Athena was the one who grasped the gravity of the situation about the same time that Leo did. She gasped and paled, understanding that Hecate meant the country was about to plunge into starvation as the last of the food was eaten and there was nothing growing to replace it. Leo’s first reaction was another flare of anger. These people had made their bed, so to speak, let them lie in it! What did he have to do with them, or the troubles they brought on themselves? He only wanted Bru back!

  But then…

  Then something else cooled the anger as quickly as if he’d had a bucket of water thrown over his head.

  He couldn’t let that happen. The mortals of Olympia were innocents in this, and what was worse, the gods could probably hold out and it would be the innocent mortals that would suffer.

  He could not let that happen. Not and still be himself.

  He was Leopold, the People’s Prince, who had fought a city fire in his shirt and breeches like everyone else, passing buckets and setting the firebreaks among the homes of the great that saved the greater part of the capital. He was the Prince who had joined in with his own two hands while the citizens rebuilt.

  And now, he was…well, if he wasn’t quite a Hero like Siegfried, he was still the Prince who fought dragons and tyrants in lands not his own. And while he claimed that he did so because it was exciting and dangerous and therefore a fantastically amusing thing to do, down deep inside he knew that he did it for the same reasons Siegfried did. Because it was the right thing, because The Tradition, and magicians and powerful creatures and people, all conspired to make misery of the lives of ordinary people, and someone had to help them. He was a Prince. Noblesse oblige, that was the concept that his own father had taught him, and it wasn’t just a nice phrase to him.

  It was an obligation and one that, despite his outwardly cavalier attitude, he took seriously. He and Bru had talked about this at some length just before they crossed the border into Olympia, and it had been an interesting conversation.

  At first, when he and Bru had embarked on this life of adventurers, Bru had been rather like a child let loose in a circus. While her fighting ability was both inherent—because she and her sisters were, after all, minor battle-goddesses—and instinctive, she had never actually used her weapons much. Like her sister Valkyria, her main tasks had been to fetch the heroic dead from the battlefield and take them to Vallahalia, and it was a rare occasion when she even brandished her spear or sword, much less used them. She and her sisters sparred, and that was about the extent of her opportunities to fight. She had the spirit of a born warrior, and to be finally able to go up against creatures and people that were clearly evil and best them in combat had been, for lack of a better term, exhilaratingly fun for her. She’d really not taken any thought for anything but the sheer excitement of pitting herself—and him—against them.

  But it had been a brief visit to Siegfried and Rosa that had opened her eyes to the other side of the situation. They had just had a very odd encounter with another dragon, one who agreed to come guard Eltaria, but only if they could beat him in combat. After their victory, it seemed rude not to drop in on Queen Rosamund and King Siegfried.

  After the initial greetings were over, Siegfried had asked casually if they wanted to come along and lend him a hand with a “wild bull problem.” The Tradition was making things lively within Eltaria since the King was a genuine Hero. While the presence of guardian dragons on the border was keeping armies at bay, this did nothing to stop the country itself from presenting the new monarchs with all manner of Traditional challenges whenever things started to look a little too peaceful.

  And Siegfried was very much a Hero King in the style of his native land. Which meant that he turned up wherever there was a problem, without fanfare or escort (other than the Firebird, his constant companion), talked to the locals, then dealt with the situation, or sent the Bird for some reinforcements. Usually (he said) he didn’t need the reinforcements, and having seen him in action, Leo could well believe it. Besides, he was a Hero—and a Hero, Traditionally, was supposed to get rid of such things single-handedly. Siegfried had it down to a kind of routine now. Once he had the measure of the situation, he’d dispatch the menace in question, then allow the locals to make a great victory fuss over him, and depart.

  “It’s useful,” Siegfried had pointed out. “I’m a foreigner, after all. Most of them expect me to turn up wearing nothing but a lion pelt or a bearskin, waving a club and grunting. They get a good look at me, I prove I’m dedicated to protecting them, and everyone feels better when it’s all over.”

  In this case, however, without even going to the village being threatened, Siegfried already knew he would need a little help. This bull was a monster, powerful and preternaturally fast, very crafty, and he would need a team to tease and distract it until one of them managed to kill it.

  “The Firebird could help,” he had told them, “but she doesn’t have the agility she did when she was just the little brown forest bird. A slash with a horn at the wrong moment—” He’d shaken his head. “I won’t risk her. But the three of us are good enough to keep anyone from getting hurt, I think.”

  Leo and Bru were both more than willing to help out—and this was where Bru had gotten her first taste of what Leo and Siegfried both felt. That noblesse oblige, though if she had said anything at the time, Siegfried would just have shrugged and said, “But that is what a Hero does.”

