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“Now you’re more like the Hera I know and adore.”
She barely had time to register the words before Nemesis extended her palm, and Hera had no other choice but to slap it. The high five felt right. And the word adore kept ringing in her ears for the entire day.
13
WHERE THE PLAN FINALLY COMES TOGETHER (AND THE EMPRESS REALIZES TOO LATE THAT SHE HAD THE POWER ALL ALONG…)
The gala was one for the books. At least, that’s what it was advertised as. Zeus was pulling out all the stops. The best wine, the best liquor, the Michelin star chefs, the decor, and the orchestra, the entertainment fit for the Gods.
Hera looked around the massive ballroom and was tempted to reach for the lighter in her clutch. One tiny little flicker, and the entire thing would go up in flames. Now, that would be entertainment.
He gave her a careful look when she arrived, mostly observing the fact that she had nobody on her arm. Hera chose not to rise to the bait, knowing what was in store for him tonight. Or what was in store for her tonight, for that matter.
The thought left her oddly numb, but for one strange emotion she was unaccustomed to dealing with.
Regret.
She had spent the week with Nemesis. In bed. In the kitchen, where neither of them was particularly adept at cooking, the endeavors were passable and hot, and the sex was hotter. At Central Park, where Nemesis played volleyball with the bears who delighted in winning. Hera had sat on a fluffy blanket and pretended to be reading and not watching the game at all.
They spent their evenings discussing the minutiae of the plan. Hera found herself pretending there as well. Pretending she actually cared.
It was that revelation that made her sink deep into this unfamiliar territory.
Regret.
Eons spent plotting. Millenia wasted on bitterness. And she could’ve been doing this. Nemesis. Warm blankets. Her bears singing quietly in the background as they went about their day.
Hera almost jumped as a touch landed on her shoulder.
“Sister. Melancholy tonight, I take it.”
Hera returned the hug and shook her head. Her tears were too close. And her sister was too near. Words would fail her, she knew.
“I think he will want to propose. And I am strangely afraid of it.” Demeter’s hand did not leave Hera’s skin.
“Why afraid?” Hera snagged another flute from the passing server. She wasn’t sure she wanted Demeter to continue speaking.
“What will happen to you?”
Hera moved her shoulders restlessly. It had taken all of the surrounding her posse this long to stumble over this little nugget of paramount importance. What did actually happen to the discarded wives who still carried symbolic titles once the husbands took new ones? Why had nobody asked who’d assume the real crowns?
Hera wanted to scream the question in Demeter’s face. She wanted to throw it on the floor and watch it break into a million pieces. Wanted everyone to cut their feet on the sharpness of their edges.
Instead, she merely shrugged. It wasn’t Demeter’s fault nobody gave a flying fuck about Hera, or Hera’s fake royalty, or the fate of it once a new Empress was crowned.
And speaking of fate. Hera patted Demeter’s trembling fingers and moved farther into the ballroom. The Fates had been invited; Zeus always extended the courtesy. And Hera had double checked, just to make sure. It would be her last gala, her last day in fact, if the plan did come together.
She wondered if the Fates would give her any time, or if it would be over the moment Zeus’s heart would break.
As Nemesis came into view, Hera felt the ice around her own heart give a painful thump. That strange and aching feeling rose in her throat. Hera would miss her. This wild, implacable, righteous being who held her in cold hands and yet gave her the most warmth Hera had ever felt in her long-wasted life.
As if catching her staring, Nemesis looked her way and lifted a champagne flute in a salute. Hera smiled, trying to hide the burning in her eyes. In her chest. The die had been cast, the deal had been made, the thread of her life had been measured. The Implacable had only to cut it.
“You are awfully pensive for someone about to see her life’s work hit its apogee.”
“You and your long words, Muse.”
Clio shrugged and smirked.
