Athena walked side by side with him through the Styx. The river of hate rose up to her thighs and rippled away like oil no matter how hard she kicked. There was no froth. No splash. Its scent hung heavy and sweet, like old pennies tossed into bad wine. She remembered the taste of it from her trip with Cassandra. At least then they’d had a boat.
Another few moments and they’d be forced to swim, necks strained to keep the water out of their eyes and mouths. Athena felt Ares’ eyes on her bruises and scabs and wondered if she’d have enough strength to take on both him and Persephone if he double-crossed her. She doubted it. Whatever had transpired on Olympus, Ares didn’t look any worse than he had the last time she’d seen him.
He wore a black T-shirt and no visible bandages. The only cut showing was on his forearm, and it had healed to a dry, red line.
“Hurry up.” Ares pushed out and started to swim. “I don’t want to be in this river without my feet touching sand for long. Who knows what might drag us under.”
Athena pushed off. She knew what might drag them under. Enormous deepwater serpents, their fins and sides lit with phosphorescence. And once they were down there, other things would fight the serpents for possession. Bigger things. Things with gullets big enough to swallow them whole.
She kicked her legs hard, and smiled when Ares kicked his harder, trying to stay ahead. When their feet touched the bottom on the other side, both breathed heavy from exertion and relief.
“Where’s Persephone? And where’s the dog?” Athena asked, referring to Cerberus, Hades’ three-headed hound. Though he’d been down to two heads the last time she’d seen him. The third head had already died and been picked clean of meat and fur by the other two.
Maybe by now he’d be down to one.
Athena looked farther inland, deeper into the caverns and tunnels of the underworld. Persephone was nowhere to be seen. And she hadn’t sent anything across the river after them during the dark hours the night before.
“She knows we’re here.” Ares pushed water off his arms as though his hands were squeegees, and shook them dry with distaste. “But she doesn’t know why.”
“We?”
“Yeah, we. You didn’t think I’d leave her alone above, did you?”
Aphrodite’s slender leg poked into Athena’s peripheral vision, as if she’d only been waiting for her introduction. Athena turned and took her in: the mad goddess, still marred with purple bruises, her blue-green dress torn and stained with mud.
“Fan-fucking-tastic.”
“Not happy to see me, sister?” Aphrodite asked. “It’s all right. I wasn’t expecting tears and embraces.” Aphrodite smiled a small smile; it shivered sadly in her beautiful face. “But you have accepted our offer?”
“I have. But you both know it doesn’t matter.”
“Why?”
Athena ground her teeth. Aphrodite knew damned well why. The minute Athena burst into that chamber on Olympus and saw the Moirae, she knew that they were finished. The Moirae were gods to the gods. Gods to her father.
But Aphrodite’s innocent, stupid face sang of denial.
So let her hold on to it. She’ll be more use busting out of here if she has hope.
“Because you killed Aidan, that’s why,” Athena said. “You killed Apollo, and the girl who can kill every one of us loved him. She wants you dead more than anyone, and she might not care too much what my opinion is.”
“I thought you were her friend,” Aphrodite said.
“I am her friend. But she isn’t mine.”
Ares reached out and pulled Aphrodite close to his side.
“You’ll do whatever you can, Athena,” he said. “For now, let’s worry about our uncle. And our half-corpse aunt.”
Athena cocked her head. “You seem less crazy here, Aphrodite.”
“You seem less bitchy,” Aphrodite said, and Athena curled her lip.
“Persephone is strong,” Athena warned. “Maybe stronger here than we are.”
“I’m not worried about that,” said Ares. “The hardest thing is going to be finding her. But don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.” He and Aphrodite headed farther in, toward the labyrinth of tunnels.