1
Cassandra
I hate parties, Olympus, and politics…but not necessarily in that order.
I can avoid two out of the three on good days, but today is promising to be anything but. It started this morning when I spilled my coffee all over Apollo’s shirt. A rookie mistake, and one that might get me fired if my boss were anyone other thanApollo. He just gave a small smile, assured me it was his fault when it was clearly mine, and changed into the spare suit he kept in his office.
He should have yelled at me.
I’ve worked for the man for five years now, and even that isn’t enough time to stop expecting the other shoe to drop. He’s hardly perfect—he’s one of the Thirteen who rule Olympus, after all, and there are no saints among them—but he’s the best of the bunch. He’s never abused his power over me, never turned his position as my boss into an excuse to be a petty tyrant, has never even raised his voice no matter how thoroughly I’ve fucked up from time to time.
It’s maddening.
I shove my hair back, hating that I can feel sweat slicking down my back as I climb the last flight of stairs. Something is wrong with the elevator in Dodona Tower, and for reasons that seem suspect, it only goes halfway up. I glare down at the file in my hand. Ishouldhave just left well enough alone when I realized Apollo forgot it as he rushed out the door for his meeting with Zeus. He’s an adult and is more than capable of dealing with the consequences.
But…he didn’t yell at me.
No one who knows me would call me a bleeding heart—more like a coldhearted bitch—so I have absolutely no reason to have caught a cab to the center of the upper city, taken the elevator halfway up, and then proceeded to climb the rest of the thirty floors on foot.
In six-inch heels, no less.
There’s something wrong with me. There must be. Maybe I have a fever.
I press the back of my hand to my forehead and then feel extra foolish becauseof courseI feel overheated. I just did more exercise than I would ever intentionally participate in unless running for my life. And even then, I’d fight before I ran.
I curse myself for the millionth time as I push through the stairwell door and out into the hallway where Zeus’s office is located. Then I get a look at my reflection in the massive mirror next to the elevator. “Oh no.”
My red hair has gone flat, and there’s asweat staindarkening the line under my breasts—which means there’s an answering one down my spine. I’m practically dripping. Without thinking, I dab at my forehead and then immediately regret it when my blouse comes away with a smear of foundation. My makeup has to be melting off my face right now. I look like I got caught in a rainstorm, except it’s not rain, it’s sweat, and my face is the color of a tomato on top of everything else.
“Fuck this. He doesn’t need the file that bad.” I turn for the elevator…and then remember that to flee, I have to make the return trip down fifteen flights of stairs. My thighs shake at the thought. Or maybe they’re shaking from the climb.
Does it count as a workplace accident if I fall down the stairs on an errand I technically wasn’t asked to do? Apollo would probably find some way to blame himself and pay for my medical bills, but getting hurt like that means no paycheck, and no paycheck means my little sister might not have the money she needs to buy books or school supplies or all the other random shit being at university requires. I can’t risk an injury, even if it means I’m humiliated in the process.
“Cassandra?”
I curse myself yet again and turn to face the gorgeous white woman walking down the hallway toward me. Ares is her name now, but it used to be Helen Kasios. I wouldn’t call us friends exactly, but I’ve attended the parties she used to throw from time to time before she became one of the Thirteen. It always felt a bit like watching animals in a zoo as I posted up against a wall and witnessed the powerful people from Olympus’s legacy families poke and snap at one another. I’ve learned a lot from playing the sidelines, nearly enough to protect me and my sister from the circling wolves.
But Helen isn’t too bad, honestly. She’s never cruel when kindness will further her goals, and she’s perfected a glittery exterior that everyone seems to think means she’s empty-headed but that I’ve always interpreted as a warning not to get too close. No one surfs the political currents as adeptly as she does if they’re not smarter than most of the people in the room.
But that was before she became Ares. Now I can’t take anything for granted when it comes to her. We aren’t on the same level—two women from legacy families, even if mine is disgraced and hers rules Olympus.
She’s one of them now, and I’m still me.
“Helen. Or, rather, Ares.” I strive to keep my tone even, but her name still comes out too sharply. “What are you doing here?”
“Meeting with my lovely brother.” She shrugs. She’s built slim the way her mother was, though there’s clear muscle definition in the arms left bare by her black sheath dress. She looks cool and professional and untouchable, her light-brown hair perfectly done.
I feel grimy standing next to her. I haven’t wanted a thin body in over a decade—I love my curves out of sheer defiance of everyone who acts like they should be part of abeforepicture—but it’s hard not to compare us when we stand like this.
I ruthlessly squash the urge to shift, to conceal. There’s no fixing how messy I look, and trying to do it will just telegraph how uncomfortable I am right now. I raise my chin and focus on smoothing out my expression instead. “I see.”
She gives me a long look. “Apollo’s in with him now. I don’t think he knew you were coming, or he would have waited for you.”
There’s no getting out of this. I’m here. I might as well see it through. I hold up the file between us like a shield. “He forgot this.”
“Ah.” She glances back down the hallway. “Well, I’ll walk you down there.”
“That’s really not necessary.”