Triton stood at the entrance of the throne room, momentarily taken by the grandeur before him. The ceilings soared nearly a hundred feet high, glass panels inlaid with colored pieces that formed constellations, Orion, Cassiopeia, and the flowing river of stars, each one catching daylight or moonlight to glow as if alive. White marble walls rose on either side, veined with golden designs twisted into the intricate, tangled lines of fate. Beneath his feet, the stone floor bore the engraved circle of Atlantis, polished smooth by centuries of councils.

At the far end of the hall, two thrones dominated the chamber, Zeus to the left, Hera to the right. The male Olympians’ thrones stretched out to Zeus’s left, facing right, while the female Olympians’ thrones lined Hera’s side, facing left, so that their gazes met across the hall. In the center, a black marble hearth burned with Greek fire, sacred and eternal, the faces of each god carved into its rim. A simple wooden stool sat beside it, Hestia’s seat as guardian of the flame. The air smelled faintly of incense and smoke, the light shifting with the flicker of fire across marble and gold.

Zeus’s throne was by far the largest. Seven rainbow-colored steps rose to meet it. Made of black marble etched with gold lightning bolts, it stood beneath a vast blue canopy symbolizing the sky. A bald eagle perched on its right arm, his all-seeing eye, silent, watchful, and feared. Across the seat lay a purple ram’s fleece, shaken when Zeus wished to bring rain. Zeus himself sat with the authority of a storm contained: broad-shouldered though not as massive as Poseidon, his chestplate of gold fitted to carved muscle, white cape edged with embroidered lightning trailing behind him. His bald head gleamed, salt-and-pepper beard neat, and his piercing blue eyes demanded respect. In his right hand, the lightning bolt forged by the elder Cyclopes glimmered like caged fire.

To his right was Poseidon’s throne, marble streaked grey, green, and white, adorned with coral, gold, and pearls, its arms carved into sea beasts, the seat covered in sleek seal skin. Poseidon himself towered nearly seven feet, bare-chested and powerful, long dark hair falling to mid-back with two braids tied in gold clasps at his shoulders. His ocean-blue eyes promised storms. Bracers patterned with bronze fish scales protected his arms, and in his left hand he held his trident of celestial bronze, the weapon that had broken Titans.

Ares sat next, his throne fashioned from dark brass and shaped into human skulls, the seat a cushion of stretched human skin. He looked every bit the embodiment of war: light brown hair cropped short, icy blue eyes, brass cross earring at his ear, a leather cord around his neck holding the arrowhead that had slain Ekhidnades. A black leather tunic edged with gold flames, sword at his girdle, rubies flashing from his wristbands, every detail screamed brutality. He was volatile, feared, even despised by Zeus himself.

Apollo’s throne shone golden, alive with inscriptions of power. Above it, a sun disk with twenty-one arrow-shaped rays caught the firelight. Apollo, sun, light, prophecy, poetry, healing, was charm itself, shorter than some but built strong, golden hair spiked, blue eyes bright, his smile radiant. A bronze cuirass fitted to his torso, blue cape clasped at his shoulders, bow and quiver hung beside his throne. Loved by many, loving in return, he was the ideal of moderation and harmony, though his love stories rarely ended well.

Hephaestus followed, his throne crafted of every metal under heaven, swiveling and adjusting at his will. Taller than Apollo, nearly as large as Poseidon, his strength showed in every muscle. Black hair fell to his shoulders, a golden circlet bearing Pandora’s symbol set on his brow. His blue eyes burned sharp above his beard, and his leg, one golden and forged by his own hand, gleamed beneath his armor. The smell of metal and fire clung to him; the forge was never far from his presence.

Hermes’ throne was plain stone but carved with ram heads on the arms and his firestarter etched into the back. He had shed the bearded guise of past centuries, appearing now youthful and athletic, strawberry-blond hair short, turquoise eyes quick and mischievous. Bare-chested over a white skirt edged in gold, caduceus in hand the golden staff Apollo had given him, its twin serpents and wings symbols of peace and safe passage. Messenger, trickster, guide of souls, he was the fastest among them and carried himself with lightness to match.

Opposite Zeus, Hera’s ivory throne rose on three crystal steps, gilded with cuckoos and willow leaves. A full moon hung above, a cowhide cushioned the seat. Beautiful, tall, her dark hair pinned with pearls and circlets, her white silk gown embroidered in gold. Her beauty, however, was often overshadowed by her jealous, vengeful temper. She had sparked wars over pride, and it was her jealousy of Thetis that had condemned the sea nymph to exile.

Next was Demeter on her malachite throne, green stone adorned with golden barley, tiny pigs, and ruby poppies. Elegant and broad, with straight blonde hair and soft blue eyes, she wore a white toga with a golden necklace gleaming at her throat. Sustainer of humankind, yet capable of wrath when crossed.

Athena’s throne of ivory and gold bore olive branches and violet crowns, capped with smiling Gorgons. A small owl perched on her shoulder. Thick dark curls framed her strong features beneath a feathered headdress, and she wore a breastplate over her gown, bronze shield at her feet. Grey eyes carried wisdom, her presence a balance of beauty, intellect, and warcraft, the civilized counter to Ares’ savagery.

