Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 94417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
I walk on a path of crushed obsidian that crunches under my boots. My presence breaks the sharp shards as I go, turning it to dust beneath my feet.
“My lord, I will do as you bid,” Minox reminds me in the cold night.
With my throat tightening and the black hooded cloaks we wear fluttering in the bitter wind, I do my best to contain my frustration. It will not be helpful to me to approach this conversation already angry, though I’m not pleased to be summoned by Zeus as if I have the time as he does. It’s irritating that he keeps his reasons from me as if I am some servant to be ordered to do his bidding. There is a chance, however small, that Minox was right, and I am making trouble for myself by refusing to go to him, but I cannot bring myself to care.
I have already found a way for what I desire most and neither Zeus’s approval nor his help is required. Surely his ego will be bruised but I have not time nor energy for consoling such things.
We enter the andron through a side door, foregoing the massive public entrance at the front. The space is empty, as I knew it would be, and cold as the obsidian it’s made from. Any shout here would echo off the ceiling, but I do not shout, or call. There is no one to call for and I have lost that habit long before now.
My reputation is one that denotes I am ice cold, calculated, lacking compassion and empathy at times, but balanced and just. Perhaps my role requires villainy, but I prefer the title of an iron fisted king.
I take a few moments alone in the emptiness, standing still as the wind blows easily from the outside and the draught provides a comfort to soothe the eagerness of what is to come. Patience has long been my friend and yet now in this time of need it seems to betray me. I left Cerberus in my rooms. It is only Minox and I who will hear the conversation tonight.
Minox pauses just inside and inclines his head.
“My lord.”
“Minox. Let us get on with it.” He’s partially aware of what has transpired. He need not know the details. It is only his role to obey. The scar that lines his left cheek flashes with the light that reflects from the obsidian.
He does not say anything further as we walk to the far end of the room. There is a large grate there, taller than I am, and as we draw near I raise my hand to it, commanding the warmth and the flames of divination. A fire springs up in it, the flames flickering orange and black. Smoke gathers above them and floats out toward us and it only takes a moment for the smoke to congregate in the shape of Zeus’s face.
I wave it away with a scowl. It is not the fire I have come here for but the mirror beside the grate. From a distance it appears as black as the walls around us, but when I am close the darkness begins to dissolve, and it takes the appearance of a more common mirror. The edges are etched with a herringbone pattern.
Minox does not stand behind me, so he cannot be seen in the reflection, only I. My reflection is dim. The mirror has gathered its own smoke, and as it drifts away, it reveals a room in Olympus.
Like most places in Olympus, it is stark white with pale blue details. The mirror makes it look darker than it is, which is a pure, blinding white, as if to remind everyone who looks at it that Olympus is closer to the sun and sky. It does not seem to matter to anyone that the Underworld is just as vast. It is not as if the sky and sun would be in balance without the Underworld. It is not as if anything would continue in the ways it should without all realms.
Zeus steps into view and takes his seat on a throne of quartz, looking at me through the mirror. “Hades.” His demeanor lacks warmth and I return the sentiment.
“Zeus.”
He may think of himself as above me. He may be above me, as far as the heavens are concerned. But the two of us are equals. It would be wise of him to remember that.
He toys with his beard as his wrinkled eyes narrow at me. His build is sizable as is his scepter that he taps along the floor. The clang of it echoing slightly in the background. His leather cloak dons the Aegis.
“I hope all is well in the Underworld,” he says in an even tone.
“It is,” I answer simply.
He’s not asking if everything is well in the Underworld. He is asking if I want to provide him with a reason for not rushing off to meet him at his command. I do not give him one. We look at each other through the mirror for several beats.