Electric Idol (Dark Olympus #2)(17)
So long since someone showed me even a shred of kindness.
I find myself reaching out and covering one of her hands with my own. Her skin is startlingly warm. “For what it’s worth, it was a good try. You gave it your best shot.”
“Strange how that doesn’t make me feel better.” She stares down at where I touch her. “I’m going to need you to take your hand back now. I hardly want comfort from my murderer.”
Something pricks me and I remove my hand from hers and use it to rub my chest, the feeling from before when she patched me up getting stronger. What the fuck is this? Surely I’m not having an attack of conscience now. I can’t save this woman. I might be my mother’s preferred weapon, but I’m hardly the only one. If I refuse to do this, she’ll send someone else, and they won’t care if Psyche is terrified and in agony at the end. They’ll simply cut her down.
“Is this what you did with Polyphonte? Met her for drinks and then took her out back and killed her? I guess kudos to her for putting up a fight, but obviously she wasn’t successful. How many times have you done this, Eros? Is that really the life you want?”
“Stop.” The word comes out harsher than I intend it, but I know what she’s doing and it won’t work. I didn’t intentionally put myself on the path to become my mother’s pet monster, but I’m here now and there’s no going back. “I meant what I said before. You can’t talk your way out of this.”
She runs her fingers through the ends of her hair, twisting it in a way that looks almost painful, but her expression is eerily calm. “I wanted kids. That seems so foolish now. Why would I want to bring kids into this world? But I did. I thought I had more time. I’m only twenty-three.”
Fuck. “Stop,” I repeat.
“Why?” Something sharp and angry breaks through the calm. “Does it make me seem more human to you? Harder to pull the trigger?”
Yes. And it was already a herculean effort before. “It doesn’t matter what I want.” I don’t mean to say that, but I haven’t meant to say a lot of things when it comes to this woman. She’s so fucking brave, and it just kills me that I’ve been ordered to snuff out this light. But there’s no other option.
Unless there actually is a way to repay her earlier kindness…
No. It’s a terrible idea, and hardly foolproof. My mother is like a terrier with a bone when it comes to her vendettas. She won’t let anything get in the way of punishing both Psyche and Demeter by removing Psyche. If I try to stand in her way, she’ll just go around me and kill Psyche anyway.
“Promise me that you won’t hurt my sisters.”
I drag myself out of my traitorous thoughts and stare at her. “You know I can’t do that.” When she narrows her eyes, I relent. “Look, Persephone is as safe as possible because she’s married to Hades, and no one wants the boogeyman of Olympus showing up on their doorstep. Callisto is likely safe for a similar reason—no one wants to fuck with her kind of viciousness. She doesn’t play by the established rules, and that’s enough to make most enemies think twice. And Eurydice…” I shrug. “All she has to do is have a prolonged stay in the lower city and few people can even get to her. It’s not like Hades or Persephone are going to invite my mother’s people over the river to harm her.”
“Is all this supposed to make me feel better? You could just promise not to hurt them.”
I give her the look that statement deserves. “You wouldn’t believe me.”
“You could give me your word.”
I know she’s still trying to make herself more human to me, to prick my nonexistent conscience, but when’s the last time someone actually gave a damn about my word? My mother’s tasks have dragged my name through the mud, deserved though that may be. No one trusts me, because all it takes is pissing Aphrodite off and her will overrides mine. She points, I take care of things. My word doesn’t mean a fucking thing.
Maybe that’s why I find myself asking, “If I gave you my word, would you believe me?”
“Yes.”
The word feels like she reached across the table and punched me in the chest. There isn’t a shred of doubt in those three letters. If I gave my word, she would believe me; it’s as simple as that. I stare at this woman who defies all my expectations. I had half convinced myself that her taking care of me that night was a fluke or at least something I could push aside. It’s not a fluke, though. Her showing up here tonight is proof of that.
Psyche really is a good person who’s somehow managed to survive Olympus politics.
And my mother wants me to extinguish her flame.
I swallow hard. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” Psyche repeats. She stops twisting her hair and gives me her full attention. “Are you giving your word?”
I shake my head slowly. “I can’t promise you anything.”
“Oh.” The disappointment on her pretty face cuts through me like a knife. I am not a good person. I never had a chance to be one, and it’s not like I fought my fate all that hard once the path unfurled beneath my feet. But killing Psyche? The idea of it made me uncomfortable before, but after this conversation, it makes me physically ill.
I…can’t do this.
Maybe I do have a soul, dusty and unused though it is, because the thought of ending Psyche’s life feels so fucking repellent to me, I’m about to do something unforgivable. I take a drink of my vodka tonic, the burning of the alcohol doing nothing to clear away the sudden determination taking root inside me.