Page 50 of The Games Gods Play
Olympus save me. I can’t believe I just said that. My eyes go wide, and I guess he reads my thoughts, because he slides one hand up to cup the back of my neck, drawing me close, his face right in mine. “Focus, Lyra,” he says.
Right. Focus. I nod. Then nod again. “Okay.”
“I didn’t say call me. I said get to me. There’s a difference. Do you understand?”
Another riddle to solve. Great.
Frustration passes over his features. “I can’t say more than that.”
“I’ll figure it out.” Eventually. Maybe.
My body starts to feel a little funny, like it’s lighter and sort of bubbly, especially my feet. I glance down to find them fading from sight, nimble leather boots and all, and the sensation creeps higher up my legs.
“I hope the water is warm at least,” I murmur. I don’t know why I say it.
“Look at me,” Hades commands.
And I do. I look right into molten gray eyes swirling with emotions I can’t possibly decipher right now.
He squeezes my shoulder. “No matter what, Lyra, remember one thing.”
One thing? He just told me like ten. “What?”
“I picked you for a reason. You can do this.”
The god of death picked me. Chose me. Has faith in me. Despite my curse.
The sensation is up to my chin now, and Hades starts to fade from sight as I disappear. His voice follows me into the nothingness.
“You can do this, Lyra…because you’re mine.”
part 3
let the games begin
Quitters never win, and winners never quit.
But survivors change the game.
25
Poseidon’s Labor
Mine.
Hades’ last word chases me all the way across the world, which comes back into focus the same way it went out, with that bubbling sensation but growing heavier as it works its way back down my body.
Until the chill of water jolts through my nerves right as a wave rolls over my head.
It ebbs, and I come up spluttering, because damn, of course the water is cold as fuck.
I go to wipe the salt water out of my stinging eyes only to jerk against restraints. Through fuzzy vision, I look up to find I’m tied by the wrists, my arms overhead. The rope is attached to the top of a thick wooden post. I use my shoulder to try to wipe the water off my face, then blink and blink until I can see more clearly.
Water and rocks.
A cave?
I’m in the middle of what looks like a large cavern, wide open to the ocean on one end, allowing sunlight to spill inside. The cavern is made of the strangest formations I’ve ever seen. The rock before me is brown and shaped in rectangular columns—rows and layers of perfect vertical columns up to where the roof curves overhead. Up there, what looks like the bottoms of the columns poke out, and they could have been dipped in gold paint the way they glitter. The beautiful greenish water swells in and out, forcing me to lift my head or get a face full.
