Curses of Olympus (The Olympus Trilogy #2)

15. Icarus

15

ICARUS

“ G reat work today.” Athena’s emerald eyes glisten as Icarus dismounts from Amara.

Icarus bows her head slightly. The Pegasus Legion is on their second week of training, and she has proven to be a natural fit for the role.

The incident with the rebels still lingers when she tries to sleep at night, but with no further missions so far of that nature, and how well she is doing in her training, it is easy enough for her to set it aside. But there will be no ignoring it once she becomes Telegonus’s right hand in the rebel hunts.

“When you get cleaned up, there is a feast tonight in my temple. It’s time for you to begin your ascension through my ranks. I could sense something special in you from the moment you stepped into my arena.” Athena hands Icarus a scroll with a deep green wax seal. “I have an eye for warriors, and you, my dear, might just be the greatest of them all. At my side, the world will be at our fingertips, golden girl.”

Athena leaves Icarus in a stunned silence, mouth agape, as she rubs her finger over the smooth wax on the scroll.

Icarus is a natural warrior, to be sure, but to receive a hand delivered invitation to a feast from Athena herself? Is this how Telegonus felt the day the goddess appeared before him and summoned him to her side?

Don’t get ahead of yourself. Remember what Mama said about pride. You are a rookie with some potential, do not start picturing yourself as Telegonus’s superior.

Walking back to the barracks, Icarus unfurls the scroll and reads the delicate script.

You and a guest are invited to the halls of the Mighty Athena to celebrate Pantheon unity and the continued extermination of the rebel threat to our livelihoods.

Please be seated at the table by 7p.m. promptly

(not only will the goddess find tardiness upsetting, but it might be the last mistake you make.)

S he rolls her eyes at the threat but is giddy over the idea of the feast. Will Aphrodite be there? Icarus knows without question who she wants to bring as her guest.

The wood of the door is hollow under Icarus’s knuckles as she knocks.

It swings open, and Lysander’s roommate wipes his eyes sleepily.

Perhaps he was on night watch.

“Yeah?” he asks with a half yawn.

“Where is he?”

“Dunno. It was his day off from training today.” He looks back into the room. “Bed is still made, so either he left early or didn’t come back last night.”

“Thanks.” The door closes with a thud.

After confirming that he is not in the stables, bathhouse, or recreational areas of the barracks, Icarus knows where to find him. She did not want to interrupt him with his lover, but she also does not want to attend this feast alone. Besides, this is what he gets for being her only friend.

Besides, it sounds like they’ve had more than enough time already today.

Behind the temple, past the ruins of an even older temple, a small cave lies tucked behind a grove of willow trees. Even recalling the stories about his favorite secret rendezvous spot, it takes Icarus a moment to find it.

She parts the long, swinging branches hiding the entrance and pauses to listen. Soft laughter fills the air, followed by quietly murmured words and moans that make her grimace.

“Lysander?” She calls into the cave, so she does not walk in on them naked or intimately entangled. “It’s Icarus. I need to talk to you.”

He stammers from within, “Uhh. Give me a minute?”

Icarus laughs. “I’ll go wander, but I don’t have all day. This is time sensitive.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go away.”

Walking back through the grove, Icarus finds a mossy boulder and sits on it, soaking up rays of glorious sunshine. She glances up to the glowing orb in the heavens with a fully open gaze.

The sun does not burn her eyes as it does everyone else. As she has done often, she stares at the glowing orb in the heavens, and it calls to her. She cannot explain why, but the urge to spread wings she does not have and fly higher and higher until she is completely enveloped by the solar warmth and power of the cosmos almost overwhelms her.

As Icarus looks, yearning, for a moment, her reality flashes. The blue sky turns dark and claustrophobic, as if she is suddenly underground. The sun no longer glows the same golden yellow but is now the bluish white of the hottest part of a flame.

Icarus blinks and shakes her head, and when she opens her eyes, the world is normal again. She is once more in the grove of willow trees, sitting on the mossy rock, waiting on her horny best friend.

She scrunches her brows. That was weird.

Before she can worry too much about it, Lysander appears from within the cave. His slouchy neckline does nothing to hide the love mark on his collarbone. Icarus crinkles her nose and looks pointedly at the mark.

