I sank down on the bed until my head touched the pillow. I didn’t bother getting under the blankets. “All right,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment. Was that all I was to him now, a burden to be closely watched so I didn’t get myself into more trouble? “Then it’ll make no difference to you if I leave sooner rather than later.” He was silent. The minutes ticked by, and I stared into the darkness, searching for something to say to him. Anything that would help him understand I wanted to stay, but not like this. Not when he didn’t want me here.
“James and I were never together,” I said quietly. “Whatever you think happened in Greece—it didn’t. We went as friends, and that’s all we were. I waited for you to show up.
I looked for you everywhere we went, because I was so sure you’d surprise me, and when you didn’t, it hurt. It was like you didn’t want to see me at all.”
I reached for his hand, but at the last second, I pulled back. I couldn’t handle his physical rejection on top of everything else right now.
“I’m not leaving you for him. I’m not leaving you for anybody, and I never would have gone looking for something better. You are my something better, and I wish—I wish I was yours, too.”
Resounding silence f illed the room. My heart raced as I waited for him to say something, anything in return, but when he didn’t so much as look at me, disappointment crushed any hope I had left. I turned away from him and buried my face in my pillow, struggling to convince myself that he was tired and had fallen asleep before I’d said a word. I’d waited too long to start, and I couldn’t blame him for that. I would have to make an effort to repeat it in the morning, and if that failed, then at least I would leave knowing I had done everything I could.
“Good night,” I whispered and closed my eyes, certain sleep wouldn’t come anytime soon. Even if it did, all of my dreams would be nightmares f illed with Calliope and the moment Persephone had kissed Henry, and nothing was worth reliving that. I’d wait until I was so exhausted that I wouldn’t dream at all.
Without the blankets, the room was cold, and I shivered.
The mattress shifted underneath me, and Henry wrapped his arm around me and pressed his chest against my back.
He was warm, and his hand searched until he found mine.
“Please don’t leave,” he said, and his lips brushed my neck. I trembled again, but this time for an entirely different reason.
For the rest of the night, neither of us said another word.
I stayed.
As the weeks passed, we didn’t talk about anything I’d said to Henry or anything he’d said to me. Sometimes he didn’t come back at night, but those were the days when he would reappear exhausted the next morning, and I let myself assume that he was working. We acted friendly toward one another during the few minutes a day we saw each other, but that was all we were. At night, I waited for him before I went to bed, and when he crawled in, he embraced me without a word. He never kissed me and he never apologized, but he wanted me to stay, and that was enough for now.
I made myself scarce as the others prepared for war. I explored the palace, f inding each room more or less exactly where it had been in Eden, which made things both easy and dull. One day I attempted to f igure out how many rooms there were, but after losing count twice, I stopped.
Sometimes James or Ava found me, and we would spend the day together, talking about nothing in particular and pretending they didn’t look terrible. The upcoming battle was already taking its toll on everyone, but whenever I brought it up, they assured me that they’d been through worse.
I avoided Persephone like the plague, and I didn’t bother to hide it. Whenever she entered a room, I walked out, usually with a ready-made excuse. On the few occasions I was forced to be near her without escape, I kept my head down and stayed quiet, and she never said a word to me. If she felt guilty—or if she thought she’d done the right thing—I didn’t want to hear about it.
Despite how useless I felt, I did get some satisfaction in knowing that at least I wasn’t burdening anyone. I read, I explored, and I kept my word to Henry. I also spent countless hours struggling to harness my ability. Twice I managed f lashes, but it was never in the right place. When I wanted to go to Cronus’s cavern, I wound up at Persephone’s cottage, where Adonis tended to the f lowers as he waited for her to return. And when I wanted to see what was going on in the meeting, I wound up in the room full of windows again, the one where Henry had kissed Persephone. Or Persephone had kissed Henry. It didn’t matter.
Other than that, I had no success. Whatever step I was missing, I couldn’t f igure it out, and despite my mother’s insistence that I would get it eventually, I felt like a failure.
No wonder the others didn’t want me helping out in the battle. I wouldn’t want me to help, either.
The closer we got to the winter solstice, the more anxious I became. Whether or not anyone was saying it aloud, all of these preparations were my fault. I’d put Henry in a position where he’d been forced to open the gate. If anything happened to them, it would be on me, and I couldn’t bear that guilt.
Ingrid was the only other thing Henry and I fought about. He didn’t want me to go anywhere near Cronus’s prison, and I insisted on keeping my promise to see her.
Finally we compromised, and Henry brought Ingrid to the palace for an afternoon the week before the solstice.
While the others were in the midst of preparing, Ingrid and I wandered through the jeweled gardens, which extended to the edge of a black river that ran through the stone walls on either end of the monstrous cavern. The River Styx.
“I was so close to living here forever,” said Ingrid with a sigh, and we made ourselves comfortable under a golden tree with rubies the size of apples hanging from its branches.
“You’re so lucky.”
“I wouldn’t call it luck,” I said, digging my toes into the black sand. “More like nepotism.”
She laughed, and as she settled beside the trunk of the golden tree, I picked one of the rubies and sniffed it. Nothing. If Henry could create these beautiful jewels, why couldn’t he at least give them the illusion of having a scent?
