Page 167 of Where Darkness Bloomed
Chaos receded. The fire. The screams. All faded into the backdrop of that gaze—until suddenly, impossibly, he reached out. His hand rose, trembling and bloodied, fingers stretching toward her.
Helen moved without thought. She surged forward, her own hand outstretched—
Hands clamped down on her shoulders, hauling her roughly backward. But not before her fingers touched his.
The slightest brush of skin.
Then she was wrenched away, ripped from the moment, from him.
Crushed between armored bodies, she was dragged through the garden as bronze clashed and men screamed. She twisted in their grip, fighting against the tide of movement, her eyes locked on the stairs.
There, Achilles lay still. His form was crumpled at the foot of the stairs like a broken god.
On the balcony above, Paris staggered. Two arrows jutted from his chest, the fletchings still quivering. Surprise etched his boyish face as he toppled.
Above him, the golden figure streaked away into the smoke-stained sky, away from the brutal chaos gripping Troy.
Flames devoured rooftops, casting the city in a hellish light. Screams rose with the smoke, an unholy symphony of destruction. The great city crumbled beneath the tide of Greek fury as it roared through the streets, laying waste. Every home. Every temple. Every life.
A sharp blow struck Helen’s temple, and light shattered, the pain blinding—
Then the world winked out, succumbing to darkness.
Chapter 62
Hades stood in his throne room, waiting.
A moment later, Hermes materialized, his expression grim. “He comes.”
Hades gave a single nod. “Let him.”
The air grew heavy. A mighty crack of lightning struck the stone floor with earth-shattering force. Steam hissed in the air.
Zeus appeared, his eyes cold.
“Brother.” His voice rolled like a storm. “Where is your wife?”
Hades ignored the question. “What brings you?”
Zeus scoffed. “I forbade interference in Troy. Persephone defied me, guiding Apollo’s hand against Achilles.”
“Did his death change the city’s fate?” Hades asked, steadily holding his gaze. “Look to the riverbank—all of Troy lies there. Apollo acted too late.”
The folds of Zeus’s midnight himation crackled, the air sparking. His eyes lit with same storm-fed brilliance, and he growled, “It matters not. She disobeyed my decree, as did Apollo.”
“She is not yours to command.”
Zeus’s jaw clenched. “I am her sire.”
“And she is my wife,” Hades replied evenly. “My equal, a ruler to this realm at my side.”
Tense silence stretched between them.
“She was born of Olympus, subject to me,” Zeus said at last.
Hades tilted his head. “Yet she chose otherwise when she ate of the Underworld,” he said. “She is bound here by her own will, to me. The sovereign queen of this kingdom.”
Zeus swore under his breath and turned away. His gaze fell on the Stygian fountain, its dark waters rippling, the soft trickling echoing in the stillness.
