Читать книгу God of Thieves - Aimee Carter - Страница 7

There’s a rumor going around that I stole my big brother’s cattle the day I was born. That hours into my life, I not only managed to wrangle fifty prized cows and hide them from Apollo, but I invented the lute, as well.

Hours into my life. Not days, not years, but hours.

Come on. I’m good, but I’m not that good.

So let’s set the record straight: I was seven when I invented the lute, and Apollo spent the next four years trying to steal it from me. But since he’s not me, he failed time and time again, and that’s when I stole his cattle to see if I could—when I was eleven.

Eleven years old, not eleven hours old. I guess it sounds better to say that a newborn did all those things, somehow making me more godlike or powerful, but I’ve never met a newborn who could sit up, let alone herd cattle.

It’d be pretty cool though, I have to admit.

But it did get one thing right: Apollo was pissed. And I did have to give him my favorite lute in return for not getting thrown off Olympus. So there’s that.

Ever since, it feels like I’ve been living that down. Every time I do something the council doesn’t like, Zeus rolls his eyes and brings it up again, while Apollo sits there smugly. I don’t know what they expect—I’m just doing my job, exactly like all the others. No need for them to act all high and mighty and ignore me.

But this time, I admit I deserved it. I sat in the otherwise empty throne room of Olympus, throwing a ball against the wall and catching it as it flew past me. Nothing much happened in the throne room without the council present, but it was never completely abandoned for this long, and I knew exactly why.

Me.

Ever since Persephone had given up her immortality and single-handedly thrown the council into chaos three decades ago, I’d been persona non grata. No one spoke to me. My suggestions during meetings were completely ignored. Even the minor gods and goddesses gave me the cold shoulder, as if being a pariah was contagious or something. For all I knew, it was. One touch and they’d never have a decent conversation again.

Normally it wouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did. Wasn’t the first time I’d been shoved into social exile, after all. But this time Zeus hadn’t brought up cattle even once. And when Zeus missed an opportunity like that, clearly it was serious.

Funny thing is, none of this was my fault. If they were going to blame someone, they should’ve blamed Aphrodite or Ares. She was the one who’d messed things up so badly with Adonis, after all, and Ares had been the one to kill him. I’d just had an affair with Persephone eons ago.

That was it. That was my entire involvement—falling in love with my best friend and giving her some freedom when everyone else had been trying to keep her in chains. Not exactly a capital crime if you ask me, but no one ever does.

The council needed a scapegoat though, and I was convenient. No way Zeus would ever punish Aphrodite for anything, or Ares, Hera’s favorite son. So I, the screwup, was forced to take the blame even though I’d never said a single word to Adonis.

Not fair, not at all, but the council doesn’t exactly run on fairness.

Scowling, I threw the ball hard against the wall, and it bounced off at an angle, heading directly toward the circle of thrones in the center of the room. With a muttered curse, I stood. Couldn’t give Zeus any more of a reason to get pissed off at me. I was already way over the line as it was, at least as far as he saw it. And on the council, that was all that mattered.

“Looking for this?”

At the sound of that familiar voice, I grinned and turned around. Apparently not everyone had completely given up on me. Just almost everyone. “Iris. Haven’t seen you for a few decades.”

“Zeus sent me on a scouting trip.” She examined the rubber ball and gave it a tentative bounce. “It wasn’t pleasant. Besides the fact that it took half a damn century, a lion tried to eat me, and he looked awfully confused when his teeth and claws seemed to stop working.”

“Shame he didn’t succeed.” I leaned up against the wall, crossing my arms. “I could use a new job.”

“As if you could do a tenth of what I do.”

I snorted. “Please. Zeus only lets you be his messenger because no one else wants the job. And you don’t snitch on him to Hera. Or gossip about his affairs. That’s more than just about any other minor god or goddess out there, you know.”

A dimple appeared on her cheek, one that only showed up when she was annoyed. Usually with me. “I am anything but minor. What’s wrong with the job you have now?”

