Neon Gods (Dark Olympus #1)(24)

Another of his headshakes, like I’ve disappointed him. I hate how much that matters to me, but Andreas has been the strong guiding light in my life for so long. His retirement a few years ago doesn’t lessen that. He’s the uncle I never had, though he never tried to play the father. He knows better than that. Finally, he leans forward. “What’s your plan?”

“Three months of giving him the middle finger. If he comes across the river and tries to take her back, not even the other Thirteen will stand by him. They put that treaty in place for a reason.”

“The Thirteen didn’t save your father. What makes you think they’ll save you?”

We’ve had this argument a thousand times over the years. I smother my irritation and give him my full attention. “Because the treaty didn’t exist when Zeus killed my father.” It’s shitty beyond belief that my parents had to die for the treaty to be put into place, but if things become a free-for-all among the Thirteen, it hurts their bottom line, which is the only thing they care about. It was one of the few times in Olympus history that the Thirteen worked together long enough to challenge Zeus’s power and strong-arm an agreement that no one is willing to break.

Zeus cannot come here and I can’t go there. No one can harm another member of the Thirteen or their families without being erased from existence. It’s a damn shame that rule doesn’t seem to apply to Hera. That role used to be one of the most powerful, but the last few Zeuses have whittled it down until it’s little more than a figurehead position for their spouse. It’s allowed Zeus to act however he damn well pleases without consequence because Hera is seen as an extension of his position rather than one that stands on its own.

If Persephone marries him, the treaty won’t keep her safe.

“Hardly a foolproof plan.”

I allow myself a grin, though it feels haggard on my face. “Will it make you feel better if we double the guards at the bridges in case he attempts to march Ares’s small army over the river?” It won’t happen and we both know it, but I’ve already planned on increasing security in the unlikely event Zeus tries to attack. I won’t be caught flat-footed like my parents were.

“No,” he grumbles. “But I suppose that’s a start.” Andreas sets his mug down. “You can’t keep the girl. Thumb your nose at him if you must, but you can’t keep her. He won’t allow it. Maybe he can’t move against you directly, but he’ll bait a trap to put you in violation of the treaty, and then the full might of those pretty fools will come down on you. Not even you can survive that. Certainly not your people.”

There it is. The constant reminder that I am not a mere man, that the weight of so many lives rest on my shoulders. In the upper city, the responsibility for the lives of its citizens falls on twelve sets of shoulders. In the lower city, there is only me. “It won’t be an issue.”

“You say that now, but if it were true, you never would have brought her back here.”

“I’m not keeping her.” The very idea is ludicrous. I can’t blame Persephone for not wanting to wear Zeus’s ring, but she’s still a pretty princess who’s been given everything her entire life. She might like her walk on the wild side for the duration of the winter, but the thought of something permanent would send her screaming into the night. It’s fine. I have no long-term use for a woman like that.

Andreas finally nods. “I suppose it’s too late to worry about it now. You’ll see it through.”

“I will.” One way or another.

What would it take to incite Zeus to break the treaty? Very little, I expect. His rage is legendary. He won’t take kindly to me “defiling” his pretty bride for everyone to see. It’s easy enough to orchestrate a little show to the proper people who are guaranteed to get the rumor mill spinning, and the story will spread through Olympus like wildfire. Enough people talking and Zeus might feel he has to do something rash. Something that will have actual consequences.

More, the people of Olympus will finally come face-to-face with the truth. Hades is not a myth, but I’m more than happy to play the boogeyman in real life if it accomplishes my goals.

Andreas has a contemplative look on his face. “Keep me in the loop?”

“Sure.” I sit on the edge of my desk. “This would be when I remind you that you’re retired.”

“Bah!” He waves that away. “You sound like that little shit, Charon.”

Considering Charon is his biological grandson and well on his way to becoming my right-hand man, “little shit” hardly fits as a descriptor. He’s twenty-seven and more capable than most of the people under my command. “He means well.”

“He’s meddlesome.”

A knock on the door and the man himself pokes his head in. He’s a spitting image of his grandfather, though his shoulders are broad and his dark hair covers his full head. But the bright-blue eyes, square chin, and confidence are all there. He catches sight of Andreas and grins. “Hey, Pop. You look like you need a nap.”

Andreas glares daggers. “Don’t think I can’t paddle your ass the same way I did when you were five.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” His tone says otherwise, but he always likes to play with fire when it comes to Andreas. Charon steps into the room and closes the door behind him. “You wanted to see me?”