OPHELIA WAS GETTING real sick and tired of almost drowning. She hit the water hard, her eyes stinging in the salt water. Her stomach ached where the tentacle had hit her, and her lungs were already burning from the lack of oxygen.
She tried to kick her way back up to the surface, but it was like the water was resisting.
No, not resisting. Pulling. The water was pulling her down, away from the surface.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
She saw two more bodies hit the water several feet above her, but she couldn't tell who they were from where she was. In her peripheral, she saw a figure emerging from the darkness of the deep waters, swimming toward her as she sank to meet it.
Her lungs screamed for oxygen. She felt like her head was about to explode.
Just as her body gave into instinct and she inhaled, the water around her rippled, and oxygen filled her lungs instead of the seawater she was expecting.
Her shoes touched the sand at the bottom of the sea. She looked up and couldn't even see the shape of the Argo II up above. How deep was this part of the ocean? A mile? Two?
She took several rapid breaths, borderline hyperventilating until she managed to calm her racing heart.
Then the figure came into focus, and she felt like her heart stop altogether.
She shouldn't have been able to see anything—the sun's rays didn't reach this deep into the sea. She should have been blind, but the figure before her glowed a pale bluish-green, like the surface of the ocean on a sunny day. The man wore a toga a few shade darker than the color of the sea, his dark hair short and tidy. Over his toga, there was some sort of netting wrapped around his body, like a fisherman's net.
In his hand he held a tall, lethal-looking trident.
"Hello, Ophelia Imai," the figure said. "You know who I am, I presume?"
Ophelia swallowed hard. "Lord Neptune," she whispered, fear quieting her voice as effectively as a hand over her mouth.
"Yes." The god looked up, as if he could see through the miles of water to the surface. He probably could. "What a nuisance, that creature. Don't you agree?"
It took Ophelia a moment to pluck up enough courage to respond. "Uh, y-yes, my lord."
To her surprise, the god looked at her with an almost annoyed expression. "I was under the impression that you were one of the bravest heroes of your generation," he said. "I hadn't expected this... stuttering mess before me."
"Sorry, Lord Neptune," Ophelia said, grateful when her voice remained relatively steady. "I... I suppose I'm just... nervous." Try absolutely terrified.
Lord Neptune studied her with an unreadable expression. "Why would that be?" he asked. "Because you killed my daughter?"
There it is.
Ophelia looked at the sand at her feet, unsure how to respond to that. Was she just supposed to agree? Say she was sorry? What did he even want with her?
The god sighed. "I did not bring you down here to kill you, child, so you can calm your worries," he told her. "As annoying as Skolopendra is, I suppose I should be grateful it gave me a chance to talk to you."
"Talk about...what, my lord?" she asked, finally pulling her eyes away from the ocean floor and back up at the god.
"You're aware of the Doors of Death being open and Gaea taking control of them, yes?"
Ophelia's brow furrowed, unsure where he was going with this. "Yes, my lord. I'm on a quest to close them so we can stop the giants and Gaea." A quest with your son, if that earns me any brownie points, she added silently.
The god of the sea nodded. "Yes, I'm aware of your journey," he said. "And you know how the Earth Mother has been bringing back mortals and monsters through the Doors to serve her and her cause?"
"Yes, my lord," Ophelia answered, still confused.
Neptune looked at her for a moment, the slightest hint of pity in his eyes—or maybe it was just a mirage, a trick of the strange light the god emanated in the depths of the ocean. He said nothing, as if giving her time to figure it out on her own.
Ophelia opened her mouth to ask what he was getting at, too tired to fully comprehend what he was hinting at. Before she could speak, it hit her like a tidal wave, knocking her off her feet and leaving her free-floating, lost in a sea of horror.
"No," she whispered.
Don't worry, darling, Venus had said only a few hours ago. There are more twists to come.
Was this what she'd meant?
"No," Ophelia said again, as if the denial could make it all go away.
Neptune sighed again, and for a moment, he looked as old as he really was. There was a heaviness in his posture, as if he was weighed down by thousands of years of cruel fates.
How many of his children had he watched suffer like Maren? How often had he turned a blind eye to their trauma?
"My daughter has returned through the Doors," he said, his expression grim. "Maren Russell is alive once again."
Ophelia shook her head defiantly, but the horrible truth was setting in. "No, she—she can't be. She—no. No. She can't be—she can't."
"She is," Neptune said. "And she will come for you—for all of the Eight, if she gets the chance, but you will be her first target."
