Page 48 of Crown of Olympus
Where in Tartarus is she?
The air buzzed with an icy chill, sharp and biting — a faint whisper of warning.
Finally.
I loosed a deep, shuddering breath as shadows bled across the marble floor. They swirled and coiled together into a single inky mass.
She made it. Thank the fucking Furies.
Beside me, Lykos huffed an amused breath, and Aphrodite immediately shuffled back a step, eyes wide with apprehension. Surprisingly, the goddess had returned from the forest before any other champion — and perched on her bare shoulder was a dove the colour of fresh snow.
She appeared completely undaunted by Artemis’ trial. Her pale pink gown draped perfectly across her torso, unstained and unwrinkled. Her wheat-coloured waves remained perfectly coiled, not a strand out of place. I briefly wondered howAphrodite, of all people, had breezed through — animal companion comfortably acquired — while the rest of us were a little worse for wear.
A tale for another time, I supposed.
The inky tendrils climbed higher and wider, flickering like smoke caught in a breeze. They twisted further towards the ceiling until a figure walked through a jet-black archway, just as the bell’s toll finally ceased.
No. Notwalked.
Nyssalimpedthrough, one agonising step at a time.
A tightness gripped my chest as I realised she could barely stand. But that paled compared to the full-body flinch that shook me when I took in the rest of her — she looked like something from a nightmare.
Or perhaps a Herculean legend.
“Holy shit,” Aros whispered from my left.
The goddess of death was barely recognisable, save for the frosty scowl she wore like armour. A shield against gods whowould see her destroyed. Who would shove her back into that tiny little box they had allocated for her in their minds. Who would rather bury her in the depths of the Underworld, where all their unsavoury dealings wound up.
From across the hall, I catalogued her wounds, attempting to imagine what had managed to inflict such significant damage to the daughter of Hades.
Cuts smattered her skin like constellations. Her face was stained black in the goriest of war paint, emerald eyes piercing, sharp against the dark backdrop. A jagged slash ran diagonally from collarbone to waist, shredding her torso. Golden ichor mixed freely with the inky black blood of her foe. Her breathing was shallow and her posture rigid — stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the full extent of her pain.
My eyes dropped and I blanched. Horrified, and horrifyingly awed, I discovered a third of her right thigh was simply… gone. Muscle torn away in a deep, jagged chunk. Yet somehow, impossibly, she remained standing, her expression daring anyone to provoke her.
Nyssa, fierce as she looked, clutched her wound tightly, holding herself together through pure will. I suspected her bravado was waning, however.
Every aching muscle in my body strained as I fought the insane urge to go to her. It was a deep, primal response, one that didn’t make any sense. But nothing had made sense since she was thrust back into my life a month ago.
Wrapped around her blood-spattered wrist — so small I’d almost missed it — was a tiny, violet-hued dragon. It nestled against her blackened skin, coiling possessively around her forearm, scales shimmering where sunlight touched them. Golden serpentine eyes surveyed the room. Its wings gave the barest flare, ready to defend its goddess.
Good.
The chamber was startled into silence. Even the usualsmirks of Aros and Leander had vanished as they took her in. I almost growled at their lingering stares.
No one spoke. No god nor champion dared.
None of us had come through our trials unscathed — except perhaps Aphrodite — but none of us looked like the walking personification of death either. My brows twitched as it dawned on me —this was probably the closest anyone had ever come to death without actually dying.
But then again…
Deathwas precisely who she was. Who she had always been.
Death could not conquer Nyssa. It could not lay claim to the daughter of Hades, becauseshecommandedit.
Something dark and restless writhed behind my sternum, a feeling I wasn’t sure I could name. I should have looked away. Should have ignored my baser instincts. Instead, I found myself seeking her gaze and finding it already waiting for me.
She held me hostage for a heartbeat with nothing more than a look.
