Warrior Rising (Goddess Summoning #6)(96)

“You haven’t washed or changed your clothes from today’s battle. You look terrible. What has happened?”

Odysseus refilled his goblet, using his actions as an excuse not to meet her gaze. “I think you know what happened today, Great Goddess. Achilles believes Patroklos to be dead. He has given himself over completely to the berserker. The princess, who told me today her real name is Katrina, tried to reach Achilles and she was rescued”—he pronounced the word sarcastically—“by Hector and his Trojans, and then Achilles cut down Hector. He is currently desecrating the prince’s body.”

Athena had gone very still. “You’re angry at me.”

He did meet her gaze then. “I thought you loved me.”

Odysseus saw the jolt of surprise his words caused the goddess to feel as she snapped an immediate response. “I do love you!”

“If you loved me you would not have lied to me.”

Athena didn’t speak, but Odysseus saw the truth in her eyes. He’d been right. She’d known.

“Were all the goddesses in on the joke you played on Achilles, or was it just Venus and you?”

“It wasn’t a joke,” Athena said, gray eyes flashing in anger. “It should have worked—it should have ended the war.”

“It might have worked if you had told me! Had I known I could have protected him!” Odysseus shouted, all his pent-up emotions finally exploding. “Am I worth so little to you that you do not trust me at all?”

“So little!” Athena began, then when her words caused the ground beneath them to shake and the sides of the tent to quiver dangerously, she drew a deep, calming breath and began again. “You are the only mortal man I have ever loved. Every day I live in fear of your mortality because I know that I must eventually surrender to Fate and lose you.”

“But am I truly a man to you—with a heart and soul and mind worthy of respect—or am I simply your favorite plaything?” he asked bitterly.

Her fair face flushed. “How can you say such a thing after what we have known together?”

“I say it because all mortals know the capriciousness of the gods.”

“Not me. I do not take human lovers on whim. I do not take any lover on whim. I thought you knew that—I thought you knew me better than that.”

“I thought I did, too.” He sounded defeated, and his wide shoulders slumped. “But you did not trust me with your confidence.”

And then Athena, Goddess of War and Wisdom, shocked him utterly. She met his gaze and said, “I was wrong. Forgive me. I should not have lied to you.”

“Athena, I—” He paused, struggling with joy so overwhelming that it clogged his throat and choked his words.

The gray-eyed goddess came to him and lay her head on his shoulder. “My Odysseus,” she murmured.

Odysseus held his goddess and forgave her. And then, while she lay beside him, Athena told Odysseus everything about Katrina, Achilles, Venus and Hera, and for the first time the Goddess of War discussed battle plans with a mortal, rather than commanding a mortal to obey her whim.

And Odysseus’s heart soared.

Kat was so nervous her legs were wobbly. When the black of night had just begun to be relieved by a hint of gray, she poured the sleeping potion into a clay pottery jug half full of red wine, grabbed two goblets from a bedside dresser and left her room.

It was a mourning palace—a palace of muffled tears and melancholy silence. The halls were deserted, lit only dimly by an occasional wall sconce. Unimpeded, Kat wandered, doing her best to keep heading in what she thought was the right direction. Her sense of direction had always been pretty good, but she was starting to believe she’d never find the way to the niche in the wall when she turned a corner and saw a simply dressed middle-aged woman coming out of a side room.

“My lady, are you well? Is there something I can get for you?” the servant asked, bobbing a quick curtsey and looking worried.

“I’m lost,” Kat blurted. She’d rehearsed in her head how she would react to the many different circumstances she could get herself into that night, and she’d opted to stick as close to the truth as possible, deciding it would cut down on mistakes, if not babbling. “I know it’s silly, but I’ve gotten confused. It—it must be because I haven’t had enough sleep since…” Kat let her voice fade, finding it easy to look upset and scared and completely disoriented.

“Oh, my lady! Of course you’re not yourself. Let me take you back to your chamber.”

“Could you lead me to the warriors who are watching over the gates instead?”

“The gate warriors? I don’t understand, Princess.”

“I heard that the two men guarding the, uh, levers that open the gates”—Kat mentally crossed her fingers, hoping that she wasn’t saying anything too wrong—“were key to my rescue.” The servant’s face was still an utter question mark, so Kat did the only thing she could think to do. She burst into tears. “I have to thank them! Hector would want me to. It’s just all so terrible.” Kat sobbed.

“Oh, Princess! Please don’t cry. You’re home now, my lady. All will be well.” The servant reached out hesitantly, as if she wanted to take Kat into her arms, but wasn’t sure she dared.

“Will you lead me to the gate warriors, please?”