Chapter Five

The golden liquid cast its glow on the rim of the goblet as the hand which held it so graciously withdrew it from the pouring font which had moments ago filled it. With a nearby towel, Hebe dutifully wiped some excess Nektar from the goblet's exterior before she began her brief trek across the throne room floor.

 "Here you are," Hebe said as she neared one of the ten lesser thrones in the massive chamber, but calling it lesser was a disservice to its majestic grandeur. With one leg draped over the arm of his throne and the other dangling limply, thin Dionysus sat. He looked incredibly frail compared to the great chair upon which he sat, but looks could be deceiving. Though Dionysus did not have the musculature of other gods, the god was more substantial than most mortals. This was due to the divinity running through his veins, though if mortals' exaggerations were believed, Dionysus bled wine, not ichor. With the consistently punch-drunk smirk on his face, Hebe wondered if the mortals were on to something.

 "Salutations, cousin," replied Dionysus, accepting the offered goblet and beginning to drink.

 Hebe rested her hands before her as she gave her cousin time to sample the beverage.

 They were not true cousins. Not in the mortal sense. They shared no common blood or ichor between them. Though his father and her parents would refer to one another as siblings, it was intended in a spiritual sense. Many centuries before Hebe or Dionysus' birth, the Titans Kronos and Rhea had exalted the Six to serve as their lieutenants, elevating them from the ranks of the mortal humans of Earth. The Six had been strangers before exaltation but had become adopted as spiritual children of the Titans. It was this common bond that made the Six siblings.

 Honoring that bond, the son of Hades and the daughter of Hera referred to one another as cousins. That was the custom they had lived by since they were godlings pulling at each other's hair. Hebe smiled at the thought of pulling his hair now for no reason in particular.

 As Dionysus lowered his drink, Hebe took a half-step forward and reached out one hand to take the goblet but then stepped back, startled. He had not downed the drink in one sampling as he usually would. "Is everything in order?"

 Gesturing with one hand, Dionysus dismissed Hebe's curiosity before he elaborated. "Nothing wrong with this batch, dear cousin. On the contrary, it tastes delicious. I believe our king would be most pleased with the product."

 Hebe gave a single nod and a quiet smile. She was delighted to hear that. Dionysus had a refined palate, and if he was delighted by the sampling, then so would her father. "But you did not finish it," Hebe finally said.

 "I will. I will… but I did not come to Olympus to sample the Nektar."

 Hebe smiled. She knew what he was about to say next.

 "I came here to see you."

 Hebe's smile grew as her stance relaxed. She took a sauntering step closer and let out a soft giggle. "Now, is that so?" she asked as she grabbed his legs and positioned him to sit upright on his throne before she climbed onto the throne, straddling his lap as her fingers dug into his floral-printed tunic.

 Dionysus' smirk turned into a pleased smile. "Though this isn't why I wanted to see you, I must admit I enjoy where this is going."

 Tilting her head to one side, the princess of the gods raised a curious eyebrow. "You wanted to see me, but not for the purposes of seduction or to discuss Nektar?" She giggled with delight. "I am most intrigued, cousin."

 Dionysus gave a slight nod. "I wanted to discuss your mother."

 Hebe's smile faded quickly, and her lack of expression was followed by a long, drawn-out sigh as she melted off the throne and returned her feet to the floor. "My mother? Your aunt? Our queen? Seriously?"

 Setting his goblet carefully on the arm of his throne, Dionysus stood up. He placed his hands on Hebe's biceps and waited for her gaze to find his eyes. Once he caught her attention, his lips played a shy smile as he did his best to read her mood.

 Hebe wondered if he was channeling his mirth-filled essence into her. Of course, she would be laughing silly if he did so, and she was mortal. But, as she was a god, the effect was not compulsory, and it was harder to distinguish from her own natural delight of being touched by a lover.

 With a sigh, Hebe broke the silence. "Do you not have something to say?"

 Dionysus chuckled. "I am sorry if I killed the mood."

 Hebe rolled her eyes. "Just be done with it, Dionysus. What were you wanting to ask of me?"

 He kept his hands on her arms, his thumbs stroking her flesh lightly. "I heard rumors as of late concerning your mother."

 "Rumors?" asked Hebe, again tilting her head. "What kind of rumors exactly?"

