The Gates of Tartarus | I ✓

17. "Flower Gleam And Glow"

Hey guys. Okay, so I know I haven't updated in a long time. And here's why.

I'm starting school in almost exactly a week. I haven't really had a lot of time to write, and, even if I did, I'm still not going to publish them that early, because when school starts, I'm actually going to have no time to write.

I start school on the nineteenth, so... maybe I'll be able to post one, two more chapters before that? I don't know. Chapter eighteen is kicking my butt, but I'm almost done, so yay?

Anyway, this is obviously boring you guys, so let's just get on with the chapter.

Also, thanks for 700 views! You people are awesome. I wonder when we can boost it to 1k...?

Edit: GUYS THIS CHAPTER IS SO LATE I'M SO SORRY—

I have nothing to say for myself.

I dreamed of a beautiful city, of gleaming white stone and gilded columns, of chirping birds and lazy clouds. Yet I didn't share in the beauty—from one cheek throbbed a bruise, blood trickling down the other. My silky, black hair looked like it had suffered a hurricane, the white and gold dress I was wearing torn and dirtied.

The citizens of the city scattered before the presence of the soldiers marching me, whispering in their strange tongue as I passed. A wave of both pity and dislike rose in me at the sight of them, but I managed to school it behind my artificial expression of terror. It wasn't their fault I was in this situation, but they were still standing behind their prince even after everything he did. After what he did to my cousin. How could they?

The smooth, stone steps were cold beneath my feet as I stumbled up them, toward the palace. Though some of the soldiers shot me pitied looks, some others glared at me, and some others even had a glint in their eyes that made me half-wish I could break my charade and then their nose. Instead, I pretended not to notice them, staring straight ahead.

"What is the meaning of this?"

We had entered the palace doors, interrupting a meeting between the royal family, and the king had risen to his feet, his tone sharp.

"They were using her as leverage," the man leading my little squadron of soldiers explained as another shoved me forward—I pretended to stumble and fell, looking even more pathetic. "She's a priestess of Apollo, and her presence in their camp kept him from striking them down. But with her gone, Apollo won't have any reason to hold back anymore."

"And yet you bring the priestess of the sun god back like this? Apollo may plague the entire city for such treatment of her!"

"If I may." My voice was weak, brittle—that I didn't need to fake. I had shouted myself hoarse the night before. "It was the Greeks who did this to me. I would happily see them crushed. I simply beg"—here I faked a sob— "I simply beg that you will let me help you crush them. They showed no mercy to me, and I pray you show no mercy to them."

"Do not worry." The old king's voice was kind as he addressed me, inflicting me with a spark of guilt I managed to mask, though not without difficulty. "We will win the war by year's end."

I smiled, my voice honeyed venom. "Thank you, my lord."

The dream shifted.

I was standing in the middle of a marketplace, hand itching toward the pretty swords the merchant beside me was selling, though I managed to resist the urge. For now. Before me stood half a dozen warriors, from the king's personal guard, battle-hardened and experienced, but I wasn't even fazed. The only thing I felt was a slight annoyance that I had to fight with a sword. I had always hated swords.