The Deep End of the Sea (9 page)

The mock innocence melts away into seriousness. “I didn’t do this for your gratitude or to wish to hold you in some kind of debt. I did it because it was the right thing to do.”

The way he’s looking at me is too intense, so I focus on a striking fountain nearby depicting what I believe to be Persephone eating a pomegranate. Is there truth to the story? “Some would disagree, especially in light of my actions over the ages.”

One of his hands comes to lightly trace the same line I’d just drawn, from mid-thigh to knee. I shiver in the warm air; confusion and pleasure swirl around my head just as surely as my curls. “We’ve gone over this. You didn’t have a choice.”

“I am a murderer,” I whisper, and sadness once more threatens to crush my heart. This dream has finally come true, but how I wish I could erase all of the pain I’ve caused over the ages.

“Not by choice. And never purposely.”

“Still.”

“I would know, remember? I’ve ferried enough souls to the Underworld to be something of an expert.”

This makes me laugh, even if just a little. Even if undeserved, his faith in me has never waivered. “Shall I forget that history pegs you as a trickster, too? As one who deceives?”

“You as well as I know what a pile of lies,”—he flashes air quotes—“
history
can be. Let us not forget that history also has you, as the mortal sister of a trio, suffering an ignominious death at the hands of that twat Perseus, and that your severed head was carted around the better part of Greece for the sole purpose of slaying a Titan.”

“If only,” I joke, and he tenses besides me. But he knows how I’d longed for death, how I would pray daily for it. How I would curse that I was, in fact, an immortal, thanks to Athena’s fury. He always tried to talk me out of such wishes, to remind me of the good that life could and does offer, but it was habitually difficult to accept his rationalizations when a growing collection of statues populated my island.

But now ... now is my chance to do so. And it’s all due to him.

“Enough of that talk,” he says curtly. “It’s irrelevant anyway. You are no longer a monster—not that I think you ever were in the first place—and there will be no further fear of murder if you do not so plan it intentionally.”

It’s my turn to tense. “I would never—”

“My point made.” And then, more gently, “I don’t want us to argue. Not today. Not when we have this victory to savor.”

Like a moth to a flame, I cannot resist the pull to meet my eyes to his. He’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in this villa, as if there weren’t sights surrounding us that would make poets and artists weep and wish they had even a tenth of the ability needed to describe it in detail. No, his attention is on me, his eyes, so wonderfully green, firmly gazing into mine, and after over two thousands years of friendship, I no longer know what to say to him.

Something stirs deep inside me. When I say his name, it comes out as a whisper. He slowly leans into me, whispering my name in return. My heart slams around my chest in chaotic anticipation, making the simple act of pulling air into my lungs difficult.

“Ah, there’s the food,” Persephone calls, and I snap back, my cheeks flaming. Hermes sighs and leans back, glaring at his aunt.

Sure enough, two servers have appeared, pushing carts filled with food and plates more suited to two-dozen people rather than four.

The Queen of the Underworld motions us over. “I had no idea what you like, darling, so I made sure to order a little bit of everything.”

Hades rolls his eyes while sneaking a few strawberries off one of the trays.

“My aunt loves to play hostess,” Hermes says as he helps me up. My legs are still wobbly, but his hold on me is firm.

When I look up at him, all I can think is,
he won’t let me fall
.

“Careful!” Persephone darts over, slinging an arm around my waist to help me balance. “It appears you’re going to have to do a bit of rehab over the next few weeks in order to get reacquainted with walking. Oh, I could just strangle Athena for this.”

“Line forms to the left,” Hermes says quietly. “But you’ll have to stand behind me.”

The impulse to lean over and kiss him for such steady loyalty is nearly irresistible, which leaves me even more embarrassed and confused. He is my friend. Why are such thoughts bedeviling me right now?

“Let me do some calling around tonight.” Persephone bumps her shoulder against mine. “I want to make sure we get the best.”

Once I’m seated (and blushing far too much over needing help to walk over to the table), Hades hands his wife a glass of wine. “Athena has gotten away with far too much over the ages. It’s disheartening how my brother coddles her idiotic whims. I wish you’d let the Assembly know about this sooner, Hermes. How are we ever going to get everyone under control if actions such as these are left unresolved? We cannot have our members running rampant, cursing people simply because they feel like it. Our positions in the heavens are too precarious nowadays to have such missteps.”

Persephone thanks her husband for her glass. “Too many poor souls have suffered abuse at the hands of our kind.” Her elegant fingers curve around the stem. “Some have perished before we can right their wrongs; others have gone too far into madness and truly become the monsters they were forced to evolve into. And that is something we cannot have happening, especially in today’s modern world. Hermes, you know our stance on this. I must side with your uncle—I am sorely disappointed Medusa’s case was not addressed earlier.”

Those blue-green eyes of Hermes’ slide knowingly toward me before refocusing on his aunt and uncle. “Trust me when I say there is no one sorrier than I that it took so long to come to light.”

I cannot let them fault him for this, not when he’d held his tongue out of respect for my wishes. I clear my throat nervously. “It wasn’t his fault. Hermes wanted to talk to the Assembly for quite a long time now. I was the one who begged him not to.”

Persephone sets her glass down, her brow furrowing. “Why?”

I toy with the napkin on my lap, debating how I ought to phrase my answer without outwardly insulting the deities in front of me. As generous as they’ve been, I do not trust them yet. But my response is not necessary, as Hermes is the one to answer. “Why wouldn’t she be leery? Look at what our kind has done to her.”

Hades grunts as he butters a roll, anger flashing in his dark eyes. I tense in my seat; is he mad that I’ve spoken without permission? This is the Lord of the Underworld, after all. For all I know, he could find much offense with me and banish me to a punishment worse than Athena’s in some hidden corner of his realm.

