Page 6 of Blood of Olympus

“Your battles are mine own.

“Your burdens, my duty to shoulder.

“Your will, my law.

“Your enemies, my target.

“I shall lead your armies with honour, integrity, and purpose.

“Let those who seek to harm you meet my blade in combat, and when they fall, serve to remind others of their fallibility.

“Let my strength be your shield and my fire be your wrath.

“I am your Blade and your Hallow, from now, unto eternity.”

A choked sob ricocheted around the otherwise soundless room. It did not come from my own mouth, despite the levity of the moment, but from an overly-emotional goddess of love.

Aphrodite clutched at her throat, attempting to physically restrain the depth of her feelings. “I’m sorry,” she choked out. Streams of glistening tears tracked down her face, somehow making her — rudely — even more ethereal. “It was just so beautiful.”

Snickers fell from the lips of Demeter, Hestia, Athena, and even Caelus. His amusement bubbled along our tether, making it hard not to snort aloud. My nose wrinkled as I fought the sensation of prickling carbonation.

And Velira, likely going out in sympathy, exhaled clouds of smoke from her own nostrils as her throat rumbled with glee.

I bit down on my lips, desperately holding the impending guffaw at bay.

In the end, though, it was Hermes who shattered the moment. In his oily drawl, he asked, “So what, then, is to become of your council?”

I let my lip curl into a smile that was only cold lethality. “Archimedes, Nike, Dionysus, Haras the cyclops, Aspan the satyr, and Erato the demi-god will also be invited to have a seat at the table,” I declared.

“That’s dragonshit,” Artemis seethed, earning a menacing growl from the enormous purple dragon lying in the corner of the room. The goddess’ twin, Apollo, glared at her with searing golden eyes.

She had the wherewithal to freeze, eyes wide and locked onto Velira as she slowly unwound from her casual position on the floor. “Sorry, Velira,” Artemis murmured, dropping her gaze before turning back to me. “But are you really going to replace me with a satyr? Or a demi-god? Or the drunken, nonsensical minor god Dionysus?”

“No,” I replied, visibly surprising her. “I don’t want to replace you at all. But until your motives are thoroughly vetted, you will remain under suspicion of treason.”

“Ugh,” she grunted, throwing her hands in the air. “How long until I’m interrogated then?”

I grinned — all teeth. “Momentarily. Caelus?”

He rose fluidly from his throne and strode into the centre of the space. Standing by the large, recently rebuilt, marble doors, Archimedes — after a quick nod from Caelus — opened them just wide enough for a small girl to enter.

She padded in silently on bare feet, wholly unafraid, and wearing nothing but a simple white gown. Her long brunette hair hung in intricate braids down her back and her tan skin glistened in the morning light. She approached Caelus calmly — with an air of grace far beyond her years.

“Thank you for coming,” he said gently, gifting her a small but genuine smile. She returned the expression without delay, then turned to face me.

My brows rose at the sheer perceptiveness in her strange blue eyes — so light they were almost clear — in the face of someone who appeared no older than seven. She inclined her head and curtsied as I eyed Caelus shrewdly.

What purpose does a small child serve during an interrogation?

He grinned, relishing the fact that he knew something I didn’t — for once.

“This is Aletheia. She was brought here three years ago, after her two very mortal parents discovered she had… particular gifts.”

She smells odd, Vel commented.

“Blessed by the gods, they had said,” Caelus continued.

Aros scoffed. “Cursed, more like,” he muttered under his breath.