Page 99 of Flame and Fury

“That's enough.” My voice rumbles like the thunder in the sky, and my father's head snaps up. His eyes find me without error in the midst of thousands of bodies. He throws back his head and laughs, the sound making my skin crawl.

“Oh, look. It's a bunch of failures come to beg forgiveness from their gods.”

“I would rather slit my own throat and pour salt in the wound.” I snarl, clearing the waist high barricades with one jump. “But you will be sorry that you touched her.”

Zeus's laughter turns maniacal. “Please, no. Don't tell me you've fallen for this pathetic remnant of the past. A Fury. Really, son?”

I take the steps two at a time, the others right behind me. We must look like a rag-tag group of pathetic champions. Bloody, dirty, tired, dragging a bejeweled debutante with us. Compared with the pristine clothing the gods are wearing, their glowing skin and perfect looks, we really are a mess. Hera hisses when I reach the landing, but Zeus waves her off, just as he always disregards her.

“Let her go,” I command, my words humming with power. Zeus snarls at me. He doesn’t like when his children threaten his authority.

“You know I can't do that, even if I wanted to. She's a Fury. A danger to the gods of Olympus. The people don't want her kind alive any more than we do. Isn't that right?” Zeus turns toward the crowd, asking them that last question.

It's hard to sort through the responses thrown at us. Some agree with him, but there are a lot of curses being tossed at Zeus. He sneers at the crowd, and I use his distraction to look down at Wren. Her head is bowed, and there's blood everywhere. Her clothing is soaked and there's a large puddle pooling around her knees.

“Wren?” I want to lift her up. To pick her up and take her away from here, but I won't make it more than two feet.

I'm known for my level head, but right now there's no reason left. I pull my sword and swing at my father. He springs back, but the tip of my blade catches his chest, slicing through the cloth of his chiton.

“I'd say this is a disappointment because you're one of my favorite sons, but that would be a lie. You're just as pathetic as your mother.”

“My mother was incredible. Any faults I have were inherited from my father.” I bring my sword down, catching his shoulder before he spins away from me with a laugh.

“So much fire. Where was this intensity during the games? Maybe you wouldn't have lost if you'd brought this level of determination to the challenges.”

The crowd is going nuts around us, any hint of blood fueling their frenzy. Clerics are coming out of the crowd and from the Shrine, forming a circle of red robes that slowly close in around us. They're fools, though. Even with the sheer number of them, they'll never be able to take five champions.

The gods are another problem.

Hera grabs a handful of Wren's hair, snapping her head back like she's presenting her to the crowd. Greer rushes forward, jumping up to deliver a kick that connects with Hera’s jaw. The goddess’s head snaps back, and she loses hold of Wren. The air around us turns icy as she turns her ire on Greer. Greer isn't paying any attention, though; she's pressing something into Wren's hand, murmuring into her ear before she straightens, standing like a sentinel beside Wren.

Aphrodite and Nathaniel are avoiding the fray, watching from within a circle of clerics. Drake and Nico are trading blows with Poseidon, while Lark is helping to fend off guards. A bolt of lightning tears through the sky and I throw myself out of its path. The marble splinters and cracks where I was just standing. Zeus doesn't like being ignored.

“It's time for this to stop.” Wren's voice is rough, but there's something commanding in the tone that has the crowd quieting. Even the gods freeze in place. Zeus whips his head around to glare at her, but he doesn’t move.

“We have suffered at the hands of Zeus and Hera, the clerics, and many other gods who think we exist to be their punching bags. The atrocities they've committed can’t go unanswered. It’s time to reap our revenge. We are owed justice for their crimes, and I demand payment.”

There must be some Fury magic compelling us all to be still and serve as witnesses while Wren reads off their crimes, because none of us move.

“I’m not the only one who has been wronged. I’m not the only one who deserves vengeance.”

Wren might be on her knees, covered in blood and dirt, but she looks like a queen. Her hair is a mess, strands having been pulled from her ponytail at some point. There's a scrape on her cheek and a bruise already moving through the colors of the rainbow on her jaw, but I've never been more entranced.

“You don't have to keep hiding in the shadows, hoping the clerics won't hunt you down for wanting to feed your family or take a walk down the fucking street. You don't have to pretend being in the presence of these gods is a blessing, when what you really want is to spit in their faces.”

Hera and Zeus sneer, but they're still stuck in place. Held by Wren's right as a Fury to list their crimes.

“I am offering you this gift.” Wren holds up the amulet and a gasp behind me has my head spinning. Aphrodite's eyes are narrowed on the necklace, her delicate features screwed up into a beastly scowl. “Together, we can fight them. Together, we can put these gods back to sleep and take control of our futures once again. All you have to do is let your fury out. If you want to help, give me your rage.”

Wren's hand droops, just as Aphrodite’s screech rips through the air. She dashes through the clerics, coming to a halt in front of Wren. A villainous smile paints Aphrodite’s angelic face as she shoves a dagger into Wren's heart.

“Wren!” My scream joins the cacophony of the crowd, one voice blending into a thousand.

My father is laughing. Hera and Nathaniel look on with smug superiority. The clerics are clapping and hollering.

“It's okay. She'll heal.” I don't know when Lark appeared at my side, but her hand is resting on my arm. There's no comfort there, though, because I suspect she's wrong.

Aphrodite's golden smile is back on her lips as she turns to face us. Specks of Wren's blood decorate her white dress. “No half-blood can survive a wound from a Hephaestus blade.”

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