The park was stunning. There was no other word to describe it. Gems of all shapes and sizes were on full display in the light. Bright cardinals and vivid jays were spotted amongst the jeweled fruit and flowers. Hope stopped to admire a cluster of Gerbera daisies cut from a startling orange-colored gem.

“Do you like them?” The lilt of the voice announced the divinity of the feminine speaker.

Hope turned, expecting to find three women, but instead stood face-to-face with Artemis.

The goddess had her silver hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Her dark, fitted clothes were rumpled and stained. But what made Hope’s heart stop were the red-rimmed eyes of a woman who had spent a significant amount of time crying.

Hope swallowed. “They remind me of her.”

Artemis nodded. “Gerberas were her favorite.”

The goddess’s hand rested on the hilt of a silver blade. “Did you know when a demigod dies, their immortal blades are returned to their parent?”

The lump in Hope’s throat thickened, and her eyes welled with tears. She shook her head.

“Did you know it was I that charged her to take care of the cursed Sphinx? I thought it a kindness to the monster that my brother had created, but it also gave her purpose. She looked at Phoibe as if she were her own child.”

Artemis pointed to a bench, and Hope followed. They sat on the dark stone, and Hope was struck that it seemed to radiate heat from within. She wanted to curl into that warmth as she distanced herself from the bitter look of the goddess next to her.

“I’m sorry,” Hope whispered.

Artemis nodded. “You’re sorry. As if that will make any difference.” She looked up at the sky. “Did you know Priska lost her husband and daughter long before your great-grandmother was born? She mourned them unlike anything I’d ever seen. She tried to take her own life. Again and again and again. At one point I questioned the wisdom in stopping her, but every single time I couldn’t let her go. And then Phoibe seemed the perfect answer. An unwanted daughter of the gods. She would live forever. Hera was too stupid, or too blinded, to want to keep her only demigod daughter, and she gladly relinquished her rights to me. And then my brother . . . Of course I had to step in. But now? This is how you repaid me for my infinite kindness?”

Tears dripped down Hope’s cheeks. “I didn’t know she would do that.”

“Of course not.” Artemis’s hand rubbed the black stone. “You are still far too young to understand the sacrifices one makes for love”—she sniffed—“or duty.”

The words were a dagger to Hope’s heart. “Was that all I was?”

Artemis stood and pointed at Hope. “She was too good to have been wasted on this. You’d better hope our paths don’t cross again, monster. I won’t be so kind if they do.”

Hope wanted to say she would make it right, that somehow she would make up the loss. But she had nothing to give. Nothing to offer the goddess. Hope bowed her head and let the tears fall. It didn’t matter what she said. Nothing would be good enough. So she said nothing.

Doubt crept in. Was all of this truly selfish? Was it selfish to want to be free from a curse? Maybe it was.

“It’s not,” a woman said, taking the abandoned spot next to Hope.

Hope wiped her eyes. The girl sitting next to her was dressed in a pale blue chiton edged in silver. She held an odd walking stick with markings in ancient Greek that ran the length of it. Her thick brunette curls cascaded over her shoulder, covering the strap of the leather messenger bag at her hip.

Standing beside the bench were two other young women: one blond with fair skin, who was clacking two knitting needles together; the other, with dark, cropped hair, appeared macabre with several pairs of shears hanging from leather straps.

“Don’t lie to her,” the dark-haired one snapped. “It is selfish.”

“But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong,” the blond said without looking up from her needles.

The brunette smiled at Hope. “Don’t mind my sisters.”

They looked nothing like sisters. Oh! Oh, gods! Literally. “You’re the Fates?” The shears. The measuring stick. The knitting. Of course they were. Hope looked at the blond goddess. “Is that really the thread of someone’s life?”

Atropos leaned over Hope. “Do you really think you have the power to cut someone’s thread that wasn’t meant to die?”

Hope shook her head.

“That’s right. You don’t.” The goddess who measured life stepped back and grabbed the blond by the elbow. “Come on, Clo. Sit down. Move, Lachesis.”

Lachesis laughed and stood. She extended her hand to Hope in invitation. “Let’s go walk through Rhadamanthus’s garden.”

Hope stood, mostly to clear the bench for the other Fates. “Will he be upset we’re in here?”

Atropos snorted, and Lachesis laughed again. “No. He won’t mind.”

Hope followed after the goddess who measured man’s life. Hope had so many questions, but her mind blanked on every single one.

“You want to know how to break the curse.” Lachesis walked past the daisies and onto a well-used path through the jeweled garden. “But you already know that it’s impossible.”

Disappointment churned in Hope’s stomach. “Then why did I come?”

The goddess fingered a thin branch, and the dangling stones shook and swung. “Answer your own question,” she prompted.

Why had Hope come? “To talk with my mother. To find out if there is anything else I can do.”

“Would you bargain with another god to make the curse shift or change?”

Hope’s first instinct was to say yes. If she got to choose the terms of the agreement, she would make a bargain with another god. But then, that would enslave her to that god. She didn’t want to owe anyone anything.

“What if I offered you aid in exchange for a service?”

“No matter what, I’m going to owe someone something, right? Is that what you’re saying?”

Lachesis let go of the branch, and the entire shrub shimmied. “No. Do you feel indebted to Athan? Or Xan or Dahlia? Do you think they feel indebted to you?”

There was no reason for any of them to feel indebted to her, and she said as much.

“Do you feel you owe Priska something?”

“She’s the one who made it possible for me to come here, and she died. Of course I feel like I owe her.”

“Do you feel like she owed you something?”

“No.”

“Really? Your grandmother gave her a purpose to live when she had none. She gave her joy. Because she continued to live, she found love again and again. And not just romantic love, although she did find that again, right?”

“But it was still my fault she died,” Hope choked out.

“Did you ask her to?”

“No.”

It was a difficult concept to wrap her head around. She couldn’t help the guilt that hung heavily in her chest. Hope wanted to push it away or ignore it. Not have a conversation about whose fault it was.

“What if I told you she did it because she felt guilty about not being there for you, like she’d promised to you all those years ago? What if her death was an attempt to make it right by you?”

“Why would she do that?”

Lachesis pursed her lips. “Don’t take Artemis’s words to heart. She is hurt and mourning her only daughter’s death. Even so, if there comes a time where you could do a service for the goddess of night, you might consider it an olive branch. The gods have long memories.”

“So, I do owe her?”

Lachesis turned to Hope and pointed at her stick. “You don’t owe anyone anything. Life doesn’t work that way. If you are constantly trying to keep track or keep a tally, you will miss out on the opportunities to be an influence when it actually matters. I’m the one that measures worth. No one else, not god nor mortal. However, if you want someone to be on your side, it never hurts to help them achieve their goals, either. Maybe give them a reason to like you. Especially true when you’re dealing with gods.”

“So I don’t have to, but I still should give her something if I can?” Wasn’t that the same thing? Hope felt like the conversation was going in circles, and she couldn’t keep up.

They continued down the path, only to see Atropos and Clotho ahead of them on the bench.

“Your choices are yours, and you will have to live with them. Be careful whom you trust, and always be polite.”

“You sound like my mother,” Hope said with a wan smile.

“Yes. Let’s go see her now.” Lachesis grabbed Hope’s wrist, stopping her on the path before the bench. The ground seemed to drop out from under them, and Hope stumbled to gain her footing.