Ophelia felt like she was going to be sick, or pass out, or something—but all she could do was stand there, shocked into stillness.
"She wants revenge," she whispered.
"She does," Neptune confirmed. "Vengeance is her primary motivation—Gaea's will comes secondary, but the Earth Mother does not care, so long as Maren does what she is meant to do. And that is kill you and stop your friends from completing your quest."
Ophelia wanted to fight. She wanted to kick and scream and throw a fit like a toddler. She wanted to storm up to Olympus, find the Fates, and strangle them with the threads they busied themselves with. She wanted to be strong enough to fight Neptune right then and there, for not saving Maren's mother, for letting her suffer alone, for not lifting a finger to help her through her grief. She wanted to manifest Gaea into a physical form so she could strangle her with her own bare hands.
But, more than anything, she just wanted to cry.
She could still remember the feeling of driving her knife into Maren's chest, the horrifying laugh that had escaped the dying daughter of Neptune. She remembered the weeks of sleepless nights, tormented by dreams of her life before Maren turned her back on her. She remembered the nights she cried into Jason's arms, haunted by what she had done, what the gods and Maren had given her no choice but to do.
It wasn't fair. Not even by demigod standards.
"You want me to... what?" Ophelia asked, her voice small—smaller than she'd ever heard it. "Let her kill me?"
Neptune frowned. "Of course not," he said, as if the suggestion was ridiculous. "Contrary to what you might believe, daughter of Mercury, I do not wish for your death."
It was Ophelia's turn to frown. "You sent your naiads to drown me back in December," she pointed out.
Neptune sighed. "I did not send them, child," he said. "Unfortunately, many of the creatures loyal to myself and my children heard only pieces of Maren's fate. The naiads were under the impression that you killed her in cold blood. I will set the record straight, if you would like."
"I'd... appreciate that," Ophelia muttered. "But, I don't get it. Why—why don't you hate me?"
Neptune had the look of a soldier who had seen endless death and destruction, haunted by their actions. Ophelia recognized it too well from her own reflection.
"I should," he confessed. "But I cannot. Not after everything my daughter did. As much as it pains me, I know that her death was inevitable—and necessary. If she had been allowed to live, she would have stopped at nothing to bring about the fall of the gods and the fall of your legion."
"But... she's your daughter," Ophelia whispered. "Don't you love her?"
"Of course I do," the god snapped. "I love her as much as I love all of my children."
When Ophelia said nothing, only stared at him, his eyes narrowed. "You don't believe me."
"I—" Ophelia cut herself off before she said something to anger the god enough to smite her right there—or simply take away the magic that allowed her to breathe underwater.
Though, in the back of her mind, she wondered if those fates would be mercy compared to what she would have to face in the coming days.
The god let out a breath, his anger melting away into despair. "I did love my daughter," he told her quietly. "I tried to get her to turn away from the Titans, to come back to the light. I offered to let her live in my kingdom, to arrange something for her in the mortal world, anything to get her off of the dark path she'd turned onto, to save her from her fate. But it was too late. She'd already made her choice. We gods can only do so much to affect our children's lives."
The defeat in the god's eyes made some of Ophelia's lingering anger fade. Her hatred for the god was mostly secondhand, a result of Maren's tragic life and her blaming everything that went wrong on Neptune.
Ophelia knew all too well how detached most gods were with their children, especially the Roman gods. She'd never even met her own father—her only interaction with him was when he'd left her her compass, a replacement for the knife she'd driven into Maren and then swore never to use again. It was the only gift he had ever given her, the only sign that he even cared about her.
"Maren waits for you in Rome," Neptune told her. "When you come to the nymph's shrine, you must go off on your own and face her. Your father's compass will lead the way. Only you can fight her—this is your fate."
"But—how can I fight her this time?" Ophelia asked. "I only beat her the first time because she let her guard down. She won't make that mistake again."
"No, she won't," Neptune agreed. "But you have no choice but to fight her. This time, you will stand on equal footing—no trickery, no deceptions."
The god held out his hand. In the distance, something metallic shot toward them through the water. Neptune's hand closed around the hilt of a golden dagger—Ophelia's breath caught in her throat at the sight of it.
"I believe this once belonged to you," the god said, holding out the weapon to her.
Ophelia remembered the day in Alameda when she'd thrown the dagger into the sea, swearing never to wield it again. It was the blade she'd killed the girl she loved with—she'd intended on never even holding it again.
