Page 104 of Crown of Olympus
“Something went a little awry during the imbuing part,” he muttered sheepishly. “Only a tiny portion of power transferred. So now, the only flames this axe is capable of producing are these.”
Aros tipped the head of his weapon toward me, where a tiny flame burst to life. “Barely enough to light a Furies-damned candle.”
Laughter burst free, unbidden and unstoppable. It broke like floodwaters crashing through a dam. And, like a flood, I was powerless to stop it. Hilarity felt like a bubble stuck in my chest trying to escape out of my mouth. I was far from the only one — the admission cost even Hephaestus his stoicism.
Not even Ares’ aggressive clearing of his throat, demanding our attention, was enough to break the spell until it had run its course.
“Now then!” the war god barked. “If you’re all quite done laughing at my disappointment of a son, we have a trial to get back to!”
My laughter ceased immediately, cut short by fury. I narrowed my eyes, livid on behalf of said son. Aros grabbed my forearm, a silent warning not to intervene.
Fuck that.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, oh great god of war,” I drawled,cocking my head to the side. “But did you not select your son as your champion?”
“I did. How is that relevant?” Ares snapped.
“Could you not have entered the trials yourself?”
“All were given the opportunity to either participate or enter a champion in their stead, as you well know,daughter of Hades,” he growled.
“Which is precisely my point,” I seethed. “You selected Aros to takeyourplace on this battlefield. You chose your own blood to cop the blows intended for you. You did not find him a disappointment then — so why now?”
“Because he has deigned to sully himself with the likes ofyou,” the god spat. I felt, more than saw, Aros and Caelus shift on either side of me, mirroring each other’s defensive stance.
“Aros sullies himself with nothing,” I shot back. “The shame is yours. Stepping back to let your son take the blame if the crown does not select you in the end, is a coward’s choice.”
His eyes bugged, face darkening.
“You think you can win instead?” Ares laughed, launching himself off the platform. He prowled towards me and jabbed a meaty finger into my sternum. Velira snapped at it, her tiny, jagged teeth latching onto his digit, drawing blood.
“You will pay for that, demon,” Ares seethed.
He ripped the bronze war helmet off his head and flipped it over, retrieving a jingling pouch from a hidden pocket in his armour. He upended the bag, revealing bronze coins, each marked with a symbol, not unlike the medallions Athena had used in her trial.
“Each of these tokens represents one of you,” he bellowed to the champions, tipping the handful of coins into his helmet. “I will withdraw two names and they shall face each other in combat. The winner shall progress through to the next trial. The loser will join the other eliminated champions on the sidelines.”
“How is a winner determined?” Caelus asked, his voice deep and clear.
“The usual way,” Ares said, grinning with malice. “By death or surrender.”
He turned to me, baring his teeth. “And since we’ve got an odd number,one of youwill fight an unnamed opponent.”
He plucked a coin from the helmet and tucked it back into the pouch, a sense of foreboding turning my stomach to lead.
If I had to wager, I’d say that was my token,I grumbled to Velira who snarled her agreement.
Ares drew the first coin.
“Tychon, son of Hermes,” he announced, withdrawing a second and glancing at the symbol engraved on top. “Will face Archimedes, son of Hephaestus.”
Ares dropped the coins into the dirt, then retrieved another.
“Aphrodite, goddess of love, faces…” he paused, swirling his bleeding fingers through the helmet dramatically. “Our gilded bastard — Apollo, god of the sun.”
I winced. Aph possessed no combat skills — but hopefully, Apollo would go easy on her.
Hopefully.
