Page 8 of Blood of Olympus

I wondered if she hailed from Athenos — the mortal kingdom comprised of people who most favour Athena’s ideologies. Those primarily devoted to serving the goddess of wisdom and warfare. But that was a question for another time.

“None here will harm you,” I swore.

Athena inclined her head in agreement. “You would be helping not only a queen, but also three entire realms,” she said.

Aletheia’s gaze snapped back to mine.

“And that queen would owe you a favour,” I added with a wink.

Aletheia grinned then dipped her head.

“Thank you.”

I straightened, this time addressing Caelus. “And thank you.”

His returning smile was as bright as the lightning coursing through his veins. The bond hummed warmly between us. Steady. Resolute.

“Let’s start with you, Ares.” My grateful grin slid into one of malice. “Caelus, if you’d be so kind.” With a flourish, I gave him the floor and returned to my throne, dropping into it with feline grace, eyes predatorily focused on the primal of war’s sneer.

A whisper ghosted against my left ear, familiar enough to draw a flinch.

“Ten silver drachma says Ares goes up in flames in the next two minutes.”

Vel eyed me with concern from her corner of the chamber.

Charon is not here. Charon is gone, I was forced to remind myself. Repeating it like a mantra until my nerves settled enough to listen.

Caelus eyed me too, his brows dropping into a severe frown.

I guess this is it. This is how I go: lost to slow delirium.

I figured I’d reached my limit — the maximum level of sorrow I was capable of withstanding before my mind shattered. I figured it’d been splintering long before I sentenced Charon’s soul. Long before I’d been forced to say a permanent goodbye — fracturing with every inescapable death that haunted me. And now, cleaved wholly, because there was no way that my soul could end up in the same place as his, no matter who was to be my judge.

The seven foot tall son of Zeus held my gaze for a moment longer, his brows puckered in concern that I had the privilege of experiencing first hand through our link.

“Make it gold drachma,” my mind whispered again as Ares sank into his fury, his face mottled and bitter. Caelus’ chosen line of questioning — questioning I’d missed thanks to wandering thoughts — was obviously not to his tastes.

Caelus cut a striking image in his new black leather armour. His white hair was freshly cut, shorter than his usual preference, and his face sported the stubbled beginnings of a beard. But it was his eyes that bothered me most. His unusual irises still swirled lazily like rivers of molten silver, but they were now encircled by rings of black — remnants of the power I’d willingly surrendered to retether his soul to his body — after Hera, his own mother, murdered him.

Only time would tell what the change meant — if it even meant anything at all.

We’d just have to wait and see what lasting damage I’d unwittingly and selfishly reaped on Caelus’ body.

On his soul.

His thunderous voice jolted me out of my delirium. “Did you, or did you not, sleep with the goddess Hera while the Ascension Rite was taking place?” Caelus pressed. Disgust wove through his tone, severing his stoicism from the thought of what he was demanding to know.

“What business is that of yours, boy?” Ares spat.

“Ares,” he sighed. “I am truly loath to know whose cock my mother has sat upon,” Caelus replied, somehow managing to convey both revulsion and disinterest. “But it is in Olympus’ best interests to unravel who her allies are, who she trusts, and therefore, who Kronos will attempt to sway.”

“Kronos lays no claim over me,” he sneered. “As for Hera…” He smirked, leaning back in his gilded throne, folding his arms casually behind his head. “Yeah. I fucked her.”

Aros scoffed and rolled his eyes. He leaned against a large pillar with arms crossed, and collarbone-length, flame-coloured hair pulled back from his face. It flickered to life at the ends, betraying the extent of his emotions — as did the scowl plastered across his usually jovial face.

Ares always brought out the worst in him. He had that effect on most of us, actually.

Athena leaned forward on her own throne, quietly humming to herself, her face a portrait of scrutiny. “And did you also conspire to sabotage our new queen during the trials?” she asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it nonetheless.