Page 32 of Of Fate and Fire

The dogs immediately joined the girls. Where the girls went, the dogs followed. Athena buried her face in Moma’s neck and started kissing.

Sophie watched them play, taking more pictures, before turning her smiling gaze on the Christmas tree again. Piers joined her, giving the tall, full tree a satisfied onceover.

“I think it’s our prettiest tree yet,” Sophie said, resting her head on his shoulder.

Piers looped his arm around her. “Maybe we should get two next year. Really spruce up the living room.” He waited for it.

Sophie let out a groan. She laughed, too, though. “That issucha dad joke.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He chuckled.

She rolled her eyes, teasing, “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know I’m lucky.” He kissed her. “I love you, too.” So much his heart burned with it.

She sighed happily, snuggling against him. “The star looks nice.”

Piers nodded. It did. It was also crooked and had candy-cane fingerprints on it. “This will be our fifth Christmas together.” It was amazing how time flew, even without realms to conquer and bloodbath battles to get into. He was glad they’d maintained Sophie’s holiday traditions. She now knew the gods of Olympus were more than myth, but they didn’t reign here and hadn’t for millennia. She’d maintained her faith while recognizing that other powerful forces existed in the universe. But when they told stories from Greek mythology to their children, they treated them as a bit more than fiction. Piers scattered in tales about his family as though they came from ancient times, too, and were long-lost ancestors, just like Heracles. It was the only way for his girls to know their other aunts and uncles and grandparents.

The doorbell rang. The dogs started barking.

“Auntie Xanthe’s here with Ya-Ya!” Athena cried.

“Ya-Ya!” Zoe echoed.

The girls ran to the door—well, one toddled—along with Met and Moma. Piers could’ve sworn Met held back to help Zoe along and let the little girl, whose fist curled into her coat, use her sturdy frame for balance.

“You’re helping us bake theBûches de Noëlthis year!” Sophie called after their daughters. “You, too.” She squeezed Piers’s waist, gazing up at the bright Christmas star one last time before the door flew open and all hell broke loose for the entire weekend.

Piers smiled. He couldn’t wait. The cozy red house would smell like mulled cider, cake, and chocolate, the family would laugh and tease and gossip, especially when Pappou and Sophie’s brothers—some with wives and children now—showed up “unexpectedly” for dinner, and Piers would know he’d ended up exactly where he was meant to be when the Fates decided onhisfuture.