“You mean you haven’t heard?” I said, raising my eyebrow. Then again, she was talking to me. Couldn’t have known much. “Persephone gave up her immortality. Rather than everyone blaming someone who actually had something to do with it, they all decided to gang up on me instead.”

Iris’s eyes widened, and she seemed to forget about the ball in midair. With a dull thump, it hit her on the head, right in the middle of her coppery curls. “Wait—you mean that actually happened?”

I eyed her. Was she pretending to be clueless to get my side of the story, or did she really not know? “What have you heard? Kick the ball my way, would you?”

She made a halfhearted attempt, but the ball only rolled three-quarters of the way back to me. Figured. “I heard whispers. Nothing confirmed. Then again, I haven’t exactly been in the center of things lately.”

No, she hadn’t, which was a damn good thing for me. “Persephone fell in love with a mortal. Unfortunately for her, Aphrodite was already sleeping with him—”

“Who isn’t Aphrodite sleeping with?” muttered Iris, and I smirked.

“Ares was his usual violent self and decided to take out the competition. Wild boar,” I added when her mouth opened. She winced and touched her stomach in sympathy. “Apparently the mortal’s afterlife wasn’t so great, so Persephone decided to sacrifice her immortality and die in order to give him an incentive to leave his own personal hell for something better.”

“Oh.” Iris let out a romantic little sigh, and now it was my turn to make a face. “Did it work?”

I shrugged and averted my eyes under the guise of fetching the ball. “No idea.”

“You mean Hades hasn’t mentioned it?”

“We’re not exactly on speaking terms.”

“No surprise there. But none of the others brought it up?”

“We’re not exactly on speaking terms, either.”

Her eyebrows arched. “They’re taking this whole ganging up thing seriously, aren’t they?”

“You’re telling me,” I muttered.

She crossed the space between us and set her hand on my cheek. Against my better judgment, I tilted my head into her touch. First time anyone had bothered in months. For a second, our gazes met, and her weird purple irises seemed to turn an even darker shade of violet.

“Your eyes are the shade of ripe grapes,” I said. “What does that mean?”

She dropped her hand and gave me a look, and her eyes reverted to their normal purple. Or at least it was normal around me. They changed color with her mood, I knew that much—sort of like Persephone’s hair with the seasons—but what those colors meant, she refused to tell me. Not that I blamed her, but still. The few clues I had weren’t much to go on. When I wasn’t public enemy number one, Ares had informed me in no uncertain terms that her eyes were blue, and Aphrodite swore up and down they were green.

Didn’t matter anyway. Eyes were eyes, and Iris didn’t deserve to have her emotions splashed all over the place. We might not have been big on privacy, but even that was crossing the line.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s terrible of them to put you through that. Not even you deserve the cold shoulder from your whole family, even if you are an ass.”

“I think that’s about the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.” She touched my hand this time, barely a brush, but again it was more affection than anyone else had shown me. “I’m afraid I don’t exactly have the best news, either. You might want to stick around—there’s a good chance Zeus is going to call a meeting as soon as I find him.”

Fantastic. Another opportunity for the rest of the council to pretend I didn’t exist. “What sort of news?”

“The kind they’ll need Hades for,” she said, and I grimaced. Definitely not good. Hades normally avoided coming up here, only bothering for the big stuff that would affect his realm, too. And the things that affected the Underworld were never warm and fuzzy. Or easy to work out.

So much for having a halfway decent day, relatively speaking. And with Iris back, it would have been.

Sure enough, shortly after she ran off to track down Zeus, a booming voice filled my head. The council will convene in five minutes. Everyone is required to attend.

Apparently Iris hadn’t been overreacting. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been required to attend a council meeting. Generally everyone came because if we didn’t, we’d risk getting kicked off, and going from kings to paupers wasn’t exactly the greatest feeling in the world. But being required to come was definitely something new.

I reached my throne first, of course, considering I was in the room anyway. Everyone else arrived promptly, and even Hades made it in under the wire, appearing right as Zeus took his seat. I eyed my father’s face. Brow knit, prominent frown. His usual cheery self.

