Electric Idol (Dark Olympus #2)(63)
More… I don’t want Eros to feel like he stands apart. I haven’t killed anyone, but that doesn’t mean I’m some angel. “You might not number me among the monsters, but I’m not entirely blameless.”
He smiles like he’s indulging me. “Oh yeah?”
I rush forward before I can change my mind. “Remember when that story was published on MuseWatch with the audio of Ares ranting about all of Zeus’s children being failures?”
The surprise on Eros’s face makes the confession more than worth it. He sits back in his chair and grins, admiration lighting his blue eyes. “That was you? I’d wondered. I thought it might be Helen—it has her sort of flare—but she claimed up and down and sideways that she had nothing to do with it. That audio was singlehandedly responsible for driving a wedge through the Zeus-Ares alliance that they never quite recovered from.”
I know. I wish I could say that was one of my goals when I put my plan together, but the truth is much less ambitious. “He wouldn’t leave Eurydice alone. He’d chase her around Zeus’s parties and corner her every chance he got. No one would step in, not even my mother. All she could talk about was how useful an alliance with Ares would be for our family.” The words taste foul on my tongue. I love my mother, but she can be unforgivably single-minded at times. “A marriage with Ares would have killed Eurydice. Probably not literally, but the thing that makes her her would have withered up and died. She’s not like the rest of my sisters; she’s soft. I wanted to give her space to preserve that for as long as possible.”
His expression sobers. “I don’t know if you’ve done her any favors on that note.”
Sadness weighs at me. “We’re all beginning to realize that now.” We all have to grow up and face the reality of Olympus eventually, and I can’t help but wondering if we should have torn the veil from my youngest sister’s eyes earlier. Maybe she wouldn’t have fallen in love with Orpheus and had her heart torn asunder. Maybe she would have seen him for what he is—a fickle artist forever in search of his muse. She might have served that purpose for a time, but it was never going to be permanent. “We all have to learn that lesson eventually.”
“Some earlier than others.” Eros tilts his wineglass, watching the red liquid shift within its confines. “You never made a misstep.”
I almost laugh. “I made plenty. Even with my mother’s warnings, I thought for sure Olympus couldn’t be as cruel as she claimed. I was wrong.” So much to encompass those three little words. I was wrong.
Everyone was so incredibly nice at first. Oh, not the other children of the Thirteen—they gave me and my sisters a wide berth—but those a little further out from the seat of power. So nice. So friendly. So sickly sweet. At least until I heard my so-called friends discussing how disgusted they were with me, my body, my looks, my country bumpkin ways. They thought I would be more like Helen or Perseus or the other popular children of the Thirteen. I was a waste of time and space.
I stopped trying to make friends after that. It was the first time I realized my mother might have a point with how she dealt with people outside the family. No one was to be trusted. Instead, they fell into one of two categories—potential enemy or potential ally.
Lessons in this city always hurt, and the intervening years haven’t done much to soothe that ache. I really, really hope this situation with Eros isn’t another hard lesson that I’m destined to learn through pain.
21
Eros
It’s cold as a witch’s tit. I’m a creature of summer. I prefer the hot, lazy days where the sun holds court in the sky well into the night, everyone moving around the city in as few clothes as possible, and air that doesn’t hurt my face. Given a choice, I would have picked nearly any other activity than walking the outdoor gardens in the university district.
Still.
I can’t help appreciating how damn good Psyche looks in her fleece-lined leggings, slouchy oversize knit sweater, boots, and an honest-to-gods puffed jacket. Add in a knitted hat to match the sweater and she’s downright fucking adorable. It makes me want to drag her back to my place—our place—and strip her out of that clothing, layer by layer.
She leans against my arm and smiles up at me as if I’m her favorite person in the world, and for a moment, I forget that this is pretend.
A click of a camera somewhere nearby reminds me.
I give her a warm smile of my own, and it’s all too easy to convince myself that her rosy cheeks are in reaction to me, rather than the icy air. “Couldn’t we have found somewhere warmer to show off how giddy in love we are?”
Her smile doesn’t falter in the least. She leans into me and matches my low tone. “It’s easier to pretend that we don’t realize we’re being followed outside.” Psyche laughs a little. “Besides, I like the gardens in the winter.”
I look around us. Some past Athena decided the university district really needed a giant, sprawling outdoor garden for students and professors to spend time in. There’s a large greenhouse on the other side of the park, but Psyche seems intent on walking every path except the one that will lead us there. “I don’t get it. There’s nothing to see. Everything’s dead.”
“Eros.” She smacks my arm lightly with her free hand. “That’s very glass half-full of you. The garden isn’t dead. It’s sleeping.”