Page 122 of The Court of the Dead
“Because wearegetting free,” said Arielle. “Maybe we don’t know how at this exact moment, but the others haven’t given up yet.”
“I’ll keep watch,” said Quinoa. “No one will dare mess with you if I’m around!”
Hazel wrapped her friends in a group hug. She felt grateful and loved, even if her headache was so bad the sunlight was starting to hurt her eyes.
“Fine, I’ll nap,” she said. “But please wake me up if something happens.”
Asterion guided her to a nearby oak tree, where she curled up on the ground.
She still wished she were back in bed with her squishy pillow, but she found comfort in the sight of her friends offering their protection.
She closed her eyes.
Of course she had a demigod dream.
She found herself back beneath the earth of Resurrection Island. But this time, all around her, the mythics from Pirithous’s prison were digging furiously, using tools crafted from the jewels and metals she’d conjured. As they got deeper into the soil, smelly black oil seeped to the surface, but they didn’t stop, even as it pooled around their feet.
Hazel herself was trapped inside the spire of gemstones. She could only watch as the oil got deeper and the mythics kept digging. She wanted to tell them to stop. They didn’t need to work for Gaea anymore. They could make their own choices now. But she couldn’t move or speak.
She glanced down. An enormous pair of hands jutted from the ground and wrapped around her legs, holding her in place within the spire. She felt like she should know who those hands belonged to, but the name evaded her.
The mythics continued to dig. The cavern filled with oil. No one seemed aware of it except Hazel.
It was all her fault. Somehow, she knew this.
A tiny griffin—was that Orcus?—disappeared under the dark tide. A few bubbles rose to the surface. Then nothing.
As the oil rose, things got stranger. An empousa raised her emerald shovel. Suddenly, her arm fell off. A blemmyae swung his golden pickax and stabbed himself right between the chest-eyes. Hazel watched in horror as this scene repeated across the cavern: every mythic using her conjured tools lost a limb or crippled themself in some bizarre accident.
Where had she seen this before?
Charlie Gasceaux.A name she hadn’t thought of in decades…He had lost his arm because of a bracelet he’d purchased from Hazel’s mother. Back then, all of Hazel’s gems had been cursed. Anyone who used them or tried to sell them met a gruesome fate.
Now the curse was happeningagain.
She was powerless to stop it. The maimed army of mythics disappeared under the inky waves.
Just as the oil reached Hazel’s chin…
Someone shook her awake. Fuzzy shapes loomed over her, haloed in sunlight.
“Hazel,” said Arielle. “You need to see this.”
She rubbed her eyes and sat up. The smell hit her first: musky and earthy, the odor of hundreds of creatures trapped together, breathing the same stale air for much too long. Hazel’s shirt clung to her sweaty back.
Asterion stood next to her, with Quinoa perched on his shoulder. “I am sorry we had to wake you, but there has been a development. Pirithous has arrived…and he is not alone.”
Hazel tried to stand and immediately regretted it. The whole world spun. She almost toppled over, but Arielle caught her arm.
“I’ve got you,” said the empousa.
Asterion took her other arm and then bellowed deeply to the crowd, “Make way!”
And the crowdparted. It was so instantaneous that Hazel could hardly believe it. Mythics lined up to either side of them, letting her pass. Every eye was on her. It was an odd sensation, to be seen by so many at once, but she didn’t feel the same hostility from them that she had earlier. She believed Asterion’s words: the mythics were now seeing her in a different light. She would have been relieved, even elated, but she couldn’t quite shake the memory of her dream—all these creatures drowning in oil, dying from her cursed gems and precious metals.
She passed the harpies she’d seen the day before. One of the injured ones bowed. “We will remember what you gave us.”
Hazel smiled back weakly. Her throat was too dry to speak.
