Chapter Sixteen

Flower

Andy dropped the Trident and reached for Darko, watching in dumb shock as Heracles’s broken column came down upon his friend.

It happened so quickly.

There was nothing he could do.

One moment, Darko was alive and well.

The next, mangled beyond repair.

Gobs of warm red splattered Andy’s face, Darko’s horns and skull and the rest of his bones crunching under the force of the marble.

Time seemed to slow, and Andy fell to his knees. He thought he heard someone else screaming Darko’s name, but when he tasted blood coming up from his throat, he realized he was the one howling for his friend.

There was shouting all around him. A pair of legs running past him. Then someone—Karter, maybe—lifted the pillar off Darko.

Andy couldn’t bear to gaze at what remained of him. No, you have to, he thought. You have to make sure.

When Andy looked, he wished he hadn’t. Darko was no longer there, a mound of bloody skin and fur riddled with crushed organs and shattered bone left in his wake. If Diana couldn’t heal Pearl after her decapitation, or give Zoey back her hand after Persephone chopped it off, there was no way the Daughter of Apollo could fix this mess.

A pair of arms flew around Andy’s neck, and a face pressed into his chest—Zoey, they belonged to Zoey, it was Zoey. Her body was racked with something that sounded like sobs. Or, at least, Andy thought that’s what they sounded like. He couldn’t hear much over his own wailing.

Andy wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. All he knew was that suddenly someone else grabbed him by the arm and tried to drag him away. And although he knew they had to get out of the palace, although he knew they had to escape Olympus, something told him he couldn’t leave Darko.

He yanked himself from their grasp and wrapped his arms around Zoey, tighter than ever. He rested his head on hers, and they cried together. Someone came up behind him, rested a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed, as if trying to be comforting.

That was when Darko’s blood evaporated into the air. His body—what remained of it—trembled, shrinking into the size and shape of a small pot. Then its texture and color shifted into that of rich brown soil, and it began sprouting healthy green grass.

Finally, a stem with a little bulb emerged from the vegetation. As quickly as the stem had risen, the bulb burst open, revealing the scarlet petals of a flower.

Andy relinquished some of his hold on Zoey to gently brush the flower’s petals—velvety soft beneath his fingers. He gulped down a cry, his vocal cords ripped raw from all the screaming. He wasn’t sure whether he’d be able to talk for a while, but at the same time, he didn’t care whether he could.

“It’s a poppy,” Diana whispered from behind Andy, her voice cracking with anguish. She must have been the one holding his shoulder. “Darko—he turned into a poppy flower.”

Zoey lifted her head from Andy’s chest and pulled away from him. Her eyes were already puffy, her cheeks soaked with tears. Tentatively, she picked up Darko’s red poppy by the soil housing it. She sniffled and said, “We can’t leave him here.”

“I’ll carry him down,” Andy croaked, staring hard at the flower. “When all of this is over, I’ll plant him somewhere amazing.”

And just like that, Darko was in Andy’s arms, smaller and more breakable than ever.

Before Andy knew it, all of them were running down the halls of Zeus’s palace again—Karter in front, Diana in back. They left Heracles behind; the god lay “dead” on the floor, stab wounds and lightning scorch marks riddling his body.

Someone had also put the bag holding the Master Lightning Bolt on Andy’s back, though he didn’t know who had done it or when they had done it. Beside him, Zoey ran with the sack holding the Helm of Darkness on her own back, the Trident in her hand.

Soon they reached Troy and Marina, who were hiding behind a pillar. Karter threw the twins over his shoulders, and then they fled to the Son of Zeus’s room.

Once they made it to Karter’s room, the demigod punched the glass out of the window. Outside, a gray pegasus whinnied at him. After everyone climbed outside, Diana and Zoey mounted the creature, while Karter continued carrying Troy and Marina. Andy simply held tight to the flower.

On the other side of the palace, the screams of battle roared on, but Andy hardly processed the sounds. Instead, as he and the others flew off Olympus and soared toward solid land, he could think of nothing but the people he’d loved and lost.

