The Goddess Inheritance
Page 77
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Reaching into the cradle, I touched Milo’s forehead to make sure he was still there. Reassured by the rise and fall of his chest, I padded out of the room, closing the door behind me. Even in the dead of night, the ceiling glowed brilliant blue, and the magnificent sunset swirled underneath me.
I didn’t consciously decide where to go. One minute I stood in the hallway, and the next my feet carried me into the throne room in search of someone else. After the evening we’d all had, chances were slim anyone else would be awake, but it was worth a shot.
In the entranceway, I stopped cold. The sky wasn’t blue here; instead the ceiling was dark as night, and the stars twinkled above us. The thrones were gone, and in their place a glass coffin rested on a raised platform. Inside, dressed in a white gown with roses in her hair, lay Ava.
Without thinking, I crossed the room and pressed my palm against the glass. Her lips were the color of cherries, and in the dim light, I could almost see her smile.
A lump formed in my throat. I opened my mouth to say something—to apologize, to promise I’d never forget her, to forgive her again and again until the universe had no choice but to believe me—but I couldn’t force out the words. She couldn’t hear them anyway, and I’d said it all in her last moments. She already knew.
“She isn’t really there.”
I scowled. “Leave me alone.”
A rustle of fabric, soft footsteps, and Walter stood by my side, looking every bit as aged as he had on the rooftop. “It’s a reflection of sorts, but more realistic than a simple picture.”
I pulled my hand from the glass and shifted half a step away from him. “Where’s her body?”
“Gone,” he said. “Back into the universe.”
“Then why is this—this hologram here?” The empty throne, the empty bedroom, the empty hole in our lives where she’d once been—as if all of that wasn’t enough to remind us she was gone.
Walter inhaled deeply, and as he exhaled, faint thunder rumbled through the throne room. “She lived a very long time, and her life touched many others. Those who wish to say their goodbyes will have the opportunity to do so.”
“Yet you aren’t doing the same for Calliope.”
He winced. “My wife chose her path. She chose to separate herself from the council. Ava did not.”
“No, she didn’t,” I said. “You chose it for her. You’re the reason she died.”
Walter stared into the coffin. “I have made many mistakes—”
“Mistakes?” My snarl echoed from one end of the room to the other. “Ava’s dead, and all you can say is that you made some mistakes?”
Walter faltered. Though he tried to draw himself up to his full height, tears spilled down his face, defeating any intention he had of intimidating me. “It is not your place to say—you could not possibly know the circumstances—”
“I know Ava’s dead. I know she only joined Calliope because you told her to.”
“For Nicholas,” he said. “For the greater good.”
“Is this worth the greater good?” I gestured to the coffin. “Is this worth knowing that if it hadn’t been for you, Ava would still be alive?”
“She would not be alive,” he said hoarsely. “None of us would be. Henry would have never joined the fight, and Cronus would have won. It is as simple as that.”
“Rhea won the war, not Henry. He wasn’t even fighting on our side for most of the battle.”
“Yes, he was,” said Walter. “On the rooftop, he was countering Calliope’s abilities. A difficult thing for any of us to do, even more difficult without being discovered, but he managed. When he came to us with your plans to surrender to Cronus, we knew what he intended to do, and with Ava aware that Calliope wanted to take Henry as well, we set up the ruse. All along, he was feeding us information about her and Cronus’s tactics. We would have never stood a fighting chance without his help. Or without Ava’s help. She is the reason—you are the reason he agreed to fight at all.”
“There had to be another way to keep Ava out of it. There’s always another way.”
“If there was, do you think I would have risked her?” said Walter. “Do you truly believe if there had been any feasible alternative to draw Henry into the war without her—”
“You could have asked. You could have given him time. You didn’t have to play Calliope’s games and risk everyone’s lives.” At last I faced him. “We’re not pieces on a chessboard, but that’s how you treated us, and now you’re paying for it. We all are. So I hope whatever lies you’ve told yourself keep you warm at night, because no one in their right mind is going to bother with you once everyone knows what you did.”
He touched the casket, and all the fight drained out of him, leaving a husk of a man where the King of the Gods had stood only moments before. “I know what I deserve. I do not need anyone, you or the Fates or the universe itself, to detail the mistakes I have made. I am paying for it now, and I will pay for it throughout the rest of my eternal existence. If that is not the hell you wish for me, then I do not know how much more I could possibly hurt to satisfy your desire for vengeance, daughter.”
“I am not your daughter.”