He sighs dramatically, pulls a cloak out of his satchel, and throws it on, clasping it at the base of his throat. “I’ve told him to be careful about that, but you know things can get, Miss Likes to Fuck Goddesses.”

Icarus jabs her elbow into his side, and he laughs, hooking an arm over her shoulders.

“So, what was so important that you needed to interrupt my day off with that delicious specimen of a man?” Lysander drawls.

“Do you want to go with me?” Icarus asks, waggling her eyebrows and handing him the scroll from Athena.

As he reads it, he quietly mouths the words. When he finishes, his eyes go wide as they meet hers.

“A feast. In the temple. With Pantheon gods. Slap my ass and send me to Tartarus, how did you get this?” he exclaims with a grin.

Icarus shrugs. “Athena gave it to me. She likes how I’ve been doing in training.”

Lysander whistles and runs his hand through his straight black hair. “Damn, Icarus. You really are going to outshine all of us, aren’t you?” There is no malice in his tone or expression, only wonder.

Waving him off, Icarus says, “Well, I can at least try to take you with me. So, let’s go have dinner with the gods, shall we?” She extends her elbow to him, and Lysander lops his arm through hers.

“Yes, we shall.”

W hen Icarus arrives in her room in the barracks, there is a message waiting for her from Aphrodite.

My love,

While it will be torturous not to touch you tonight, we must remember how important

it is to keep our relationship away from watchful eyes. Even if it were not forbidden, I

have many enemies, and you would instantly become a target. We should not dare to

even make eye contact for longer than three seconds. But in those three seconds, I want

you to remember what my hands feel like on your body, how my lips feel on your breasts,

and know that once this feast is over, you will be my feast.

Forever yours.

I carus carefully folds up the note and tucks it under her mattress with the other notes from Aphrodite. It is foolish sentimentality that has her keeping the letters, but she cannot bear to burn them like her goddess suggested.

Opening her wardrobe, Icarus thumbs through the meager selection within. In the time since the gala, her gown collection has grown slightly, but she is not sure she wants to wear a dress tonight. The silky fabrics slide under her fingertips as she flits between her dresses and armor.

This will be her first time in front of the gods outside of the arena, and initial impressions matter. Does she want to look elegant and sexy? Or should she wear her armor, showing how serious she is about being in the Heroes?

From the stack of pants at the bottom, Icarus pulls out a pair of dark brown leather trousers and slides them on, slipping her feet into knee-high dress boots. The Heroes have two uniforms: a dress uniform and a battle uniform. The dress uniform is less restrictive and worn for official ceremonies. Battle uniforms are their armor.

Deciding against the usual shirt of her dress uniform, she picks the bright blue tunic her mother gave her before she left home. The gold embroidering around the trim gives it a touch of elegance without being over the top. She enjoys putting on a racy dress and fully embracing her femininity, but she also knows that same femininity makes others look down on her, see her as weak. For feasts and non-gala functions, that is not the appearance she would like to present.

Her fingers move deftly as she plaits her golden hair down over her shoulder, weaving a glittering ribbon through the braid.

The reflection that greets Icarus in the mirror is a pleasing one. Satisfied with the way she looks, she plays with the sunstone pendant between her fingers for a moment before turning to go collect Lysander.

I carus and Lysander arrive to the temple early, wanting to have a chance to get situated before the gods show up. All of them are somehow notorious for being late, so they are seated in the dining hall with plenty of time to spare before the first visitors.

Once they find their table, a nymph rushes over quickly, her head down and her eyes careful to avoid Icarus’s gaze. She fills their goblets with mead from the pitcher she carries.

“Thank you,” Icarus tells the nymph softly.

The nymph lets out a small shriek before quickly disappearing back to the kitchens.

Heat fills Icarus’s chest. She’d heard rumors of the gods using the nymphs as servants but assumed there was no accuracy to them. Perhaps some nymphs choose to work in the temples and are compensated?

The gods protect the realm, and I don’t know the full situation. Besides, now is not the time to get involved. I just have to get through this dinner without ruining my prospects among the Heroes.

Guests make their way to their seats sporadically, and the hall fills with the echoes of conversation bouncing off the stone walls. Important merchants and diplomats arrive in droves, and the wine and mead are already flowing heavily once the first god arrives.