 Dionysus' smile disappeared completely. Instead, he had a very unusual expression replacing it, a sobering one. He paused a moment longer and gulped.

 Hebe's eyes widened. "What have you heard?"

 After a long sigh, his words finally parted from his tongue. "I heard that Hera herself may be in league with the heretics."

 Hebe giggled.

 Dionysus did not.

 Hebe's eyebrows lifted high on her forehead. "You're not in jest?"

 He shook his head.

 She scoffed and then frowned. "You think my mother is a traitor?"

 Dionysus opened his mouth slightly, but only breath escaped.

 Swatting at his chest, Hebe changed her tone. "You think my mother is a traitor!"

 Dionysus took the first slap in stride but stumbled backward with the second. The third put him back on the throne, and the fourth attempt was stopped as his hand grabbed her offending hand by the wrist. "Alright, let me-" he started but was silenced as a fifth strike came from the other hand slapping him across the face. "Ow."

 Hebe took a step back.

 Dionysus released his grip at the first indication of her departure.

 The goddess took a long breath and collected herself. She was not about to apologize, though she felt she should have. It had not been her intent to strike him like that. It just happened. Her step backward was not to prevent his retaliation but to keep herself from continuing the assault.

 After realizing he was waiting on her to speak, Hebe let out a sigh. "You deserved that."

 "Perhaps."

 "You did."

 "I did," he agreed.

 "But I didn't have to slap you."

 "You didn't," he agreed again.

 "I am not apologizing."

 "Wasn't asking you to apologize."

 "Good. Because I won't."

 "Good."

 "Good."

 Dionysus let out a sigh. "Can I explain?"

 Hebe's jaw clenched for a moment before she could relax it. "I love my mother."

 "No doubt," Dionysus said, nodding. "I love mine."

 Hebe paused to look him in the eye. "I know mine is not the most loved goddess on Olympus..."

 "How could she be when such goddess is presently before me?" asked Dionysus with a drunken grin before he hid his lips with his goblet, drinking some Nektar as he waited for her response.

 The flattery worked enough to cause an idle pause to smile. Batting eyes, Hebe put that aside for the moment and returned her focus to the prior discussion. "I know she is not perfect. I know she has her flaws-"

 "As do we all-"

 "Let me finish."

 "Apologies," he said, returning his lips to the Nektar.

 "Despite all that, she is my mother," Hebe explained. "I know she treats me differently than she does others, but I also see a different side of her mother that others do not often get to see. She is not a traitor."

 "I did not say she was."

 "Mortals that think she is a traitor are themselves heretics!"

 Dionysus lowered his goblet. Their gazes met and lingered on one another's eyes. "Hebe…"

 She sighed. "Very well… Out with it."

 Dionysus took a long breath. He returned his nearly empty goblet to the throne's arm once more as he leaned forward in his chair. "I am not certain of the validity of these claims, Hebe. In fact, I put much doubt in their merit. Yet, considering what you mean to me, I felt you had a right to know what I had heard."

 Hebe nodded slowly. She did not like hearing this, but she found it hard to focus her anger on him with Dionysus' elaborations. "She is our queen. Do not forget that."

 "I never do. Just as I never forget you are my princess."

 Hebe sighed. "Fine. Continue."

 "I take it you have not heard anything of this sort before?" he asked.

 "I have heard my share of heresy," Hebe said, folding her arms. "In fact, I feel as though I am hearing plenty of it as we speak."

 Dionysus gave her a sideways glance.

 Letting out a slow breath, Hebe scoffed. "I know. That was not fair to you. You are just the messenger here. You are merely reporting on the mortals' ignorance as of late."

 His glance did not falter or even blink.

 She pursed her lips.

 "That's not fair either, Hebe," Dionysus said. "I am not saying that you should put much weight in the gossip of common Elysians, but consider the wisdom of my father."

 "And what wisdom of the great Lord Hades shall I consider?" Hebe asked with a biting tone. She hated the way that tasted on her tongue.

 "He once told me that few things travel far with fabricated legs," Dionysus said, his eyes reading her face for signs of how she would receive that message. "Meaning-"

 She scoffed. "I get the point, cousin. If this rumor persists, there may be some merit to it. Very well, I have considered the philosophies of the Stygian sage himself," she said with a decidedly more upbeat tone than she had used for much of this exchange. "But how are we to know how far this rumor has traveled?"

