Athena stared at her, open-mouthed.
“Come on,” Cassandra said, and smiled. “You’ve got a life now. Up there. This wasn’t meant for you.”
“No,” Athena said. “We made the deal.”
Cassandra’s smile changed. It disappeared.
“Give them to me!”
Athena jumped back, favoring her injured hip. Cassandra fell and her hands caught Athena at the knee. Athena thought she would black out from the pain of so many feathers bursting through the joint.
“Stop this, Cassandra.” Athena moaned. “It’s only them in your head. You don’t want this.”
“Nobody wants this,” Cassandra said as she got to her feet. “But I am this.” Her fingers hooked into claws but this time Athena was faster and managed to dodge.
“Get out of her head!” Athena screamed at the Moirae.
“Cassandra. You’re not death. You killed gods because you fought—”
“I killed Calypso!”
Athena stopped. Cassandra’s eyes were wide and hateful. Full of regret. In the midst of all that had happened, Athena had missed how much of Cassandra’s hate had turned inward.
“I put my hands on her,” Cassandra shouted. “And she died. Her hair turned white, and then yellow, and then it shed off of her skull. Her face turned to leather in front of me!”
Above, Athena heard Odysseus speak, but couldn’t tell what he said.
“You didn’t mean to do that,” Athena said, and knew it was true. Cassandra had cared for Calypso. It was in her eyes for anyone to see.
Athena sought Atropos in the back of the cave. The cold weight of the shears in her hand felt good. Solid. She opened and closed them once, and Atropos hissed.
Athena moved fast, but Cassandra’s hands slammed down on her back. Feathers cut through her lungs, through her liver, through the skin and muscle that held her together. It brought her to the ground.
Athena turned over and looked up through the cave entrance, hoping to see a scrap of sky, wishing she wasn’t there, in a hole that felt so much like a grave.
“Athena!” Odysseus shouted. He started down the rope and then let go and fell the rest of the way to splash into the lake. He came up sputtering, and she recalled how cold it was. It seemed a long time ago that she had been in the water.
Cassandra’s shadow fell across her torso. She bent down to carefully take the shears from Athena’s hand.
“I don’t want to kill you,” Cassandra said. “After it’s over, I think you’ll heal.”
Poor Cassandra. The girl who killed gods. They’d put her through a world of shit, and she proved herself tough as nails. Athena understood why Aidan had loved her so much.
“No,” Athena whispered. “You’ll heal.”
Athena jerked the shears closed, and severed half of Cassandra’s ring and pinky fingers. The sound of the tips falling to the cave floor was covered by her scream.
Athena rolled away. The feathers made it hard to move. Hard to breathe. But she did it anyway, and scrambled across the stone. She raised the shears high over her head, and brought them down in Atropos’ chest.
Something flooded through her. Something dark.
* * *
“No. No, goddamn it.” Odysseus dragged himself out of the lake.
Athena knelt beside the wall of the cave with her head down, one arm out to hold herself up. Her other hand clutched the shears. Her shears.
Cassandra’s head swam. Atropos was dead. Athena killed her. And suddenly, Clotho and Lachesis weren’t talking to her anymore. But she could still hear them as they begged their new sister for help.
(Join your blood with us. Heal us. Help us.)
Athena grabbed her head as though she was trying to block them out. Trying to fight. But she wouldn’t be able to for long.
Cassandra stared at Clotho and Lachesis. They were pathetic, shriveled sacks. Weak. Dying. They’d done so much to bring her there. They’d created her. The Fates.
She got to her feet and wiped the blood from her severed fingers on her shirt. It was all right, the lost fingers. She only needed one good hand anyway.
When she plucked the shears from Lachesis’ hand, Lachesis looked at her curiously. It wasn’t until she brought the point down between her eyes that anyone started screaming, and then it was only Clotho. But soon enough, Clotho stopped as well.
Cassandra backed away from the dead Moirae, away from the blood that leaked from their sliced-open legs and from their heads. She held the shears carefully. They were so very, very sharp.