CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XVIII

Prometheus poured liquid metal into a casing and stood back, watching the molten substance hiss and spit as it settled.

He had returned to his cabin in the mountains after he had put Amara in the taxi and been here ever since. The journey from Earth to Olympus had only taken him a day once he was in the old lands of Greece. It had been a glorious start to the summer, with Demeter jubilant at her reunion with her daughter this year, but all Prometheus had seen these past three months was the dull grey of a life with Amara no longer in it.

Waiting for the mould to cool, he turned his attention to a black and gold gilded armour piece and began to stretch out his frustration on the fresh, tightleather.

“Prometheus, myfriend.”

Prometheus turned to see Tyche, swathed in a blue linen tunic and her hair tied in place with flowers, approaching him.

“What are you doing here?” Prometheus muttered gruffly as he turned back to thearmour.

“The question is, what are you?” She gestured to the outside space around them where Prometheus did a lot of his work. Scattered around the courtyard was an array of cast-iron tools and unfinished projects, while sawdust from the woodwork Prometheus had done earlier swirled in the wind, scattering in the nearby garden beds. Anything to keep his mind off the small priestess who was roaming the plains ofCaledonia.

“It would appear that foresight doesn’t stop me from beingfoolish.”

Tyche raised a manicured eyebrow. “Word from those who spend time in my mother’s presence is that you are besotted with a certain priestess. I didn’t realise it was this bad.” Bad enough that Prometheus was back here effectively sulking.

Prometheus scowled. “I didn’t take you for a gossip, Tyche.”

Tyche pinned him with a glare, her arms folded across her chest and the comparison between her and Amara both scowling at him popped unbidden into his mind.

“I come with news of her, should you wish to hear it. But if you insist on being a bad-tempered oaf, I shall take my leave.”

In her troubled hazelnut eyes was knowledge Prometheus wasn’t sure he wished to know. He began to shake his head, his eyes cast back towards his work. But Tyche was not one for giving up so easily.

“You have not involved yourself in the affairs of humans for centuries. There must be a reason you did so for her,” she said quietly. Prometheus turned to look at her and saw kindness he didn’t want to see. It threatened to breakhim.

When Prometheus refused to reply, Tyche continued. “Hubris has made contact with Nemesis. He says your priestess has succumbed quite favourably to his prideful charms. He jests that she will lay in his bed forever. As you can imagine, Nemesis has grown increasingly more enraged.” For those two had always held a sick contempt for one another that bordered on pathological possessiveness. Some mistook it forlove.

“She has gathered Plutus, Aergia, and Phthonos to convoy with her to the human realm to seek retribution,” Tychecontinued.

Plutus, who was Tyche’s son, though she had little to do with him, would try to convince Amara that copious amounts of wealth would strip her of fear. It was a trick he had convinced many mortals of. But Prometheus had told Amara of the fox that could never be caught. Surely she’d be able to see it in the greedy money game Plutus would play with her. Wouldn’tshe?

Aergia would send idleness, distracting Amara with numbing techniques that so easily surrounded the mortals. Indeed, Prometheus had designed the mortal form to succumb to numbness, when necessary, to protect itself. But Aergia had a habit of leaving her victims mindless, with no sense of passion or drive. He had seen the heart of Amara. She had too much passion and fire to fall prey to that, he thought. She wouldn’t let fear send her there. Wouldshe?

Phthonos would encase Amara in envy. Though how the spirit would do that, Prometheus had no clue. Perhaps play on her abandonment wound and her heritage, surrounding her with happy families. A wound which he, Prometheus, had only made worse by leaving.

He cursed himself for being so foolish. If Amara had already failed the gluttony, lust, and pride tasks the goddesses had set, would she really be able to tackle greed, idleness, and envy all at once? Especially led by Nemesis, retribution herself. A vein in Prometheus’ neck twitched before he shook his head indefeat.

“I cannot aidher.”

“There is more my friend …”

Prometheus waited for the words. Though he was desperate not to hear them, he had to know.

“They have asked for Lyssa to accompanythem.”

