Electric Idol (Dark Olympus 2)

I manage a smile as my mother guides me through the crowd toward the gaudy throne and the man occupying it. We’re only a few feet behind Aphrodite and Ganymede when Zeus catches sight of us. He doesn’t smile, but interest lights his blue eyes and he flicks his fingers at Aphrodite. “That’s enough.”

A mistake.

Aphrodite turns toward us. Her gaze flicks over me, instantly dismissing me, before turning to my mother. Her rival, though the term is far too mundane for the amount of loathing these two women hold for each other.

“Demeter, darling, I know you’re not thinking of this daughter as a potential marriage candidate.” Aphrodite makes a show of looking at my body. “No offense, Psyche, but you’re hardly the proper type to become Hera. You just…don’t fit in. I’m sure you understand.” Her smile goes sugary sweet and does nothing to dampen the poison of her words. “If you’d like, I’m more than happy to send over the health plan I recommend to all marriage hopefuls while I work on their matches.”

Wow, she’s not even trying to be subtle. Lovely.

I don’t have a chance to respond because my mother’s grip tightens on my arm and she’s turning a brilliant smile at the other woman. “Aphrodite, darling, you’ve been around long enough to learn to take a hint. Zeus dismissed you.” She leans forward and lowers her voice. “I know rejection stings, but it’s important to keep your chin up. Maybe you can work on another marriage for Ares instead. Lower-hanging fruit and all that.”

Considering Ares has to be over eighty and is practically knocking on the doors to the underworld, it’s no wonder Aphrodite practically shoots fire out of her eyes at my mother. “Actually—”

“What are we talking about?”

The question comes from a tall, dark-haired white woman as she steps between Aphrodite and Demeter with a confidence only a member of the Kasios family can pull off. Eris Kasios, daughter of the last Zeus, sister of the current one. She weaves a little on her feet as if she’s had too much to drink, but the sharp intelligence in her dark eyes is undimmed by alcohol. An act, then.

Both Aphrodite and my mother straighten, and I can see the exact moment they decide it’s in their best interest to be polite. Aphrodite smiles. “Eris, you look stunning tonight as always.”

She’s telling the truth. Eris wears her customary black—a long dress with a deep V in the front that dips nearly to her belly button and a slit up one side that flashes leg with every step she takes. Her dark hair falls around her in waves that seem effortless, which is just an indication of how much time she put into them.

Eris grins at her, a slice of crimson lips curving in a way that has the small hairs rising on the back of my neck. “Aphrodite. A pleasure as always.” She turns toward me, and her glass tips, sending green liquid that smells like black licorice to splatter both Aphrodite’s red gown and my mother’s green one. Both women let loose little shrieks and jump back.

“Oops.” Eris presses a hand to her chest, her expression perfectly sincere. “My gods, I’m so sorry. I must have drank too much.” She weaves a little on her feet, and my mother jumps forward to grab her elbow, nearly running into Aphrodite attempting to do the same.

No one wants Zeus’s sister to collapse in the middle of a party and make a scene, potentially embarrassing him and putting an end to the night’s festivities.

They’re so busy ensuring she stays on her feet that neither of them notice her look at me and…wink. When I stare, Eris jerks her chin in a clear command to make an escape while I can.

What is that all about?

I don’t stick around to ask. Not with Aphrodite already aiming those barbed arrows she calls words in my mother’s direction and Demeter stepping right to the line in the sand between them. When they get going like this, they can keep it up for hours, just snipe, snipe, sniping at each other.

I glance at Zeus, but he’s turned away, speaking to Athena in a low voice. Ah well. If Mother is so determined to introduce me properly to Zeus, it looks like tonight won’t be the night.

Or maybe I’m simply looking for a good reason to escape.

I don’t stop to worry about my mother. She can handle Aphrodite. She’s been doing it for years. “Excuse me,” I murmur. “I have to use the ladies’ room.” No one pays me any attention, which is frankly just perfect.

I’m already moving, slipping through the crowd of tuxes and luxurious gowns in a rainbow of colors. Diamonds and priceless jewels glitter beneath the lights scattered throughout the room, and I swear I can feel the eyes of the portraits lining the walls follow me as I move. Up until a month ago, there were only eleven—and one frame kept empty for the next Hera—each depicting one of the Thirteen. As if anyone needed the reminder of who rules this city.