Dungeon of Torment

21. Sons of Kronos

Kronos stumbled, tripping over his sandals as he half fell onto the sofa. His mouth hung open and he sang a slurred jumbled song that would have sounded mournful – if he hadn't fallen onto the tiled floor midway through.

"News! Any news!" He demanded from his anxious and repulsed servants. Nailah had slipped into a coma. Her relatively stable health had been a miracle and now the miracle had ended, the curtains falling on the stage.

Dawn crept across the sky, a bright beautiful golden flush across the horizon.

"The surgery went well, your majesty. Lady Nailah has been delivered of a healthy girl."

"And Lady Nailah?"

"No change." Still not waking.

Birds chirped the morning as Kronos slowly made his way to visit the newly born princess.

Servants hovered caringly around her crib, they bowed on seeing their king. He looked down at the baby. She was large with her mother's dark skin but, like Hyperion's, it glowed. Her dazzling aura caused Kronos to wince, his eyes having to adjust. The baby flung a little, wrinkled hand against her blankets and left a scorch mark on the material.

"She's strong." He reached down and stroked her small nose with the tip of his finger. "Your mother will wake up soon, little one." He promised tenderly.

              The birth of Princess Selene was announced publicly and received with a poor reception. The offspring of a human mixed with a Titan already condemned for treason was mildly interesting but not endearing. Only those in the pyramid knew or guessed Kronos' intentions – the fate he had planned for the littlest royal. He moved the child to his rooms, declaring his intention to raise the child whilst her mother continued to sleep, lingering on the brink of death.

            Rhea was picking at her teeth. Kronos' withdrawal to his room had given her a respite from the humiliation of being publicly ignored by him. But how long could that last? Nyx's malicious smirks during the feast had stoked Rhea's temper. She'd wanted to strike down the pantheon bitch, to rip the skin from her gleeful face. Rhea glared at her stunning reflection. She'd have her revenge. She'd let them all suffer for overlooking her.

She didn't hear the spymaster enter the room and it was only when Larent softly cleared his throat close behind her, that she flinched and spun around.

"Well?"

"A surprising result, your majesty. The child is not Hyperion's." He was referring to the DNA tests they'd done on Isbel's son.

Rhea frowned. This was, without doubt, a half-titan child, but if not Hyperion's – then whose? There were, of course, many possibilities for titan paternity.

"Why did Nailah try to hide it? Why was she paying off the mother if the child was no threat to her own?"

"She might have believed the child to be Hyperion's." Larent delicately suggested. That was a possibility, but it didn't help Rhea's interests in the least. She shook her head, mulling it over.

"Half-human offspring rarely show their powers until puberty," she mused out loud, "and those that have, have only ever been from the Beon bloodline." Even Kronos, a direct descendant from the Beon line had never displayed any powers until he was a teenager. Royal blood was no guarantee.

That limited the candidates for paternity. Rhea's eyes widened. Kronos...

"Larent, I need you to do another DNA test on the child. In the strictest of secrecy."

"Your majesty?"

"Test Kronos for paternity."

He didn't display early powers, but he had the blood to pass on – his heir would be of direct descent also.

Rhea clasped her hands together, her fingers trembling with excitement. If the child was Kronos'... that would explain why Nailah had wanted the child kept hidden. The prophecy. "If the test is positive, you will need to act fast. Kill the mother and secure the child. I don't want him harmed."

"Yes, your majesty."

Larent backed out of the room, his head bowed down low.

Rhea got to her feet, too agitated to sit still. Kronos' heir – his fated murderer – in her hands. It was perfect. She'd have the child raised in secret. He would be her son. If she couldn't find happiness as the wife of the king – she'd find happiness and power as the mother of one.

"Zeus," she murmured, "I'll name him Zeus."

                   A fisherman and his daughter were out on their boat in the middle of the night. He worked whilst she kept watch for sign of any other boats. What they were doing was illegal, fishing without a license. But these were desperate times. Loukas, the father, was a thin man, with saggy leathered skin and hair as white as snow. His joyless face was set determinedly for work, his shoulders trembling from the heavy labour.

"Iona, help me." He called to her in Greek. Together they heaved the net up out of the water. Panting for breath they peered in the gloom at their hefty catch.

"It's a child!" Iona exclaimed. Loukas went to his knees and quickly untangled the little boy's limbs from the net. Iona helped her father, her hands shaking. He was so small, only a toddler. "Is he dead?"

Loukas cradled the boys head. He was icy cold - his soaking clothes were rags and seaweed was knotted in his dark curly hair. Suddenly the child opened his eyes and jolted. Iona screamed in surprise and Loukas quickly rolled the child onto his side as the little boy started coughing up water.

"We need light." Loukas directed his daughter. They'd been working in darkness to decrease the chances of the authorities catching them, but now they needed to check the child for injuries. Iona hurried over to her duffle bag.

"It's ok, boy." Loukas soothed, rubbing the boys back. "You're safe now." The ocean waves lapped calmly at the boat. Buffeting the hull in a gentle rocking motion. Exhausted, the boy closed his eyes - falling swiftly fast asleep.

                      Alone in her hospital room, Nailah lay surrounded by beeping machines. One going into her mouth was breathing for her, making her chest rise and fall. Her hands lay neatly at her sides over the covers, unmoving. The room smelt stale, the window hadn't been open in months and heating was on too high but once a week someone put flowers on the nightstand. She was after all, still a member of the royal family. In a coma, unlikely to ever wake up, she was still the Pale Moon Princess, Lady Nailah – wife of Prince Hyperion, Bringer of the Dawn. Sunlight streamed through the closed window, spilling over her fragile form.

                 "Sunlight," Hyperion groaned, he was on his stomach – face down on the cold stone of Tartarus. "I need... sunlight." He was too weak to stand, beads of sweat rolling down his grey skin. The cyclopes Brontes stood over him, appraising the titan prince with his one giant eye. "Brontes..." Hyperion outstretched a trembling hand, "please."