First Dad.

Then Mark, Mom, and Mel-Mel.

After that, Spencer.

Now Darko.

He wasn’t sure whether he’d been crying minutes ago, but he was now. Tears slipped down his cheeks as he held Darko’s poppy flower close to his chest, protecting it from the biting wind.

The clouds around him suddenly cleared, and he caught sight of Zoey as she rode the gray pegasus with Diana. Her long curls flew around her in the most beautiful way he’d seen yet. The sight only made him cry harder, and he stumbled in the air. Never, he thought, catching himself, regaining his balance. I’ll never lose her. I won’t let it happen.

Clinging to that comforting thought, Andy sobered up. He held his head a bit higher, managed to quell his tears.

Soon they reached the trees below. What they would do next, he had no idea. But he did know one thing: They now had all three objects they’d set out to steal. The Helm of Darkness, Poseidon’s Trident, and the Master Lightning Bolt.

It was time to put those objects to good use.

It was time to end this war on the gods.

Persephone’s eyes snapped open as she gasped for breath. She cried out in terror, though she had no idea why.

The familiar scents of mold and mildew and death and decay assaulted her nostrils, and although her head spun, rendering her surroundings a blur of red and black, she immediately knew where she was. Hades’s castle in the Underworld.

“Shhh, sweet daughter, shhh,” the familiar voice of her mother whispered to her. A hand stroked her cheeks, her hair. “It is all right. Catch your breath, and understand that you will never burn in Tartarus again. I will make sure of it.” Tartarus? Persephone thought, a vague image of the massive pit and the cerulean fire within flashing across her mind. Who said anything about—

It was then that the memories came surging back.

First Spencer summoning her to ask her for help. She lied to him, of course, agreeing to aid him on his quest to help the Chosen Two of the Prophecy steal the Helm of Darkness from her husband. She’d been plotting for years to kill her wretch of a stepson without facing punishment by Hades, and this situation presented her with a more-than-perfect opportunity to do so.

Next Hades as she stabbed him in the back and sliced his head from his neck. Spencer as she heaved her sword through his innards. She slipped the Helm of Darkness over her head and started toward Tartarus with her husband’s head, intending to hurl it into the pit, where it could never reunite with the rest of the body and regenerate.

Last, the Chosen Two and Karter, Son of Zeus as they battled her at the edge of Tartarus. “You’re fighting for the wrong side,” she told them. “Join me, all of you, and I can assure you you’ll live to see another day. We’ll steal Poseidon’s Trident. We’ll steal the Lightning Bolt. Together, we’ll take down the Olympians, and I’ll rule as your queen. Queen of the world.”

The impertinent mortals refused her offer. They cast her into the scorching blue flames.

Then she was falling, falling, falling. After what felt like forever, she crashed into a cluster of sharp rocks. There was burning, blinding pain, and she saw her blood—yes, red blood, not the golden ichor that usually flowed through a god’s veins—and entrails splattering all about. And after that, nothing.

Until now.

Persephone blinked hard, trying to fix her vision, and soon she could see she lay in a cave-like chamber, the high ceilings and wide windowless walls lodged with skulls and precious gems. The throne room. I must have died in Tartarus, she thought, then regenerated when Mother retrieved me and brought me here. But how . . . how did she manage it? How did she free me from Tartarus? It’s practically impossible, even for gods.

Demeter’s face came into view, hovering over Persephone’s. The goddess’s lustrous, spiraled brown hair was tied back in a severe bun, but even so, several curls had escaped the ties and clips. The loose strands stuck out every which way, as if the goddess had been standing out in violent winds for hours. Not only that, but thermal burns peppered her forehead and cheeks. Persephone assumed her mother obtained those injuries during her time in Tartarus.

What struck Persephone the most, however, was the crazed look in her mother’s hazel eyes. She had not seen Demeter so frantic in millennia, not since the goddess had first retrieved Persephone from the Underworld after Hades kidnapped her and forced her to marry him.

