The Trials of Hercules Read Free Page A

silver gown hugs her perfectly curved body.
    I bow to her, the motion uncomfortable with the ache the toga hides.
    “You heard the bells?” she asks.
    “They woke me, yes.”
    She gives me a judgmental look, but I refuse to feel guilty over enjoying my marital bed. Especially given how much I pay for what happens in that bed.
    “Your cousin is on trial.” Her eyes glint and a cruel smile mars her refined features. She slides off the chaise and steps toward me. Her bare feet make no sound on the floor.
    To my disappointment, the goddess makes no move to come toward me and instead steps over to one of the windows. Like a dog after a bitch, I follow Hera, stopping close enough to touch her. With great effort, I force my hands to stay by my sides. How does the leader of Vancuse handle his meetings with Aphrodite, the most beautiful of goddesses, when I can barely control myself with Hera, the one who is supposed to be the most matronly?
    “Which cousin?” I ask. She turns with a confused look on her face as if I’ve just been speaking Middish. “Iolalus or Herc?” I clarify.
    “The latter.”
    My heart leaps. So, the great Herc has done wrong at last. The Hero of Hestia, the laurel-winning wrestler, the man who I have no doubt the people of Portaceae would prefer take the Solonship has committed a crime. My nose throbs and my face twitches as I try to maintain a neutral expression.
    “There’s no need to hide that grin. You know I can’t stand the bastard either.”
    The smirk I tried to suppress crawls across my lips. If only my father could see Herc now, would he be so proud? Would he still wish his sister-in-law’s bastard son was his own? As children, my father would goad Herc and me into wrestling bouts. Even though Herc promised he was holding back, he bested me every time. Once, in my frustration, I put my cousin in a chokehold—against the rules except in the most vicious of back alley fighting pits. It took only a slight shift of weight and he flung me over his shoulders. I landed poorly and somehow managed to break my nose. My father could only laugh as Herc helped me up. I shouted my hatred at them both through the blood streaming out of my nostrils. Did my father call a medic? Did he ask if I was all right? No, he merely scoffed at me saying he wished he had a son like Herc to call his own.
    “A bastard? I’m sure you have plenty,” I accused. “And you,” I shot a finger at Herc, “you will be glad that the Solonian crown does not yet sit upon my head. Otherwise, I would have you executed for treason.”
    My father narrowed his eyes and said in a cool, level tone, “You, Eury, are the only bastard I’ve created.” He then stood, apologized to Herc for my behavior, and escorted him home. I can still recall Herc looking back at me with a glance that was a mixture of apology and pity as my mother rushed to my side.
    Even now as I near my thirtieth year of life, every glory of Herc’s sends an ache through my nose. With Hera’s news, my nose suddenly feels as straight and regal as the one that sits on Baruch’s face.
    “My dear Hera.” I hold my hand out to her and she takes it. She is indeed in a good mood. I lead her to the chaise and we sit side by side like lovers. “Now, tell me, what has my cousin done?”
    She pinches her lips trying to suppress a laugh. Her eyes water as a couple snorts escape her nostrils. Through her amusement she’s barely able to say the words: “Murdered his children.”
    She cackles. The sound and the information hit me like one of Zeus’s lightning bolts. My smile caves as an uncharacteristic wave of pity washes over me for my cousin. He just lost Megara not even a year ago. Complications during the birth of Cassandra or some such thing. And, with no sons of my own, I should have hated his son Sergio who sat third in line to my crown until Adneta produced a son. But if Hera speaks the truth that boy is no longer. The charming child, his clever twin sister,