Artemis sat next, silver throne shining like a mirror, a crescent moon above it glowing with arrow-rays. Short, athletic, golden circlet at her brow, braids looped forward. Blue eyes sharp, husky at her side, crescent bow near her hand. She was wild nature and fierce protector, her wrath swift against any who harmed the young.

Aphrodite’s golden throne glittered with emeralds and aquamarines, swan’s down on the seat, golden mat at her feet. She was radiant, golden hair falling loose, aquamarines sparkling in her headband and pendant, pink and gold gown draping her figure. Her girdle circled her waist, famed for inspiring desire. She was love incarnate, alluring and dangerous, her beauty often the source of strife.

Finally, Dionysus sat on a fir-wood throne plated in gold, carved with grapes in amethyst and animals in onyx and jade. Young and handsome, dark curls, grey eyes bright, wine-colored toga draped across his frame, vine-shaped circlet on his head, fennel staff in hand. He was joy, festivity, liberation, generous until roused to cruelty.

“Rise, Triton, son of Poseidon,” Zeus said, his voice rolling through the hall like thunder. “You were charged with finding Thetis’s offspring and have roamed the earth for some time. What news?”

Triton stood. Artemis leaned forward, eyes sharp. “Have you found the goddess?”

“I have not found the goddess,” he said carefully. What he had found was a girl who knew nothing of herself. “But I am close.”

“What does ‘close’ mean?” Zeus asked, annoyance flickering but leashed. Triton’s loyalty had bought him patience.

“I traced the captain of the vessel that saw Thetis and the child fall overboard,” Triton said evenly. “It is only a matter of time. She covered her tracks well, breadcrumbs, nothing more.”

He left it at that. The rest, he kept locked behind his teeth. The manifest. The passenger named Cordelia Nereida, Celtic sea goddess, Greek for Nereid. He took the internship to learn more. He wasn’t certain of Serena’s connection until they met and their hands touched. Twenty years to reach a single heartbeat. What was twenty years to an immortal?

“Triton,” Ares said, voice like cold iron, “you know what must be done when you find the offspring.” The god of war watched for weakness, hungry for it. Triton kept his jaw very still.

Of course Ares wanted the simplest answer: blood.

“Let us not be rash,” Athena cut in, voice cool and clear. “Better that the son of Poseidon bring the offspring before this council.” Defense and prudence in one stroke.

“I second,” Apollo said, the sun at her shoulder.

“Preposterous,” Ares snarled, fist cracking his throne’s arm.

“I agree with Ares,” Demeter said evenly. “We do not know the offspring’s intention.”

“Which is precisely why she must be brought here,” Aphrodite answered, lashes lowering as she looked to Zeus. “So we may judge the threat—or the innocence. She is, foremost, your daughter.”

“If she is surrounded by all of us,” Poseidon rumbled, beard stroking his palm, “what threat could she pose?” He doubted the prophecy named a daughter. The greatest powers had always been sons.

“Yes—perhaps this is Thetis’s grand trick,” Dionysus said, amused, sipping wine. “Another Trojan horse to roll through our gates.”

“Thetis isn’t that cunning,” Hermes chuckled.

“Why keep the child hidden if she meant to bring her here?” Apollo countered, gaze sliding to Hera. “She hid the girl for safety—from what some here might do.”

“Yet she sneaked into Olympus, bedded Zeus, and got herself pregnant,” Ares spat. Hera clicked her tongue.

“Hephaestus,” voice low and edged, turned to Zeus. “Thetis has done nothing but protect your children and your throne. Have you forgotten how often she aided us?” He shot Hera a look, remembering the kindness shown to him, and to Dionysus.

“That is hardly proof the bastard will not endanger us all!” Hera flared, outrage stripping her voice to steel.

“I agree with Hephaestus,” Artemis said. “Thetis is a fierce mother. I doubt she’d risk her daughter’s life.” Achilles had been proof; a mother who would bargain with the underworld would not gamble with a child.

“But she has never forgiven you,” Hera cut in, staring Zeus down, “for banishing her to the earth realm and forcing a mortal marriage.”

“Enough,” Zeus thundered. The hall shuddered; the eagle’s talons tightened. “We vote. Those in favor of bringing the offspring before the council?”

Hands rose: Athena, Artemis, Apollo, Hestia, Hermes, Hephaestus, Dionysus. Poseidon hesitated, beard under his thumb, then lifted his hand as well.

“So be it,” Zeus said at last, weary beneath the decree and his wife’s glare. He turned to Triton. “Son of Poseidon, you will find the offspring and bring her to stand before us.” Duty battled dread behind his eyes. Thetis’s kindness lived in his memories like a soft light. If the girl had been raised by her, perhaps she would not wish him harm. He chose to believe it.

“As you command,” Triton said, bowing. He kept his left arm angled behind him, leather bracer drawn low. The bond beneath it pulsed at the thought of Serena, panic and confusion flashing through him like distant lightning that was not his. He would need time to learn control, to shield her from the echo of his own emotions and hers from his. For now, the amulet dulled the worst of the tether. For now.

No questions came. No suspicious eyes lingered. Orders had been given.

Following them would not be as swift as the gods expected.