The Time of Zeus Book 5: the Coup
Copyright© 2025 by Carlos Santiago
Chapter 10: The Makings of a King
“I’ve got a plan, a plan, a great idea.
... A plan ... so devious...
I’m surprised I haven’t thought of it before.”
— Mister Pimm (as portrayed by Stan Freberg), The Music Machine: An Adventure in Agapeland, based on the book by Samuel Wright. Screenplay by Leo Salkin, Milt Schaffer, and Mark Pendergrass. Directed by Leo Salkin. Produced by Sparrow–Star Song and AgapeLand Productions. Copyright © 1983 AgapeLand Productions. Originally released in 1983.
Morning came quickly. Hera had enjoyed a nice private meal and went to bed in her own palace rather than waste time being near Zeus. He was obsessed with his mortal project and Prometheus. He would surely not notice that Hera was missing.
The halls of Hera’s palace seemed to enjoy the sunlight of early morning while Hera groaned in annoyance. She did not need sleep as she had during the Great War. She only needed rest when she exhausted her physical or magical talents as a goddess, but something about planning Zeus’ downfall had left her needing more restful sleep.
Gold and lilac hues seemed to be bouncing from the rays to her flowers in her large garden. Part of her wanted to tear up every flower and that Chaos-forsaken tree that bound her in matrimony to Zeus.
Eventually, the Queen of Olympus found herself upon her throne of stone. It was much more comfortable than the one Hephaestus had tried to trap her in.
When she had found a position she was happy about, she waited for the doors to open. Soon enough, they did and Leto entered in slow silence. Hera almost laughed. Leto had seemed brave enough when she had Hermes delivering her sentiments. But upon looking at the lesser titaness, Hera could see the matron had lost most of her courage.
She moved like mist over water while in a gown of black. The titaness had once been hounded from every corner of Greece’s sea, but as she stood in the center of the Queen’s domain, Leto could look up at the one who tormented her for so long.
For that, Hera could see the rage and loathing was not nearly as potent as she might have suspected. Instead, Leto’s golden eyes were eyeing every part of the throne room in a cautious curiosity.
Hera did not rise for this temptress. While Hera knew Zeus was the one who had broken the vows, Hera suspected that Leto had once hoped to be sitting on the throne that Hera was currently sitting in.
“Leto,” she said coolly. “You certainly wasted no time in receiving your audience.”
“I did not think it wise to keep the Queen waiting,” Leto replied quietly. “Especially when the matter is not for me, but my children.”
Hera raised an eyebrow in curiosity. For all she knew about Leto, the woman loved her twins more than life itself, and she would not lie to the Queen of Olympus when it came to their wellbeing. Hera would have to get Athena to make a scroll for Leto and to write that down.
“Your visits so often circle back to your children, dearest Leto,” Hera said, flashing her teeth.
While she did not enjoy Leto’s presence, Hera knew that the affair with Zeus was not the titanness’ fault. No matter how long it had gone on, nor no matter what Leto’s intentions, the Queen of Olympus understood that, in the end, it came down to Zeus’ responsibilty as well as his choice.
“I suppose I should have expected this,” she added after letting out a sigh. “It is predictable, yet altogether unamusing when you do this.”
Leto did not bristle or bawk at any of Hera’s behavior. She was the sort that had her own thoughts and plans by Hera’s evaluation. She kept her chin lifted in defiance of Hera with as little power she had when in the presence of the queen.
“My son has been wrongfully shunned from Zeus’ councils,” Leto remarked, ignoring the jibe. “I should think after making Apollo an Olympian, he would show greater care with the one he entrusts to drive the sun chariot.”
Hera stared at the daughter of Coeus and Phoebe and blinked in utter confused astonishment. A child was slightly ignored by their parent, and this was worth of a royal audience? In what reality did Leto live in?
Cronos had eaten his sons, ignored his daughters. Gaia was a despondent grandmother. Rhea only existed to give advice and make demands. Hera would have thought giving praise and then walking away from Apollo was the best thing for the boy.
“You come to me for this?” Hera wondered.
“I do,” Leto said with a nod. “Give your past disdain for me, I must ask: Was this your doing?”
There were a thousand things that came to Hera’s mind, but the loudest and most prevalent thought was: How petty was this titaness? This of course was followed up by: How messed up was her family?
“I have no interest to be bothered by your family anymore.” Hera said, trying to mend this bridge.
When she saw the insulted look on Leto’s face, Hera knew it was better to be kinder. Otherwise, this one would never leave the throne room.
“Your son and his standing is between you and my husband,” Hera added. She made herself less threatening by slumping her shoulders and waving the issue away. “I have no intention of standing in Apollo’s way.”
“Then why does Zeus shun his own son?” Leto almost whined in her asking.
Hera lifted a hand slowly in respectful recognition of the woman.
“As you know, dearest Leto, my husband does as my husband wants.”
