The Goddess Legacy
Page 71
Me.
Ever since Persephone had given up her immortality and single-handedly thrown the council into chaos three decades ago, I’d been persona non grata. No one spoke to me. My suggestions during meetings were completely ignored. Even the minor gods and goddesses gave me the cold shoulder, as if being a pariah was contagious or something. For all I knew, it was. One touch and they’d never have a decent conversation again.
Normally it wouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did. Wasn’t the first time I’d been shoved into social exile, after all. But this time Zeus hadn’t brought up cattle even once. And when Zeus missed an opportunity like that, clearly it was serious.
Funny thing is, none of this was my fault. If they were going to blame someone, they should’ve blamed Aphrodite or Ares. She was the one who’d messed things up so badly with Adonis, after all, and Ares had been the one to kill him. I’d just had an affair with Persephone eons ago.
That was it. That was my entire involvement—falling in love with my best friend and giving her some freedom when everyone else had been trying to keep her in chains. Not exactly a capital crime if you ask me, but no one ever does.
The council needed a scapegoat though, and I was convenient. No way Zeus would ever punish Aphrodite for anything, or Ares, Hera’s favorite son. So I, the screwup, was forced to take the blame even though I’d never said a single word to Adonis.
Not fair, not at all, but the council doesn’t exactly run on fairness.
Scowling, I threw the ball hard against the wall, and it bounced off at an angle, heading directly toward the circle of thrones in the center of the room. With a muttered curse, I stood. Couldn’t give Zeus any more of a reason to get pissed off at me. I was already way over the line as it was, at least as far as he saw it. And on the council, that was all that mattered.
“Looking for this?”
At the sound of that familiar voice, I grinned and turned around. Apparently not everyone had completely given up on me. Just almost everyone. “Iris. Haven’t seen you for a few decades.”
“Zeus sent me on a scouting trip.” She examined the rubber ball and gave it a tentative bounce. “It wasn’t pleasant. Besides the fact that it took half a damn century, a lion tried to eat me, and he looked awfully confused when his teeth and claws seemed to stop working.”
“Shame he didn’t succeed.” I leaned up against the wall, crossing my arms. “I could use a new job.”
“As if you could do a tenth of what I do.”
I snorted. “Please. Zeus only lets you be his messenger because no one else wants the job. And you don’t snitch on him to Hera. Or gossip about his affairs. That’s more than just about any other minor god or goddess out there, you know.”
A dimple appeared on her cheek, one that only showed up when she was annoyed. Usually with me. “I am anything but minor. What’s wrong with the job you have now?”
“You mean you haven’t heard?” I said, raising my eyebrow. Then again, she was talking to me. Couldn’t have known much. “Persephone gave up her immortality. Rather than everyone blaming someone who actually had something to do with it, they all decided to gang up on me instead.”
Iris’s eyes widened, and she seemed to forget about the ball in midair. With a dull thump, it hit her on the head, right in the middle of her coppery curls. “Wait—you mean that actually happened?”
I eyed her. Was she pretending to be clueless to get my side of the story, or did she really not know? “What have you heard? Kick the ball my way, would you?”
She made a halfhearted attempt, but the ball only rolled three-quarters of the way back to me. Figured. “I heard whispers. Nothing confirmed. Then again, I haven’t exactly been in the center of things lately.”
No, she hadn’t, which was a damn good thing for me. “Persephone fell in love with a mortal. Unfortunately for her, Aphrodite was already sleeping with him—”
“Who isn’t Aphrodite sleeping with?” muttered Iris, and I smirked.
“Ares was his usual violent self and decided to take out the competition. Wild boar,” I added when her mouth opened. She winced and touched her stomach in sympathy. “Apparently the mortal’s afterlife wasn’t so great, so Persephone decided to sacrifice her immortality and die in order to give him an incentive to leave his own personal hell for something better.”
“Oh.” Iris let out a romantic little sigh, and now it was my turn to make a face. “Did it work?”
I shrugged and averted my eyes under the guise of fetching the ball. “No idea.”
“You mean Hades hasn’t mentioned it?”
“We’re not exactly on speaking terms.”
“No surprise there. But none of the others brought it up?”
“We’re not exactly on speaking terms, either.”
Her eyebrows arched. “They’re taking this whole ganging up thing seriously, aren’t they?”
“You’re telling me,” I muttered.
She crossed the space between us and set her hand on my cheek. Against my better judgment, I tilted my head into her touch. First time anyone had bothered in months. For a second, our gazes met, and her weird purple irises seemed to turn an even darker shade of violet.
“Your eyes are the shade of ripe grapes,” I said. “What does that mean?”
She dropped her hand and gave me a look, and her eyes reverted to their normal purple. Or at least it was normal around me. They changed color with her mood, I knew that much—sort of like Persephone’s hair with the seasons—but what those colors meant, she refused to tell me. Not that I blamed her, but still. The few clues I had weren’t much to go on. When I wasn’t public enemy number one, Ares had informed me in no uncertain terms that her eyes were blue, and Aphrodite swore up and down they were green.
