I turn on my heel and walk the length of the ledge again. Starting to balance my hopes against my fears revealed my magic to me. Finally understanding optimism brought the power to life.
I spin around, my frenetic strides devouring the small shelf of rock and forcing me to turn again after only a few steps. I clench my hands into fists. Too bad I didn’t figure this out sooner. I could have given Galen Tarva the thrashing he deserved. I know without a doubt that I could crack open the ground right now and toss the broken rocks around on a gale. I could have helped Ianthe fight.
A sharp pain slices through me at the thought of my sister. Gods, I hope she’s all right.
I whirl again, muttering a curse under my breath. It’s infuriating to know that I’ve been both spoiled rotten and methodically crushed by the powers that reign. I can’t even pretend to be surprised. No one ever said Olympians were logical. They’re mercurial, vengeful, fickle—a Gods awful lot of all-powerful beings playing around with people and worlds because what else does one do with an eternity of existence?
That doesn’t mean they don’t care about outcomes. About individuals. About me—although I’m not entirely certain that’s good fortune or bad. My life would have been very different without their interest, and likely a lot shorter. The Gods’ actions are mysteries, their dealings and emotions unpredictable. They measure time in eons rather than in years and can set trials into motion with generations to spare.
What’s less of a mystery to me now is Zeus. The King of Gods is a stinker, smellier than a round of goat cheese. Thalyria went to the dogs, so Grandpa Zeus set me up as the new Origin, the living, breathing equivalent of Hey, let’s try this!
I scowl, whipping around again and pacing with energy at odds with the dull monotony of Tartarus. I guess I should never have expected so much from a deity with his own private, eternal torture chamber. He was bound to be lacking a heart.
Self-determination? Sure, with a few major tweaks and significant nudges along the way.
Healing? Here, have Griffin—a great force of stubbornness predestined just for you. Not only will he eventually succeed in making you hate yourself less, but he’ll push you into that pesky destiny you’ve been trying so hard to avoid.
Bring Thalyria full circle? Why not? If we can. That’s everyone’s plan, after all—the Gods’ and ours. Why not bask in a little peace and glory before whatever new path we establish opens up all avenues again?
I shake my head, stomping along the ledge. Endless cycles. Human choices. The Gods watching it all and manipulating outcomes. Because above all, we’re entertainment to them, albeit entertainment they might become attached to.
Thalyria today. Attica, Atlantis, or even Tartarus tomorrow. Who knows?
I’m a pawn. Griffin is a pawn. Probably in what was a moment of curiosity for them, the Gods threw idealistic optimism and bleak-hearted cynicism together and waited to see what would happen next, which one of us would temper the other.
Are they surprised to find that Griffin’s loyalty and steadfastness won out over my distrust and doubt? If they are, they’re idiotic and, once again, don’t understand the human heart. What every person longs for is a connection, whether they’ll admit it or not. I’ll bet even Mother does, deep down, somewhere in her most secret and lonely thoughts.
I stop and reach out but don’t touch the image of Griffin, too afraid of disturbing the magic with my dried blood. I need to get back to him, to what we’re meant to do. My speculation about the Gods and their motives is worthless if I’m stuck on a cliffside in Tartarus. In fact, my guesswork doesn’t matter at all, because the Fates have already laid down their map. All that matters is what I do next. Which path I choose.
And I know exactly where I’m going, which means I need my wings back.
I watch Griffin through time and space and magic, mentally commanding my obstinate wings to spring free. I demand forcefully. I coax. I try using compulsion on myself, but apparently I can’t control my own mind, at least not in that way. My heart and psyche converge, and I focus so intently on Griffin, yearning for him, that tears cloud my vision. Nothing I do works. Hours pass with no more success than before, and fear and anxiety at my lack of progress start to creep through me like a poisonous vine.
Apart from when the wings were shocked out of me by some Olympian force, I’ve only felt any evidence of them with Griffin—when something he did made me feel treasured, or needed, or loved. He’s here with me now, in a sense, but it’s not the same, and it doesn’t give me whatever magical potion of emotion I need to set my wings to beating.
I worry my lower lip with nervous bites. I pace. I curse. Griffin sits like a dark statue in the night-blanketed room until dawn finally breathes pale colors across his face. He looks awful, like he hasn’t slept in weeks.
I don’t know what to do. Ares smacked me in the chest, and my wings popped out. I thump my own chest. Again. Harder. It doesn’t work.
Not entirely sure it’s a good idea, I point a lightning bolt at myself. I let fly, and the hot, bright flash of magic doesn’t do anything to me, not even singe my grubby clothing.
Bollocks! Bollocks again!
I turn to Prometheus. The eagle will be coming soon, and the Titan is watching me with a sort of blank insistence that makes me wonder if he sees anything at all.
Our eyes meet from across the short distance of sheer cliff, and my heart turns over heavily in my chest. He’s suffering. He’s so close to me, but so completely unreachable as well.
“Fly,” he whispers for the hundredth time.
I plant my hands on my hips. “Any ideas how?”
“Fly,” he says with more intensity, his eyes wide and emphatic now.
Huh. He’s as helpful as everyone else.
CHAPTER 27
Four and a half Thalyrian days, two livers, and no wings later, I make a shallow slice across my palm, dip a finger from my other hand into the gathering pool of blood, and then draw a second square of symbols onto the cliffside wall. When my open is complete, I think of Ianthe.
The magic is so easy with just a small trace of my blood. She appears before me instantly, and I exhale the restlessness I’d been harboring in my chest since the moment she left with Lycheron. I’d needed to see her, to be sure she was all right.