Free The Deep End of the Sea by Heather Lyons Page B

poor girl alone,” Hades says, voice low and rough even as he takes her hand in his like it’s made of porcelain. “Medusa’s life has once more been turned upside down by our kind, so I think she warrants a little time adjusting. Hermes, come see me before you leave. There is still much for us to discuss.”
    The sound of chairs scraping against tile and footsteps sound; soon, the only noises around are the wind through the trees, the fountain splashing softly, and the steady beat of Hermes’ heart.
    He taps the back of my head softly. “What’s going on in here?”
    I bite my lip, well aware of the awkward position we’re in, of me sitting on his lap and of his thoroughly wet t-shirt. Is he annoyed I’m still here? I’ve apparently been clinging to him, which isn’t proper decorum in the least. I shift in his lap, leaning toward my chair, but he surprises me by refusing to let me go.
    So I rest my head back against his shoulder and let out a shuddery breath. I cannot deny how comfortable I feel, sitting here. I would much rather be with him than alone in my chair. Is it because, for so long, it’s always been just him and me—and now, here we are again, just the two of us?
    “Talk to me, Dusa.”
    I close my eyes and think, once more, of how this god has convinced me with his gentle words and actions to throw caution to the wind. “Can I trust them?”
    Whatever he thought I’d say, it wasn’t this, because I can hear him suck in his surprise. But he’s steady as ever when he answers. “I wouldn’t have brought you here had I not believed you could trust them with your life.” His hand continues to lightly stroke my hair. “There is nothing—no one—you have to fear in this house. My uncle and aunt are the best kinds of people.”
    Ha. People. He says this like we’re talking about Mikkos and his ex-wife or any other pair of mortals, like Hades and Persephone are normal and incapable of destroying lives with just a thought.
    They are the definition of extraordinary. There is nothing normal about them at all. They’re gods. And as much as I like to pretend otherwise, so is this person I’m sitting with.
    I pull back a little and he lets me, so I can wipe my face. A rueful laugh breaks free at the same time I revel in just how smooth the skin on my cheeks is. These wild non sequiturs remind me of my need to get myself under control. “They must think me insane.”
    Because I’m beginning to think maybe I am, too.
    “Not insane.” I hold my breath when he wipes stray tears I’ve missed. “Although, if you were, no one could blame you. You’re simply being emotional, and you have every right to be just as you are.”
    Sunset has come and gone, and now our table is bathed in soft lights from candles and lanterns nearby. Irrationally, I wonder what it is like back home on Gorgóna—is the weather fine, like it is here? Is it even nighttime? What of my statues—is Niki searching my room, wondering where I am? Are they okay, without me being there to watch over them?
    “I must be crazy,” I tell him, “because I just thought of Gorgóna as home, and subsequently felt homesick.” I pick at the embroidering at the waist of Persephone’s fine dress. “I am officially homeless, you know.”
    He brushes a curl away from my eyes. “No. You are not. This was one of the things we wanted to talk to you tonight about. Hades and Persephone have extended an offer for you to call their villa home for as long as you like.”
    They did? And yet ... is Hermes not comfortable extending the same offer to me for his home? Squelching down ridiculous yet distinct sensations of disappointment and hurt, I ask, “Why would they do that?”
    He’s thoughtful for a long moment, like he’s trying to choose his words carefully. Finally, “It was best felt you be welcomed in a place that would serve as both safe haven and a home during this transitional period in your life. Hades is extremely powerful; he and