Page 3 of Flame and Fury

I don’t disagree with anything she’s saying because it’s true. I’ve seen how the clerics hunger for power and use it to abuse the people of my neighborhood.Isn’t that why I became the Dark Hand? So I could help in my own way? In some ways, isn’t that exactly why the Furies exist?

Nyx was the primordial Fury, but she was not the only one of her kind. She gathered fierce warrior women who were cut down in battles big and small. She breathed life back into them so they could fight another day. They were strong, could heal from almost any wound, and had the ability to see into the very soul of a person. Those traits were passed along to their daughters, the power never diluting even after generations. Primordials are immortal, but like demi-gods, the rest of the Furies who are half human age and eventually die. If they manage to escape being killed by a Hephaestus blade.

“Those of us who have been part of the Underground from the beginning decided it was time to take action. We grew tired of sitting around and waiting to react to the clerics’ despicable conduct. Once, before the gods woke, the people in this territory voted. They elected the people who ran their cities. We want to take back control and have a voice once again. We deserve to have a seat at the table where decisions are made that affect our lives. Our families, our livelihoods.”

Everything she’s saying is true, but it isn’t the whole story.

“And you do that by blowing people up?” I raise an eyebrow.

They just set off bombs outside the Shrine of Olympus as a diversion. One that saw people fighting against guards and clerics. Some of those people will die. And I might not be a fan of the elites and their superiority, but do they deserve to die because they’re caught up in an Underground stunt? Maybe. Maybe not. My Fury screams at me that they should all be judged on their individual merits. It’s not as simple as being a member of a group automatically means you’re a bad person.

My thoughts trip me up, because isn’t that how I’ve thought about the gods in the past? A blanket statement that all gods are bad. Though it’s been brief, I’ve already started to question this assumption based on my interactions with Hades and Persephone. Even Ares when he isn’t being a dick.

“What of the human casualties from the incident just now?” I’m doing my best to stay calm, but I can’t listen to her talk about helping people while ignoring the casual violence. The Fury side of me wants to rail, but I force it down with an imagined block of ice.

Kat leans back in her chair, her arms sliding off the table and falling into her lap. “Sometimes we have to make sacrifices.”

“And you feel that you have the right to decide who is sacrificed?” The plastic chair I’m sitting on is uncomfortable. The edge bites into my bare thighs. I want to shift around, but I also don’t want to show any weaknesses—even something as stupid as having my ass sticking to a chair.

“The news grossly exaggerates the Underground’s actions. They attribute things to us that are actually the work of the clerics.” Kat’s mouth is painted with a pink lipstick that’s so subtle it’s almost invisible. I have layers of makeup caked on from the parade. I can’t help but think that we’re both wearing a kind of mask.

“Did you not just set off bombs in a crowd of spectators at the parade?” My Fury is writhing in my chest. My skin is tight and my back aches between my shoulders where my wings threaten to burst free. Maybe Kat has reasons for their actions, but she’s not giving them to me. It’s one evaded answer after the next.

“Are you saying you’d prefer the gods stayed in power indefinitely?” All semblance of kind understanding has disappeared from Kat’s face. Before me now is the true leader of the Underground. A shrewd, calculating commander who believes the ends justify the means. Maybe they do?

“I think we’re getting sidetracked.” Atlas’s deep voice cuts through the room, surprising me. I was so focused on Kat that I nearly forgot he was listening in.

I’m so angry at him, at this situation, at the gods. Frustration and a sense of helplessness swirl in the pit of my stomach. My whole life I have had to keep who I truly am a secret, and now I’m being dragged into a war I never wanted to be part of. I don’t even know which side is right. Okay fine, I know the clerics deserve to rot in the Underworld, and Zeus and Hera can kiss my ass. Aphrodite too. But are the Underground really the good guys? Or are they all different shades of gray and I’m supposed to pick the least offensive one?

I study Atlas’s face, trying to figure out how he fits into this puzzle. He was raised in a training compound from the time he was four. Was he still there just before he joined the games? According to the player stats that are constantly regurgitated on the Olympus Games television coverage, Atlas is twenty-five. Has he really been there this whole time? And how did he get involved with the Underground?

There’s a knock on the door and it swings open before anyone responds. A woman slips in through the door with a wide smile on her face. She’s in her early twenties, glossy golden hair swept up in a high ponytail, and a girl next door face. She’s wearing jean shorts and a tank top that shows off her toned body. There’s a gun tucked into a shoulder holster that belies the innocent vibe she’s giving off.

“This is a private meeting, Savannah,” Kat says, but there’s no heat behind her words.

Savannah waves her off. “I know, I’m sorry, but I heard Morrison was here, and I couldn’t miss saying hello. It’s so rare that we get him in our clutches. Always out there being sneaky and charming.”

The woman crosses the room and throws her arms around Atlas. He hugs her back. I keep my eyes straight ahead and do long division in my head. Anything to ignore the two beautiful golden people embracing a few feet away from me. My back aches and I barely keep my wings from bursting free. I exhale slowly, attempting to control myself. The only problem is that I want to let my Fury out.

No. I don’t. Atlas isn’t worth the energy. Who cares who this woman is to him. I’m sure she’s just a friend. Who he’s snuck around with and done secret Underground missions with. So what if she’s known him for way longer than me and he gives her hugs. Maybe he’d hug me too if I offered one up. Which I am not going to.

I risk a look at the two of them out of the corner of my eye. Savannah has her hands on Atlas’s cheeks, pressing them together like she’s about to drag his head down for a kiss. My Fury is livid, and I can’t decide whose head I’m going to rip off first.

“Aren’t we on a clock? I thought we were getting off track.” I throw Atlas’s words from moments before back at him. I keep my gaze on Kat though.

“Yes, of course.” Kat smiles, her calm and patient demeanor fixed back in place. “Savannah, we have some things to finish up here. Why don’t you head out and the two of you can reconnect later.”

I work to keep the sour expression off my face. What do I care if Savannah and Atlas go out for ice cream and talk all night on the phone. I’m pissed at him. And this only reinforces the reason why. I know next to nothing about Atlas. He could be sleeping with half the Underground for all I know.

“Sure thing, Kat. You take care, Atlas. Don’t be a stranger.” Savannah doesn’t even acknowledge my existence as she exits the room. The door clicks softly closed behind her. At a glance, you’d never know anyone else had come in, but I feel like a tornado has ripped through here and left a shredded mess behind.

Who the hell was that woman? A friend? An ex-girlfriend. A soon-to-be lifeless body on the ground.

Kat’s attention is completely focused on me again. “Wren, the Underground gives people the choice to fight for what they believe in. We don’t force anyone to go out there and put their life on the line. These people believe in this cause. They know that sometimes sacrifices must be made in order to see progress.”

Atlas pushes off the wall and closes the space between us. He’s still wearing the toga from the parade, but somehow, he has an air of confidence and leadership that isn’t dimmed by the outfit. It’s annoying. Every inch of his perfect face and body. I want to punch it all.

Atlas pulls out a chair next to me and sits down. He faces me instead of the table, and his forearms rest on his thighs as he stares at me.

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