 Dionysus gave her a concerned look. "I have heard it said in Thebes, Corinth, and in the Freelands."

 Hebe glared at him. "You've heard it said three times and you only now are bringing this to me?" Hebe rolled her eyes, paced about for a moment, and then shook her head. She chuckled and sighed as she threw her arms out. "Matters not!" she exclaimed with a wry laugh. "I mean, three idiots from three different places can be struck by the same sort of stupidity, right?" she asked with a desperate chuckle. "I mean, it happens, right?"

 His expression became more concerned. "I have heard it said by more than three… The rumors are actually considerably widespread in those locales."

 "How widespread?"

 "Very."

 Hebe scowled. "We have three entire kingdoms buzzing with heretical musings?"

 With a long sigh, Dionysus stood up and walked to the rear of his throne to retrieve his Thyrsos, a metal rod made of adamant and Stygian wiring with a large orichalcum ornament in the shape of a pinecone. Then, with his magical stick in hand, he returned to the front of his throne to square off with Hebe. "Just… keep an open mind, cousin. That is all I ask."

 Hebe opened her lips to speak, but the following words were not her own.

 "I find Hebe to possess an incredibly open mind," said the familiar voice, accompanied by the sounds of footfalls entering the chamber. The voice belonged to Zeus, strolling at Hera's side with a prominent accompaniment of members of his throne guard and various godling attendants.

 "One of the many gifts of youth," said Hera, as she stopped to fill her glass flute with Nektar at the font's pouring spile. "You know, husband, perhaps we should revisit making Hebe one of the Twelve. Her unique insight could help bring about some much-needed perspective to our discussions."

 Zeus shot a glance at his wife.

 Hebe did not give her father time to form an actual response. Instead, she let out a soft chuckle, took a sideways step from Dionysus, and began a quick trot to embrace her father, taking his hands in her own and offering him a warm smile. "I am quite pleased being the Cupbearer, father. I am already allowed to attend the meetings of the Twelve as such, even when the doors are sealed for private matters, I am allowed to stay to serve Nektar and to serve the needs of the Twelve. So what would being one of the Twelve give me, other than a fancier chair to rest my rear?"

 Hera scoffed as she strolled forward, excess Nektar spilling from her flute to the floor. "An opinion, my silly daughter," she said before sipping at her drink.

 "I already have such on most matters," Hebe said firmly.

 Hera gave a soft Nektar-stained smirk. "But one that matters, my dear."

 Hebe let her eyes drift to her side to see Dionysus had approached and was not standing next to her.

 "If I may," he said, "on the rare occasion that Hebe does voice her opinion in the council hearings, is she not heard? Do we not consider what she has to say?"

 Hera held her tongue as she drank her Nektar slowly.

 Zeus chuckled. "An excellent point, nephew. Hebe has never been expected to remain silent and her opinion has been considered many times."

 Hera swallowed and cleared her throat. "But she has never had a chance to cast her vote. She is a princess of Olympus. She should have that right."

 "Mother, it's not necessary-"

 "No," Hera interjected. "It is necessary, Hebe. Your brothers each have a vote."

 "But my older sisters do not," Hebe said, folding her arms.

 "Ilithiya is not like you and me, Hebe," said Hera, shaking her head. "And Eris is... Well, she does what is good for Eris. Always has. We have enough of those self-serving types on the Twelve as it is... like Athena."

 Hebe did not care for how her mother used such disdain when saying the name of the Goddess of Wisdom. Hebe understood why Hera did such, as Athena was a true-born Princess of Olympus, but she was from Zeus' first marriage—not from Hera. Though they had a different mother, Hebe and Athena did share the same father. They were sisters as far as Hebe was concerned, just as Artemis was. Just as she thought of Apollo and Hermes as her brothers, too. She wished Hera could understand that, but at the same time, she understood why she could not.

 Zeus remained silent. Instead of speaking, he kept his eyes shifting between Hera and Hebe.

 Finally, Hebe sighed. "I am content as Cupbearer, mother. It suits me. I could not expect any of the Twelve to step down to give me their throne."

