Page 66 of The Shadow Gods

Eyelids snapping open, she stared at me, confused. She studied me, then the room. “We're back.”

“I don't think we ever left,” I replied. “Whatever happened was in our heads.”

Achilles moved past us to the table, removing one piece of the seal from the other so they sat apart. “It could have been worse,” he said, meeting my eyes. “But I don't know if we learned anything.”

“I think we did,” Leo countered. Pulling out a chair, she sank into it. Her face was pale and a little gray.

“Are you okay?” I picked up a glass, filled it with water, and handed it to her. “Drink. You look like you're going to be sick.”

Shaking her head, she accepted the glass. “I'm okay.” She took gulp after gulp until the glass was empty. “I think we did learn something.” Setting the glass on the table, she stared at it. “I think we've been connected since the beginning.”

In the books I'd read on our drive, I discovered that images of Medusa had been placed where people wanted protection. Medusa's head was so frightening, it guarded against evil. But why would a carving of Medusa be needed at the temple of Apollo? “What would the gods need protection against?” I asked.

Leo held out her palms. “Angry mortals.”

I stared at her until she lifted her gaze to mine.

“It didn't work.”

No. But angry didn't touch the depth of emotion I had felt when I went into that temple. It had been a long time since I'd thought about that day. The memories I lingered on had to do with Astyanax or the war or my wife. Hardly ever did I think about what happened in the temple or what I'd gone there for.

I pushed up my sleeves and glanced down at my arms. If I tried, I could remember the scars that had covered my body. The Greeks had hacked me apart, but the gods had sewn me back together. Only faint scars remained.

On the surface, at least.

“I saw you,” she said, tracing a finger down the condensation on her glass. She reached for the pitcher of water, filled her glass up again, and drank it. Placing it on the table, she scanned the room. “I saw you in the temple.” Her gaze landed on Orestes. “You were hurt.”

Orestes touched his face, and I glanced down at my arms again. She'd seen us like that?

“Where were you?” Achilles asked.

“Separated,” she replied. She tapped her fingernail against the glass. “Something kept us apart, until it couldn't.”

“How did you get to us?” I asked. How much had she seen?Whathad she seen? Had she seen my scars and Paris's empty eyes? Had she seen Achilles limping and yelling and Orestes bleeding all over the marble floors?

The weight of what she’d seen hit me, and I sat down heavily in a chair. “It was...ugly.”

She moved fast, hand reaching across the table for mine. “It wasn't ugly,” she argued, brown eyes flashing. “It was painful. I could feel it.” She flipped our hands so my wrist was exposed. “But it's your bravery that gets me, every time. Because you managed to live through it and find enough compassion inside you to save the rest of us.”

That was an altogether too generous opinion of us. Keeping the gods from interfering with mortals was a byproduct of trapping them. We’d wanted to kill them, but we weren't strong enough, so trapping was the next best thing. I hadn't thought I would live through it, and I hadn't wanted to.

But now I was glad I survived. I still missed my son. The missing hadn't lessened, or dulled, no matter how many years passed.

I didn't compare my loss to the others, but I hadn't—when we'd combined our powers—cared about them or what they were suffering. They weren't my friends yet, and as for my brother...

Paris suddenly dragged his hands through his hair, eyes on me. I wondered if he knew how I'd felt back then.

I’d hated him so deeply, I planned to offer him to the gods in exchange for my son.

Paris thought we'd gone to the temple to consult the oracle and search for my wife and Helen, but that hadn't been my plan. My plan had been to give the gods the beautiful prince the goddesses fought over and get my son back.

I'd never told him that, but now I wondered. When we’d come through the eastern entrance and been face-to-face with the altar, had he known? He never said anything, not then or after.

It would have been a pointless request. The gods never gave up the dead. In all of those stories, any time a human tried to bring a soul from the underworld, they were thwarted. Look at Pollux, trying to negotiate with his father for his brother, and what happened?

He'd trapped his brother between worlds for eternity.

Leo touched my hand, and I startled. My mind had traveled back an eternity, turning over decisions I'd made at my lowest point.

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