Warrior Rising (Goddess Summoning #6)(11)

“Yes, Goddess.” The young priestess moved into place.

“Let us join in a circle of divine power.” The three goddesses solemnly clasped hands around the fallen princess of Troy and her servant. “Concentrate on the wine in the goblet,” Hera told them. Then she cleared her throat and recited the spell:

“Joined together with a single mind,

goddesses three our powers we do bind.”

Eleithyia gasped as the wine in the goblet she had lifted above her head began to glow with such a brilliant light that it shined in reflection off the distant domed ceiling of the temple.

“Standing here bathed in conjured light,

empower this wine with our combined might.

The gift of healing is what we ask,

fruit of the vine, accept this as your task.”

“It is hot!” Eleithyia cried, but she didn’t let loose her grip on the glowing goblet.

“It is the heat of the breath of life. Quickly, child, pour the wine within the lips of the princess and her servant,” Hera said.

Eleithyia immediately did as her goddess commanded. She bent and carefully poured half of the wine into Polyxena’s slack and bloody lips, and the other half into the young maidservant’s still mouth.

“I don’t know if this is going to work.” Venus frowned as most of the wine ran down the pale cheeks of dead women. “Maybe we should—”

Polyxena gasped and then drew a deep, almost painful sounding breath. Shortly after, Melia’s chest began to rise and fall, too.

“Keep focused,” Hera reminded them before completing the spell.

“Wounds mend—health return

the spark of mortal life within them burn!”

As the goddesses and the priestess watched, the terrible gash on Polyxena’s head faded, and then disappeared at the same time Melia’s gaping chest wound shimmered and closed so that the two women lay perfectly healed, though the only movement in their eerily still bodies was their slow, steady breathing.

Eleithyia fell to her knees and bowed her head. “It worked! You have healed them.”

Hera touched her priestess’s cheeks softly. “Only their bodies, child. Their souls are journeying to the Elysian Fields. They are but empty shells.”

“Well, it just so happens that I have two mortal souls in desperate need of shells,” Venus said. “Shall I get them?”

“Yes, but Athena and I need to make our visits to Agamemnon and Thetis first.”

Athena frowned at the newly healed bodies. “Shouldn’t you do something about all that blood and such before you put the mortal souls in there? I’m no expert on modern mortals, but I do believe that any woman would be quite upset awakening to this mess.” The goddess made a general gesture at the blood-spattered temple.

“Ugh. As much as I hate to admit it, you’re right.” Venus sighed. Then she fluttered her fingers absently at Athena and Hera. “Go on, don’t worry about this. I’ll conjure some satyrs to take care of it.”

“Satyrs?” Hera said. “Aren’t they rather messy?”

“Of course—nothing makes a mess like a rutting satyr, which is why they’re so good at clean-ups. They’re used to it.”

Hera and Athena gave Venus twin looks of confusion.

“You don’t think I clean up after all those orgies, do you?” Venus shook her head in disgust. “I’m their goddess, not their mother.”

Athena snorted.

“Let’s leave this to Love, shall we?” Hera guided Athena from the room before the goddesses could start bickering again. “Have the little beasts clean quickly—this shouldn’t take long,” she called back over her shoulder.

“Why is it that Love always gets stuck with the mess?” Venus muttered.

“Could it be because love can be so messy?” Eleithyia asked with a sweet, innocent smile.

“Darling, you’re obviously new to this whole priestess thing, so I won’t blast you into nonexistence for calling me messy.”

Eleithyia gasped and looked like she was going to burst into tears.

Venus sighed. “Not to worry. That was just a little divine humor. Let’s get the satyrs to work, shall we?” The goddess glanced down at the two bodies that awaited souls. “And while I’m thinking about it I better come up with some new clothes for these two. All that blood will never come out…” She continued to mutter to herself as she conjured an entire herd of industrious satyrs and began putting the temple to order.

Hera materialized within the innermost chamber of Agamemnon’s voluminous tents. Except for the young, hairless boy who was oiling the king’s dark, perfectly curled hair, they were alone.

“The Goddess Hera!” The boy shrieked and dropped instantly to the ground, pressing his face to the richly carpeted floor. Agamemnon merely bowed—and not low enough for Hera’s taste. She pointedly ignored the king and touched the back of the boy’s blond head.

“Arise, child. I wish to speak with your king alone, but know that you go with my blessing.” Hera waited until the boy left the room before turning her attention to Agamemnon. She took her time studying him, knowing that it annoyed him to keep his head bowed before her. She noted how he’d swathed himself in gold and had to force herself not to grimace with distaste. Did the man think he was a god?