“I am afraid Iris has brought news of Helios and Selene,” he said quietly. That was odd. No formal announcement that the meeting had started, no showing off and making sure everyone knew he was the one in charge. Just this. Dread settled over me. This wouldn’t be good.

“What about them?” said Demeter, her frown matching Zeus’s. At least I wasn’t the only one who had no idea what was going on. Why was Zeus worrying about Helios and Selene anyway? They were ancient gods, older than Athena, and while they weren’t part of the original six siblings that formed the council, they were powerful in their own right. God of the Sun and Goddess of the Moon, at least until Apollo and Artemis had more or less hijacked their roles. No doubt they could take care of themselves without Zeus’s so-called help.

He hesitated, focusing on the portal in the middle of our circle. “They’re gone.”

A murmur rippled through the council, and I sat up straighter. “What do you mean, gone?”

But of course Zeus didn’t respond. After ignoring me for so long, it was entirely possible he’d trained himself to tune me out. Wouldn’t put it past him. Across from me, however, Ares jumped to his feet, already reaching for his sheathed sword. Typical.

“We will scour the world until we find them, and we will show their captors what happens when one dares to kidnap a god,” he growled. “Hermes! Where are they?”

So now they wanted to talk to me, when I was the only one who could help them. But I wasn’t exactly in a position to demand any niceties, so with a sigh, I closed my eyes and dived down, focusing on the one clear memory I had of Helios. When I was six, he took me for a ride in his chariot—which, contrary to popular belief at that point in time, was not actually the sun. Just a representation of it, more or less. And that was when I spotted Apollo’s cattle, and the plotting started from there.

I focused on Helios’s face. Tan, with deep-set pale eyes and a narrow nose. The details were important; names sometimes weren’t enough, and the more I could picture who or what I wanted to find, the easier it was. Though I didn’t actually go anywhere, I felt as if I was flying above the earth, scouring the land for any sign of him. He’d be easy enough to spot—whatever I wanted to find stood out like sunshine against the greens and browns of earth.

But I couldn’t find him. I mentally circled the world three times, but nothing jumped out at me.

Great. I repeated the process again, this time picturing Selene’s pale, oval face and her doe eyes. I’d never met anyone who looked like her before, and it should’ve been easy to spot that unique glow.

Three times around again, and still nothing. I huffed with frustration. This never happened. I always found what I was looking for.

I opened my eyes, and everyone—even Demeter and Hades—was staring at me. My lips thinned. This wasn’t exactly the break I needed to get back on their good side. “I couldn’t find them.”

“What do you mean—” started Ares, but I cut him off.

“I mean, I couldn’t find them,” I snapped.

“Did you check the cold lands?” said Ares, and I nodded. “What about the Underworld?”

“Of course.” I wasn’t stupid. “They aren’t anywhere.”

Silence. Ares sat back down slowly, while everyone else glanced at one another, too afraid to say anything.

“You are sure?” said Zeus in a low voice, glaring at me as if this was my fault.

“I’m sure,” I said. “I checked three times. It’s like they don’t exist anymore.”

“Cronus warned us this might happen,” said Hera. “He said we would not last forever, dependent as we are on mortals. Our purpose is so wrapped up in them that when we are no longer needed—”

“But who among us is more necessary to mortal life than the sun and the moon?” said Demeter. The two of them glared at each other, and while normally I would’ve been on the edge of my seat in anticipation of a catfight, somehow now didn’t seem like the time.

Hera raised her chin half an inch so she could look down her nose at Demeter. Not that I was judging—I wasn’t Demeter’s biggest fan right now, either, after the way she’d treated Persephone. But still. Life and death, people. “I hardly see their importance now that Apollo and Artemis have usurped their roles.”

“We didn’t usurp anything,” said Artemis, bristling. On the other hand, maybe a catfight would help take our minds off this. “We apprenticed with them. We didn’t steal their jobs.”

