Page 109 of The Games Gods Play
“Excuse me. Lyra?” One of the satyrs appears at my side. He’s holding a silver tray with two letters. One with my name.
With a small frown, I pluck the golden, gilded envelope from the tray and open it.
“What is it?” Charon asks.
“It’s an invitation to the next Labor.” I read back over the glittering words, then glance at Zai, who is reading his. For the next Labor, apparently, our presence is requested at Apollo’s home at a prescribed time.
We compete in another Labor. Tomorrow.
And Hades is still being punished. In my place.
“Shit.” I look up at Charon, trying not to panic. “Is he even allowed to be there?”
55
The Twins
Apollo’s home in Olympus is…sort of perfect.
I was expecting all golds and suns, with music and philosophy references thrown in, which is true of the outside. But inside is like walking into an Italian villa, or the closest that I’ve come to one, which is pictures on the internet and California’s version of that style.
I’m having a hard time taking it in, though. Not because I’m about to enter yet another Labor, which should be the only thing on my mind—possibly dying—but because Hades wasn’t at breakfast again this morning.
And I don’t like how tight my chest still feels.
Bright-white walls with the occasional elaborately painted mural of pastoral scenes are set off by tile floors with intricate geometric designs. Following the satyr escorting me, I spot a common room that is all things elegant comfort, with deep couches, throw pillows, blankets, books, and a massive fireplace that could warm an entire city.
But that’s not where the satyr takes me.
After waiting in the hall until the exact time on my invitation, she leads me into a chamber that reminds me of historical TV shows that depict ancient communal baths or steam rooms. White marble benches along the walls are lined with gods, goddesses, and their champions. I guess my appointed time was last. Figures.
Zeles stands to one side like a silent prison guard.
I walk right up to him before I can rethink it and mimic his posture, crossing my arms. “I want to see Hades.”
“No.” Not even a flicker of emotion.
“You know no rules were broken.”
“I’m well aware,” he says through gritted teeth.
“But you punished him anyway?”
Finally, he looks directly at me. “To set an example.”
I scoff, and somewhere behind me, Zai hisses my name—a warning I don’t bother to heed. “You should make tighter rules if you don’t want the gods finding loopholes,” I point out. “That’s not his fault. It’s yours.”
I don’t give Zeles a chance to respond, plopping my backside down on the only empty spot on the nearest bench, next to Zai and Hermes. I don’t nod at Trinica and Amir. They aren’t official allies. The last Labor was about safety in numbers, and I won’t make things worse for them with Dex and his group. I hope they know that.
“Sometimes,” Hermes murmurs, “bravery isn’t actually bravery. It’s just foolishness wrapped up in a pretty package.”
“Sometimes,” I say, “the gods are just ass—”
Zai claps a hand over my mouth, muffling what I was going to say.
A door opens, and Apollo appears. Zai sighs in relief and drops his hand.
The god makes the room feel like his home, radiating warmth and light. Apollo is darker than his twin sister, with rich black skin. He has an almost tangible glow that makes me want to bask in him a little bit, but it’s his eyes that fascinate me most—pure gold, as if while driving his sun chariot through the skies, he’s captured some of its rays within him and the light is trying to escape. I’m so caught up in him I almost miss the fact that Artemis steps through the doorway behind him.
