The Darkest Lie (Lords of the Underworld #6)(54)
Author: Gena Showalter

You’re good, he meant. “I’m fine,” she replied. Her inattention must have worried him. “Thank you.”

“If Mnemosyne is aiding Rhea,” Cronus continued, “she must be destroyed. If not…” He shrugged. “I haven’t yet grown tired of her and the way she vexes my wife. So either way, I don’t think I’ll allow you to speak with her.”

Scarlet had to fight the urge to launch forward and slam her fists into Cronus’s face. To break his nose, his teeth, and introduce his penis to her knee. Multiple times.

Gideon must have sensed the direction of her thoughts because he twined their fingers and squeezed. To comfort her?

“Doubt me not,” she said harshly. “I will confront my aunt. And if she lied to me about my son’s death, I’ll kill her whether she betrayed you or not. Whether you want her alive or not.”

Cronus blinked at her, looking at her for the first time since entering the room. “Your son?” His astonished gaze returned to Gideon. “What’s she talking about?”

“Steel, damn you,” Scarlet shouted. “The child I gave birth to when we were still in captivity. Is there a chance he’s still alive?”

Silence. Thick, unwanted silence that slithered through her like a snake, ready to bite, to poison.

Then, “Scarlet,” the king said, and his tone was suddenly, shockingly gentle. “We were locked in the same cell from the time of your birth until we managed to escape. You never gave birth. You were never pregnant.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THIS WAS THE FIRST time Gideon had ever seen Cronus exhibit any type of compassion. And that he did so toward a female he hated…well, Gideon could now forgive him for his earlier treatment of Scarlet, ignoring her as he had. And yet, Gideon wished there was no need for such compassion.

You were never pregnant. The words, though meant for Scarlet, hit Gideon, and he knew. Knew. Truth. Cronus spoke only truth. That meant only one thing. It hadn’t been Gideon’s memory that had been tampered with; it had been Scarlet’s.No wonder Lies liked her so much, yet hadn’t been able to tell if she spoke true. She was a living falsehood, but didn’t know it. They’d never had a son. They’d probably never been married.

Which sucked. He’d grown used to thinking of Scarlet as his wife. Perhaps they had married, though. In secret, as she’d said. After all, the first time he’d seen her, when she’d told him they had once wed, he’d had flashes of her in his mind, flashes of the two of them, naked and straining toward release. He’d thought those flashes were memories. And yeah, they could have been.

Because the fact was, he’d seen her in his dreams, too. Before he’d ever met her. That had to mean something. Right?

Steel, though…he’d had no flashes of his son. Not a single one. That, too, had to mean something. And yet, he didn’t have to wonder about his feelings for the boy. Now that the fury over Steel’s supposed treatment was gone, he realized he possessed a spark of love for what might have been. He truly mourned his child’s loss.

And if he mourned, when he’d had only that one glimpse of Steel, the glimpse Scarlet had given him, how much worse must she feel?

Scarlet’s gaze darted between the king and Gideon, Gideon and the king. She was shaking her head continuously, trembling, gasping for breath. His heart actually wrenched inside his chest, scraping against his ribs. He hated to see her like this. So torn up and vulnerable.

“You’re wrong. You have to be wrong. I held my little boy. I loved him.” The last was said angrily, as if daring the king to contradict her.

Frowning, Cronus rose from the bed. “There are too many eyes and ears here.” He waved his hand and their surroundings simply disappeared, leaving only a wide expanse of thick, white mist. The air was cool, fragrant with the sweet scent of ambrosia.

Gideon breathed deeply, savoring this moment of calm before the coming storm. The mist thinned, cleared, and he saw that they were in the heart of an ambrosia field, the tall flowering vines rising from the ground, pink flowers reaching toward the glowing sun.

Sun. Shining. His attention whipped to Scarlet. He expected her knees to collapse and her eyes to close as sleep claimed her, but she remained standing. Awake. Not even yawning. How?

“This is a realm where night and day are one,” Cronus explained, as if reading Gideon’s mind. Hell, he probably was. Some immortals could do so. Gideon knew that Amun could. “Besides that, Scarlet’s demon operates on a time scale, not the rise and fall of the sun.”

Didn’t bother him when Amun read his mind. Cronus, though, bothered him greatly. What he was feeling for Scarlet and Steel was private. His. He didn’t want to share. Not because he was embarrassed about the softer emotions running rampant through him, but because he wanted every part of them all for himself. Real or not.

Not important right now. Your woman is all that matters. He wrapped his arm around Scarlet’s waist, intent on soothing her the only way he could, but she jerked away from him, still shaking her head, her trembling becoming violent.

“My son was real. My son is real.”

“In your mind, no doubt he is.” Cronus pivoted on his heel and eased forward, forcing Gideon and Scarlet to follow. His fingers brushed the tips of the vines as he said, “Here’s how Mnemosyne works. She places her hand on you, for contact increases the power of her suggestions. She then tells you something. If it’s something you want to hear, your mind accepts it more readily. If not, she’ll tell you something else, then something else, until she’s woven a tapestry inside your mind.”

Scarlet tripped over a vine, and Gideon grabbed her by the T-shirt, hefting her up and keeping her on her feet. She didn’t seem to notice, kept striding forward, remaining close to Cronus and glued to his every word.

Gods, she was lovely in the sunlight. Even lost to sorrow and confusion, she seemed to soak up the rays and glow from within.

“Do you understand now?” Cronus asked.

“No. Her methods don’t explain anything,” Scarlet lashed out. “I know every detail of Steel’s life. Every detail. My aunt could not have created so complex a tapestry.”

“She can and obviously did. Once Mnemosyne makes a suggestion, the seed of a memory is planted. The more you consider that seed, the more it’s watered, and the more it will grow. As it grows, your mind begins to fill in the blanks, so to speak, making the memory plausible. Making it as real to you as if it truly happened.”