Warrior Rising (Goddess Summoning #6)(8)

“Then let us go. No one defiles one of our temples and gets away with it.” Athena’s hard gray eyes narrowed. “Or you two could stay here. Zeus will probably be angry that I’ve become involved.”

Slowly Hera stood. Her knees were clearly unsteady, but her voice was sharp as flint. “Zeus and his orders to stay out of it be damned! No one who attacks my priestesses will go unpunished.”

Venus and Hera exchanged a glance. “We’re going with you,” said the Goddess of Love. “If Zeus is going to be angry, let him be angry at all of us.”

“So be it,” Athena said. “Stay close to me.”

Before the three goddesses disappeared Venus waved her hand in the direction of her oracle and a shimmering circle appeared around it, holding the two spirit orbs safely within its shell.

They materialized in the aftermath of destruction.

“Oh no!” Hera sobbed. Then she straightened her spine and pressed her lips tightly together. “These are my women. I cannot fail them,” the goddess said grimly before beginning to move toward the first of the crumpled bodies.

“Stay with her. I’ll deal with the butchers who are still here,” Athena told Venus before striding swiftly from the room toward the distant shrieks and muffled cries that were coming from the exterior of the temple.

Feeling sick to her stomach, Venus joined Hera as she bent over a woman’s broken body. As were the rest of the women in this interior room of the temple, the dead mortal was wearing the sky blue linen robes of those who swear to the service of the Queen of Olympus. Venus thought that the fresh scarlet of her blood looked grotesque and a supreme defilement in this temple of Hera’s that was usually filled with the soothing colors of pastels, the lovely scent of sweet incense and the music of women’s laughing voices.

“She was one of my most elderly priestesses.” Hera’s voice was thick with tears. “She tended this temple for more than forty years.” The goddess touched the dead woman’s head. “Let your journey to the Elysian Fields be swift and peaceful,” she murmured, and the air around them stirred with the power of Hera’s prayer. Hera looked at Venus. “We must bless all of them.”

“Of course.” Venus squeezed her friend and queen’s hand, and then the two of them began to make their way from body to body, bestowing on each fallen priestess an eternal blessing for peace and happiness.

It was at the base of Hera’s statue in the innermost sanctum that they found them—two young women who had died with their arms wrapped protectively around each other. The dark-haired woman had a ghastly head wound. The blonde who had joined her in death had been skewered through the chest by a sword.

“Sacrilege! Blasphemy!” Hera hissed the words, her sorrow and horror at last being replaced by righteous anger. “These two aren’t even my priestesses. Clearly they were here beseeching my blessing.” The goddess pointed to the spilled goblet of wine and the broken jar of honey that lay discarded and ruined beside their bodies.

“She looks familiar.” Venus pointed to the dark-haired woman. “Isn’t that lovely purple and gold trim on her stola worn only by those of the royal house of Troy?”

“Hera!” Athena’s shout interrupted them. The gray-eyed goddess burst into the inner room. She was spattered with blood and carrying a young, blue-robed woman in her arms. The woman groaned and, with a strangled cry, Hera rushed to her, helping Athena to lay her gently on the marble floor. The Queen of Olympus used her lap to pillow the fallen woman’s head.

Venus peered down at the woman—and realized she was really only a girl, barely out of puberty. She had a terrible sword slash in her upper arm, which was flooding her and Hera in bright rivulets of fresh blood. Her eyes were closed, but she moaned again, proving she was definitely alive.

“Who did this?” Hera’s voice was cold and hard.

“They were Agamemnon’s men. This girl told me that most of them had already taken the priestesses of their choice and returned to the Greek camp. I made sure that the few who lingered will be camping in the darkened regions of the Underworld tonight,” she said fiercely.

“We must heal her.”

“Heal her?” Athena frowned.

“Yes, the three of us. We must heal her,” the Queen of Olympus repeated, looking beseechingly at her two friends.

“Did you want us to turn her into a graceful tree or perhaps an ever-flowing fountain to symbolize your weeping?” Athena asked.

“No, I want you to help me heal her. She stays as she is.”

“Very unusual,” Athena said. “We usually save mortals by changing them into something else.”

Venus rolled her eyes. “You really need to loosen up.” Resolutely she grasped Hera’s hand, then held her other hand out for Athena. “Yes, healing the child is exactly what we will do,” Venus said.

The Goddess of War frowned and muttered, “This isn’t usually how it’s done,” but took the goddess’s offered hand in hers, and then completed the divine circle by holding Hera’s hand, too.

Venus was just composing a lovely healing rhyme in her mind when Hera’s angry voice shot out.

“Hear me, Fate. With the power of this goddess circle I do erase this mortal child’s wound and command that she survive this brutal attack!”