“Because I had you in my mortal form.” She began on a smaller braid, weaving it together with the larger one. “That was part of my bargain with the council. Demigods—and you have always been a demigod, darling—are not immortal, but they can earn immortality, as can mortals.”
“Why have Henry marry a mortal to begin with?” I said. “Why not—I don’t know. Why not just have me and marry me off to him?”
She laughed softly. “And how well would that have gone over, do you think? I learned my lesson with Persephone. Henry wanted a willing queen, one who understood the price of death, and he insisted on mortal candidates. The council did consider having you born immortal, of course, since the others died very mortal deaths, but Calliope was the one to insist that you not be born a goddess.” Her voice dropped as if she’d just realized what it meant, two decades too late. “I thought it was because she wanted the same things as Henry—that she did not want to push another girl toward a marriage and a role they did not want, only to once again end in disaster.”
That wasn’t why though, of course. She’d wanted competition she could kill off. “Did Walter know you were going to get sick?” I whispered.
“What? No, honey, no.” Her hands slowed. “I was never supposed to get sick. You were supposed to be older. You were supposed to have the chance to live, to choose a life for yourself. Deception was never supposed to be part of it. I planned on telling you on your twentieth birthday, and at that point you would’ve taken the tests if you’d wanted to. When I found out I had cancer, I went to the council, and they decided to speed up the schedule. I held on so long because Theo helped me. None of that was planned, I swear.”
I nodded. She wouldn’t lie to me, not about something like that. And everything she went through, everything she’d suffered—no one in their right mind would put themselves through that for a stupid test.
I would’ve never passed if she hadn’t developed cancer, though. I would’ve never been so afraid of death that I was willing to give up six months of my life to save Ava’s. Had the council known that? Had they gone behind my mother’s back to give me a fighting chance?
I pushed the thought from my mind. It was ridiculous. Not even the council was capable of that. I hoped.
“Walter knew I was alone,” I said. “Why didn’t he come help me?”
“Because he’s the King of the Gods, honey, and as much as he might love his family, he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.” She finished my braid, and after tying it off with a bit of ribbon from her nightstand, she picked a magenta flower and tucked it into the end. “Walter has never been much of a father to any of his children.”
“So I’ve been told.” I turned to face her. “What would’ve happened if I hadn’t passed?”
“You know what would have happened, darling. Your memory would have been erased, and you would have gone on living your life.”
“But you would have still been alive,” I said. “Your mortal body would have died, but you would still be there. And you would’ve visited me, right?”
My mother’s eyes became unfocused. “Perhaps in your dreams, if the council allowed it.”
I inhaled sharply, and pain worse than anything Cronus could throw at me burrowed into my chest. She would have left me. My own mother would have willingly abandoned me if I hadn’t passed.
Then what? I would’ve lived the rest of my mortal life thinking I was completely alone. I would’ve been, too, because dreaming about my mother—if the council allowed me to—wasn’t the same as having her with me. She knew what I’d gone through, taking care of her and watching her slowly fade away all those years. She knew that I would have done anything to give her more time to stay with me. And she would have abandoned me like that anyway.
I stood, my legs unsteady. “I need to go.”
“Where?” said my mother, standing with me, but I stepped back. Confusion and hurt flashed in her eyes, and I looked away. She was my rock. My constant. She’d sworn she’d had me because she wanted to, and I believed her. I wasn’t Persephone’s replacement—but only because I’d passed those tests. If I hadn’t, I would’ve been nothing but a disappointment, too, and she would have left me exactly like she’d left Persephone. Like Persephone had left her.
I needed my mother’s love and support more than ever, but for the first time in my life, I doubted her. And it killed me.
“I’m going to get Milo back,” I said. “Someone around here deserves to have parents who love them more than anything, including their own immortality.”
I headed toward the door, tears stinging my eyes. Silently I prayed she would tell me to stop, that she would hug me and insist she would have defied the council whether or not they’d allowed her to see me. That she would have been there for me no matter what.
“Kate.”
My heart caught in my throat.
“I’m sorry. I love you.”
I blinked rapidly. Not enough to have stayed with me for the length of my measly mortal life, though. Not if it’d meant disobeying the council. “I love you, too,” I mumbled, and without saying another word, I walked out of the bedroom and closed the door behind me.
A soft hum filled the sunset nursery when I arrived. I’d rehearsed over and over what I wanted to tell Cronus, my last-ditch effort against the impending war. Rhea might have refused to help us, but that didn’t mean battle was inevitable, and I had to try. As my vision adjusted to the darkness, however, I let out a strangled gasp, all of my carefully formed phrases forgotten. Calliope paced back and forth through the nursery, holding Milo to her chest.
I lunged for her, but as always, I went straight through her and landed half a foot away from Cronus. For the first time since I’d escaped, he wore his face instead of Henry’s. So he’d absorbed everything I’d said to James, after all. He stayed silent, only quirking his lips. At least someone found my rage amusing.
“Of course Mother will heal him,” said Calliope, her brow creased with worry. “I know she has her reservations about fighting, but she wouldn’t let one of us die like that, right?”
She looked to Cronus for confirmation, but he said nothing. Good. That meant he didn’t know.
“Father, I need Henry. Can’t you undo it?”