Hermes continues, “It was a miracle she even allowed me in her temple, and then, once I was there, to continue coming back.”

I haven’t been able to blush in millennia, but here I am, doing it again in less than five minutes.

Hades studies me as he quietly munches on his roll. His gaze is even more intense than his wife’s or nephew’s, so I keep my attention focused on the food on my plate. Only, my stomach in far too many knots, so actual eating is out of the question.

Persephone picks up her fork. “Did he bully you into letting him?”

My eyes fly up, every muscle in my body on high alert. Do they think I have been abusing one of the Assembly? I go to protest, but Hermes laughs delightedly.

“Of course I did.”

“It’s a wonder you didn’t turn him to stone immediately.” Amusement sprinkles Persephone’s words, but all I can hear is yet another reminder of how people are dead because of me. Or how I could have harmed the most important person in my life at any time.

The control I’ve been clinging to evaporates. Tears spring forth in its place, along with the impulse to run and hide and have a good cry in private. Knowing my luck, though, these skinny, weak legs would give out within two steps, so my only recourse is to blink rapidly and pray I do not cause more offense. And now my heart’s beating hard in my chest, feeling just as trapped here in this moment as I have been for ages.

I’m a killer. I’ve murdered people. Sixty-three people lost their lives because of me, never to draw another breath. I can only pray they’re in the Elysian Fields right now.

I’m a monster. I’m—

I’m the river, pounding furiously at the walls of the dam. Breathing slowly does no good. I cannot get a proper breath. And now I’m clutching at my napkin, the skin across my knuckles white and strained, and a horrible sound escapes me, one born from shame and despair.

This tremulous happiness of having the curse removed—I do not deserve it. Not after what I’ve done.

In the next moment, I’m in Hermes’ arms, pulled from my chair to his lap for the second hug in our existences together, and he’s saying, as one hand bunches in my hair and the other goes to my back, “She was just joking. Don’t—you are not what you’re thinking. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. You are not at fault. None of this is your fault.”

The waters in me find the right cracks in the concrete, because the dam explodes. I bawl, clinging to his shirt with my new, smooth hands, soaking the fabric with my hot tears. I can hear Persephone in the background, bewildered and apologizing, and Hades chastising her for careless words, and I ought to be horrified that I’ve somehow made a goddess feel as terrible as she’s claiming, but right now, all I can do is cry.

A good cry, as I’ve learned over the years, is a cathartic experience. I don’t do it often, as it can be a fruitless endeavor—it changes nothing, but sometimes, there’s this sweet spot I can find where I simply feel better afterward, even if just for an hour. This time, though, breaking down not once, but twice in front of three of Olympus’ own, I find no catharsis.

Hermes has stopped saying anything—they’ve all stopped speaking—but his heartbeat is steady under my ear as I grapple to get myself back under control. I have no idea how long I’ve been hysterical, and that scares me. “I’m sorry,” I eventually choke out, hating how my voice is as unstable as my emotions. “I didn’t mean to break down in your presences. Please, forgive me.”

I feel the frustrated sigh Hermes lets go at the same time Persephone says, her hand joining his on my back for the briefest of moments, “It is me who is sorry. I should not have joked so carelessly about something such as this.”

I don’t know what to do. She seems so genuine, but a goddess, apologizing to—well, I’m not sure what I am anymore. Still an immortal? Or just a mere mortal? But this sort of behavior doesn’t coincide with what I know about the Assembly. On one hand, it’s obvious Hermes is close to Hades and Persephone, and I trust him and don’t believe he’d willingly bring me to gods whose first impulse is to toy with me. But on the other, I can’t yet let go of the wariness I’ve cultivated toward their kind for ages.

“Is there anything I can get for you?” Persephone asks, and amazingly, worry saturates her words. “Would you prefer we wait until tomorrow to talk about the next steps?”

Every muscle in my body tenses again. Hades mutters something to his wife about this being an excellent time to stop talking.

“She means your options,” Hermes murmurs, his face lowering down so he can speak in my ear. And then, lifting his head, he says, “Can we have a few minutes by ourselves?”

“Of course. Just—let us know if there’s anything ...” Persephone trails off, sounding even more unsure of herself.

“Wife, you’ve done enough. Leave the poor girl alone,” Hades says, voice low and rough even as he takes her hand in his like it’s made of porcelain. “Medusa’s life has once more been turned upside down by our kind, so I think she warrants a little time adjusting. Hermes, come see me before you leave. There is still much for us to discuss.”

The sound of chairs scraping against tile and footsteps sound; soon, the only noises around are the wind through the trees, the fountain splashing softly, and the steady beat of Hermes’ heart.

He taps the back of my head softly. “What’s going on in here?”

I bite my lip, well aware of the awkward position we’re in, of me sitting on his lap and of his thoroughly wet t-shirt. Is he annoyed I’m still here? I’ve apparently been clinging to him, which isn’t proper decorum in the least. I shift in his lap, leaning toward my chair, but he surprises me by refusing to let me go.

So I rest my head back against his shoulder and let out a shuddery breath. I cannot deny how comfortable I feel, sitting here. I would much rather be with him than alone in my chair. Is it because, for so long, it’s always been just him and me—and now, here we are again, just the two of us?

“Talk to me, Dusa.”

I close my eyes and think, once more, of how this god has convinced me with his gentle words and actions to throw caution to the wind. “Can I trust them?”

Whatever he thought I’d say, it wasn’t this, because I can hear him suck in his surprise. But he’s steady as ever when he answers. “I wouldn’t have brought you here had I not believed you could trust them with your life.” His hand continues to lightly stroke my hair. “There is nothing—no one—you have to fear in this house. My uncle and aunt are the best kinds of people.”