Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“My lady,” she says into my ear. “I told you it was not safe. My queen. We must go. We must leave this place. This is a matter of the gods—”
“I am the goddess of life and the queen of the dead,” I argue back, not looking at her. I search for any glimpse I can get of Hades. There he is, throwing shadow-demons out ahead of him. They fight off the gods who join my father’s army and attack Hades. My heart tumbles with fear. There is my mother, her hand on Aphrodite’s wrist, the two of them facing out into the fray. There is another one of my father’s lightning bolts. It’s maddening. All of this pain, for what?
It all happens in slow motion.
I attempt to step forward, but Beatrice pulls me back. “My lady, please—it is too dangerous. Let us retreat to somewhere safe, and then we can pray—”
“To whom?” I ask, searching her gaze for an answer. “All the gods are here. They are fighting. It is not the time for prayers, Beatrice.”
“You cannot fight!”
“I will not.”
“But my queen—”
A bolt of power—a lightning bolt, perhaps, though I cannot see exactly what it is—slams into the corner behind Beatrice. It cracks and shatters the stone that’s been there for centuries.
“Enough!” I pull her with me into the hall, step up onto a fallen fragment of the ceiling. I draw my power from every being. Their life is my source.
With my eyes pitch black, my robes a haunted ash, and no crown atop my head, I raise my hands, my fingers bent and twisted as vines creep from the ground, winding around limbs and holding those who fight in place. Screeches cry out as the vines twist and slowly silence the slaughter.
I’ve never felt so powerful and I command once again, “Enough!”
My voice carries out over all the gods of Olympus who have gathered here to argue and attack. Over the bloodied attacks and screams of rage.
It takes a moment for the movement to stop, the screams to be silenced by the vines, but it does. Those not contained by my hold slow as the realization of what I’ve done dawns.
“There will be no war in my name!” I shout and know it to be true. There is no doubt that I will put an end to this madness. As my power moves away from me, along with my words, I see it reach each god. One by one. Stilling them just as the binds grip them.
Thorns grow at the throats of those who struggle. “Be still!” I command as the magic flows through me more easily than it ever has.
My father stops. He’s visible in the center of the crowd, large and brooding, his staff in his right hand and his gold crown ever shining. He watches me with wariness in his eyes. Bolts of lightning strike down at the vines that grow near him and yet, only more grow in the injured plants’ place. The more he fights, the more power he gives me. I watch the flash in his eyes as the realization dawns on him. It is then and only then that his staff is held close to his chest and his attacks are halted. “Stop at once!” he booms. “It has ended!”
My mother, a short distance away, clutches Aphrodite’s hand. Regret pure in her gaze. Hecate, on the other side of the hall, has her hands folded in front of her, head bowed and her hood covering her face as if she has not been in the middle of a battle. She stands as a statue murmuring incantations.
The only person who moves, then, is Hades. He steps out from behind a small gathering of other gods trapped within the binding vines and into the light. His broad shoulders rise as he breathes heavily, and then I watch as he flexes his fingers and pulls the shadows of demons within him back from whence they came. His gaze is narrowed and pained. A single slash across his face, no doubt caused by my father. I turn my attention to each of them. My mother, my lover, and my father before slowly releasing the vines.
“Persephone,” Hades whispers and I’m drawn to him. The tension crackles when I meet his darkened eyes.
Within the depths of his gaze lies pride and loyalty. But mostly love and admiration. He is looking upon someone that is his and only his. Someone whom he will gladly defend for as long as he’s capable of living. He bows his head as he whispers, “My dark queen.”
I find him fair and just and certain—though not perfect. But even his imperfections are known and accepted in the Underworld. His wrongs can be made up for and forgiven.
Beatrice squeezes my hand, pulling me from my thoughts of my lover.