 "They do not have to step down," Hera said with a cunning smile. "Only the King and Queen require a majority of the Twelve to depose. The other ten members of the Council of Twelve serve solely at the discretion of their king and queen."

 Hebe shook her head. "I could not ask you both-"

 "We should not have to be asked!" Hera snapped back, shooting her eyes at Zeus. "She is our daughter, after all. Should a cherished daughter of ours, a true Princess of Olympus even, not have a chance to sit among her brothers as an equal?"

 Zeus dismissed Hera with a chuckle as he idly paced a few steps away before returning. "Exactly who would you ask me to dismiss from their throne, my wife? Should we do away with the Goddess of Agriculture? How about the Sea? Huh? What are you asking me?"

 Hera had been drinking from her flute as Zeus spoke. When he finished, she lowered the glass and smirked. "Of course not. Demeter and Poseidon are Elder Gods. They deserve a seat as much as you or I, husband."

 Zeus slowly smiled. No doubt, he thought he knew where Hera was going with this. "Oh, so we should dismiss the God of War? Or the God of Science?"

 Hera scoffed. "Of course not."

 Zeus nodded slowly, then paused to scoff. "There it is, you wish me to dismiss one of my so-called 'bastards.'"

 Hebe did not care to hear that term thrown out. It was what Hera used to classify Artemis, Apollo, and Hermes. These were the children born from Zeus' lovers and not from his wives. Unfortunately, though, Hebe had also heard Hera use the term to describe Athena, only not to Zeus' face.

 If the term had technical merit, Hebe would not mind it, but Zeus used a Divine Decree to legitimatize Artemis, Apollo, and Hermes long ago. However, as Hera had countered it, her vote as the queen somewhat complicated the matter. If she were being honest, Hebe was not sure she understood how the co-monarch system Olympus had adopted was supposed to function. Another reason she felt it best to remain the Olympian Cupbearer and not seek a seat.

 "Is that the gist of it, my queen?" Zeus asked. "I should depose my children without grounds?"

 With a saunter and a smirk, Hera approached her husband. "No, my dear. Not at all. We have had this discussion many a time, and I know that you love all of your children, even those lesser born than the ones we share."

 "If not our spirit-siblings Poseidon and Demeter, nor my children whether born from you or another, then who do you ask I dismiss?" Zeus asked with a scoff. "Aphrodite? Our son's own wife? Is she not also a Princess of Olympus?" Zeus said with a contemptuous chuckle.

 Hera shot a glance past Hebe to Dionysus. Hebe's gaze followed her mother's, and upon looking at Dionysus, Hebe realized he saw this coming.

 "Mother-" Hebe tried to warn, but a slight gesture from Hera silenced her.

 "Dionysus' seat was given to him at the request of the mortals," Hera said as she paced a circular path around Hebe and Dionysus. "They cried and pleaded, begging for us to give him a seat because he had invented wine."

 "That is an oversimplification of the events," said Zeus, stepping closer, his hands tucked behind his back as he did when restraining himself from hitting someone or something.

 Hera paused, perching her free hand on Dionysus' Thyrsos and sliding it down to stroke the god's hand as it gripped the staff. "Oh, yes, I know there was more to it. He did so much traveling the surface in those days, didn't he? The people felt like he was their champion, isn't that right?"

 Dionysus stammered. "Yes… I had heard as much said before."

 Hera scoffed. "That was on Earth, though. This is Elysium."

 "Your point?" asked Zeus, glowering.

 Hera shrugged and drank deep, finishing her drink. "Different world, isn't it? The mortals here have their subtle differences. The magic here is different, too. Even our Ambrosia and Nektar have peculiar tastes to them," she paused to lick her lips clean of Nektar, even smacking her lips to emphasize what she was doing. "Are we not different too? Do we not spend more time on the surface here in Elysium than we ever did on Earth?"

 Zeus let out a long sigh, but it was Hebe whose words came quicker. "Mother, are you saying that Dionysus is obsolete?"

 "He had a purpose at one time," Hera said with a smile. "His input on the mortals was truly needed back then as we had allowed ourselves to become disconnected from the mortal condition. But I question if we are asking too much of the poor lad."

 Hebe's expression became similar to her father's as her arms crossed. "How so?"

 Hera looked at Dionysus and offered him her flute. "Be a dear, nephew..."

