Wicked (Eternal Guardians #9) - Elisabeth Naughton Page 0,120

she remembered that his mother—Persephone—spent several months of the year on Olympus.

Could he actually be—?

“If I were you,” Nysa said across the room, pulling the heavy wood door open, “I’d check with Rhen. He may know when the prince is due back.”

“Um, yeah... Okay,” she managed, reeling from the possibility. “Thanks.”

Nysa left the door open, her footsteps disappearing down the corridor. Lowering herself to the bed, Talisa pulled on the boots, determined to find Rhen.

Now that she wasn’t being ruled by her emotions, she knew Zagreus had been right yesterday. She couldn’t put this kingdom at risk all because of her singular need to help Max. They could come up with another plan. They had time. She needed to learn patience, and Zagreus could help her with that. If he would just come back…

That panic reformed beneath her chest when she thought of where he could be. She hoped to hell he hadn’t done something stupid, like gone to free Max all on his own because he was worried she’d try to do it when she awoke. If Pandora and her box were as strong as he claimed, even he didn’t stand a chance against them.

Voices echoed from the grand hall below, interrupting her thoughts. Several.

Something was happening. Something that sounded like chaos.

Drawn toward the sound, she pushed to her feet and headed in that direction.

She moved down the wide curved staircase, glancing over the room. Tables had been pushed together to form one long one in the center of the space. The nymphs and silens who normally lounged around the fire had scattered, and someone had turned the lights up so the room was bright rather than its normally comfortable dim. There was also a flurry of activity in the adjoining kitchen—nymphs coming and going, and pots and pans clanking—as if the kitchen staff were preparing for a feast.

She had no idea what was going on, but as she reached the bottom step and gripped the newel post, the wide doors at the end of the hall opened. Zagreus swept into the room with Rhen at his side, the two deep in conversation about something Talisa couldn’t hear.

Her pulse shot up. Her heart fluttered beneath her ribs. Still speaking to Rhen, Zagreus lifted his head and glanced her direction. And as their eyes met across the space, heat and need and the same feeling of completeness churned inside, telling her everything was right. He was back. He was here. He was safe.

Except…

Something wasn’t right. He was still dressed in the same boots, dark pants, and matching long-sleeved shirt he’d worn yesterday, only now the shirt was torn in several places, his pants ripped along one knee, and his boots were covered in mud.

She was just about to go to him, to ask what had happened, when Rhen reached the end of the long table and drew to a stop. Then bodies behind them filed into the room. Big bodies. Familiar bodies. Holy hell…

Argonaut bodies.

Her eyes flew wide when she spotted Orpheus, Gryphon, Titus, Phineus, Ari, Cerek, Zander, Demetrius, along with Skyla, Orpheus’s mate who’d once been a Siren, and Callia, Talisa’s aunt. Even Nick was here.

Several of the Argonauts nodded her way, but no one approached. They were all busy talking amongst themselves. And none of them—not a single one—were treating Zagreus as if he were a threat. In fact, the way Zagreus was standing off to the side and they’d barged in and taken over the space, it almost seemed as if…

As if he’d surrendered the castle to the Argonauts.

Talisa stood cemented in her spot, sure she was hallucinating. She was desperate to talk to Zagreus, to find out what the fuck was going on, but he wasn’t looking at her anymore, he was giving directions to two of Rhen’s guards. Then the last two bodies moved through the double doors and into the room, and Talisa lost all ability to speak or even think.

Her parents—both of them—strode across the hall and headed right toward her while the Argonauts continued to talk about she didn’t know what at their backs.

She glanced from face to face as they stopped in front of her. Her mother, who didn’t look a day past thirty thanks to her Argolean genes, smiled in her red sweater and slim black pants, her chocolate hair falling to her shoulders. Her father, every bit the warrior she remembered in his traditional dark fighting gear and boots, seemed a bit more stoic and eyed her a little