Page 82 of Blood of Olympus

CHAPTER 21

Nyssa

Speechless: that’s how he left me.

When I awoke this morning, I’d never have believed that my day would turn out like this. Struggling to wield on the bank of a still, black lake felt like a faint memory — like that last wisp of a dream that clings even as your eyes peer open, unsure if you’re in the dream still, or if the world you’re waking into is the illusion.

The memory was buried under various layers of silt in the form of recent occurrences: battling serpents, chasing ghosts, finding legends, and turning down a marriage proposal.

A furies-damned marriage proposal.

In hindsight, perhaps I should have agreed — we weren’t guaranteed any of our tomorrows, or any more dreams — but was it too much to ask for a proposal that didn’t include vomit-covered footwear?

Definitely not, Vel chimed in from afar. You are a queen. And more than that, you rule over three realms. Not even Zeus could claim that title as much as he might have wished otherwise. Your status dictates more for an occasion such as this.

It’s not that, I admitted, skirting the mess on the floor as I approached a second conjured gateway. You know I don’t care for grandeur. I sighed. I don’t know what use this knowledge is to a dragon, but we haven’t even… slept together.

Yes, you have — you do nightly.

Exasperation fled me in the form of a long exhalation. Not sleeping… sleeping. You know… surely you must know… do dragons not know?

Her snort was audible in my brain, vibrating my sinuses enough to extract a high-pitched sneeze. She laughed harder as realisation sank in.

She knew. She knew exactly what I meant and simply preferred to watch me flounder.

Vel!

She chortled again, the sound scratching the inside of my skull in an oddly satisfying way.

I just mean… what if he changes his mind after⁠—

That is a conversation best left to goddesses of desire, she interrupted with a lingering trace of amusement.

My nose wrinkled. You’re right. Aphrodite — and Aros, for that matter — will love this.

But, godling?

Mmm?

No one — not even your soul-bonded — has the power to diminish you unless you hand it to them. And I happen to believe that Caelus would be horrified that you considered him capable of that, even for a moment.

My head fell back as I stared at the grime-covered ceiling of the derelict tavern, wishing I could look upon the Underworld’s constellations instead. I exhaled heavily, rolling my shoulders back, and just paused for a moment.

You ought to offer a prayer of thanks to Tyche, I suggested, stepping through the flickering archway.

And what do I need to thank the goddess of good fortune for, exactly?

You’ve been right twice in one day. Clearly, she’s smiling upon you.

Vel’s scoff rolled through my eardrums as I exited the shadowgate and reappeared beside her. In the warm orange glow of sunset, the carnage that lay before us seemed somehow softer; somehow less. But without the din of swords against scaled hides, monstrous shrieks inspiring terror, and cries of the wounded, the wailing of mourners seemed tenfold. It struck me deep, wounding me where no weapon could reach.

I had failed them.

No, Vel snapped. Her long, sinuous neck twisted around so that she could better glare at me through half-slitted lids. This is not your doing. Kronos sent them. He is to blame for the deaths of innocents. She swivelled, eyes alighting on a young woman kneeling in the rubble.

One of her hands clasped the weathered fingers of what I could only assume was her mother — same heart shaped face, same bronzed skin — the other hand tore at the pale fabric covering her own torso.

As though she could physically claw out the pain of her loss.