 Dionysus paused to look at Hebe and Zeus a moment, gauging their expressions for how he should proceed. He likely did not give their silence much thought when the thought of Hera's ire weighed against it. So, Dionysus took the flute from his queen and strolled across the chamber floor toward the font.

 "Now, as I was saying, husband and daughter, Dionysus' service was valuable, but have we not made a more concerted and deliberate effort not to repeat our past mistakes?" Hera asked as she strolled over to take Hebe by the arm and lightly walk her toward Dionysus' throne. "Are we not all much wiser to the ways of the Elysians than we were to the plight of the mortal human? Do we still need to give a throne to a god to act as their mouthpiece?"

 Zeus scoffed. "To ask Dionysus to step down would be to defy Hestia's request. Do not forget that our spirit-sister abdicated her throne to give Dionysus a place among the Twelve."

 Hera chuckled. "You know as well as I do, husband, that Hestia never much cared for politics. She did not do this out of altruism, but out of boredom. She did not want a voice."

 "And I do?" asked Hebe.

 Hera scoffed. "Of course you do, daughter… Now, sit."

 Hebe paused, raising an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

 "Have a seat," said Hera, perched over one arm of the throne, patting the throne's cushion with her hand. "Try it out. See what it feels like."

 Hebe giggled. "I practically live in this room, mother. Do you honestly think I have not spent many idle hours sitting in everyone of these thrones?"

 Zeus chuckled as she strode forward. "That's my girl. See, Hera… Hebe knows what she wants. Now, Perhaps we might-"

 "I am not finished," Hera said with a scowl as she snatched her daughter by the hand and placed her in the seat of Dionysus' throne with a quick tug and spin. With her daughter seated, the queen let out a long sigh and returned to the throne's side, perching over the arm of the chair and putting each of her hands on Hebe's shoulders. Then, with her chin hovering near her daughter's ear, she continued to speak. "Now, listen to my voice, daughter. Picture this… The Goddess of Youth and Innocence seated as an equal among the Gods of War, Justice, and the very elements themselves… and can we even call it justice if the Goddess of Innocence does not have a chance to weigh in on the fate of an accused? Should we not also give a voice to the children? Think of the poor, suffering children..." Dionysus returned with the flute, and Hera broke away to take it, immediately sipping from it. "Thank you, nephew. What a lovely Cupbearer you would make," she said with an amused tone, chuckling at her own remark before drowning her laughter with Nektar.

 Hebe let out a long sigh as she tried to avert Dionysus' eyes but failed miserably. She had expected to see him upset by the sight of her seated on his throne, but he only had his usual drunk smirk on his face. Seeing that only added to the confusion and conflict that racked her mind and gut. Hebe let out a drawn-out sigh. "I… I could not ask Dionysus to step down, mother."

 "I will not ask him to do so," added Zeus, not the least bit enjoying this discussion. "Your words are wasted, Hera. Must we suffer any more of them?"

 Hera chuckled before drowning her laughter with more drink. When finished, she shifted the empty flute to her other hand and passed it off to Hebe to refill. "I am not finished," she began.

 With a sigh, Hebe shifted her weight and climbed out of the throne, and slowly approached her mother to claim the empty glass.

 "What if neither of you have to ask him to step down?" asked Hera. "What if we merely reminded him that he has no obligation to serve the Twelve in this capacity and we simply thanked him for his service? Perhaps Dionysus would be interested in having such a time-consuming burden lifted from him?"

 Zeus was quiet for a moment. Hebe collected the glass from her mother and lingered at her side, counting her father's eyes as they slowly blinked. Finally, Zeus let out a long sigh. "Fine… I'll humor you, Hera… Dionysus, would you care to abdicate your throne so that we might give Hebe a place among the Twelve?"

 "Uh…" Dionysus' face went paler than usual.

 Hebe and he locked eyes, and she quickly shook her head, signaling to decline. Yet, despite this, Hebe could tell by his shifting eyes that he had become afraid of refusing Hera once more. So, with a soft sigh, Hebe strolled around her mother and took up a place at Dionysus' side. "He might if the choice were entirely his, mother. But the truth is that it's not."

 "It's not?" asked Hera, Zeus, and Dionysus himself in unison.

