Unless there actually is a way to repay her earlier kindness…
No. It’s a terrible idea, and hardly foolproof. My mother is like a terrier with a bone when it comes to her vendettas. She won’t let anything get in the way of punishing both Psyche and Demeter by removing Psyche. If I try to stand in her way, she’ll just go around me and kill Psyche anyway.
“Promise me that you won’t hurt my sisters.”
I drag myself out of my traitorous thoughts and stare at her. “You know I can’t do that.” When she narrows her eyes, I relent. “Look, Persephone is as safe as possible because she’s married to Hades, and no one wants the boogeyman of Olympus showing up on their doorstep. Callisto is likely safe for a similar reason—no one wants to fuck with her kind of viciousness. She doesn’t play by the established rules, and that’s enough to make most enemies think twice. And Eurydice…” I shrug. “All she has to do is have a prolonged stay in the lower city and few people can even get to her. It’s not like Hades or Persephone are going to invite my mother’s people over the river to harm her.”
“Is all this supposed to make me feel better? You could just promise not to hurt them.”
I give her the look that statement deserves. “You wouldn’t believe me.”
“You could give me your word.”
I know she’s still trying to make herself more human to me, to prick my nonexistent conscience, but when’s the last time someone actually gave a damn about my word? My mother’s tasks have dragged my name through the mud, deserved though that may be. No one trusts me, because all it takes is pissing Aphrodite off and her will overrides mine. She points, I take care of things. My word doesn’t mean a fucking thing.
Maybe that’s why I find myself asking, “If I gave you my word, would you believe me?”
“Yes.”
The word feels like she reached across the table and punched me in the chest. There isn’t a shred of doubt in those three letters. If I gave my word, she would believe me; it’s as simple as that. I stare at this woman who defies all my expectations. I had half convinced myself that her taking care of me that night was a fluke or at least something I could push aside. It’s not a fluke, though. Her showing up here tonight is proof of that.
Psyche really is a good person who’s somehow managed to survive Olympus politics.
And my mother wants me to extinguish her flame.
I swallow hard. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” Psyche repeats. She stops twisting her hair and gives me her full attention. “Are you giving your word?”
I shake my head slowly. “I can’t promise you anything.”
“Oh.” The disappointment on her pretty face cuts through me like a knife. I am not a good person. I never had a chance to be one, and it’s not like I fought my fate all that hard once the path unfurled beneath my feet. But killing Psyche? The idea of it made me uncomfortable before, but after this conversation, it makes me physically ill.
I…can’t do this.
Maybe I do have a soul, dusty and unused though it is, because the thought of ending Psyche’s life feels so fucking repellent to me, I’m about to do something unforgivable. I take a drink of my vodka tonic, the burning of the alcohol doing nothing to clear away the sudden determination taking root inside me.
A wild plan takes root, one reckless in the extreme. Defying my mother is a risk, but it’s one I’m willing to take. Psyche has already risked herself for me twice. Surely I can meet her halfway? I’m not good like she is, though. It’s not kindness that has me speaking. It’s pure selfish want. “There might be another way.”
6
Psyche
It seems a particularly cruel twist of fate that gave Eros Ambrosia the face of a golden god and no heart to speak of. He sits there, somehow finding the single beam of light in this dark hole of a place, and looks at me with nothing in his pale-blue eyes. No guilt. No sympathy. Not even anticipation for what comes next. There’s no bloodlust there, either—just a certain sort of weariness as if he’s already tired of this song and dance and just wants to get the whole thing over with so he can go home and go to bed.
He’s wearing nearly the same expression he was when he thanked me for helping him.
I refuse to hope he’s actually offering me a way out, but I’m approaching a desperation that makes me foolish. I thought I was so incredibly clever, creating that false timeline with Hermes so that Eros and I could plot together. What was I thinking? The first thing I should have done was go to Persephone. Just because Eros wasn’t a total monster to me two weeks ago doesn’t mean he’s safe.