Page 142 of Crown of Olympus
As I stepped into the ring of reflections, the back of my neck prickled. A heaviness descended upon me, as if a blanket had been thrown overhead. I turned slowly, examining each panel. Fifty versions of myself stared back.
“I had the distinct honour of crafting your final trial — the one that shall separate our ruler from the rest,” Hera crooned, a proud smirk tugging at her lips. “Behold: my Mirrors of Truth!”
She paused for theatrics. Whatever reaction she expected didn’t come, and her disappointment was obvious when she huffed and scowled. I risked a glance at Caelus and caught the slightest eye roll. I struggled to bite back a laugh.
Hera narrowed her golden brows as she noted the smirk that slipped free.
“The mirrors will reveal a truth you have kept hidden. After all, we cannot have a ruler with…” she eyed me with distaste, “…skeletons in their closet.”
She strolled around the ring of mirrors, dragging a pointed nail along each of their surfaces. A high-pitched whine was followed by the dull thud of her fingertip tapping the frame.
Skreeee—thunk.
Skreeee—thunk.
“To pass — and be eligible for crown selection, or to win for your patron god or goddess — you must speak your truth. Should you try to fight it… well, you’ll soon learn the consequences of secrets.”
Hera’s grin could rival Ares’ in malice. It seemed odd that she should be so gleeful about subjecting her son to the same pain or embarrassment as the rest of us. But then again, she’d never struck me as particularly maternal.
“Well, then! What are you waiting for?” she snapped.
We moved forward, each towards a different mirror. I tilted my head as I approached an ornate silver frame, its edges blooming with roses and butterflies that sprouted from its edges. I had to admit, the workmanship was incredible.
Hephaestus, surely.
“There’s just a ruggedly handsome redhead staring back at me,” Aros drawled. “I mean, I’m not complaining. He is rather good to look at.”
A muttered, “Agreed,” came from Arch’s direction.
“But shouldn’t this be a bit more… woo-woo?” Aros wriggled his fingers in the air like he was tickling an invisible beast, eyes wide with mock horror.
“Patience, son of Ares,” Hera barked. “After all, it is a virtue one expects a king to possess.”
She was baiting him. Thankfully, Aros realised it too, and remained silent. Though, I saw him shooting her a scathing glare in the background of my mirror’s reflection.
Then, the surface pulsed, rolling as if the glass had turned liquid. Curious, I tapped a pale finger against it — the glass rippled outwards in tiny waves. Odd. It didn’t feel watery.
When the motion stilled, my reflection stared back. But it was notme.
The image scowled and crossed her arms over her chest, though I had not moved an inch. She grew another foot taller, her biceps doubling in size. She shook her hair like a lion shaking its mane, and when she stopped, it was cropped short, like Caelus’. Her skin ebbed from a pale moonlit white, to a softer muted grey, and upon her head now rested a black crown made entirely of shadows. Her face still bore my features, but it was not myself I recognised.
The figure staring back at me was my father.
“Daughter,”Hades whispered.
“No,” I whispered back, dread scraping its razor-sharp claws along my heart.
The sound of fracturing glass tore my attention to the side. Aros stood with his fist clenched, blood dripping steadily onto the dirt. He didn’t seem to be aware of it, though. His eyes were squeezed firmly shut, his breathing was ragged and uneven.
I hurried over, a dark shadow following in the mirrors as I rushed past. Pausing, I tentatively called out to the fire-wielder.
His amber eyes snapped open — a whirlwind of flames danced within his irises. Slowly, I reached out, gesturing to the pool of golden ichor at his feet.
“Your hand.”
He looked down like he was noticing it for the first time.
“Leave it,” he grunted, flexing his shredded fingers.
