Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
I know what my father would have done in that situation. It doesn’t matter why an enemy is an enemy; there’s only one way to deal with them. You destroy them. But I’m not my father and, for better or worse, I never will be. Recent events have more than driven that truth home.
My only hope of coming out on top of this conflict with Circe is to keep Poseidon and Hades on my side. It’s not worth burning those bridges for the sake of vengeance and frustration. So, when Poseidon asked this of me, I didn’t even try to fight him.
He should be back in Olympus by now, having completed his self-appointed task. Sure enough, when I finally track down his second-in-command Orion, they point me back to the house where the title of Poseidon has traditionally lived. I know for a fact that this Poseidon, a surprise inheritor of the title after his uncle and cousins died unexpectedly from a strange illness, chooses to live in the guesthouse behind the manor proper.
I understand that. His uncle left a toxic shadow, the kind that almost makes me believe ghosts are real. It’s the same reason why I haven’t set foot in the penthouse owned by my father since his death. No one knows that, though. As far as my sisters are concerned, I took the burden of dealing with our former family home upon myself so they wouldn’t have to. It’s a testament to how terrible our father was that neither of them questioned it after the initial conversation.
The truth is that…I tried. A new Zeus can only ascend once the previous Zeus has been put to rest, and though there’s a headstone in the legacy family’s graveyard with my father’s title and birth name on it, nothing about that man has been put to rest. Going into his residence—into my childhood home—is…
There’s no use thinking about it now. Maybe once I’ve removed the threat of Circe once and for all, it will finally feel like a manageable task to go through his things and dispose of everything. To clean out that place I will never again call home and to sell it to some bloodthirsty hopeful who believes living in the same residence as a past Zeus will result in his power rubbing off on them.
Except…Poseidon isn’t at the house. Or the guesthouse. Or on the grounds. My frustration blooms with each failure to track him down. This was supposed to be a relatively quick errand, and it’s turning into a grand waste of time.
Just like the search for Circe.
Going off a lingering suspicion that I’ve been played, I finally find Poseidon back at the shipyard in a meeting with Orion and Pallas. It seems to be winding down, which just confirms that Orion sent me on a wild-goose chase to get me out of the way. I give Poseidon’s second-in-command a long look, and though they can’t quite meet my eyes, they don’t shrink into themselves at my displeasure. It makes me respect them more, for all that they wasted time I don’t have in abundance.
Poseidon, naturally, doesn’t seem pleased to see me. He never is. If ever there was a man uncomfortable with the cloak of power that comes with a legacy title, it’s this one. He doesn’t play the games Olympus is known for, doesn’t engage in any kind of drama, doesn’t leave his shipyard more than he absolutely has to. It’s convenient. He’s never causing problems…or at least he never used to.
One day soon he and I are going to have to have a very frank conversation about the fact that he worked with my wife in the attempt to assassinate me. But not today. I have bigger fish to fry.
Poseidon is a massive white man with deep-red hair and beard, and the kind of body that looks like he tosses around kegs of beer for fun. His skin is a little paler than normal, no doubt from stress, making his freckles stand out in stark contrast. He’s still wearing the same clothes he had on last night, all black, and his hair is wild from him obviously running his fingers through it. “Zeus. What are you doing here?”
I look from one of them to the other, finally settling on Pallas. “I think the more important question is what is she doing here.” Pallas is the daughter of the late Triton, the oldest of seven. The youngest, Zuriel, slipped through the barrier some time ago and ran off to Carver City. That fucking city seems to be a magnet for wayward Olympians. Like my brother.
There’s no use thinking about Hercules now. Focus on the task before you.
Pallas is a couple of years younger than me and beautiful in the way that all her sisters are. Triton had more wives than my father—which is saying something—and as a result, all seven of them look remarkably different. Honestly, it’s a blessing they favor their mothers. Triton wasn’t much to look at—or to be around—but he was useful, at least until he betrayed this city and lost his life as a result.