Page 6

There were a few otherworldly instruments, the rarest of deity tools that were too formidable for any mortal or immortal to overcome. The blindfold of Justice. The spindle, staff, and shears of the Moirai. The arrows of Cupids. Sabine wondered what it was about the Goddess of Vengeance that made her as powerful as she appeared. And to what end that power would one day be used.

Still, a Queen never surrendered. And she wasn’t nineteen times Queen of the Perfect Match for nothing. She kept watching the dimly lit bar, unseen to those inside.

And then, the same something she had noticed at Beltane showed itself yet again. It was the look on the Goddess of Vengeance that once again surprised Sabine. A hunger rested there like a predator in tall grass. Waiting, waiting, ready to pounce at the perfect moment.

Sabine wondered if Hera could see it. If she could sense that whatever her plans for this particular Goddess were, she might not escape unscathed?

As she watched Nemesis swagger towards Hera, Sabine had the distinct feeling that, despite reading clearly through the match she had caught earlier, she was missing something. Something important. And that she wasn’t the only one.

Still, Hera had all but ordered her. Her promise to Dite to never touch arrows again would have to wait.

The quiver in her hand materialized smoothly, and she ran her fingertips over the silky feathers of the arrow. But as a thought popped up in her mind, Sabine’s smile bloomed wide. Yes, she would do as she was told, but nobody had said she couldn’t improvise within the parameters of her task.

Her arrow flew silently, hitting its target, the Empress of Olympus, oblivious to its perfect trajectory.

As she threw one last look at Nemesis’s face, Sabine felt a frisson of excitement run through her. She had been right at Beltane, even if she had needed Abby to make the shot. Well, if things worked out the way she wanted them to, the way her years of experience and her heart told her they would, Sabine’s twentieth crown would be a joint one.

Yes, Hera had set the parameters, but some of them needed adjusting anyway. Zeus sure had a lot of things coming, and she did owe Hera for her marriage after all.

3

WHERE A PLAN IS LAID OUT (AND RECEIVED SKEPTICALLY THUS MAKING THE EMPRESS EVEN MORE TIRED…)

Hera took in the seductive, almost panther-like swagger as Nemesis made her presence known in the bar. There was a lot to admire about a woman who wore knee-high boots, tight trousers, and suspenders. Pair that with luxurious red hair flowing down her back, and you got yourself a steel dagger sheathed in velvet.

Hera liked her tools pretty. And this one was as pretty as they got. Hera reached for her drink and then reconsidered. She’d need cold water and a clear head before more vodka. The bartender deposited a tall glass dripping with condensation and clinking with ice near her elbow as if by magic.

Nemesis smirked and nodded in the general direction of the bears, who gingerly waved to her and got to their feet, heavy boots sounding muted on the wooden floor. When she winked, the shortest one fainted.

Hera thought that while the smirk and wink were dangerous, she didn’t need cold water just yet.

“It seems you have summoned me, Your Majesty?”

Well, the voice was an entirely different matter, wasn’t it? Water alone would not help her. Deadly was not strong enough to describe the low, deep tone that was completed by something akin to a purr.

The bears, to the tune of “Too sexy”, were disassembling what looked like a fire hydrant in the corner of the bar.

Nemesis helped herself to Hera’s water. Hera decided not to bristle, and certainly not to smite the Goddess of Vengeance just yet.

A tool. She needed a tool. This was the one.

“There’s no “seems” about it. I have summoned you, Revenge.”

Nemesis cocked an eyebrow, and Hera signaled the mesmerized bartender for more water. The bears were now dousing themselves from the firehose. Hera was beginning to understand the inclination.

A few months ago, Hera had had a moment of weakness. She chose to call it that. She also chose to remember it as that. And to her own immense chagrin, she had remembered it often.

It had started innocuously enough. Perhaps too innocuous. Hera should’ve known that a drinking and gambling match with the Goddess of Vengeance would lead nowhere good. Except it did. It led to Hera feeling so fucking good. And well, all due to the fact that said fucking was exceptionally good.

It was a party. Hermes threw it for some occasion or another, and Hera chose to attend despite knowing she would likely cause a stir simply by being there.

She was right. In the aftermath of Athena and Aphrodite’s romance, she had once again been declared persona non grata among the gods. None of them even considered the possibility that the two goddesses only got together because of her.

Well, Hera was not going to mention it. After all, she had never once claimed credit for any of her machinations. She always managed to claim the fault. Time is everlasting for fault and guilt.

She had felt maudlin at the damn party, surrounded by the gossiping Olympians, and was about to leave when a voice that was all velvet over dagger sounded low near her ear. So near, in fact, she could feel the lips almost caressing its shell.

“Do you really want to give them the satisfaction of watching you hightail it out of here?”