He’d spent all day with Nick and his scouts, searching for daemon signs. A few new reports had come in that indicated what was left of Atalanta’s scattered army was on the move. That meant two things: either someone else was gathering daemons to build a new army, or Atalanta had found her way back from the Underworld.
The last thought left Orpheus more uneasy than he liked. Gryphon’s ramblings that Atalanta was “out there” suddenly didn’t sound like the delusions of a crazy man.
He’d spent the evening in Gryphon’s room, just as he’d done every night for the last week, talking to his brother, playing cards with him, trying to coax him out of the comatose state he seemed to inhabit. Nothing helped, though. Gryphon refused to leave his room. He only barely showed interest in the cards. And the twitching and head shakes were getting worse.
Orpheus rubbed his forehead with two fingers while Gryphon tossed and turned in the big bed. The bedside light was on and the curtains were open, allowing in enough moonlight to illuminate the entire suite. But it still wasn’t enough for Gryphon. The big, tough Argonaut who’d never been afraid of anything was now scared of the dark.
He stayed with Gryphon until his brother dozed off, then pulled the cover up to his chin and stared down at his sleeping face. Relaxed, Gryphon’s forehead smoothed and the stress he carried with him seemed to evaporate. And for a moment, as he studied his brother’s blond hair and the long dark lashes against his skin, it was like looking at the old Gryphon. The younger brother who’d never done anything but be a hero.
Quietly, he turned off the bedside lamp and crossed to the door. One last glance back confirmed Gryphon was still asleep, so he left, closing the door softly behind him.
He headed for the stairs. It was late, close to midnight, and he knew he could take the elevator and cross to the southern wing, but he didn’t want to wake anyone. And he needed fresh air.
He headed down three flights and pushed the door to the courtyard open, heading across the garden toward the south entrance. When he spotted Maelea walking alone near the fountain, he hesitated and ducked into the shadows. The female seemed to be acclimating to life in the colony—or so Nick told him—but she kept to herself. And the only time anyone saw her venture out of her rooms was late at night.
She was an anomaly in every way possible. The daughter of Zeus and Persephone, the embodiment of light and dark. And every time Orpheus saw her, he remembered the scars on her arms. The ones he knew she’d put there herself.
She’s growing on me, daemon. The more I’m around her, the more I sort of like her.
Skyla’s words came back to him at unexpected times. But he was thankful. Because in a way it felt like she was still here. And on this he had to agree. Maelea was growing on him too.
But not tonight. Tonight he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone.
The female sat on the stone bench surrounding the fountain and looked down into the gurgling water. As if something had caught her attention, she glanced up and around, then turned and faced the castle. For a moment Orpheus thought she’d heard him, then he realized she was staring at a window three stories above.
For a heartbeat she didn’t move. Then she gathered her skirts and briskly crossed the courtyard, disappearing into the shadowed building on the other side.
Curious, Orpheus stepped out of the shadows and looked up. And caught sight of his brother standing at the window of his room, looking down with that same blank stare that had been on his face since returning from the Underworld.
Gryphon held Orpheus’s gaze for several seconds, then turned away from the window.
And alone, surrounded by darkness and nothing but the bubble of water in the fountain behind him, Orpheus knew he should go back up there. Try to console Gryphon. Make sure he was okay. But he didn’t want to. The last week was catching up with him. And the hollow ache in his chest was growing. The one he’d been struggling with since Skyla’s death.
He closed his eyes and pictured his room. Seconds later he was standing in his tower, staring at the sanctuary Skyla had created for him.
That ache intensified. He crossed to the bed and dropped onto his back, one leg on the mattress, the other hanging over the side. He didn’t bother to kick off his boots, didn’t bother with a light or even to pull the covers back. He simply stared up at the high-beamed ceiling and breathed, in the hope that if he thought of nothing, the ache might eventually ease so he could sleep.
The irony of his destiny wasn’t lost on him. After nearly three hundred years alone, purposely avoiding any kind of contact that would leave him vulnerable, even though he was surrounded at every turn by colonists, Nick, his brother, and the Argonauts, he’d never felt as lonely as he did now.