing his own wings as they bore him away from the only man Hermes had ever truly loved.

13

Hermes’s chest was splintering as he hurtled through the ether. In these moments, his magic almost seemed to own him instead of vice versa. This was his great secret, the reason everyone was forced to keep him at arm’s length—he didn’t blame them for it.

Anyone could command him to betray his loved ones with a carefully placed word, and Hermes was obliged by powers beyond his control to obey. Over the years, he carefully avoided any situation that would cause this exact outcome, and that included getting close to people. It was the main reason he was hesitant to fall head-first into…whatever this was, or had been, with Hercules.

Mt. Olympus came into view on the horizon, and the sinking feeling in Hermes’s stomach magnified. There was a cold sweat on his brow, and everything felt wrong.

Zeus’s Parthenon sat near the top of the mountain with shining rows of golden columns. Hermes landed in front of it soundlessly, the rest of his power flickering to life. He wasn’t about to enter Zeus’s domain without every reminder of his own magic, ensuring his helmet and staff gleamed in the light. Everything about the building was designed to be imposing, and if Hermes had never met Zeus, it would be.

Two huge basins sat on either side of the door, lit with burning flames. Hermes could feel the heat radiating off them. The floor was decorated in the finest of mosaicked tiles, spinning stories of Zeus’s mighty deeds—although they were lies. Hermes was able to properly identify each one of the gods, goddesses, or titans who had really achieved the feats displayed.

Hermes jogged up the steps towards the entrance, his body rejecting it each time he put one foot in front of the other.

Hermes reached down inside a deep, sacred part of him and tried to summon every ounce of trickery that ran through his veins. He pushed the heavy doors open to Zeus’s reception hall, trying to think of any way out of betraying Hercules.

The glistening hall was everything someone would expect when it came to the so-called ‘king of the gods.’ Zeus was imprisoned on Mt. Olympus; he had been since Nyx and Erebus crushed the titan uprising decades prior, but that fact was mainly kept away from the mortal realm. In the time since, Zeus had done everything in his power to try and make the palace as opulent and uncomfortable as possible.

The designs on the tiled floor grew even more elaborate, shining with mother of pearl and gemstones, and brightly colored tapestries hung over every inch of wall space. A large banquet table ran down the center of the room, overflowing with every decadent treat imaginable, from the obvious nectar and ambrosia to smoked pork, solid gold platters of fruit, and cups that magically overflowed to the point that rivulets of wine covered the floor like streaks in the marble.

A throne of polished and painted limestone stood guard at the far end. It was currently unoccupied, but a serving girl lounged topless next to it regardless. Hermes looked around, unable to repress the shudder at the oppressive energy. He was always sick when he was stuck on Olympus.

“Hermes,” a warm, jovial voice called out to him, “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Hermes knew that voice. He couldn’t help but smile, and his body relaxed slightly.

“Dionysus,” Hermes greeted the god, his wings fluttering, “what are you doing in this shit-hole?”

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