Hermes glides in, all smiles as he greets the merchants first, shaking hands with familiar faces before taking a seat next to Icarus. His wavy ginger hair curls over the tops of his ears and his light green eyes are jovial when he turns to greet her, extending his golden hand to shake hers.

A breath of relief escapes her. She had not realized how nervous she was about who might be seated next to her besides Lysander. The thought of sitting beside Zeus or Ares is intimidating, and Icarus really wants to enjoy tonight.

Hermes turns to Icarus. “You must be Athena’s shining star,” he muses.

Not a question, but a statement. He knows exactly who she is. How far has word spread about her talents?

It sounds like Athena has at least been boasting to the other gods. Pride swells in her chest. This is everything she has ever wanted. She can see it so easily. Being at the head of the Heroes, favored by the Pantheon, beloved by the mortals she wants to protect.

A large clamor comes from the entrance of the hall followed by shouting, and Icarus cranes her neck to see what’s happening.

“Useless fucking fool!” a gruff voice shouts. Someone down the table moves from their seat, and Icarus can see it belongs to Poseidon. A nymph on her hands and knees scrambles to pick up a tray and its spilled contents.

Castor shifts from behind Poseidon and stalks over to the nymph, kicking her hard in the stomach. She cries out in pain, falling onto her side.

He leans down and grabs her by her hair with the hand that wasn’t lost to Medusa, forcing her to look at him. “Worthless piece of filth. Get this picked up and then stand outside of my quarters for the remainder of the evening until I come for you.”

A sob escapes the nymph, and Castor jerks her by the hair again.

“Did you hear me? If your ears aren’t working, I’d be happy to remove them from your head,” he sneers.

The nymph nods profusely, saying, “Yes,” over and over as tears stream down her face.

Icarus’s blood runs cold, and the people around her laugh—some forced, some genuine. The mead goes sour in her stomach.

Is this what the gods are really like?

“Arrogant bastards,” Hermes mutters under his breath, so quietly Icarus almost is not sure she even heard him say it.

After an awkward silence, Poseidon and Castor take their seats, at the opposite end of the table fortunately, and conversation resumes as if the horror show they all just witnessed never happened.

Ares is the next to arrive, running a hand through his sandy blonde hair, followed by Aphrodite. The Goddess of Love looks mouthwatering in the cream satin dress with lace panels showing peeks of her breasts. The effect of her soft sleeves sliding off her shoulders is so intimate that Icarus almost wants to hide Aphrodite from view of the others, keeping that sacred just for herself.

There is also a thrill coursing through Icarus’s body knowing everyone in the room wants to end the night in her goddess’s bed, but Icarus will be the one claiming that honor.

Let them look. It is my mouth that will be on hers and my body that her hands will be touching.

Hephaestus comes in next, and Icarus has to hide her shock when she sees him. Whispers circulate amongst the citizens of Olympus about the god, claiming the reason he is a hermit is because of his hideous appearance. The god before her however looks absolutely normal. His charcoal hair falls down to the sharp line of his jaw, and his blue eyes dart around the room taking in the people at the table as he unclips his light grey cloak revealing muscular arms from years of metalworking, despite his slender build.

Athena and Zeus are the last to enter the dining hall and Athena signals for the feast to begin as she takes her seat.

Trays of food, carried by mortal servants, come into the hall from the kitchens. Icarus smiles kindly at the mortal who places a tray of candied figs and cheeses on the table in front of her, but the servant quickly rushes away like the nymph before. She cannot blame them if the tempers of the gods can be provoked so easily.

But why is a mortal serving them? The nymphs are enough of a surprise, but as far as Icarus is aware, a feast like this would be served by the acolytes.

Glancing around the table, she is not the only one giving the mortals a curious look.

The clatter of trays eventually quiets, and the servants return to the kitchens or their spots along the wall to monitor for food and drink refills.

Athena stands from her seat at the head of the table closest to Icarus. Her thick red hair is pulled up into golden clips, with loose tendrils falling onto her face and neck giving her a soft romantic appearance that Icarus assumes is designed to be misleading. Opting for a gold dress instead of her usual dark green, Athena looks like she was dipped into a cauldron of molten gold from the heavens.