Another familiar deity appeared in Persephone’s line of sight, one that made her stomach sick. As usual, his dark hair was greasy, his cheeks as sunken and pale as a corpse’s. Hades.

Although Hades seemed concerned for Persephone as he gazed down at her, she knew better than to fall for his manipulations. Whenever she had resisted him in the past, he had beaten her down with unending cruelty. It was only after she had resigned herself to being his obedient wife—his dutiful Persephone, Queen of the Underworld—that he had shown her any love or tenderness.

She was sure he didn’t know of her betrayal and murder of his bastard son. Otherwise, he would have already re-banished her to Tartarus in a fit of rage without consulting the other gods first. Even still, she didn’t plan on hiding her treachery from him. I will never serve him again. Not after everything he put me through.

However, one question burned through Persephone’s mind. Why had her mother saved Hades from Tartarus, too? Demeter loathed Hades—at least, she acted like it and said as much. What in all the gods’ names was going on?

Persephone shot to her feet, shoving Demeter and Hades away even though they towered over her. “Mother, why?” she cried in indignation. “Why did you save him? How could you? You know of the horrors that revolting demon has committed against me.” Her eyes filled with hot tears, electrifying magic coursing through her veins as she prepared to battle them both. She knew she was no match for them, but that didn’t mean she would go down without a fight. Blackened vines and grass crunched as they twisted and curled out of her palms. “I finally rid myself of this sham of a union, and you decide to ally yourself with the god who forced it upon me?”

“Calm yourself, Persephone,” Hades said with a condescending smirk. “You are hysterical. Your mother has always wanted to keep you to herself. Do you really believe she’d forfeit the opportunity to do just that? Or did you consider the possibility that she had orders to save me, as well?”

Persephone bared her teeth. “My mother always advocated for my freedom, not to ‘keep me to herself.’ Don’t you recall, or is your memory truly so feeble? She did all she could to protect me from you.” She launched her plants toward her husband’s neck and limbs. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink.

Before the vegetation could reach Hades, the blade of a sword sliced through all of it. Persephone’s pulse quickened as she stumbled backward. Who else was here?

She looked over to see who the sword belonged to: Ares, God of War. Ares was unmistakable even beneath all the armor, his scarlet flesh and hair peeking out from under the coverings. Behind him stood more gods she knew: blue-skinned Poseidon, cunning-eyed Hermes, silver-haired Athena, and deformity-ridden Hephaestus. They all wore armor like the God of War’s. Persephone glanced back at her mother to find that Demeter had donned similar metal attire, though the Goddess of Harvest had her helmet tucked under one arm.

Athena strolled ahead of the other gods toward Persephone, shoulders back, head held high. “Persephone, Zeus sent the six of us on a mission to Tartarus not only to banish Apollo, but also to save you and Hades.” Persephone’s heart fell to her feet. Apollo had been banished to Tartarus? Despite the history they shared, and despite the fact that he was an Olympian, she’d never wished for him to suffer such a fate . . .

What all had transpired in her absence?

“Our king knows about the little stunt you pulled recently, too,” Ares said, brandishing his sword. “How you conspired against the gods with Spencer, Son of Hades, to steal the Helm of Darkness. How you murdered the boy and took the Helm for yourself. How you tossed your husband’s head into Tartarus so he could never again regenerate.”

At these words, Hades’s expression lit with fury. A low growl escaped his throat. “How dare you.” He stalked toward her. “How dare you disobey me.”

She raised her arms, readying herself to fight, but there was a blur of movement—Hermes using his super-speed. He stopped in front of Hades, blocking the god from coming any closer. Demeter did the same.

“Now, now, brother,” Poseidon began, sauntering forward, “you mustn’t act rashly. We’re going to need dear Persephone for the upcoming battle, you see.”

Hades glared at Poseidon. “Battle? What battle?”

“The Daughter of Apollo and the late Daughter of Poseidon somehow resurrected the Chosen Two of the Dreaded Prophecy,” Hephaestus explained in his grumbling way. “The Chosen Two then stole your Helm of Darkness. They also managed to take Poseidon’s Trident.”

