“Exactly.” Psyche tilts her head to the side. “With all that said, I have a question for you.”
I sit back with a curse and wave my hand. “By all means, don’t let me stop your brilliant monologue.”
“Thank you.” She gives me a small smile that almost combats the fear lurking in her hazel eyes. I had a lot of assumptions about this woman when her family first appeared on the scene ten years ago, and those assumptions only seemed to be confirmed in the intervening years. Between her helping me at the party and this conversation, I’m forced to admit that I might have been dead wrong.
She’s not a vapid social influencer whose only hobbies include spending her mother’s money and taking pretty pictures for her followers. There’s a cunning brain in that pretty head, and she’s using every bit of her intelligence in an attempt to get out of this situation alive.
Psyche tucks a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. “If stability is so important that Demeter, Hades, and even Zeus are all invested in seeing it happen, do you really think that they’ll stand back and let your mother’s petty feud go unchecked? They might be willing to look the other way when her targets are outside their immediate circle, but I am not some poor socialite who no one has ever heard of. I’m Demeter’s daughter. If you harm me, they will take action. They’ll crush her, and you with her.”
She’s not wrong. When the majority of the Thirteen get on board and agree with one another, they’re nearly an unstoppable force. It’s too damn bad it won’t make a difference for the woman sitting across from me. “Cute story. Even if it’s true, it won’t matter.”
At that, her smile dies. “What are you talking about? I just named a good number of the major players in this city, and I imagine Poseidon will throw his support behind them as well since he seems to hate all the jockeying for position. That’s all three of the legacy titles. Surely your mother is smart enough to know when she’s been outmaneuvered. Surely you are. No logical person would continue down this path against these odds.”
I bite back a sigh. That’s the crux of it, isn’t it? “Bold of you to assume my mother and logic have ever been on speaking terms. Do you know her at all?”
She opens her mouth, seems to reconsider whatever she was about to say, and finally frowns harder. “I thought the petty, vengeful thing was an act.”
My life would be so much simpler if it were, if my mother didn’t live to see the downfall of anyone who crosses her, even in passing. “She’s more than capable of dealing with the fallout.” One way or another. I don’t know how she’ll manage it, but I already know what she’d say if I brought this to her.
Your job isn’t to think, Son; it’s to punish who I tell you to punish.
Kill the girl and carve out Demeter’s heart in the process.
Psyche goes even paler. “You really mean that.”
“I do.”
“I just came here and told you that I can marshal a good number of the Thirteen against you, and it doesn’t matter how many moves I make because the person giving you orders cares more about her personal vengeance than she does about her son’s life.” She stares up at me, searching my face for something that she’ll never find. “She’s the reason you were hurrying to the party, isn’t she? That you didn’t go to a doctor first? I bet she was furious you were late.”
Psyche’s hitting a little too close to the truth. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters. You were hurt. Even my mother, with all her machinations and ruthlessness, would care if one of us were injured.”
I give her the look that statement deserves. “I would say that supports my point, not yours. But it doesn’t matter, because no one will pin this on me. You made sure of that.” I pull my phone out, find the app I want, and open it. Then I set it on the table between us. Psyche leans over and scrolls through a few posts, going paler and paler. I already know what she’ll see. Hermes and Dionysus and a curvy brunette apparently having the time of their lives on the town. The brunette’s face is never quite in the picture, but she’s close enough to Psyche’s body type and hair style that everyone will believe it’s her. “These photos are all tagged and time stamped. No one even knows you’re here.”
“Hermes does.”
“Hermes is playing her own game. She’s not on your side. She’s not on anyone’s side but her own.” I reclaim my phone. “And she won’t come forward with the truth for the very reasons you just listed. She’s as invested in stability as Zeus and the rest. She won’t give up any information that will start a war.” Hermes is chaotic enough that normally I wouldn’t pretend I could guess which way she’d jump, but I know this is the truth.
Ultimately, she serves Olympus just like the rest of the Thirteen.
Psyche’s bottom lip quivers a little, but she makes a blatant attempt to firm it. “You deserve better than to simply be your mother’s weapon, Eros.”
“Don’t bother trying to appeal to my humanity. I have none.”
She leans forward and lowers her voice, hazel eyes pleading. “I helped you two weeks ago. I didn’t have to and we both know it. Maybe you don’t have humanity, but surely you believe in the scales being balanced. Are you really willing to repay my help with violence simply because it made your mother mad?”
“Psyche.” Damn it, I shouldn’t have said her name. It feels too good to do it, makes me want things not meant for me. “Stop. Nothing you say will make a difference.”
For the first time since she sat down, true fear comes to life in her eyes. She came here ready to help the son of her mother’s enemy and pivoted into a truly spectacular argument that would have worked if I were anyone else, if she hadn’t already been the instrument of her downfall because she trusted me enough to create an alibi for her location. It’s been so long since I’ve been challenged, so long since someone has even tried to fight back, to outmaneuver me.
So long since someone showed me even a shred of kindness.
I find myself reaching out and covering one of her hands with my own. Her skin is startlingly warm. “For what it’s worth, it was a good try. You gave it your best shot.”
“Strange how that doesn’t make me feel better.” She stares down at where I touch her. “I’m going to need you to take your hand back now. I hardly want comfort from my murderer.”
Something pricks me and I remove my hand from hers and use it to rub my chest, the feeling from before when she patched me up getting stronger. What the fuck is this? Surely I’m not having an attack of conscience now. I can’t save this woman. I might be my mother’s preferred weapon, but I’m hardly the only one. If I refuse to do this, she’ll send someone else, and they won’t care if Psyche is terrified and in agony at the end. They’ll simply cut her down.