Walter bowed his head. Every instinct I had screamed for me to leave before he retaliated somehow—emotionally, physically, it didn’t matter—but my feet refused to move. This was the longest conversation I’d ever had with the man who was supposedly my father, and this was what it’d come to.
I didn’t consciously decide where to go. One minute I stood in the hallway, and the next my feet carried me into the throne room in search of someone else. After the evening we’d all had, chances were slim anyone else would be awake, but it was worth a shot.
In the entranceway, I stopped cold. The sky wasn’t blue here; instead the ceiling was dark as night, and the stars twinkled above us. The thrones were gone, and in their place a glass coffin rested on a raised platform. Inside, dressed in a white gown with roses in her hair, lay Ava.
Without thinking, I crossed the room and pressed my palm against the glass. Her lips were the color of cherries, and in the dim light, I could almost see her smile.
A lump formed in my throat. I opened my mouth to say something—to apologize, to promise I’d never forget her, to forgive her again and again until the universe had no choice but to believe me—but I couldn’t force out the words. She couldn’t hear them anyway, and I’d said it all in her last moments. She already knew.
“She isn’t really there.”
I scowled. “Leave me alone.”
A rustle of fabric, soft footsteps, and Walter stood by my side, looking every bit as aged as he had on the rooftop. “It’s a reflection of sorts, but more realistic than a simple picture.”
I pulled my hand from the glass and shifted half a step away from him. “Where’s her body?”
“Gone,” he said. “Back into the universe.”
“Then why is this—this hologram here?” The empty throne, the empty bedroom, the empty hole in our lives where she’d once been—as if all of that wasn’t enough to remind us she was gone.
Walter inhaled deeply, and as he exhaled, faint thunder rumbled through the throne room. “She lived a very long time, and her life touched many others. Those who wish to say their goodbyes will have the opportunity to do so.”
“Yet you aren’t doing the same for Calliope.”
He winced. “My wife chose her path. She chose to separate herself from the council. Ava did not.”
“No, she didn’t,” I said. “You chose it for her. You’re the reason she died.”
Walter stared into the coffin. “I have made many mistakes—”
“Mistakes?” My snarl echoed from one end of the room to the other. “Ava’s dead, and all you can say is that you made some mistakes?”
Walter faltered. Though he tried to draw himself up to his full height, tears spilled down his face, defeating any intention he had of intimidating me. “It is not your place to say—you could not possibly know the circumstances—”
“I know Ava’s dead. I know she only joined Calliope because you told her to.”
“For Nicholas,” he said. “For the greater good.”
“Is this worth the greater good?” I gestured to the coffin. “Is this worth knowing that if it hadn’t been for you, Ava would still be alive?”
“She would not be alive,” he said hoarsely. “None of us would be. Henry would have never joined the fight, and Cronus would have won. It is as simple as that.”
“Rhea won the war, not Henry. He wasn’t even fighting on our side for most of the battle.”
“Yes, he was,” said Walter. “On the rooftop, he was countering Calliope’s abilities. A difficult thing for any of us to do, even more difficult without being discovered, but he managed. When he came to us with your plans to surrender to Cronus, we knew what he intended to do, and with Ava aware that Calliope wanted to take Henry as well, we set up the ruse. All along, he was feeding us information about her and Cronus’s tactics. We would have never stood a fighting chance without his help. Or without Ava’s help. She is the reason—you are the reason he agreed to fight at all.”
“There had to be another way to keep Ava out of it. There’s always another way.”
“If there was, do you think I would have risked her?” said Walter. “Do you truly believe if there had been any feasible alternative to draw Henry into the war without her—”
“You could have asked. You could have given him time. You didn’t have to play Calliope’s games and risk everyone’s lives.” At last I faced him. “We’re not pieces on a chessboard, but that’s how you treated us, and now you’re paying for it. We all are. So I hope whatever lies you’ve told yourself keep you warm at night, because no one in their right mind is going to bother with you once everyone knows what you did.”
He touched the casket, and all the fight drained out of him, leaving a husk of a man where the King of the Gods had stood only moments before. “I know what I deserve. I do not need anyone, you or the Fates or the universe itself, to detail the mistakes I have made. I am paying for it now, and I will pay for it throughout the rest of my eternal existence. If that is not the hell you wish for me, then I do not know how much more I could possibly hurt to satisfy your desire for vengeance, daughter.”
“I am not your daughter.”
Walter bowed his head. Every instinct I had screamed for me to leave before he retaliated somehow—emotionally, physically, it didn’t matter—but my feet refused to move. This was the longest conversation I’d ever had with the man who was supposedly my father, and this was what it’d come to.