The King of the Underworld balled his fists at his sides. “What?”

“Don’t forget the Master Lightning Bolt,” Hermes added. “Just a short while ago, I made a call to Zeus to let him know our mission was successful and that you both would regenerate shortly. He told us the Chosen Two stole the Lightning Bolt earlier this evening, during what was supposed to be Diana, Daughter of Apollo’s execution. Apparently, my demigod half-brother had a change of heart. Rather than executing Diana and becoming an immortal god, as he was supposed to, Karter saved her and helped the Chosen Two instead. Together, they all escaped Olympus.”

“You imbeciles!” Hades bellowed, the walls and ceiling trembling at his screams. “How could you have let this happen?”

“We might ask the same of you, Uncle,” Athena snapped. “This debacle began in your domain, after all. You could have nipped it in the bud right here in this castle, but you didn’t.”

Hades yelled something at Athena, but Persephone couldn’t register what was said. She shrank back, swallowing hard, the hairs on the back of her neck standing straight. The Chosen Two have all three of the pantheon’s most powerful objects. What does this mean for the gods? For Mother and me?

Footfalls echoed from somewhere behind Poseidon, Athena, Ares, and Hephaestus. Everyone looked that way, and Persephone sucked in a sharp breath at who she saw enter the chamber.

“I see the mission to banish my twin to Tartarus and rescue Hades and Persephone was successful,” Artemis said bitterly as she approached them. She wore no armor, no coverings. Just her regular old tattered dress, her bow and quiver of arrows slung over her back.

Athena’s jaw dropped. “Sister, what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be hunting the Chosen Two.”

Artemis halted at Athena’s side. “I was, and I found them. But before I could capture them, the girl used the Helm and Trident to perform a variation of the Descent Spell and sent me to one of the farthest reaches of the Underworld. I traveled here, hoping to find the lot of you before you transported home.”

For a long while, the gods seemed to be holding their breaths, not saying a word.

Finally, Hades spoke. “How did they discover the Descent Spell’s existence in the first place? How did they uncover the secrets of our magical objects? Harness the divine power to use them?”

“The girl claimed she was Calliope incarnate,” Artemis replied. “She also said the boy was Anteros. I sensed their divine essences, but it cannot be true. They are only mortal humans. Besides, Calliope and Anteros faded away centuries ago.”

Athena snapped her fingers and turned to Poseidon. “Wait a moment. Uncle, didn’t you and Triton and Amphitrite say something like that? Didn’t you tell Zeus about the Chosen Two resembling Anteros and Calliope, and that you thought they might have come back from the dead?”

Poseidon stroked his beard as if considering the question. “I did, but he dismissed my claims. He says it’s impossible. That we must have been mistaken.”

“And what if you were not mistaken?” Demeter asked. “What if Calliope and Anteros are alive and well, hell-bent on destroying the pantheon for some godsforsaken reason? Don’t you think it would prove that we never truly die, even if we fade away from lack of worship?”

“It would prove nothing,” Poseidon retorted. “If those mortal nuisances are Calliope and Anteros, that means they never really faded away in the first place. No, if they are Calliope and Anteros, then something greater is at work here.”

Ares pointed his sword at Poseidon. Persephone could see his skin growing an even more vibrant shade of scarlet in the places it was visible. That happened whenever he worked himself up, which was often. “Who they are is irrelevant,” Ares spat. “The fact remains: they are waging war on us. They have stolen our greatest weapons, and they have discovered our secrets.”

Athena rested a hand on Ares’s shoulder as if to calm him. “Fear not, brother. The Chosen Two cannot defeat us even with such advantages. Just as Zeus says, it is only through fantastical strokes of luck that they’ve come this far.” She glanced at all the gods in the room, her gaze falling on Persephone last. A shiver snaked down Persephone’s spine as Athena went on. “So long as we work together, we will destroy them once and for all.”