The words hung like a blade between them. The insinuation of Zeus’ affair with Leto was quite clear.
Leto blinked once at the strike of a comment. A twitch of a breath escaped her lips, but she swallowed whatever emotion had risen. Hera might have commended Leto for it if not for the fact that Leto sounded so incredibly self-entitled.
“That may be,” she said carefully, “but my son will not be cast out. Not even by the King of Olympus.”
There it was from the privileged heir to Coeus and Phoebe. It was an edge of defiance blended with a tinge of elite pedigree to become the self-justified title that Leto wore in place of a crown on her head. Hera had expected this behavior and more, and perhaps, to a miniscule part of her, she welcomed this attitude because it mean some truths were immutably understood by the daughter of Rhea.
The Queen of Olympus made no outward move. She would have to keep her voice mild.
“Is your son displeased with his standing, then?”
“I should say so,” Leto answered, her voice tight. “He has held the sun aloft with honor. The masses still speak his name with a certain awe. He is revered for his current position but also his actions in the past in equal measure. Is this not what we reward on Olympus?”
“Reward? The privilege of driving the chariot was the reward, Leto. I should think you and your son would be thankful, especially given how far you have both come,” Hera remarked in annoyance. “Still, you complain, and he feels overlooked? I suppose the sun and his mother is not used to the shadow that my husband casts.”
Hera exhaled slowly, letting the silence deepen. All the while, Leto stared at Hera with the most ghastly affronted face possible. Hera never stopped watching Leto. The queen’s irises, which were usually violet, were shaded by the stormcloud of brewing anger within.
There was weariness beneath the titaness’ poise. Clearly, bitterness at Zeus’ behavior making her need to beg but also a shine of loyalty was tarnishing; Hera saw the hairline fractures where devotion to Zeus had begun to splinter just as Athena and her wanted. Leto could not be who they needed, yet...
“Then bring him,” Hera said at last, setting her goblet down with a soft, final clink. “After noon has come, you may escort him to me. If he wishes to be heard, I will briefly listen.”
Leto inclined her head in an action just short of a bow. Hera recognized how much strength it had taken for her to perform the actions. The words that came next almosted astonished Hera.
“Thank you, my Queen.”
She turned without waiting to be dismissed. That also caught Hera off guard. Leto was one to fight, especially after her return to Olympus. One would think that they (Leto and her children) were the most wronged on Olympus.
However, Hera watched Leto go. She was a faded relic of once-divine favor. Ultimately she was no threat to Hera’s position as some shadow of Zeus’ wandering lust. There would likely be another object of his desire before too long.
The Queen’s fingers tightened briefly on the stone of her throne. This could be used because the rage that Leto must surely be feeling did not need to be directed at Hera, but at the one person could be properly blamed.
There were cracks against the King of Olympus, and they would widen, so let Leto bring her golden son. The mother would not be of use to Athena and Hera, but the sun just might be.
She enjoyed the quiet of the ocean in the early hour. It reminded Amphitrite of the gentle surge of current along the deep seabed by her father’s palace.
Her gown of silver, seafoam white, and pearl looked all the more lustrous in her chariot pulled by her hippocampi. Finding the two was easy enough, and they followed her when that she had news.
That was a start.
Aegis went behind her chariot well enough by obeying the directives of the Sea Queen.
His golden eyes scanned every movement. By his side, Eletheia drifted more softly. She was a more delicate being. The folds of her silver-blue gown were torn. The two had not traveled entirely free like this in decades.
To have a royal escort was comforting and daunting for the two. Amphitrite could sense that. They probably worried that she would betray them to Zeus.
However, when they found the recently landlocked island with a vast valley, they froze.
Spires of mineral rich rock, newly formed soil, budding trees; it was a raw, unfinished landscape that would be filled with ripe possibilities for the both of them. Steam and warmth poured from gentle fissures to hint at hot springs. Flowing rivers, and open lands were all there that would be needed to create a home. There were miles of open land that presented that possibility.
Amphitrite stopped, turning to face them, her silver-blue hair flowing behind her.
“Here,” she said. Her voice was calm and kindly honest. “This is where you can build a home away from Olympus. It is fertile and open. If you wish it, it can be yours to shape...”
Eletheia’s lips parted as though to speak, but the words were slow to come.
“You would ... give us this?” she asked.
“This is not a gift. There are conditions.”
Aegis lifted an eyebrow suspiciously.
“And those are?”
“First, you will sede this land to any heirs of Poseidon that are not worthy of Poseidonus, and second, this land will not grow under betrayal. You may give tribute to Zeus as you see fit, but loyalty to Poseidon comes first.”
Aegis lifted his gaze to hers. He seemed confused even though gratitude shined brighter.
“Do you think we would turn on Poseidon in favor of Olympus.”
“I think desperation can make us forget those who were kind to us in favor of those we fear,” she said simply. “Here we offer something that can help you. You know what survival costs. Don’t you think that tou have been running long enough?”