“Welcome to my home,” Athena says, her voice projecting so everyone can hear her. “It is so wonderful when we can gather like this. It is becoming increasingly more apparent that not everyone in the realm thinks the way we do, so it is more important than ever that we continue to meet and ensure that the future of the Isles is shaping up the way we want it to.”

Pausing for the soft claps that follow, Athena sips from her mead before continuing.

“Disruptors threaten the safety and stability of everything we hold dear. Every day there are new attacks from these so-called rebels. We must not let them succeed.”

Heads around the table nod, and Icarus finds herself nodding along as well.

“We must keep our children safe from these terrorists. They have no regard for innocent life. Instead of bringing the attack directly to the Pantheon, they target the vulnerable on the outskirts. Just the other day, I discovered an encampment of mortals of the eastern coast of Attica.”

Athena puts her hand to her chest and heaves a sigh. “The rebels burned it to the ground. The people were unarmed. There were children, livestock. Nothing was spared.”

Icarus pulse roars in her ears as shocked murmurs break out around the table.

That isn’t what happened at all!

Her brow furrows, and she looks to Athena who merely raises an eyebrow as if daring Icarus to challenge her. Looking to Lysander, she finds a more neutral but also confused expression on his face. She opens her mouth to say something, but he squeezes her hand under the table and lightly shakes his head.

“We were able to capture some of the rebels. They are the mortals who have been serving you this evening,” Athena proclaims.

More gasps sound around the table, and Athena turns toward the hallway to the kitchens.

Her voice echoes, “Send them out.”

A group of people emerge from the hallway, their faces covered in masks of terror. Twenty mortals file into the room, and some of them look like they could be teenagers.

Icarus palms sweat, and she bites the inside of her cheek to keep her shit together.

Walking up and down the line the mortals have formed in front of the serving table, Athena stops before a small woman who looks like she is twenty at most and crooks her finger for her to step forward. Athena takes the woman’s hand and walks her to head of the table and stands her there facing the dinner guests.

Athena plucks a sharp knife off the table, a devious smile twisting on her lips. Meanwhile, rage bubbles within Icarus.

She is enjoying this. If this is about justice, like Athena implied, it should not be gleefully enjoyed.

Icarus is frozen in her seat. There is no good option here. If she says something, the gods can literally smite her where she sits. Besides, does she even want to say anything? She doesn’t have all the facts. What if she is the one who is wrong, and this is a different group than the one from their training exercise?

The knife rips, tearing through the back of the tunic the mortal woman is wearing. The thin material falls to the floor, and she quickly raises her arms to cover her pale breasts from view. The blonde hair hanging in her face clings to her skin from the moisture of tears and snot.

Athena snaps her fingers, and two of her acolytes come running to the table, and pull the woman’s arms out to the side and holding her in place.

“Now…” Athena says, turning back to the line of mortals. Their expressions range from shock, fear, and rage, but none of them say a word. “Each and every one of you is going to do exactly as I tell you. You think you can strike us without consequences? Absolutely not. It is time to remind you who is in charge. You.” She points to the man at the end of the line closest to her. “Come here.”

The man hesitantly steps out of the line and moves to Athena’s side. She takes his hand and places the knife in it, clasping his fingers around the handle. Athena guides the man with the blade to the woman’s ribs, just below her breast.

“Cut her. Right here,” she orders.

Icarus fights to keep her expression neutral as her heart shatters. Despite the warning not to, she can’t help but glance in Aphrodite’s direction.

The corners of her mouth are upturned just the slightest, and it is difficult to tell if she is smiling. Icarus’s heart sinks at the thought that Aphrodite could be enjoying this. But Aphrodite catches her watching and shakes her head. Realizing her glance at her is much more obvious than she intended, she turns her gaze back to the vicious display. She stifles a small gasp when she finds Athena’s emerald eyes boring down on her.

The man shakes his head vigorously and tries to jerk her hand away, but the goddess is stronger. She squeezes her grip around his wrist until he cries out in pain. “Do it, or I will curse every single one of your bloodlines. Right now, this punishment is yours to bear alone. Do you want it to follow your children as well?”

Icarus can see it. The moment in his eyes when he knows he has no choice.