Page 32 of For the Gods' Sake

Adrian let go of my hand to grab them, his skin parting from mine and leaving tingles in its wake. Like a limb that had lost feeling.

The stack was probably ten papers thick, filled with line after line of text from what I could tell. And with each line that Adrian read, the room grew tense withelectricity, and the sky outside, already dark with night, grew even more ominous. Like clouds were covering the moon to rip away the only source of light.

But it wasn’t until the third page he flipped, perfectly timed with a low rumble of thunder outside that I realized that the two were related. That his growing frustration and fury seemed to be the one causing the storm to deepen and darken.

And when he finished, crumpling the paper in his fist and letting out a low, “Fuck,” it created a lightning bolt that flashed outside, painting the room in a sickly white, followed moments later by a clap of thunder so loud it rattled the windows.

Adrian rubbed a hand down his face, visibly fighting a sneer. I didn’t know what to do, I just knew that I had a bone-deep urge to help him somehow.

I reached for him, my hand falling into the space between us when he raised his hand, shaking the crumpled paper in the air. “This is running tomorrow?”

Gus nodded, his youth even clearer in the rapid shake of his head. I didn’t think he was even nineteen, and he was in charge of so much. “I can’t stop it.” His snakes hissed in assent. “I didn’t even hear about it until I got that Iris letter from the head of the paper. I can ask—”

“No need.” Adrian waved a hand in the air, dismissing that idea. “We don’t censor people. They are allowed to write what they want. And it’s not like any of this isn’t true.”

“The facts, maybe,” Gus said, his voice straining with defensiveness. “But the way they spun it—they’re making it seem like it’s your fault.”

Adrian let out a sharp exhale, something in between a laugh and a scoff. “Fault and causation are quitesimilar. Especially in the hands of someone who wants to equate them.”

I had to know. I reached for Adrian’s hand—for the paper crushed under his punishing grip. He looked at me, the barest lick of hesitation on his face, before loosening his grip and letting me take the paper from him.

I unfolded it, pressing out the wrinkles enough to read. And the first line made my breath hitch.

This year has seen two distressing problems, both due to the gods. Or one in particular—Lord Jupiter.

I distantly heard Adrian tell Gus something about not blaming himself, of letting it ride out, but I was too focused on the words in front of me.

Someone had written a cruel, distorted take on the year’s events. They turned Lord and Lady Pluto’s marriage—one that I knew firsthand had actually gone over quite well—into something ugly and damaging. They blamed Adrian—claiming that without him, it wouldn’t have been necessary in the first place. Saying that Rose’s disgraced reputation was ultimately his fault.

No mention of her father’s torture.

And the meat of it was focused on the sea. On how this summer had seen record low catches.

Sure, there had been a great deal of panic that ensued when the normally fruitful Mediterranean seemed to dwindle and wane, right before Daphne and Lukas’s wedding.

But there was zero acknowledgment that while it was a lean summer, I’d heard nothing but stories of overflowing nets and record-breaking numbers of rare fish.

Andall of itwas blamed on Adrian. On his birth and the chaos that ensued after. Alleging that humans had been subjected to unbridled chaos without a stable leader.

It. Was. Bullshit.

Paying no mind to the irrational anger scraping my throat, I ripped the paper in half twice, as if that could remove the words from existence.

I didn’t want it anywhere near Adrian, so I passed the ripped up pages back to Gus.

Then I turned to Adrian. “That’s bullshit and everyone is going to know it.”

Adrian reached out and grabbed my hand, pulling it up and pressing a kiss to my palm. It was quick—natural, even—enough that Adrian seemed slightly shocked that he’d even done it.

Like it was instinct, slipping past the walls of control he kept up.

“Someone wrote this,” he said. “Which means someone believes this. And if one person does, multiple people will.”

I pulled on his hand, the move feeling like a child stomping their foot. “Well whoever wrote it is a sorry excuse for a journalist. That was a one-sided pile of bullshit that straight up ignored everything good you’ve ever done.”

A grin broke over Adrian’s face, pulling one of his dimples taut. “I should have you write something to defend my honor.”

That actually sounded like a great idea.

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