“And yet here we are, with every shred of evidence pointing to Helios and Selene having faded,” said Hera. “Tell me, do you have any other explanation?”

Artemis clenched her hands. “I don’t know. Maybe Rhea went rogue.”

“And decided to kill them instead of us? I highly doubt it.”

Poseidon cleared his throat. He never spoke up much during meetings, since we mostly dealt with mortal problems, and the sea was his realm. But when he did, everyone paid attention. “If Hermes believes they are no longer present in any of the realms, then we have no reason to question it. His judgment is as sound as each of ours.”

Across from me, Hades hissed, but he said nothing. Coward. If he had something to say to me, he should’ve said it to my face.

“Hermes, do you believe they are gone?” said Zeus, and I nodded. Had to focus on the big picture here. Hades was never going to like me again no matter what I did—no point in wasting energy trying to win him over.

“If I can’t find them, then they’re nowhere at all. And the only explanation is that they’ve faded.”

A hush settled over the council again, and in the throne beside Ares, Aphrodite dabbed her eyes. “Are we next?”

“No.” Hephaestus set his hand over hers, ignoring Ares’s glares. “We are simply too important to fade like that.”

“So were Helios and Selene and who knows how many others,” said Athena. “How can we possibly be sure this isn’t the end of the age of gods?”

“How could it be?” said Hera. “Perhaps some minor gods may be facing the end, but we are indispensable. Mortals still need us.”

“For how long?” said Athena. “For another century? Millennia? How long until they have moved beyond us? Whether we want to acknowledge it or not, we are in danger, and we cannot continue to revel in ignorance. We must figure out why this is happening. If Helios and Selene are missing, there may be others, and our best shot is to find out who is gone and discover a common link.”

“I can help with that,” I said. It would take a while, tracking down every single god and goddess, but if it meant they would start treating me like family instead of a fungus, the time and effort had to be worth it. “And maybe I could go down to the surface as well, see what I can find.”

“Are you sure that is wise?” Hades’s voice seemed to fill the throne room, even though he was practically whispering. “May I remind the council what happened the last time Hermes offered his help where it was not welcome?”

My face grew hot. Who the hell did he think he was, talking to me like that? “Persephone has nothing to do with this,” I said.

“On the contrary. Perhaps if you had not been so engrossed in your affair, you would have done your duties and realized Helios’s and Selene’s absences sooner.”

So we were back to this again. “That was thousands of years ago,” I said through gritted teeth. “I am not Adonis. She did not die for me. Get over it already.”

“I will get over it when we are even,” he said, and a rumble of thunder interrupted my retort.

“Enough,” said Zeus quietly. “Bicker in your own time. Hermes, we will need to know who is still among us and who else has faded as soon as possible. But I do not see what mingling with mortals will accomplish.”

“But Athena just said—”

“Let Athena and the others deal with that,” he said. “You have your orders. Now, for once, do as you are told.”

Yes, I did have my orders: be mindlessly obedient when they needed me, and when they didn’t, shut up and be invisible, because no one wanted me there anyway. I’d been in trouble before—who hasn’t?—but this was a whole new level of punishment. I would’ve taken being banished from Olympus any day over being pushed out of my family.

But I didn’t protest, because it wouldn’t have changed things anyway, and I’d need my strength for this job. Social exile was exhausting enough as it was, and lethargy wasn’t a good look on me.

Zeus handed out a few more jobs, none of which consisted of going down to the surface and actually talking to mortals to see where we stood, and the council adjourned. Seconds later, Zeus floated a scroll toward me. Apparently not even my father wanted to get close enough to touch me.

“A list of every god and goddess we know of,” he said. “If you value your place on the council, you will have your report to me this time tomorrow.”

If I—Was he serious? Was he really going to strip me of my throne if I didn’t get this to him in time?

No, it had to be some kind of mind game. A way to scare me into submission, nothing more. Zeus had worked far too hard to ensure that the council was under his thumb, and if he upset the balance by removing me, Hera would be one vote away from taking the crown.

