Page 68 of Carry Your Debt

“And the Labors?” he asks, deliberately pushing the conversation away from his mother.

“That’s mostly why I came here to speak to you,” I reply, doing my best to plaster on my most abashed look. I can’t help the chuckle, though. “When nobody answered, I couldn’t resist a little snooping.”

Ares glares at me. “Try harder next time, Winters.”

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t have done the same, knowing my connections,” I snark back at him. I bet he’d be the first to toss my room, given half a chance. And he wouldn’t bother to hide the mess, either.

His eyes dart to the armchair where Hermes sits, giving him right away.

“I knew it!” I crow. “I bet he had my file pulled the moment I stepped foot on campus.”

Ares has the grace to look a little sheepish at that. “At least I didn’t come to your room to “talk” with a B&E toolkit in my fucking pocket,” he mutters.

“I told you I don’t go anywhere without them.”

“The Labors?” Apollo’s firm voice prompts again, effectively ending our bickering.

“Right,” I sigh, arms dropping back to my side. I move over to take a seat, dropping down and sinking into the plush cushionswith my eyes closed. That tension headache is back, digging its claws in all around the base of my skull.

When I open them, Apollo is sitting opposite me. Ares and Hades hover behind his couch. Hermes is now perched forward on the armchair. His blanket cocoon has fallen, pooling forgotten around his elbows.

I have to grit my teeth and drag my eyes away from the view that gives me of his naked chest.

Focus, Sabine.

“Your father’s Second-in-command, Dominic, informed us today that youhavebeen formally nominated as a participant.”

Apollo gives me his best impression of a living marble sculpture, while Ares scowls, digging his fingers into the back of the couch above his best friend’s shoulder. “Are you saying Tristan could be the next Southern King?”

“It’s a sovereignty, not a monarchy. The two sides are still beholden to the rules and treaties of theImperium in Imperio,” I correct him.

“Whatever,” he grouses. “Sovereign, then.”

“No. The point of the Labors is to settle the Southern succession issue, yes, but it’s also being used by the Arbiter as penance for all the months of infighting.” My hands rub up and down my thighs, as I continue. “The heirs must compete and win the Crown onbehalfof their factions.”

“So they just get to sit back and let us duke it out for them, and then whoever wins it just hands it over?” Ares asks, still grumbling.

“Yeah. That’s what she meant when she said they’d becarrying the burden of their father’s debts.” I grimace.

“How is that punishing anybody but the heirs?”

“It is bullshit,” I agree, then shrug, knowing while it’s not fair on them at all, it’s not so cut and dry for their sires either. “But she’s still forcing them to decide whether they want thatpotential power badly enough—and exactly what they’re willing to pay for it. Remember, it’s a race to complete the tasksorit’s the last man standing.”

“Risk versus reward,” Hades grits out.

I nod. “Exactly. They could win the Crownorthey could lose their entire bloodline in the process.”

“But how do you know all this? That’s the real question,” Ares spits. He turns away, cursing under his breath. The trap muscles across his upper back pull his Academy shirt tight when he lifts his arms to scrub his face. “None of this makes fucking sense.”

My palms slide along my thighs to my knees as I sit forward. The skin is dry but I still feel a flicker of unease, right behind my sternum.

“When I was fourteen, Sebastian Grayson took me from the streets of Lexington and made me a ward of his organization. He then spent almost two years having me pulled apart, turned inside out, and put back together.”

The room is silent. The looks that have been ranging between doubtful to outraged have all now been replaced by varying degrees of intrepid.

Apollo shifts. “What does that mean, exactly? Pulled apart and put back together?”

A spiderweb of discomfort spreads across my neck and shoulders at the reminder of my time with the Belgian. I pull in a fortifying breath, nostrils flaring.

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