Ever since Persephone had given up her immortality and single-handedly thrown the council into chaos three decades ago, I’d been persona non grata. No one spoke to me. My suggestions during meetings were completely ignored. Even the minor gods and goddesses gave me the cold shoulder, as if being a pariah was contagious or something. For all I knew, it was. One touch and they’d never have a decent conversation again.
Normally it wouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did. Wasn’t the first time I’d been shoved into social exile, after all. But this time Zeus hadn’t brought up cattle even once. And when Zeus missed an opportunity like that, clearly it was serious.
Funny thing is, none of this was my fault. If they were going to blame someone, they should’ve blamed Aphrodite or Ares. She was the one who’d messed things up so badly with Adonis, after all, and Ares had been the one to kill him. I’d just had an affair with Persephone eons ago.
That was it. That was my entire involvement—falling in love with my best friend and giving her some freedom when everyone else had been trying to keep her in chains. Not exactly a capital crime if you ask me, but no one ever does.
The council needed a scapegoat though, and I was convenient. No way Zeus would ever punish Aphrodite for anything, or Ares, Hera’s favorite son. So I, the screwup, was forced to take the blame even though I’d never said a single word to Adonis.
Not fair, not at all, but the council doesn’t exactly run on fairness.
Scowling, I threw the ball hard against the wall, and it bounced off at an angle, heading directly toward the circle of thrones in the center of the room. With a muttered curse, I stood. Couldn’t give Zeus any more of a reason to get pissed off at me. I was already way over the line as it was, at least as far as he saw it. And on the council, that was all that mattered.
“Looking for this?”
At the sound of that familiar voice, I grinned and turned around. Apparently not everyone had completely given up on me. Just almost everyone. “Iris. Haven’t seen you for a few decades.”
“Zeus sent me on a scouting trip.” She examined the rubber ball and gave it a tentative bounce. “It wasn’t pleasant. Besides the fact that it took half a damn century, a lion tried to eat me, and he looked awfully confused when his teeth and claws seemed to stop working.”
“Shame he didn’t succeed.” I leaned up against the wall, crossing my arms. “I could use a new job.”
“As if you could do a tenth of what I do.”
I snorted. “Please. Zeus only lets you be his messenger because no one else wants the job. And you don’t snitch on him to Hera. Or gossip about his affairs. That’s more than just about any other minor god or goddess out there, you know.”
A dimple appeared on her cheek, one that only showed up when she was annoyed. Usually with me. “I am anything but minor. What’s wrong with the job you have now?”
“You mean you haven’t heard?” I said, raising my eyebrow. Then again, she was talking to me. Couldn’t have known much. “Persephone gave up her immortality. Rather than everyone blaming someone who actually had something to do with it, they all decided to gang up on me instead.”
Iris’s eyes widened, and she seemed to forget about the ball in midair. With a dull thump, it hit her on the head, right in the middle of her coppery curls. “Wait—you mean that actually happened?”
I eyed her. Was she pretending to be clueless to get my side of the story, or did she really not know? “What have you heard? Kick the ball my way, would you?”
She made a halfhearted attempt, but the ball only rolled three-quarters of the way back to me. Figured. “I heard whispers. Nothing confirmed. Then again, I haven’t exactly been in the center of things lately.”
No, she hadn’t, which was a damn good thing for me. “Persephone fell in love with a mortal. Unfortunately for her, Aphrodite was already sleeping with him—”
“Who isn’t Aphrodite sleeping with?” muttered Iris, and I smirked.
“Ares was his usual violent self and decided to take out the competition. Wild boar,” I added when her mouth opened. She winced and touched her stomach in sympathy. “Apparently the mortal’s afterlife wasn’t so great, so Persephone decided to sacrifice her immortality and die in order to give him an incentive to leave his own personal hell for something better.”
“Oh.” Iris let out a romantic little sigh, and now it was my turn to make a face. “Did it work?”
I shrugged and averted my eyes under the guise of fetching the ball. “No idea.”
“You mean Hades hasn’t mentioned it?”
“We’re not exactly on speaking terms.”
“No surprise there. But none of the others brought it up?”
“We’re not exactly on speaking terms, either.”
Her eyebrows arched. “They’re taking this whole ganging up thing seriously, aren’t they?”
“You’re telling me,” I muttered.
She crossed the space between us and set her hand on my cheek. Against my better judgment, I tilted my head into her touch. First time anyone had bothered in months. For a second, our gazes met, and her weird purple irises seemed to turn an even darker shade of violet.
“Your eyes are the shade of ripe grapes,” I said. “What does that mean?”
She dropped her hand and gave me a look, and her eyes reverted to their normal purple. Or at least it was normal around me. They changed color with her mood, I knew that much—sort of like Persephone’s hair with the seasons—but what those colors meant, she refused to tell me. Not that I blamed her, but still. The few clues I had weren’t much to go on. When I wasn’t public enemy number one, Ares had informed me in no uncertain terms that her eyes were blue, and Aphrodite swore up and down they were green.