 Hebe giggled. "I mean, technically, yes… but not really. His parents have always seen him as their delegate to the Twelve."

 Zeus smirked and chuckled, clapping his hands together loudly. "She brings up a good point. Hades oversees many of our most vital needs as Lord of the Underworld, and he is our equal as well, Hera. Should we defy him by taking his son and our own nephew away from the Twelve?"

 Hera scoffed and rolled her eyes. "We have always given Hades a voice in this chamber when he requests it, same with his wife. It's rare when you or Poseidon even decide to vote in counter to the suggestions of Hades or his writings. You treat his reports as word of law. To suggest he would be without a voice is laughable."

 "Be that as it may be," Zeus said with a grin, "I would ask that Dionysus keep himself seated where he is, for now. But enough of this!" Zeus said, throwing his arms out. "I require wine, and I hear that Dionysus has acquired a most fascinating bottle that he cares to share with me."

 "I did, and I do," Dionysus said with a nervous smile as Zeus intercepted him and pulled him away, both strolling out of the chamber as they idly chattered amongst themselves in loud tones. The throne guard followed them, as did most of the attendants.

 With the gods gone, Hebe dropped her eyes and quickly strolled to the font to fill her mother's drink. She wiped the glass as she had done many times before to keep the exterior free of excess Nektar, which might compromise the grip or drip on clothing, and when she turned to return to her mother, Hebe was startled to find Hera right there before her.

 "What is going on between you and him?" Hera asked.

 Hebe raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Dionysus and I?"

 Hera did move to nod or gesture.

 "Surely you know we are consorts, mother. Some mortals have written poems and songs about our affairs. Some are quite vulgar, in fact," Hebe said with an awkward giggle of defiance.

 Of course, Hera was not the least bit amused. "I am well aware of you two fecking. I do not care about that. What I ask is if you love him."

 Hebe paused, and her smile shrank. That was a loaded word for an Olympian. They were not mortals. Though they may look and act like mortals, their emotions and thoughts are entirely different. They had an eternal existence to consider, and they had the hum and buzz of their Titanic essence in their minds and bodies, which gave them a different perspective on all things. This was common knowledge even to the mortals who worshiped them, but while mortals thought these differences were what made the Olympians divine, it only made them different.

 "Do you love father?" Hebe asked after her long pause.

 Hera scoffed. "We are married. We are beyond such things as love."

 Hebe rolled her eyes. "Did you, though? Ever?"

 Hera collected her drink and sampled it. She then smacked her lips and sighed. "Perhaps. I cannot be certain. Our union was strategic and more important than such emotional attachments. If you are asking if I was attracted to him… Yes. Of course. While I am not certain if he ever caused my heart to flutter, as the mortal poets say, I do find he has an incredible effect on my nethers-"

 Hebe snapped her eyes closed and tried to flood her mind with something else. "Please, stop… Please, mother, I beg of you, say no more."

 "If you wish me to cease answering your question, perhaps you should answer my own, daughter. How do you feel about my nephew? Does his presence stir your heart, or does it just moisten your intimates?"

 Hebe sighs. She needed to end this conversation and do so in the worst way. So, she said just about the worst thing she could. "I don't know, mother. Are you in league with the Broken Book?" The second she punctuated that question, she regretted it. Biting down on her lip, she tried to conceal the worry from her expression. Why had she done that? She had no earthly idea. She was frustrated. It just came out as it did. Hebe silently cursed Dionysus and his earlier inquiries for even putting this in her awareness.

 "How dare you!" Hera said, casting her Nektar into Hebe's face before she stormed off, tossing her flute into the font where it shattered into a dozen pieces of glass and gold. The scattered attendants followed the agitated queen, heading back out.

 With a sigh filled with regret, Hebe grabbed the cloth she used to wipe cups and now dried her own face. The massive doors to the throne room slammed shut. With a sigh, Hebe turned her attention to cleaning the pieces of the broken glass from the font. As she was nearly done, she found her mind revisiting what just happened, and with a scoff and light chuckle, Hebe shook her head. "She didn't deny it…" and with those words uttered aloud, the smile left Hebe's face as she knew she needed to speak with Dionysus once more.

## Characters

### Gods

* Hebe
* Dionysus
* Zeus
* Hera