“Pandora.” Kelaino’s voice scraped over her nerves before she had time to say aught more to Prometheus.
She rose, turning to see the queen beckoning her over with one finger. Offering a nod of farewell to the other Titan, Pandora came as bidden, though she’d much rather have challenged him to a rematch, one where she could direct her undivided attention to the board.
Like a marble statue, Kelaino stood, hand upon her hip, eyes hard. “I did not summon you to this event merely to entertain my uncle, and I’ll certainly not pay you for it.” Because he was the one Titan here from which she had no fear?
“I’ll find a harp, then,” Pandora said dryly.
“Find Zeus and work your charms,” Kelaino said. “I want him in the best mood of his long, misanthropic life when he comes to call upon me.”
Pandora glowered, not even bothering to hide her ire. Should she greet the king on her back? After all, he seemed to get every other woman he ever saw in that position. It was what he’d done to Europa all those years ago, in front of Pandora, even as Hekate buried Pandora’s face in her robes. Five years old, and she’d seen—or at least heard—her adopted mother raped, though she had not understood what was happening until some years later.
She opened her mouth, intent to suggest that maybe Kelaino ought to be the one to alleviate Zeus’s tensions. His vexation was with her and her sisters, after all, and he clearly had a taste for Pleiades. How many of them had born his bastards now?
Kelaino grabbed Pandora’s chin, actually hefting her slightly off the ground by it, forcing Pandora to stand upon her toes as lances of pain shot through her neck. “Do not challenge me on this, hetaira. If the king leaves here angry, I’ll make certain we are not the only ones to suffer for it.” Abruptly the Nymph released Pandora who stumbled away.
She stretched her neck as much as an excuse to cover the shame and horror—and knew Prometheus had risen and moved to her at this—as to work out the kinks Kelaino had introduced. She couldn’t face him.
Glowering, Pandora spun off on her heel and fled.
Oh, did Kelaino want an impression made upon Zeus? How much impression would a knife in his jugular make? Would that get his attention, as his golden ichor sprayed over the Pleiades’ mosaics? The image danced through her mind, round and round, made almost real by will alone. If she actually managed to kill him, would Kelaino thank her?
Perhaps not, for the remaining Olympians would no doubt make an example of all Atlantis.
I saw Atlantis torn to pieces. I saw the end of everything.
Pandora shuddered. Gods, she wanted to retch. To spit. To flee from all this. Maybe not merely from this symposium, but, as Prometheus had suggested, from Atlantis itself. From the life she had built here out of the ashes of her ruined childhood.
She felt cast adrift, as if she had lost her grip on the hope and tenacity that had so long guided her. She was not the giving-up type, but this had become unbearable. Was the Titan right? Could she do whatever she desired? Perhaps, if she could bear the price of it.
Listless, she came into an empty lounge, slipped on spilled liquid, and pitched hard onto the tiles. Her cheek smacked the ground and white haze filled her vision. It took her a moment to even notice the warm wetness upon her face. To push herself up onto her elbows.
Only then did she see the body. Only then did the scream rip through her of its own accord. It tore out of her belly, a primal shriek of horror.
She lay in a pool of golden blood from a Titan. From Enyo. Burns marred the Titan’s face and neck, and her throat was crushed so severely her spine had broken out the back of her neck.
When at last the scream died in her, Pandora stared at the corpse in rapt disbelief. Had Zeus done this? But no, she’d have heard his lightning, and anyway, he’d never have vented his wrath privately. He bathed in spectacle. Which meant someone had done this to his staunch ally. Zeus had other enemies besides just Pandora. And if those enemies could do this to a body—to a Titan!—her idea of attacking Zeus with a knife was laughable.
An iron grip seized her by the back of the neck and hefted her up off the floor before thrusting her against a pillar, her sandals dangling as Hekate held her aloft. The witch Titan’s golden eyes darted back and forth between Pandora and the mauled corpse, expression caught somewhere between shock and, perhaps, frustration.
It was Taygete who came in next, Kelaino’s sister, with her hand to her mouth. The Pleiad didn’t even get the chance to speak before Zeus shoved her to the ground beside Enyo’s corpse.
“Treachery!” The king roared. “Treason!”
Hekate tossed Pandora aside and fell back out of the room, perhaps searching for other conspirators. Pandora landed on her knees, the impact sending daggers of agony up her legs. For the pain, she couldn’t move, only gape as Zeus’s fist descended upon Taygete’s face. The Nymph’s skull deformed under the blow, crunching inward like a broken vase.
Still, she did not die, but rather lay there, gurgling wetly as Zeus snared a hand in her hair, hefting her upward.
They’d kill Pandora just for being here. No Man could have committed this murder, but they wouldn’t care. Whimpering, she crawled away, trying not to retch. Then she was on her feet, a stumbling, shambling run as she made back for the courtyard.
Alkoune stood before her, and from the look on her face, she seemed about to apprehend Pandora. Before the Nymph could do so, dark clouds covered the moon. A single rumble of thunder was the only warning. The bolt that streaked down