I kept the f lowers he’d left for me in the Underworld in a crystal bowl in the middle of my closet, and even after all this time, they still smelled like candy. Then again, they were real. Sort of.
I hesitated. “What would you have done if Henry never loved you as much as you wanted him to?”
“We can’t choose how much someone else loves us,” said Ingrid as she dipped a toe into the river and shivered.
“He picked me for the test because he thought he’d come to love me like that in time. He wouldn’t have picked you if he didn’t think the same, you know.”
“It doesn’t feel that way,” I mumbled, and when Ingrid pressed me, I told her everything that had happened since we’d returned from Cronus’s cavern. The f ight we’d had, what he’d said to me, how he’d told me to leave—and then changed his mind when he’d found out that James and I hadn’t done anything after all. How we’d been cordial since then, but hardly husband and wife. How afraid I was that we never would be.
By the time I was done, Ingrid had her arm around me, and I stared at the jewel in my hand as if it held the answers to every question I’d ever had. “I met Henry when I was seven,” she said as she toyed with a lock of my hair. “It was the early twentieth century, and my parents were German immigrants. We didn’t have any other family in America, so after they died, I lived in an orphanage in New York City.”
“I grew up in New York, too,” I said faintly, and Ingrid smiled.
“I think Henry has a weakness for New Yorkers,” she said. “And girls without much family. I think he feels like it’d be easier for us to love him if we’re already lonely.” I shook my head. She was right, of course, but that didn’t make it any easier to remember how much Henry hated himself. “I could’ve had a huge family back in the city and loved him all the same.”
&n
bsp; “Try telling him that,” said Ingrid wryly. “He’s always been that way, you know. Convinced he isn’t worthy of being loved, even though I grew up with him. We used to take walks together. He wasn’t in this form—I mean, he looked like a boy around my age, and for a long time I thought he was. He was my best friend. We used to wander the streets together, and we’d talk about everything—steal apples from the merchants and get into so much trouble.” The skin around her eyes wrinkled with happiness. “He made my miserable little life worthwhile. He told me who he really was the day I left the orphanage, and he took me to his home in the forest. It was beautiful. You’ve been there?”
I nodded. “Eden Manor.”
“It was the f irst real home I’d had since my parents died.” Ingrid took my hand and threaded her slim f ingers through mine. Her bones felt brittle, like a bird’s. As if squeezing too hard would break them. “He told me about Persephone.
And he told me that while she was his past, he wanted me to be his future.” She shook her head. “It’s such a ridiculous thing to remember, but I do. And every time he comes to visit me, I think about that and how he wasn’t just saying it because he thought I needed to hear it. He loved all of us in his own way, Kate. Me, the others who died, you—but look at how many of us he’s lost. Look at what he went through with Persephone. He thinks he’s responsible for all of it, you know, and that guilt isn’t going to go away overnight. Can you blame him for holding back?”
I swallowed. No, I couldn’t. And I’d had no idea he’d loved the other girls like he claimed to love me. All of that loss…everything I’d gone through with my mother a dozen times over, but Henry didn’t have cancer to blame. “You should have passed,” I said softly. “It sounds like you two would have been really happy together.”
“Probably.” Ingrid’s smile faded as she focused on the running water. “But I didn’t, and there’s no going back now. I want him to be happy, Kate.”
“Me, too,” I mumbled. “I’m trying. I really am, but it feels like he doesn’t want me.”
“He’s hurting. Henry’s never been very good with expressing his emotions, and sometimes that takes patience.
Not that I think you don’t have patience,” she said quickly.
“Only that he takes more than the usual amount.”
“I’m staying,” I said. “For now, at least. But I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know how to f ix this.”
“What if it doesn’t need f ixing?” Ingrid focused on me, her green eyes wide. “What if it’s already perfect underneath the surface, and the surface is what’s getting in the way?”
I blinked. “I don’t understand.”
“You think the problem is that Henry doesn’t love you,” said Ingrid, and I shrugged. “But I’m telling you— everyone’s told you that he does. So you have two choices—either accept that you’re wrong and let Henry love you in his own way, or force both of you to be miserable until you realize he loves you anyway.”
I snorted. “That doesn’t sound like much of a choice.”
“Of course it is. You can choose to be happy or you can choose to be miserable, and that’s completely within your power. Henry doesn’t have to do a thing.”
“And what if you’re wrong?” I said. “Or what if you’re overestimating how he feels?”
“Then you’ll give Henry the chance to really fall in love with you.” Ingrid beamed. “That’d be fun, too, wouldn’t it?” I ran my f ingertips across the cold surface of the ruby. It was even shaped like an apple. “He’s busy with the battle.
They all are.”
“Not for much longer though. And you can either make excuses or you can suck it up and see things from his per-spective, and you’ll both be happier for it. You don’t have to do anything differently. Just think about what he’s going through, and be yourself and let both of you have the chance to be happy. Everything else will fall into place.” I was silent. That was what I’d been trying to do, but nothing had changed. That night we’d spent together in Eden Manor—aphrodisiac or no, my desire to be with him had been all-consuming, and it was the f irst honest thing I’d let myself feel since I’d arrived at the manor. That passion was real. And the way he’d kissed me—
I’d been so sure it was real for him, too. I wanted that back. I wanted those kisses, those touches, the way he’d looked at me. I wanted to be that person to him again.