Then again, maybe he’d use me as an example. Show that anyone who dared to defy him was one swift kick in the ass away from joining Helios and Selene in the unknown. Either way, I didn’t have much time.

I uncurled the scroll, and my eyes nearly popped out of my head. The list was endless. “You want me to find every single person on this list by tomorrow?”

No reply. I looked up, and Zeus’s throne was empty. Perfect. I glanced down at the scroll again and scowled. One day. Countless names. And no one to help me, because the entire council thought I was the plague.

Maybe that’s what Zeus was counting on—I’d fail, and he’d have a valid reason to remove me from Olympus. And if that were the case, maybe I’d be better off a drifter anyway. If I didn’t fade completely.

I wouldn’t go down without a fight, though. Not now, not ever, which meant I had one option in the next twenty-four hours: prove Zeus wrong, no matter how impossible.

Usually I didn’t need sleep. I could go weeks, if not months without it when I wasn’t using my powers—all of us could. But before I was halfway done with that list, I needed sleep more desperately than I’d ever needed anything in my entire life.

I leaned against the golden wall of the throne room, struggling to keep my eyes open. I couldn’t fall asleep. Time was precious enough as it was, and if Zeus knew I’d been sleeping on the job, too—

Right. I liked my ass right where it was, thank you. I leaned forward and forced myself to focus on the list of names. Next up was Pollux. Not too hard to find him and Castor, even though they were on the run, so at least this wouldn’t take much effort.

“How’re you holding up?” Iris crossed the throne room, balancing a tray in her hands.

“I’m seriously considering running away and spending the rest of eternity holed up in the woods,” I said. “What’s that?”

“I brought you some tea. Figured you might need it.”

That was oddly nice of her. Maybe Zeus had laid into her, too. “Thanks,” I said, stretching. She sat beside me, and I picked up the cup and sipped. It wasn’t a solid night’s sleep, but it would do. “I mean it, though. There’s no way I’m finishing this list. Ten hours left, and I’m not even halfway done.”

She smirked, but there was a hint of sympathy behind it, too. “When Zeus fires you, make sure to put in a good word for me, would you?”

It would’ve been funny if it hadn’t been so true, and I glowered into my tea. “Zeus said if I don’t finish in time, I really will be kicked off the council.”

“Zeus likes to say a lot of things. Most of them aren’t true.”

“This is, though.” I nudged the list in her direction. “You didn’t happen to run into any of these gods on your trip, did you?”

She examined the names, and with a wave of her hand, she crossed off well over two dozen. “I know where to find loads more. If you want, I can check out a few places. That’ll cut your list down, as well.”

“You’d really do that for me?” I said. “What about wanting my job?”

Iris shrugged, and a curl escaped from behind her ear. “I’ll take pity on you just this once. Are you serious about running away?”

I leaned my head against the wall. If it were possible for immortals to have headaches, I would’ve had a raging one right about now. “Hermit jokes aside, someone needs to figure out what’s causing all of this. None of the others have spent time with mortals like I have.”

“And yet Zeus won’t let you go?”

“You know how he is. Can’t handle someone else having a better grip on things than he does.”

Iris gave me a look. “So while gods and goddesses are mysteriously dying for reasons the council can’t possibly be sure of, you’re going to listen to Zeus for the first time in your life.”

“He’d track me down the instant he knew I was gone. You know that.”

“Unless …” Her fingers danced over the parchment, an inch from my knee. “Someone kind, generous, thoughtful and extremely beautiful covered for you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Do you think someone like that actually exists?”

She punched me in the arm. “You’re a jerk. Maybe I won’t help you. Bet I could do your job with both hands tied behind my back.”

“Right now I’m not sure I can do my job, not if Hades keeps acting like this. And not if Zeus keeps giving me impossible tasks.”

“Hades will come around eventually, and we’ll work together on this list,” she said. “I’ll go down to the surface and check things out. You focus on the names I’ve circled, all right? But on one condition—after you finish this, you’re going to sneak off and mingle with mortals. I’ll cover for you.”

