Brave the Tempest (Cassandra Palmer #9) - Karen Chance Page 0,196

until she became so weak that a fat crime boss of a vampire had been able to do what entire demon armies had not, and take her out. But not before the goddess famed for her virginity did what nobody had expected: she had me.

And what had I done with that legacy? So far, I’d used my single talent to help rescue Pritkin from his father’s court after he broke his parole and got dragged back to hell. And that . . . was about it. If there were any other godly attributes lurking inside me, they were lurking pretty damned deep.

And that wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. My eyes found the little bottle again.

Not without help.

“My predecessor was strong, with a large, capable court,” I told Gertie. “On the surface, everything seemed fine. But she was fighting a war without even realizing it. The gods had determined to come back, starting with Apollo, because he had the ability to whisper to her acolytes through the Pythian power—”

“Because it was once his,” Gertie said.

I drank tea and nodded. I didn’t want it, but it warmed me inside, like clutching the mug kept my hands from shaking. “It didn’t serve him any longer, but he could still use it as a conduit. He eventually turned the Pythian heir, who poisoned her mistress and tried to seize control of the court. Only the power went to me instead—”

“A random girl?”

“Not . . . exactly.” I thought about trying to explain my background, decided it would wreck the hell out of any credibility I had, and vetoed it. “My mother was the previous heir, who’d run away to get married,” I said instead, because it was true.

Mother, in desperation, her power almost depleted, had finally gone to the only source of godly energy left in the world: the well of it that had been gifted by Apollo to his seers at Delphi all those centuries ago, and was still in use by the Pythian Court. She had glamoured herself and been taken in as an initiate, quickly rising through the ranks. She’d eventually been named the heir, something which she hadn’t wanted, out of fear that it would draw the attention of the Spartoi, some demigod sons of Ares that he’d left behind.

They’d been hunting her ever since the great battle that had exiled their father, and they’d particularly been watching the court. They knew she’d show up eventually, and it hadn’t taken them long to realize who the new heir actually was. They’d come after her, intent on avenging their father and forcing down the barrier holding him and the other gods back, but she’d eluded them with the help of my bumbling, kind of crazy, but occasionally brilliant father. Only to end up being killed by Fat Tony, some years later.

Life . . . was weird.

“I inherited some of her abilities,” I added. “And the power came to me.”

“And the girl? The rogue heir?”

“She died.”

“Good.” Gertie was emphatic. “And the rest of the court?” Because, yeah, there should have been plenty of other people to help me, shouldn’t there?

“Some of the fey, specifically Aeslinn, king of the Svarestri, are working with the gods,” I told her. “He wants to bring them back because his people basically ruled Faerie when the gods were here. They’ve fallen in stature since then, and they’re salty about it.”

Gertie looked confused.

“They don’t like it,” I translated, because my slang was a century too early. “They told the other acolytes that Ares would be back soon, one way or the other, and would kill them all unless they helped. So they started trying to get that”—I pointed to the Tears—“and shift him through the barrier.”

“And what happened to them?”

I didn’t say anything.

I didn’t kill Myra, the former heir, although you could argue that I helped. But the acolytes were a different story. I saw them now, pretty girls with hate-filled faces, pushed by their families to excel, to be the next Pythia, to gain their clans wealth and status and power. They’d been ripe for Apollo’s offer: be the one to bring me through and rule at my side for eternity.

It had started an all-out war that left one of them dead at another’s hands, and one imprisoned by the Circle. But I’d had to kill the rest. I still saw them in my dreams sometimes, nightmare visions that left me sitting up in bed, panting and wanting to scream.

I guessed I’d dream about Lizzie now, too.

There