Silence passed between the three of them. Grief and a buried hope lingered in the siblings. Amphitrite could see that much of it, yet somehow, fear permeated the face of Aegis.
Eletheia touched Aegis’ arm when she saw what the queen did
“If we take this place as your gift, and we keep to your terms,” she said slowly, “we stop running?”
“You build,” Amphitrite answered with a nod and motion to the land around her. “You remember your loyalty, and in return, this land will give you the home that Zeus has denied you with little to no interference on your day to day lives. Is that worth it?”
Aegis looked out over the shifting valley. He could see the potential in the island that most might not have. He looked to his sister and held her hand before he nodded just once.
“Then we accept,” he said. “We will not turn on our gracious uncle.”
There was a momentary pause that Amphitrite allowed. She needed the two to understand just how gracious she was. This was not because she was spiteful, but rather, she knew that these two needed to be grateful and afraid of the Sea Throne.
“See that you don’t,” Amphitrite replied.
And then, quietly, she turned her attention back to the the reigns of her hippocampi. The waters back to Poseidonus were ahead, and the future waited behind her. She wondered what would come of their island, but that would come with time.
They were a a planted seed. The tree could prove useful. She could not nurture it, but the soil was fertile, there was water, and the sun was bright. The pieces were there for success. Amphitrite would have to believe.
Athena’s morning was uneventful. She ate a breakfast of pears, grapes, and water by herself.
She found herself alone in her own throne room. Her armor had been left behind. She wore a gown of bronze and brown and did not look diminished for it.
Her mind was lost in the mutlitudes of thoughts. Maybe four allies. In this, Athena needed to trust Hera. After all, they had only made progress because of Hera. Even the poppyseed sand was obtained because of Hera.
The daughter of Metis was so enraptured that she did not hear him arrive, which was fitting since the sea did not announce itself to the shore.
““Ah, just what do you think you’re doing, my clever little niece?” asked a regal voice in a confronting sort of way
Athena turned slowly. There was no need to ask who it was. To her senses, the air had grown thick with salt and storm.
Poseidon stood within the opening of her own doorway. His famous Trident was not in hand, but as a reigning king, he was still deadly. He was dressed in a tunic of greenish blue that did not hide his shining body markings.
“I was considering my own thoughts, Uncle,” Athena replied, her voice calm. “ Does that trouble you?”
Normally, Athena would not talk to her kingly uncle in such a way, but if he knew what she and Hera was up to, she would need to find out quickly, so as to deal with him. And if he knew nothing, she would need to be rid of his company, so she could return to helping the Queen of Olympus.
Poseidon stepped forward to more closely inspect his niece.
“Ahh, there’s my sharp-eyed niece, thinking she’s subtle as a shadow!” he said, wagging his finger. When he saw how stern she was, he folded his arms more seriously. “Thought you’d keep your secrets? Hah! You’ve never been half as quiet as you think.”
Her gaze narrowed. He knew something, but she was not sure how much he knew for certain.
“Explain.”
He tilted his head, the shadow of a grin twitching beneath his beard. “Why, even a babbling brook knows better than to keep secrets from me! I would have thought you would be more careful, dear girl.”
He raised one hand, and water morphed into a facsimile of Athena next to a stream with Prometheus. The memory of her voice was woven in droplets.
“Even when he became something worse?”
The illusion dispersed into mist.
Athena did not flinch, but her thoughts sharpened behind her eyes. She had spoken those words alone in her chamber, to an ally she thought careful.
“Now now, that’s a risky tone ... it sounds like sounds like slander against my baby brother, Zeus himself, and last I checked, he still sat the throne!” Poseidon said while watching her closely. “I’d say you’re up to something,” he went. “With how loud you spoke, I’d wager that others could smell the salt in the air.”
Athena exhaled and rolled her eyes in annoyance of his sea comments. He could just speak to her plainly, but she supposed nobody in Olympus spoke their mind in a straightforward manner.
“You hear rebellion where there is none,” she answered quickly. However, after a moment’s consideration, she looked at him more closely and added, “If I had plotted treason, you would not be here to guess at it. After all, we both know I speak with precision.”
“You know...” Poseidon started, wagging a finger. “Your mother was clever, Niece. Like her, you are capable of dressing your words up.”
Athena was silent for his accusation. She could say nothing. If she struck him, it would confirm his indictment of sedition against her. None of that logic or even fear prevented her from her calculating mind to measure his posture, the way his fingers flexed slightly, and the way his eyes never left her face.
“I can see your intentions as clearly as I see in the water, Niece,” he went on, locking eyes with her.
For all of her observing, she could tell something was amiss; however, she could not assert to herself what it was. Was it loathing for her betrayal? Yes, but also no. There was more. Anger? But at who? Her? Him? What was it. Certainly, there was a hunger behind his scrutiny.
“You did not come here to cast blame, Uncle,” she said with a slow realization.
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