Anger on Olympus, beside Bia - fury. But here, it translated to ache, a coldness seeping outward from the pit of her stomach. The hiss-snap in the air around them - the faintest of red light - told the tale when Styx' protections closed her silver-columned temple to any other being, even her own children. She wanted no interruptions, however well-intentioned.
Did he feel it? There, just under her skin. Secret from everyone (but him). Styx slid smoothly across the floor at a physics-mocking angle, came to rest beside him, and pillowed her head on one arm she flung behind her. The other hand reached for his and drug it up against her stomach. Why did it always center there, hurt? Bia was beginning to hate her. Did Akheron love that?
"I do admire him," she said, deliberately ignoring the last part of what he'd said. She didn't know what to say. It wasn't the physicality of what he'd done. It was the rest -- this ache -- it was all of the repercussions, the lies, the children. And the truth was --
"It was my doing. If you hadn't done it, I would have gone to Deimos. He already agreed to do it, but I... I thought Moros would bear it better. Dei knows, I'm sure."
Styx wasn't worried that Deimos would tell anyone - least of all, her children. Doubtful that Akheron thought any less of their brother, either. Deimos was always - had always been - the brother you could go to when you needed someone in your corner. He was always ready for you, and it didn't matter what shit you'd managed to fuck yourself into. He knew just how to stand at your side, to raise fists when needed, and to shelter when you couldn't do it on your own. He would shelter her now. And Akheron, too.
The lie was between the both of them, she and Akheron. If it had been her own, perhaps she would have given it up. She probably would have. But it had pulled Akheron down with it, and what was done was done. To say anything now would be to harm her children even further. She let out a breath.