Page 11 of Sweet Obsession

I wait. She obviously has a reason for being here, but she’ll get around to it in her own time. People like to talk. I’ve found that staying silent often provokes them to speak even if they have no intention of divulging information.

Sure enough, it only takes a few sparse seconds before she continues. “You have a member of Minos’s family in your custody. If would be a shame if he escaped and went on a murderous rampage. Or at least the beginning of a murderous rampage, starting with my dear husband. We would accost him directly after, of course.”

I think about Icarus, mostly naked and covered in cuts. He’s as much a liar as the Thirteen, but a murderous rampage? “That surpasses the realm of belief.”

“Does it? He attacked Pan at that cursed party, after all.”

Yes, Icarus smashed Pan over the head, but it wasn’t a fatal wound and when his foster brothers were out attempting to murder the other members of the Thirteen at that party, he took no part in it. By all accounts, he hasn’t done anything remotely violent since. Still, Hera has a point. He’s an enemy. Even if he’s not quite a believable perpetrator of violence, what does that matter when the fiction is so compelling? It’s as good a plan as any, and yet I find myself hesitating. “I still think the time for this particular plan has passed. Circe isn’t going to sit out there in her ships for long. She’s going to attack, and we need to call another vote before then so we can present a unified front when she does. We need to get defenses in place…”

Hera looks around. I have to wonder what she sees. I inherited the property when I inherited my title, but in the years since, I’ve preferred to spend my time here in the guesthouse. Even that’s still rife with elegance and luxury that makes me feel ill at ease, like if I move too fast, I might knock a painting off the wall or do some damage to the dainty furniture.

The main house is worse. Every time I turn around, I expect my uncle to appear, red-faced and furious. I’m tempted to raze the whole building to the ground, but that feels like letting him win, even though he’s dead and I’m still among the living.

I much prefer my little apartment in the shipyard. I tend to sleep there more nights than not. It’s simple there; no conflicting emotions. That space has only ever been mine.

Finally, she gets tired of whatever she sees on my face and says, “What defenses, Poseidon? We have none. We’ve relied for so long on that damned barrier that we have no naval forces. What will Athena’s assassins do against an army? And while my sister-in-lawhas done quite a bit of work to whip her forces into shape, they’re untried. There’s every chance they’ll fold at the first confrontation and leave this city entirely defenseless.”

I want to argue with her, to offer a perspective with more hope. But facts are facts, and she’s not wrong. Without the barrier, Olympus is incredibly vulnerable. We have no defenses, nobarrierto hide behind. The closest thing are the mountains that border the countryside, but even they could be surpassed with enough resources and knowledge.

If it comes to a proper confrontation, I don’t see a path to victory. I don’t see a path tosurvival. “The only way to save our people is to avoid a confrontation entirely.”

She smiles, the expression sharp and dangerous. There’s no surprise on her face. She came to the same conclusion before she sought me out. “Precisely.”

The pit of my stomach drops out. So we finally get to the truth of what she has planned. “Tell me why you really voted against going to war. Tell me what you’re planning.”

Hera drifts to a gilded painting in the corner. It’s of some ancestor of mine, though I can’t begin to guess what sin she committed to have her portrait here instead of the main house. A thick woman with a riot of red curls and the same blue eyes that have passed down through the core family of Poseidons back to the beginning of Olympus. My own eyes are a different hue. But then, I was never supposed to rule.

She turns back to me, her long, dark skirt swirling around her legs. “I intend to have a conversation with Circe.” Her smile widens, but there’s no amusement in her hazel eyes. “One Hera to another.”

7

Icarus

I know Poseidon expected me to be a good little captive and stay put like he commanded, but I’m not the kind of person to let an opportunity pass me by. Survival is the only thing that matters. Maybe if I think that enough times, it’ll actually feel true. I know it’s what my sister would want. I promised her I’d meet her in Brazil, and the only way I can dothatis if I’m alive and free when Carnaval comes around next year. The thought of everything standing between me and a reunion with her is almost enough to drive me from the new bed that was made up while I was in the bathroom, as pristine as if violence never happened here. I am so godsdamned tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of failing.

But Ariadne committed the most unforgivable act in existence to keep me alive—she killed our father. Apparently Idohave some honor within me because I can’t let my baby sister bathe her hands in blood on my behalf, only for me to die a few days later.

Shame, more than anything else, finally gets me to test the door. It was locked previously, but I was certain I hadn’t heard Poseidon lock it when he left earlier. Sure enough, the knob twists easily against my palm. Every move is an understated agony, but that’s life,isn’t it? I’m used to it by now. Granted, my father’s “punishments” never reached the level Poseidon’s man committed against me, but I’ve learned to move smoothly even while in pain.

I slip out into the hall and look around carefully. I only got a glimpse of the rest of the house as Poseidon hauled me in here…yesterday? It’s hardly a maze, though. Best I can tell, it’s laid out in a perfect square. The hallway is a straight line that turns at a right angle on either end. I pick a direction on instinct, retracing my steps toward the entrance. I know better than to try to escape. I won’t last long on my own. There are too many people in this city who blame my father—rightly so—and my family for all the horrible changes in the last few months. Since my father’s dead, one of my foster brothers is now protected by the Kasios family, and Ariadne and the Minotaur have escaped the city entirely. That only leaves me.

If I’m going to keep my promise to my sister, I can’t play scapegoat for an entire terrified city.

My best option is to stay here and convince Poseidon I’m an asset worthy of being protected. At least until I can find a way to make contact with whoever Circe has brought with her to threaten the city.

Voices slow my pace. I recognize Poseidon’s deep timbre, but it’s his light, lyrical conversation partner that has my heart beating faster. I know that voice. I’ve heard it in interviews my father played during his research on the Thirteen. She’s no longer the newest member, but she is the one who interested him mightily. Hera. The woman holding the same position Circe did, albeitthisHera has now held it longer.

What’s she doing here?

I pad to the top of the stairs and stop just before stepping intoview. Truly, if they wanted to have a private conversation, doing it in the foyer is just ill-advised. Anyone could listen—andIfully intend to. Every piece of information is a weapon I must mold to my own use, because becoming invaluable is the only way to survive.

And, dammit, Iwillsurvive. If not for myself, then for my sister. That’ll have to be motivation enough to put one foot in front of the other against these seemingly insurmountable odds. I’ve faced impossible odds before, and even though I’ve faltered before accomplishing true victory, I’m still here and so many of my tormentors aren’t. What is that if not success?

I carefully lean my shoulder against the wall and concentrate on keeping my breathing even so there’s nothing to give my presence away. Only once I have myself under control do I slide forward a little until I can see them both at the bottom of the stairs.

Poseidon is visibly agitated, his hands shifting at his sides and his entire body tense. “Hera, you can’t.”

She looks so tiny next to him, for all that she’s not a particularly short woman. I’ve only met one of the Dimitriou women during my time in Olympus—the youngest, Eurydice—and while I can see some similarities in their beauty, Eurydice practically radiates kindness and Hera is cold enough to freeze the unwary.

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