"Dagger against dagger," Neptune said quietly. "Hero against traitor. History must repeat itself, as closely as it can."
Ophelia's hand shook in the water as she took the dagger from the god's hand. A tear fell from her eye, and she prayed the water kept the god from noticing.
Before she could stop herself, Ophelia asked the question that had haunted her alongside Maren's memory for almost a year. "Was there ever a chance for her?"
Neptune was quiet for so long, Ophelia thought he hadn't heard her—or, perhaps, he had simply decided not to answer. Finally, he said, "Her fate was sealed the day she turned her blade against the only mortal left who loved her." His gaze shifted to her midsection, where the scar she'd worn since she was thirteen painted a terrible memory.
Another question burst out of her before she could stop it. "Why did you let her mother die?"
Ophelia was sure the god would smite her then and there. His eyes narrowed into a furious glare, the lines between his brown deepening. Then, a second later, his anger faded, replaced with only sadness.
"I couldn't save her," he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "Fate and death are not mine to control. I would have incurred the wrath of both of my brothers and the Fates themselves if I had interfered in Eliza Russell's death. But I did not let her suffer. Even if I could not save her from her fate, I did shield her from the pain of it." He closed his eyes. "I loved them both—Maren and her mother. I still do. But there are fates even the gods dare not attempt to interfere with."
For a single, fleeting moment, Ophelia pitied the god. "Why... why didn't you tell Maren that?" she whispered. "Why didn't you reach out?"
Neptune's eyes were half-closed, his mouth a grim line. "It would not have changed anything," he murmured. He opened his eyes fully, studying Ophelia with sad eyes. "I do not hate you, child. And I do not blame you. You did what had to be done, and oftentimes, what has to be done is... the hardest thing we ever do."
He let out a quiet sigh. "There were only three people in the world who truly loved Maren. One of them is in the Underworld. Another is a god, condemned to love only from a distance. And the last... the last must be the one to end her life, one more time."
He met her eyes, and if he saw the tears blurring her vision, he didn't show it on his face. "The Fates are cruel, Ophelia Imai. You know this already. I... I pray they will be kinder to you, when this war is over."
Before Ophelia could even begin to process the god's words, he looked up toward the surface. "I must send you back now," he said, "before my nephew has a heart attack." He squared his shoulders. "Do not worry about your other lost friends—they will return to your ship shortly. Now, hold your breath."
He didn't give her time to answer. She only had enough time to take a deep breath before the air bubble around her face burst and the water carried her up to the surface.
❖
It took only seconds for her head to break the surface, and she gasped at the fresh air.
"Ophelia!" Piper's voice carried over the open ocean. "Guys, it's Ophelia!"
Ophelia shook her head, pushing her wet hair out of her face. She squinted up at the ship, seeing Piper leaning precariously over the railing. Annabeth was beside her, staring down at Ophelia with a relieved look on her face.
"Where have you been?" Annabeth called down. "We thought you drowned!"
Ophelia sighed, blinking away the lingering tears in her vision. "Long story," she called up. She was about to ask where Jason was when she spotted him flying down toward her. Neptune had been right to send her back up when he did—the blond looked like he was about to unintentionally blow a fuse.
"Hey," she called up at him.
"'Hey'?" he demanded. He hovered over the water, grabbing her under her arms and pulling her out of the water. She clung to him as he flew them onto the deck of the ship. "That's all you have to say?"
"Missed you?" Ophelia tried.
Jason sighed as they touched down on the deck, and immediately Piper was wrapping Ophelia in a blanket.
"Did you see Leo, Hazel, or Frank down there?" Annabeth asked.
Ophelia shook her head. "Neptune said not to worry—they'll be back soon."
Annabeth's eyes widened. "Neptune?"
Ophelia nodded. "Yeah," she said. She lifted her old dagger, staring at the surface with a blank expression.
Jason recognized the blade immediately. "Is that—?"
Ophelia swallowed hard. "Maren's back," she whispered, all but numb as she spoke the words. "Gaea brought her back through the Doors."
Jason brought her down to her cabin, leaving Piper and Annabeth on the deck to wait for their friends to resurface.
Only when the door closed behind them did Ophelia let herself break, sobbing into Jason's chest like she'd just killed Maren the first time.
❖
...oop. baby just can't catch a break. (i say mournfully, as if i didn't write this angsty plot with my own two eager hands)
see y'all monday!