  They went to the village, which was nearly on the eastern border, and saw at firsthand how the Black Bull had actually smashed cottages unless they were made of stone. She was at first impatient as Siegfried listened to the stories of his people and soothed them. She didn’t see why he needed to talk to them. After all, Siegfried already knew the Black Bull was a monster, and that he needed to kill it because it had done dreadful things, he was king, and it was his job to remove such dangerous creatures. He didn’t need to listen to story after tearful story. All he needed to do now (in her mind) was find out where it was so they could kill it.

  But then she started to pay attention. Leo knew the moment when she understood that these were people to him and Siegfried, and not just warriors. He could see in her eyes the moment she stopped feeling impatient with what she had probably initially thought of as their “whining,” and began to empathize with them.

  The fight had gone as planned; the Black Bull, a creature easily twice the size of a farm cart and as vicious a beast as anything Leo had ever seen, was no match for three fighters, two of whom were as fast and deadly as it was, and the third, who, while not as fast, could take an astonishing amount of punishment. They had killed it, the villagers descended on it, and them, and there was a great feast. Siegfried had been genial and gracious, Leo had played the madcap “best friend,” and Bru had watched them both as they filled the roles that the villagers expected, watched as the villagers took this “barbarian King” to their hearts and accepted him as their own.

  It had been a good visit, if short. Gina, another of the Dragon Champions, had dropped by, and Bru had had a long talk with her that had led to them coming to Olympia.

  For the entire visit, Brunnhilde had been very thoughtful, watching Leo and Siegfried as if she had just discovered something about them that she had never expected. That was when they’d had that talk, and it had been hard for her to articulate some of what she felt, but from that moment, their adventures had become something more meaningful than just another exciting battle for her, a chance to test her strength and skills. He could tell that her attitudes had changed. She was a protector, a defender now.

  And so was he. They fought for more than adventure and glory. They fought to keep ordinary folk from extraordinary harm.

  In a way, he suspected he had always felt like this. He might have cultivated a devil-may-care facade, but under that facade was a deep drive that was not unlike that of a fierce guard dog for its master.

  Which was why, when Hecate had said what she had, he knew very well that he couldn’t just let these people wallow in the crisis they had made for themselves. Once again, unless someone stepped in, it was the poor mortals who were going to suffer. The common folk. And as far as he could tell, these gods were about as useful in this situation as a lot of gawky adolescents. He was going to have to do something about it.

  “How much food do you think is stored?” he demanded of the dark goddess. “Obviously the mortals are going to have no idea what is going on when winter falls on them, and they won’t have prepared for such a thing, so how long do you think it will be before conditions get dire? A week? Less? More?”

  “For the humans, a week, perhaps two.” Hecate nodded. “They will be frightened within a few days when blossoms wither and fruit and vegetables do not ripen. For animals, the grass-eating ones at least, it will take a bit longer before they begin to starve. For the Otherfolk…I am not sure.”

  “Who’s in charge of wild animals?” he demanded, looking around at the bewildered deities. “You’re all gods, so presumably you have the duties and patronage all divided up. At least, that’s how things usually go.”

  “Ah, I suppose that would be me,” replied a young woman in an abbrieviated tunic, her hair cropped short, with a bow and arrows on her back. “And Pan, perhaps. Crius is in charge of domestic animals. I’m more of a huntress, but I’d better work with Pan to be sure he doesn’t get distracted and forget what we’re supposed to do.” Her brows furrowed. “So what are we supposed to do?”

  By this point all of the gods had gathered about him and Hecate; it was very clear that while they were completely willing to do what he told them, none of them had the faintest ideas of their own. At least they’d all seen the gravity of the situation at once. They could very well have taken the attitude that “what happens to the mortals doesn’t concern us, there will be more along soon enough if this lot dies.”

  “You’ll have to come up with some sort of way to awaken the wild things’ instincts about winter,” he told her. “Maybe you can borrow the memories of animals from outside your borders where there are seasons, but it has to be done if you don’t want all your wildlife dying off. Can this be done by means of a spell or something?”

  He looked to Hecate, who nodded.

  “I think I can do that, with Pan and Artemis taking part in the ritual,” she replied. “And I will tell Crius that we must do—what, with the flocks and herds? The pasturage won’t last long once the grass stops growing.”

  “Let me think…” He massaged his temples with his fingers. He considered himself a quick thinker, but this was a bit like being thrown into the deep ocean and told you were going to have to reason your way to land. “Your neighbors…are they friendly?”

  “Mostly absent,” Zeus answered immediately. “The lands around Olympia are largely wilderness. Not nearly as lush as our land, nor as fertile, so mortals who are near the border tend to decide to join us,” he added with great pride—but then his face sobered as he remembered who was responsible for the lush fields.

