Soon, yeah . . . right.
But there was nothing to be done about that.
He nodded glumly, then cursed as she faded away from him. Damn the bitch, Demeter, for cursing them to live apart half the year. But right now he had bigger problems than his wife's mother.
And at about six foot eight, that god-killer was definitely one big problem.
June 25, 9527 BC
Didymos
With the icy wind twisting her ghostly pale hair around her and plastering her black gown to her limbs, Apollymi staggered on the rocks of the sea where Apostolos's body rested in a broken heap. Her precious son had been dumped here as if he were nothing.
Nothing . . .
Unshed tears racked her. She was so cold inside. So defeated. So . . . There were no words to describe the anguish of her seeing her son's body lying face down in the water, abandoned and forgotten.
Thrown away.
After all they'd done to him, they couldn't even provide a decent funeral.
Weak from her grief, she sank to her knees in a pool of water and pulled him from the rocks to the beach. Unable to stand it, she screamed out, sending birds into flight.
"Apostolos!"
But he couldn't hear her. His body was as cold as her heart. His silver eyes were open and glazed, and even now, they swirled like a stormy sky. Yet for all the horror of his death, his features were serene.
And they were beautiful. More so than any mother could have hoped for. She saw in his face, herself. Saw her hopes for him made real. He was so perfectly formed. So tall and strong . . .
And they had butchered him. Tortured him. Defiled and humiliated her son. Her precious baby.
Choking on a sob, she ran her hand over the long gash in his chest to seal it closed. Only then, when he was perfect again did her tears break as she laid her lips to his cheek to kiss him and cry.
This was the first time she'd held him since the moment she'd cut him from her womb. Gathering him close, she rocked him on the beach and let all the horror inside her free. "I tried to protect you, Apostolos," she breathed against his ear. "I tried so hard."
She'd failed miserably and in her attempt, had made his life an unbearable one.
Wanting to comfort him and knowing it was too late, she futilely rubbed his cold arms to warm them.
If only he could look at her. Hear her voice. But he never would.
And she would never hear him call her matera.
It was more than she could stand. "Please," she breathed. "Please come back to me, Apostolos. I swear I'll keep you safe this time. I won't let anyone hurt you. Please, baby, I can't live knowing I killed you. I can't. Look at me, please!"
But he couldn't and she knew it.
If only she had the power to restore his life. But unlike his father, she was born of destruction. Death. Pestilence. War. Those were her gifts to the world. There was nothing she could do to bring back the one she loved most.
"Why!" she screamed at the sky. Where were the Chthonians now to demand blood over the death of her precious child? Why weren't they here on Apostolos's behalf?
They didn't care. No one cared, but her.
And Xiamara who'd tried so hard to save him. Xiamara, her closest friend. The only one she'd ever been able to confide in. Closer than sisters, closer than mother and daughter. Now she, too, was gone.
Apollymi was alone. Bitterly alone.
She cradled her son's head to her breasts and screamed out so loud that the sound was carried on the wind all the way to the halls of Atlantis. "Damn you, Archon! Damn you!"
How could he have ever claimed he loved her? How could he have allowed Apostolos to die like this? To suffer so much pain?
Her heart broken, she buried her face in her son's wet blond hair and cried until her sobs were spent.
Then her fury mounted and took a vicious root into her heart. They'd both been betrayed by the very ones who were supposed to love and honor them.
Now there would be Kalosis to pay.
It was time to take her son home where he belonged. Time to make her so called family bleed for their betrayal.
Her course set, Apollymi clothed her son in the black formesta robes of his station. This was his birthright. As the son of the Destroyer, his symbol was that of the sun that represented her, pierced by the three lightning bolts of his power.
He wasn't garbage. He was an Atlantean god.
And he was the son of the Destroyer.
Picking him up from the surf and cradling him in her arms, she took them both home to Katoteros.
It was an island surrounded by islands. Breathtakingly beautiful, there was no place in the human realm that could compare with it. Standing at the highest point, where her mother the North Wind shrieked on her behalf, Apollymi looked out over the landscape that should have been owned by Apostolos.
The islands sparkled in the perfect light under the sun that attempted to warm her cold skin. It was futile.
The island to her right housed the paradise lands where the souls of their Atlantean people went to rest until reincarnation. The one on her left had been held by the Charontes before her banishment-unlike her family, her demons had been loyal to her. They had all followed her into Kalosis.
And the island before her had been intended as the home of her son.
But it was the one that possessed the second highest point in Katoteros that held her attention now. The one that ruled and united all the islands. It was the one where the hall of the gods had been built.
Archon's.
Her vision darkening, she took them there, outside the grand marble hall that stood so tall and proud as it looked down upon their world. Music and laughter drifted out to her.
Music and laughter.
Oblivious to what had come to pass and to what they faced, the gods were having a party. A fucking party. She could feel the presence of every god inside. All of them. Celebrating. Laughing. Cheering. Having fun.
And her beloved son was dead . . .
Dead!
Her world was shattered. And still they laughed.
Holding Apostolos close, she ascended the stairs with a deceptive calm and flung the doors wide with her powers. The white marble foyer was circular with statues of the gods taking up station every four feet against the pristine walls.
Her heart hammering with vindictive fury, she walked through the center of the foyer where her emblem of the sun had been etched into the floor. As she crossed over it, she changed it to that of Apostolos. One by one, his bolts of power pierced her symbol.
The colors now red and black to represent her grief and his spilled blood.
Without hesitating, she walked straight for the set of gold doors that led to Archon's throne room. To the room where the gods made merry while her son lay dead from their treachery.
By all the dark powers of the universe, they wouldn't be laughing for much longer.
She opened those doors with the full force of her fury. The clattering sound rang out as the doors slammed against the marble walls and broke from their hinges to fall to the shiny, perfect floor.
The music stopped instantly.
Every god in the hall turned to look at her and one by one, their faces blanched white.