The King of the Gods didn’t look all that intimidating from his vantage point. Close-cut dark hair, a youthful face with only a handful of lines around his deep-set blue eyes, clean-shaven skin, and the body of an athlete. Definitely not the white-haired, white-bearded grand-fatherly figure humans pictured him as.
The King of the Gods eyed Orpheus suspiciously. He wanted what Orpheus had too much to jeopardize getting it now. And since he couldn’t take the Orb outright—no god could take something without it being offered—that meant Zeus had to deal.
Take the deal. Take the fucking deal.
“The air element already belongs to me, son,” Zeus pointed out.
“Grandson,” Orpheus corrected. “And you can cut the familial term of endearment. We both know it means nothing. The way I see it, possession trumps ownership ties every time.”
Zeus’s jaw tightened. He turned and placed a hand on his throne, decked out in ostentatious gold. “You have surprised me. Not many do. When I branded you a troublemaker all those years ago, I had no idea I’d still be dealing with you now.”
“I’m thrilled I’ve amused you. Now do we have a deal or not?”
Zeus considered for a moment. “Not quite. I have an addendum.”
Orpheus’s chest deflated. An addendum meant only one thing. “You can’t bring her back.”
“Oh, I can bring her back. She’ll just be…different.”
“Define different.”
“Same body…different soul.”
Orpheus’s eyes narrowed. “What about Skyla’s soul?”
“That belongs to the Fates.”
The Fates. He needed to find Lachesis. Deal with her. Forget Zeus and this stupid addendum. Her soul was what he loved about her. Not that Barbie-doll body Zeus had given her.
“Won’t work,” Zeus said, interrupting his thoughts. “The Fates don’t deal. Not with mortals. And the Siren was mortal. Death is part of every mortal’s life, regardless of the service.”
Orpheus glared across the room. “I was mortal too, and they brought me back.”
Zeus barked out a laugh. “You weren’t brought back because you were deserving. You were brought back because of guilt. Lachesis foresaw that you would be important to the Argolean’s war against Atalanta. And when the Sirens killed you the first time—justifiably, I might add—she stepped in and made a deal with Hades to bring you back. But don’t fool yourself into thinking she did so because you deserved a second chance. She did it because she felt guilty over Atalanta’s creation in the first place. You see, Lachesis encouraged the first heroes not to include Atalanta in the order of the Argonauts. From there…Atalanta chose her own path, made her own deals, and became the pain-in-the-ass goddess she is today. But make no mistake. The Fates are using you to right a wrong they are responsible for. Nothing more, grandson.”
Orpheus thought back to his run-in with Lachesis in the mountains. You were destined for something greater than this, Orpheus. Greater than thievery and vengeance, and much greater than ignorance.
He had no idea what he was meant for. He only knew what he needed. Panic swamped his chest. How was he going to get her back?
He turned for the temple doors, his mind spinning.
“If you leave here without giving me what’s mine,” Zeus announced, “you cut all ties with me. And the courtesy I have shown you as one of my own will cease to exist. I didn’t have to tell you about her soul, Orpheus. I could have made the deal and deceived you. I didn’t out of compassion.”
Orpheus turned to face Zeus. “What compassion? You had me killed.”
“That was never my first choice. You brought that justice on yourself. But know this. If you repeat history, my retribution will be swift. So think long and hard about this move. Your decision here could bring war or peace to the Argolean realm.”
War was already upon the Argolean realm. War with Atalanta’s daemons and now with Hades, who had made it perfectly clear in that forest that he wasn’t backing down.
No god could have the Orb. Not if the world was meant to go on.
Be greater, Orpheus.
He felt Skyla’s hand against his chest, warm and solid and real, encouraging him. And his life—both lives—spun out before him, twisting and intersecting and finally condensing into this one moment. To choosing what he wanted to be versus what he was meant to be.
He looked down at the Argonaut markings on his arms. The markings that he’d acquired when Gryphon’s soul had been sent to Tartarus. The markings that were still there, even though Gryphon was home.
Be greater.
Maybe he really was meant for something greater than himself. Maybe…after all his long, lonely years of searching…this was it.
He looked up and knew even if there was no way to bring Skyla back, he was doing the right thing.
Finally.
“Someone advised me not to give it to you.” He reached for the door handle. “And this time, gramps, I’m listening.”
***