I glanced down at the list. Somehow she’d narrowed it down to a manageable number. “Really?”

“Really.” She squeezed my arm. “Some things are more important than kissing Zeus’s ass.”

Coming from Iris, that meant loads. “If we get through this, remind me to tell you I love you.”

She snorted, though her cheeks turned pink. “Please. I know you love me. It practically oozes out of you.” Giving me a pat on the hand, she stood. “Don’t fall asleep, lazy, else I really will have no choice but to replace you, bloodlines be damned.”

“Whatever you say,” I said with a tired grin. But the tea helped, and if she stuck to her word, this might be doable, after all. “And Iris?”

She stopped, inches from the portal. “Yeah?”

“Thanks. You’re not nearly as heinous as everyone says you are.”

Rolling her eyes, she stepped into the crystal circle and grinned. “You really are such a jerk.”

Together, Iris and I finished the list by the time the council reconvened. No idea how we managed it—magic, probably, or some sort of tear in time—but we did.

Six names were unaccounted for. Older gods and goddesses whose roles had been taken over by newer ones. I’d triple-checked those to make sure, but it wasn’t good news. Neither of us could find them. I should’ve stayed to tell the council; someone had to, after all, but by the time we finished, Iris was practically pushing me toward the portal.

“Go,” she said. “I mean it. I’ll give the list to Zeus.”

“He’ll smite you if he finds out you’re covering for me. Sure it’s worth it?” I said.

“Yes, I’m sure. Besides, if you figure this out, maybe they’ll forgive you for the whole Persephone thing.”

I frowned. Right. I didn’t need another reminder, but it was a possibility. Maybe they would forgive me. Maybe this would be enough to get me back on the council’s good side. Doubtful, but worth a shot.

Iris sighed dramatically and gave me a little shove. “Why do you always have to be so difficult? Get your ass down there before I have to drag you to the balcony and throw you.”

“Fine, fine, I’m going. Be safe, all right? Don’t disappear in a puff of smoke or whatever.”

“You, too,” she said. “And don’t come back until you’ve figured this thing out.”

“Which might be never.”

“By then, we’ll all be gone, so it won’t matter.” She stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against my cheek. Unexpected, and my face grew hot. Iris laughed. “For luck, not to feed your fantasies. Now get out of here.”

Footsteps sounded from one of the hallways, and I didn’t need any more encouragement. I hopped onto the portal and gave Iris a halfhearted wave. This wasn’t one of our better ideas, but we didn’t have much choice. The gods were dying off. Even if we had several eons before the council faded, that wasn’t a chance any of us could take. Zeus was an idiot for playing it safe.

I slid through the portal with ease, and in the midst of dropping to the surface, I closed my eyes and relaxed. The solution had to be somewhere on the surface. A book, a town, some kind of religious theory—whatever it was that would bring me closer to understanding why we were dying.

That sort of hazy thought didn’t always work, and when I landed in the trees, I cursed. I’d expected to wind up in Rome or a library or something—somewhere with books and knowledge and answers, the kind Athena always seemed so good at finding. I didn’t have a chance of unearthing anything like that in the middle of a forest.

But when I started a more focused sweep of the surface, something twanged in my core, pulling me south. Not the kind of connection I usually got whenever something I was looking for was within reach—instead, it was a vague feeling that made me want to kick a tree. Vague wouldn’t solve this problem. It wouldn’t give me answers. And it sure as hell wouldn’t save my family.

Not as if I had a lot of leads though, and I needed time to cool down before I tried again. With Iris helping me with the list, I’d had time for a short nap, but exhaustion did nothing for my temper. And I’d be no good to the council pissed off.

I took a deep breath. It wasn’t my fault Hades was acting like an ass, and it wasn’t my fault Persephone had chosen to give up her immortality. Everyone liked to pretend it was, but it wasn’t, and I forced that one simple truth down my own throat. I was a scapegoat. And the only way I could make them see it was by finding a solution.