Curses of Olympus (The Olympus Trilogy #2)

30. Icarus

30

ICARUS

W aves slap against the rocks, and Icarus runs her hand through Amara’s mane, trying to calm the pegasus. Can her steed sense the tension in the air, or is it simply that their bond is so strong that she can detect it?

Pulling the folded piece of parchment from her pocket, Icarus checks the crudely drawn map on it against her official Pantheon one. She is certain she got the small island correct, but as every second passes, her confidence shrinks.

The first parchment Cyril had given Icarus led her to a small cove near their initial run-in. After a brief discussion with him, he gave her a new map and said he would return shortly.

Icarus’s mind drifts to Aphrodite, and the stabbing pain in her heart tells her she’s following the wrong line of thinking right now. If the Pantheon discovers her betrayal, her lover will be the least of her concerns.

In the distance, a ship appears on the horizon, and Icarus’s breath catches in her chest. In a few short moments, she will either be well on her way to helping the realm like she always wanted… or she will be dead.

As the ship draws closer, she could cry with relief when she sees it bears no official Pantheon markings. A lantern flashes on the deck, and she grabs the reins, slinging her leg over the saddle and taking to the sky on Amara.

The pegasus lands on the small deck of the ship with a loud thunk , and Cyril comes running over to greet them.

“Fates damnit, am I glad to see you and not Zeus,” Icarus exclaims as she climbs down from Amara.

“And I’m equally glad you didn’t have a legion of Heroes waiting here to betray me.” Cyril claps his hand on Icarus’s shoulder and turns to introduce her to the small crew.

Several sets of eyes look at Icarus with suspicion, and none say a word to greet her. Her Heroes armor may have been a mistake, but if she is going to rally against the Pantheon, it would be idiotic to leave behind protection of this quality.

A figure emerges from below deck, and her heart skips when she recognizes the goddess Psyche. Her unmistakable dark hair and beauty is intimidating, but a more concerning realization has Icarus questioning everything even further.

The rebels have a god on their side?

Everything Icarus knows of Psyche is her warmth and kindness. Most gods have at least a rumor or two floating around about hidden cruelties and proclivities, with only a rare few maintaining a genuinely good reputation.

Unlike the crew of the ship, Psyche greets Icarus with a friendly smile.

“Hello, Hero. What can we help you with?” Psyche asks.

Icarus looks around at the assembled personnel and can see the uncertainty on their faces. Someone needs to be the first to trust here, and the rebels have already taken a step toward that by bringing Psyche. The situation is precarious; the wrong word can too easily result in bloodshed.

Icarus’s heart flutters rapidly as she takes a deep breath and says, “The Heroes are not what I thought they were. This was not what I anticipated when I signed up.”

Psyche nods. “There are few who see the Pantheon for what it is. The story on the surface is easy to swallow, rather compelling. Why would most bother to look any further?”

Shame flushes Icarus’s cheeks. “I know better now.”

Psyche takes a step forward, putting a hand on Icarus’s shoulder. “Almost everyone you will encounter amongst our movement believed in the cause of the Pantheon at one point. And virtually every story you hear about why they joined will be different and equally horrendous.”

Icarus casts her gaze down at her boots. “I can only imagine after what I’ve already seen,” she mumbles.

“Do you wish to join us then, Hero?” Psyche asks.

Thoughts race through her mind as Icarus weighs the decision, but the image that keeps repeating is that of the children in the cave, the fear in their eyes. “I do. I know it will take time to trust me, but I am willing to work toward earning that trust.”

Psyche’s dark lips quirk into a smile. “Then there is an oath you must take. Should your soul prove to be genuinely devoted to our cause, we will welcome you with open arms.”

Icarus presses her lips together. “I will gladly take your oath. On my honor, I will not betray you.”

The smile vanishes from Psyche’s face, and her tone becomes serious as she says, “The consequences of betraying your oath go farther than punishment in this realm. Before you take this oath, I must caution you. The suffering that will befall you should not be taken lightly.”

Icarus shakes her head and says, “Consequences be damned. My entire life, all I have ever wanted is to fight for the people, to protect the realm. Now I know it is the Pantheon the realm needs protection from.”

Psyche smiles, taking Icarus’s hand. “Then let’s get you to the Oasis, Hero.”

I carus rolls over in the bed, sheets twisting around her body as she tosses and turns. It has to be almost midnight, and then she will be twenty-five years old.

Should she have left the Heroes the day before her birthday? Probably not, but she had to get away—away from the legion, the lies, being gaslit by her lover. Her chest feels hollow as she thinks about Aphrodite.

After all her grand speeches about their past lives and how they are destined to be together, it was callous and cruel of Aphrodite to brush Icarus aside like she for the last few weeks.

A hot flash surges through Icarus, and she flings the blankets off, allowing the cool air to caress her skin. The itching between her shoulder blades is almost unbearable. The dread of leaving and adrenaline of her defection was a temporary distraction from the torment, but it cannot be ignored any longer.

Icarus jumps out of bed and searches the room, looking for anything she can use to scratch her back. The only things she can find are her weapons, and she knows she really should not, but the itching is incessant. Finally, she decides on her dagger and tries to angle it to reach the torturous source of discomfort.

The clock on the wall chimes, and as the twelve gongs ring out, the itching fades. Icarus lowers the dagger with relief.

Without warning, searing pain erupts between her shoulder blades, and she screams, doubling over and dropping to her knees.

The door flies open, and several people come running in. Icarus knows their faces, but her brain is nowhere near capable of forming words or names as the pain rips through her body, pressure building from the spot of the initial itching.

“What the Fates is going on?” someone asks urgently, a man, but Icarus does not know who.

A bright light in the mirror catches her eye, and Icarus watches in stunned silence as bronze flaming wings sprout from her back in the reflection. They unfurl and spread out, feathers ruffling as they situate.

At last, the pain finally subsides, and Icarus can breathe again.

“Holy fucking shit,” someone says, and Icarus finally recognizes the people who came into her room—Psyche, Cadmus, and Medusa.

It is a shock to see the gorgon, especially in Icarus’s own chambers. Everyone here seems to trust Medusa, but Icarus still has her doubts. How can she sort through what was Pantheon lies, and what is fact?

She has seen for herself the aftermath of Castor’s run-in with her, and she remembers the innocent nymphs that were harmed in Medusa’s escaped attempt. Or were those lies, too?

Medusa mutters to Psyche but it is loud enough for Icarus to hear. “You weren’t kidding when you said Phoenix, were you?”

Psyche shakes her head while looking at Icarus in equal parts awe and amazement. She told Psyche everything in the Oasis. About her past lives, the phoenix curse, her relationship with Aphrodite—all of it.

“Happy birthday,” Psyche says gently.

“Thanks,” Icarus responds in a whisper, staring at the wings that still glow in the mirror. “I guess I’m learning how to fly tomorrow.”