The Darkest Prison Read Online Free PDF Page B

being pumped through the room. To keep him docile?
    â€œAtlas, god of Strength,” Cronus said with a nod of greeting, drawing him from his musings.
    Atlas bowed, as was proper. “My king. It’s an honor to have this audience with you.”
    Cronus leaned forward, silver eyes bright with anxiety. “All is well in Tartarus, yes?”
    â€œMost assuredly.”
    Relief instantly replaced the anxiety. “Why, then, did you request this meeting?”
    There was no one who hated the Greeks more than this man, this Titan sovereign, and with very good reason. They’d stripped him of his power, humiliated him in front of his people. Even Nike had been a participant.
    Just tell him. Get this over with. “I want to remove a woman from the prison and set her up—”
    â€œStop. Stop there.” Scowling, Cronus raised a hand. “There will be no removing anyone from Tartarus. It is too dangerous.”
    He’d expected that answer. However, he persevered. “Perhaps the reward is worth the danger. I would keep her locked inside my home, Majesty. I would never remove her collar—” well, except to whisk her to his home, for she couldn’t be flashed out of Tartarus with it on, but he would recollar her the moment they reached their destination “—and she would be my personal slave. I would ensure her misery.” His first lie of the day, but probably not his last. He only wanted to give Nike pleasure.
    Had he forgiven her for what she’d done to him? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he no longer wanted to kill her when he thought about it. He would tire of her eventually, and he looked forward to the day. Until then, this was his only recourse.
    The king ran his tongue over his teeth. “Of which her do you speak?”
    â€œNike. Greek goddess of Strength.” He did not allow a single bit of affection to lace his tone.
    The king’s eyes widened. “The one who…” Now those eyes dropped to Atlas’s chest, where his shirt covered his tattoos.
    â€œYes. The very one.” Hear my anger, only my anger. Except, what she’d done no longer angered him. The marks were as much a part of him now as his were a part of her.
    â€œInteresting.” Cronus leaned back in the throne, the picture of contemplation. “Do you not think she is being made to suffer enough inside Tartarus?”
    Time for his second lie. “No. I do not.” In truth, as   dejected as she’d sounded at their last meeting, the goddess was suffering. And he didn’t like it.
    â€œAnd what will you do to increase her suffering?”
    â€œMuch as she hates me—” desires me, he added inside his head, so that he wouldn’t reveal the depths of irritation thoughts of her possible loathing elicited “—she will take particular displeasure in cleaning my home, preparing my food and warming my bed.”
    The king smiled up at the ghostly girl. “What you’d like to do to your Paris, eh, my Sienna? Make him your slave.”
    Her expression never changed. She offered no response, either.
    Paris who? Atlas wondered, and then shrugged. He didn’t care. Nike was his only concern at the moment.
    â€œMy king?” Atlas prompted. “I lack only your permission to begin Nike’s torment. My determination is unparalleled.”
    Cronus faced him once again, his smile falling away. A minute passed in silence, then another. Then the king sighed. “I’m afraid my answer has   to be no. While I like the thought of Nike’s anguish intensified at your hands, I’m unwilling to risk the removal of her collar, even for the few seconds required to flash her. She is Strength, and were she to somehow escape you and free her brethren, another heavenly war would erupt. I cannot afford to have my attention divided now. Well, not any more than it already is. I find I spend most of my time observing the