Prometheus froze. He knew what the words meant but they wouldn’t register. To send the goddess of mad rage, of frenzy, she who fed dogs rabies and turned them into wild wolves …

“She’ll kill her,” hewhispered.

For Lyssa’s appetite knew no edge. She consumed souls until they did her bidding. Most mortals who caved to her persuasion ended up incarcerated, in one form or another. Or pumped full of so many drugs they were altered on a fundamental level. Amara would not be able to survive her onslaught. Prometheus knew of no mortal that had. Lyssa ruined lives and relished in it. A gentle soul such as Amara’s would take out the rage on herself rather than harm another. She’d be more likely to take a knife to her own soft flesh and drive it through until she bled herselfdry.

“I can see the logic as to why they are doing this,” Tyche saidgently.

Prometheus shot her aglare.

Tyche continued to stare at him kindly, and rather calmly for someone who was being threatened with a hammer. When Prometheus realised he was wielding the tool as a weapon, he regained what little composure he could and placed it back on the table with a small clearing of his throat. He made no move to apologise.

“They are hedging their bets and trusting that to herd her until her back is against the wall will leave her with no other option but to complete her task,” the goddess stated.

Before Prometheus could berate her, Tyche spoke again, “You are a man who has built his morals around logic. The logic of their actions is valid, even in the same breath as it is flawed.” Tyche took a coin out of her pocket tunic and played it through her fingertips, as if to further emphasise her point. “Surely even you can now see that logic cannot be held in equal measure to action where humanity isconcerned.”

Prometheus wrestled with the premise. Tyche had been a kind friend over the past two centuries and had taught him the value of friendship, of loyalty. But she had encouraged him back into that human world and look what had happened then, when action had not made space for logic. Amara had still failed even with his ‘protection’. In this case, neither his logic nor actions, nor the goddesses’, counted for anything. The only one whose logic and action mattered right now was Amara. And she was better off withouthim.

“There is no argument, Tyche. They would use her against me. There is nothing more I cando.”

Tyche frowned. To have her friend, who was usually defiant and unrepentant in what he believed in, say such things in such a tone ...

Her eyes widened as realisation dawned and a small smile graced herface.

“Aphrodite’s spell does not work on an immortal in a human skin, doesit?”

Prometheus truly looked at his friend then, pain shimmering behind eyes that had livedlifetimes.

“You are in love with her,” she saidsoftly.

Prometheus turned his back on Tyche, grabbed the hammer on the workbench and began bashing the shit out of an innocent plant pot that had been sitting there to be repaired. When, several minutes later, the pieces of it lay scattered, some on the bench, most having flown off in several different directions, Tyche placed a hand on his left shoulder.

“She is alone and in need of help. Your priestess does not deserve to be abandoned by one who loves her when she already believes herself alone in that world. Abandonment is a wound that is so easily ripped anew. Take it from one whoknows.”

“The humans only abandon you when they believe you have not found in their favour,” Prometheus replied gruffly, still unable to look ather.

“You really think that Amara won’t feel the same? That she has not been found favourable by you and that is why you left her? How do you think that logic will serve her when those other gods descend on her?”

When Prometheus didn’t reply, Tyche continued. “Let me help you. I can assist but only where action is taken. Fortune, when she calls to me, favours the brave for a reason. And often it is in spite of that logic you hold sodear.”

Prometheus felt the small hand leave his shoulder. Tyche, known to the others in their realm as impulsive and unpredictable, had never shared the method to her madness before. To do so was to reveal to another god exactly how their skillset worked, intellectual property that could be stolen. It was a huge act of trust, of vulnerability. It was not logical. It was a mark of ... loyalty.

His friend was right, he eventually acknowledged. Logic alone would not serve him when it came to Amara. It was true. He had equally failed the games the goddesses were playing, the perfect mirror to Amara’s experience. He had retaliated to her defence mechanisms exactly as a human would. He hadn’t realised how love − true love − would change his demeanour when in love with a human. How logic remained but was no longer the driving force. Aphrodite had been right and he had been wrong. Logic and love could coexist.

Now he knew he could do better, be better. Now he knew the stakes, he could outmanoeuvre each of those who would seek to harm Amara. He could protecther.

The only question was, would she lethim?