Page 35 of The Chosen Son

When was the last time I cried, I wondered. Or any god I knew, for that matter. This was such a mortal show of weakness, and yet… there was more life in this tiny drop of moisture, more emotion, than what I was able to feel.

“Don’t cry,” I soothed. “You’re safe, little one.”For now.

I rose from my crouch and turned my back on the row of prisoners. “Put them away, Zeek. I’m done with them. Turns out I’m not so hungry after all.”

His tight expression slackened, and his shoulders relaxed away from where they’d inched up to his scabby ears. “You are magnanimous, my lord.”

Magnanimous. I like that.

I left feeling lighter, the jagged edges of that gaping cavity in my chest smoothed over. I’d come down here with only one goal, to prove something to Cameron, but I hadn’t considered a third option. I could be thegoodguy. Loki wouldn’t have spared those shifters if they stood in the way of what he wanted, I knew that much. His power had waned just as much as the rest of us gods, and if there’d been a quick and easy way for him to get it back, he would’ve done it, no questions asked.

If I really wanted to prove I was nothing like Loki, I could act the angel instead. How hard could it be if Phobos seemed to be able to pull it off. We were twins, after all.

When Zeek had finished locking the shifters back in their cells, he found me in the kitchen, dragging meat and vegetables out of the fridge, the island counter covered in pots and pans. “Uh, sir? How can I be of assistance?”

I stared down at the mishmash of ingredients I’d pulled out, with no clue what I was supposed to do with them. “Zeek, prepare dinner for our guest,” I said, waving vaguely at the leaning tower of sauce jars. I didn’t know what kinds of food he liked, but he couldn’t afford to be picky. He was behind bars, after all. He would eat what I gave him.

But then I thought of Cameron struggling to move in bed. “Maybe something… healing,” I said after a moment. “What do humans eat when they’re sick?”

Zeek’s unibrow curved downward in contemplation. “Soup?” he guessed.

I pointed a finger at him. “Yes, that. Make soup.”

After half an hour of supervision, the soup was ready, and I strutted back into his quarters, tray in hand. It smelled divine. Zeek didn’t have many redeeming qualities, but he was one hell of a cook. “Cameron, dinner time.”

He didn’t stir from where he was curled up under the blankets. “I’m not hungry,” he mumbled. His breathing was slow and labored, and there was a damp sheen to his skin I didn’t like.

I glared at him. “You’re lying.”

Cameron’s sigh was tight. “I’m not lying, just not telling you everything.” He peeled his eyelids open, the whites bloodshot with spidery, red veins, his pupils blown wide. “And no offense, Deimos, but you don’t deserve the truth.”

I pursed my lips, then grabbed a chair and dragged it over as close as I could get to the bars, dropping myself to eye level. Whatever was wrong with him, he’d been hiding it well—but why and for how long?

“And why not tell me?” I asked boldly, leaning forward and propping my elbows on my knees. “I’m not your boss or coworker, your friend, your family. I’m certainly not your lover. So why not tell me? Why not crack open that tightly guarded vault you have and spill allyour dirty, little secrets? You called me a villain. You don’t care what I think of you, so why not?”

He watched me silently for a long moment, and I felt a flicker of misplaced hope. I wanted him to confide in me, wanted to know all these secrets he’d been keeping from my brother.

When Cameron finally spoke, his voice was so quiet and rough that I had to hold my breath to hear his words. “Sometimes I feel like my body isn’t mine. Like I’m nothing but a parasite being rejected by its host.” He licked his dry, cracked lips. “It’s a strange feeling… knowing I have enough energy inside me to light up the eastern seaboard, but at the same time, I can’t even get out of bed.” A single tear dripped from the corner of his eye to soak into the pillow, before he pulled the blanket up to cover his face.

I hated seeing him cry. He was so strong, so fierce, and that traitorous tear felt like a betrayal to all that he had shown himself to be. But it was more than that. It tugged at my chest, my cursed heart that had beat for no one but Gorgias in so long. I needed to say something, but what? I was out of practice, interacting with humans and their unpredictable emotions.

“Are you ashamed?” I asked curiously.

“Go away,” he mumbled from under the blanket.

I didn’t go away. Instead, I leaned closer, trying to peek at him through the fabric’s folds. “Gods never feel shame. They are unapologetic about who they are. You should be more like the gods.”

He whipped the blanket down to glare at me. I’d made him mad, but at least he was no longer crying. “But I’m not a god,” he hissed. “If I were a god, I wouldn’t be sick, now would I. Because all you gods are strong and gorgeous and perfect. So fucking perfect. You could never know what it feels like to be broken.”

“That’s not true. Odin’s son Hodr is blind. Did you know that? He doesn’t let that stop him.” I wouldn’t tell him that Loki had once used his blindness against him, tricking him into shooting Baldur (typical fucking Loki). “Hephaestus, the god who made that net I used to trap you, he was unable to walk as a child. That was why he became a blacksmith. He crafted himself prosthetics to overcome what some would call a weakness, and now his skills are his greatest strength.”

Cameron watched me, his dark eyes glassy but focused. “Is that true?”

I splayed my hands out, showing I had nothing to hide. “I may be many things, but a liar isn’t one of them.”

He sniffed, his fingers sneaking up from under the blanket to wipe his cheeks dry. “I don’t think this is something I can learn to live with. Pain and fatigue will never be an asset.”

“Then I suppose we’ll just have to find a way to make you feel better.” I hadn’t meant to say “we,” but once it was out of my mouth, I realized how fitting it was. I might have coveted Cameron’s powers, wanted to use them for my own plans, but it would only be fair that I should play a part in his recovery. A payment, in a way, for what I was about to take. I told myself there was no other reason than that. “What do you need?” I asked. “Anything, just name it.”

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