“Holy hell,” Cerek said, coming around to help Theron to his feet. “What happened to you?”
Phineus took his other arm. “This is a sight I never thought I’d see.” He sniffed. Leaned closer to look at Theron’s hair. “Gods, have you been burned?”
Theron found his footing and eased free of the guardians’ grips. Of all the Argonauts, Phineus would be the one to recognize singed flesh, since he had that whole fire-breathing-dragon thing down pat. “Something like that. Who’s manning the portal?”
“Titus,” Cerek told him.
Good. Theron had to get word to his kin not to let Acacia leave. “I need your help. She’s missing.”
“We know,” Gryphon said from across the room. Blond hair fell across his forehead, and a day’s worth of stubble covered his jaw. “Demetrius and Zander are already looking for her. The king’s having a conniption. And considering what Zander said you did yesterday, you’re lucky the king hasn’t strung you up by your balls. This doesn’t look good, man.”
“How could you know that?” Theron asked. “She only left here mere minutes ago.”
“Isadora was here?” Phineus asked at Theron’s side.
“Isadora?” Theron glanced from Phineus to each of the other guardians in the room. “Not Isadora. Why would she—?”
And then it hit him. “Oh, skata. He took them both.”
The dizziness returned to Theron’s head. He reached a hand out to the wall to steady himself. Shrugged from Cerek’s grip when the Argonaut tried to help him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the guardians’ confused expressions as they looked at each other and then back at him.
“Who took what where?” Gryphon asked.
Silence.
“The woman,” Cerek finally said in a knowing voice. “The human woman he had here yesterday. Son of a bitch.”
“Wait.” Phineus held up a hand. “What woman?”
Theron braced his forearm against the wall. “Hades was here.”
“Holy fucking A,” Cerek muttered.
“Here? In the flesh?” Gryphon asked. “I thought the gods were banned from Argolea.”
“Hades isn’t an Olympian,” Cerek said. “Only the twelve Olympian gods are banned from our realm. Son of a bitch.”
Theron ignored them and turned a slow circle. “I have to figure out where he would have taken them. Not to the Underworld. It would have to be here—”
“Theron,” Cerek warned.
“—not to the castle or the temple. Both are too busy. Somewhere private. Somewhere sacred. Somewhere…Why can’t I think?” He pressed his fingers to his forehead, then without warning slammed both arms against the wall. Wood and plaster splintered into a thousand pieces to rain down on the floor as he roared out his frustration.
The room went silent. None of the guardians dared speak, because they each knew he was strong enough to rip their arms and legs off if he wanted to. And in his current mood, that wasn’t entirely unlikely.
And that’s when it hit him.
His head came up sharply, covered in a layer of fine white powder from the stone he’d disintegrated. “Skata.”
“Theron, wait!” Cerek called as Theron raced for the door.
Pain forgotten, Theron paused long enough to slam his feet into a pair of boots in the hall. Not waiting for the others, he yelled, “Get Callia and bring her to the Stone Circle. Do it now!”
And then he ran.
“Where are we going?” Isadora asked Persephone through the fog.
“You’ll see.” The goddess squeezed Isadora’s hand. “We’re nearly there.”
It’d been a long night. A night Isadora did not want to remember. Every time she thought about what she’d seen…
Her stomach revolted again, and she felt the bile sliding up her throat.
“Do not even think about getting sick again, little queen.” Persephone’s hand tightened around hers. And her sadistic laugh was the only thing that kept Isadora from losing what little dinner she’d eaten. “When this is over, you’ll thank me. It’s long past time you tapped into your hedonistic god side.”
Isadora closed her eyes tightly. Don’t think about that. Or her. Or him. Or what they did. Don’t think about anything except you and Acacia and the fact…you saved her.
“And here we are,” Persephone said.
The fog cleared, and cold air shivered over Isadora’s shoulders. In front of her she saw majestic green olive trees and a purple mountain rising from the ground. She knew she was in Argolea, she just wasn’t sure where. She turned. And spotted the stone table in the center of the circle.
“What is this?” Her eyes flicked over the large, flat rock surrounded by the charred remains of kindling and fuel where Argolean bodies were burned in the funeral rite that freed their souls to the Isles of the Blessed. “Why are we here?”
Persephone, a good foot taller and a thousand times more regal, smiled down at her. “Because this is where it will happen.”