Page 165 of A Touch of Chaos

“You know this area is reserved for Olympians only,” said Ares.

“How do you become an Olympian, Ares?” Persephone asked. “Is it when you defeat one in battle?”

Hermes put his hands to his mouth and shouted, “Burn!”

“She didn’t burn me, you imbecile!” Ares snapped.

“I didn’t mean literally,” said Hermes. “Who’s theimbecile now?”

Hades placed a hand on Persephone’s shoulder and slid past her to sit on her left, between her and Ares. Thankfully, Hermes sat on her right. She leaned over, whispering, “How are Olympians chosen?”

She did not know, because since the gods had won the Titanomachy, the Olympians had never changed—never died.

“Well, first, one of us would have to die,” he said. “And then I suppose Zeus would choose.”

Persephone glanced over her shoulder to where Hera loomed behind her. “And if Zeus cannot?”

“Then the responsibility would fall to Hera,” he said. “But that has never happened.”

The way Hermes spoke, it almost sounded like he believed the twelve would never die, even Zeus who apparently hung in the sky, though as she glanced up, all she could see was a thick, bright haze.

Suddenly, the crowd’s roar drew her attention back to the entrance where the demigods were now filing into the stadium. Persephone’s heart felt like it was pounding throughout her whole body. She held her breath, waiting to catch sight of Theseus, hoping she would be able to control her reaction to the demigod who had stolen her peace, but she couldn’t.

He led the group, flanked by a pair of demigods on either side. His eyes were bright, familiar even from a distance. He kept a wide smile on his face—charming, mortals would likely call it—and waved to the crowd.

Hermes leaned over. “He doesn’t look too upset about his wife and baby.”

Persephone’s stomach knotted, and a flood ofemotion racked her body—hatred so visceral, her eyes stung with tears, but there was also fear. It trembled within her, shaking her to her core. She squeezed her hands into fists to hide it.

Then Hades’s hand covered hers, and slowly, the panic began to ebb.

Her gaze shifted to the others who marched besideTheseus. She only recognized Sandros.

“Who are the others?” Persephone asked.

She watched Hades’s face as he spoke, his hatred of them evident.

“The two on his left are Kai and Sandros. The two on his right are Damian and Machaon. He calls them high lords.”

“High lords. That’s the title given to leaders within the organization of Triad, right?” Persephone asked.

“Yes,” said Hades. “It means nothing save that it provides us with a list of who to target first.”

Persephone studied each one, able to identify their parentage from a distance. Kai looked like Theseus, which meant he was a descendant of Poseidon. Sandros had Zeus’s striking eyes.

“Is…Machaon…Apollo’s son?”

Hermes snorted. “Not a son but a grandson.”

“And the one you called Damian?”

“He is the son of Thetis, a water goddess.”

She continued to watch them, able to identify members of Triad by a triangle pin they wore that caught the light as they moved.

“Those are new,” said Persephone, concerned. Before, members of Triad were far more discreet, which made sense, given that their agenda was mainly againstthe gods. Wearing such a symbol communicated an element of pride in their rebellion.

Hades said nothing, but his frown deepened.

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