  “As your land was. It won’t be in a few weeks. Well, that is perfect. Tell Crius he must speak with the herders—and with the herds to get them to cooperate with their keepers. Some sort of pronouncement from the clouds or something outrageous to get the attention of the mortals. The point is, they need to be impressed with the urgency of this situation and begin to move the herds of this land across the border until you have gotten Demeter back to her duty.” He spoke, and suddenly realized that he didn’t sound like himself at all. His air of authority, his steadiness, were not like careless Prince Leopold, but rather like his father…

  Hell. I’m turning into Papa.

  “It will take time, of course,” he added, quickly driving that uncomfortable thought out of his head, “but they can afford to go slowly, and take what grazing they can find until they reach a good place to stop. It’s late spring out there, so they’ll be all right for several moons. Let us hope this situation doesn’t persist until winter.”

  Instinctively they were all turning toward him, as to the only person who seemed to have any ideas about what to do in this situation. Even Zeus. I am standing here giving orders to gods… It would have been a heady thought, except that this lot of “gods” seemed to be as feckless as a lot of young squires.

  “As for the inhabitants of Olympia, I suggest you inform those creatures that are not mortal to seek the Fae realms for now, unless they want to begin starving. They can come back once Demeter returns.” He made a wry face. “I don’t suppose any of you have Fae allies? Or still are in contact with your parents?”

  Zeus flushed, a few of the gods looked puzzled, as if his words made no sense to them. It was Zeus who answered.

  “We…” He coughed. “As a whole we have tended to avoid the Fae.”

  “You have,” Hera replied tartly. “Not all of us are so shortsighted.” She turned to Leo. “Would you have us seek out our relatives, mortal?”

  He nodded. “You’re going to have to get food from somewhere. In the short term, see if you can find some Fae to supply something that mortals can eat safely. They’re Fae though, they won’t have the patience to put up with this for too long, you gods are supposed to be taking the place of Godmothers, not mucking things up. The good ones will wash their hands of you pretty quickly. The bad ones…well, I understand you fought them once already. So you know they’ll take advantage.” He rubbed his temples again. “You are going to have to find a way to buy food from outside your borders. And transport it.”

  “I can help there.” The lively fellow with a look of mischief and little wings on his sandals and odd flat helmet had lost his smile, trading it for a look of determination. “I am the god of merchants as well as speed. I myself have never bargained before, but you might say it is in my blood.”

  “I’ll bring that out in you with another spell, Hermes,” said Hecate. “And I am sure Hephaestus can come up with all manner of things you can barter with. Gold certainly.”

  “We can get the Giants to help with moving the food you buy.” The speaker was a voluptuous woman that Leopold was resolutely not looking directly at. The moment she had joined the group, he’d had to keep himself under very tight restraint, because it was pretty clear what this lady was the patron of. “They won’t say no to me.”

  “Nothing male will say no to you, Aphrodite,” Hera replied with a touch of venom. Aphrodite just smiled lazily.

  “And right now,” she purred, “even you will admit that is a very good thing.”

  Leo decided that he had better get between the two of them before something erupted that would distract all of the gods. “All right then. The sooner you get going, the least harm will come of this,” Leopold interjected. He gave Zeus a look. “And your king and I will sit down and work out more detailed plans, while the rest of you take care of the immediate situation.”

  Zeus nodded. “Winter…we just never had to think about such a thing before,” he said weakly. “Demeter always kept things under control.”

  “If I have learned one thing in my short mortal life, King of the Olympians, it is that nothing lasts forever,” Leo retorted. “And if I have learned another—it is that those who rule a land are responsible for it. Especially when things go wrong.”

  “You should be a philosopher,” Zeus said glumly, and motioned for him to follow.

  * * *

  Demeter had experienced many emotions in her long life, but grief was new to her, and so painful that it overwhelmed her in every possible way. And now she was so lost in her grief that she was not sure where she was going, only that she needed to leave Olympia, for it had become a terrible and alien place to her. The other gods, who should have been her allies, were clearly not going to help her get her Kore back. Zeus had probably been in favor of this from the beginning!

  Her grief was deepened by that betrayal.

  She could not believe that her golden girl had gone with grim Hades of her own free will. He must have bewitched her somehow, and they were unwilling to admit it. Perhaps some of them had even helped him—she wouldn’t have put it past Aphrodite to work her magic just for the sake of the mischief it would cause.

  And as soon as Kore was carried beneath the earth, such enchantment would never last. How could Kore, who loved to laugh and frolic in the sun, ever find Hades and his sunless realm attractive, even under the most persuasive of Aphrodite’s magics? She had never seen Hades so much as crack a smile in all the years she had known him. Surely once the magic wore off or was broken, he would terrify her poor child. And as for his realm, his “third of the earth”—