Page 124 of Crown of Olympus
“Archimedes! Man the wheel!” he barked, glancing at me as he ran to the mainmast. Apollo darted toward the foremast, mimicking the flame-wielder’s actions.
“Nyssa! Grab that rope and pull tight! We need to tighten the sails, or we’re monster dinner!”
I bolted to the area he’d gestured at, grabbing the thickest rope I could see.
“Not that one! The other one!” he yelled.
I grabbed a different rope.
“Atta girl, now PULL!”
I wrenched it down as hard as I could, relief flooding through me as the sail responded immediately, catching the breeze and propelling us forward.
But my soul felt torn in two, caught between helping to get us all out of danger and needing to go back and find Caelus.
My hearthurt.It sat heavy in my chest, tearing further with every nautical mile we gained.
“Nyssa, let go of the rope!” Aros instructed. I obeyed, watching the sail deflate, fluttering violently in the wind.
“Right. Now, Arch — steer us straight for the eastern edge of the vortex!” he commanded.
“But—”
“Don’t argue! Just do it!”
The ancient ship tilted left suddenly, creaking and groaning in protest. The rotting wood protested the sharp angle, and anything not bolted down was flung overboard into the swirling waters.
From above, Charybdis had looked manageable. She had looked deceptively avoidable.
Inside the vortex was another story. Far below us, row upon row of humongous, razor-sharp teeth pierced the surface of the water.
Any one of them could carve the ship in two.
Furies, I hope Aros can get us out of here.
“On my mark, Nyssa, grab that rope again and pull down like your life depends on it, because it bloody well does.”
I nodded once, hand positioned on the rope, waiting for his signal. Apollo did the same at a different mast.
A flash of movement caught my eye. I twisted, expecting the worst, only to spot a scarred, golden hand gripping theshattered edge of the cargo hold. Fingers dug into the splintered wood.
I’d recognise that hand blindfolded. A choked sob escaped me, and I almost lunged for it — for him.
Caelus.
The god of lightning dragged himself from the hold, his face a patchwork of purple and gold. Scratches and bruises marred his skin, and his nose was crooked at the bridge — definitely broken.
His silver eyes latched onto mine, and my lip trembled in stark relief. He was here, he was alive, and I could breathe again.
His lips parted?—
“Now!” Aros bellowed.
I reefed on the line. The sail flared open. Aros and Apollo held fast to their own sail ropes while Archimedes spun the wheel hard to the right. He braced against the helm as the ship barrelled up, up, up — almost to the edge of Charybdis’ deadly whirlpool.
We aren’t going to make it.
Suddenly, Caelus roared. He threw his hands wide and lightning flashed in the distance. Storm gales whipped around us, catching in the sails and driving us faster and harder out of Charybdis’ mighty maw.