“What do you think would happen if I just walked up to him and kissed him?” I said, and Ingrid laughed.
“I think he’d let you. What if he’s waiting for you to do that, Kate? What if he’s waiting for a sign the same way you are, and you’re both circling each other, waiting, waiting, waiting?”
“Then I guess one of us better get a move on,” I muttered, and Ingrid hugged me.
“That’s my girl.”
I would have been better at this if he helped, if he told me what he was feeling instead of leaving it to my imagination, but I tried anyway. From that afternoon on, instead of worrying about the moments of silence between us, I watched him. He wasn’t f loundering for something to say or ignoring me. His eyes were distant and his brow furrowed, and I f inally let myself admit that it wasn’t because of me. It was the battle, Calliope, Cronus—anything but me. Because with me, at least he smiled.
And instead of focusing on every time he didn’t touch me, I burned into my memory every time he did. His arm around me as he slept, the brush of his f ingertips against my cheek, even the way he looked at me after a particularly long day. He didn’t kiss me; he didn’t hug me. He didn’t tell me he loved me again. But eventually I let myself hope that he did anyway. He was trying in his own way, and that had to be enough for now. Because if it wasn’t, we would both be miserable, and he didn’t deserve that. Neither did I.
As the f inal week before the solstice passed, I waited for the opportunity to do as I’d promised and kiss him properly.
But Henry spent more and more time locked in meetings with the other council members, and by the time he came to bed, he collapsed with little more than a good-night.
I hadn’t realized he could get tired, but when I asked my mother during the few minutes a day I got to see her, her answer was succinct.
“We don’t grow tired doing normal human things. It’s when we use our powers that we drain ourselves.” That explained why I didn’t seem to need sleep anymore, though when Henry was with me, I managed. He needed more than he allowed himself to get, and I refused to wake him early or keep him up late no matter how badly I wanted him to know how I felt. Now wasn’t the time, and it wouldn’t be until after the battle. If there was even an after the battle at all.
I didn’t let myself think about that part. He had to survive; there was no other option. If Cronus hadn’t killed him in the cavern, he wouldn’t kill him now. He wouldn’t kill any of the gods. I had to believe that everything would be okay.
In the hours before the winter solstice, the council gathered, their thrones forming a circle that aligned with the black and white diamond ones for Henry and me. I was hesitant to take mine, since I’d had nothing to do with planning the battle and wasn’t going to participate, but Henry insisted.
Before the meeting began, Persephone perched on the arm of our mother’s chair as if she’d done it a thousand times before. She eyed me, and I f idgeted when I realized that my throne had probably belonged to her when she’d been queen. Perfect.
“Brothers and sisters, sons and daughters,” said Walter.
He looked around the room gravely, taking time to examine each face, and he skipped Calliope’s empty throne as if it wasn’t there. “We have spent months anticipating this night, and f inally it is here.”
Henry sat rigidly, his chin raised and his expression blank. The bags under his eyes were purple, as bad as my mother’s had been in her f inal year of life, and the lines in his face were deeper than they’d ever been before. Dread coursed through me, and I forced myself not to think of the possibility
that he would collapse in battle and die anyway. I should’ve given him more time to sleep. I should’ve insisted on another room so I wouldn’t interrupt him. I should’ve done so many things I hadn’t, things Ingrid and Persephone would have thought of.
“Our enemy is strong, there is no denying that,” said Walter. “But we have beaten him once, and I am conf ident we will succeed again.”
The corner of Henry’s mouth twitched. Walter was lying.
Even I knew that the chances of them succeeding without Calliope were low, and she was locked in a room deep inside the palace, uncooperative after all this time. Whatever she had done during the f irst war had been the lynchpin in securing their victory, and without her, every single one of them was planning for defeat. All I could hope for was that they wouldn’t push themselves past the point of no return.
“I would like to propose a toast,” said Walter, and beside him, Xander gestured. Wineglasses appeared in front of each of us, f loating in midair. “To everyone here, with my deepest love and affection. Whatever happens tonight, know that I am proud of each of you. We are family, and none of you will be forgotten.”
Nausea washed over me, and it was all I could do to murmur along with the others and take a sip of wine. They were preparing to die after all. Maybe not all of them, but the possibility made me dizzy with dread. If even one of them didn’t come back…I couldn’t live with that sort of guilt.
No one said a word after that. They all sat in silence and watched the clock tick closer and closer to midnight, and I stared at the faces of everyone around me. My mother.
Henry. Ava. James. They would all be risking their lives.
Self ishly I wondered what would happen to me if none of them survived. Would I remain in the palace with no sure way to return to the surface, or would Cronus come after me to f inish the job? If I was the only one left, I hoped he would.
Just before the clock struck midnight, Henry reached over to take my hand. His skin was warm, and unlike mine, his palm was dry. For a second, his grip tightened, and horror snaked through me. Was he saying goodbye?