Page 55 of Crown of Olympus
“Char?”
“Yes?”
“We’re going to need a new bathroom.”
He huffed a laugh. “Let’s make the next one bigger.”
I shivered, and Charon frowned like it personally offendedhim. He reached in and scooped me from the water, brows flexing in stark relief as he realised he finally could.
“Come on, death-slayer. Let’s get you dry and tucked into bed,” he joked half-heartedly.
I allowed him to fetch some towels but dressing me was a line neither of us wanted to cross. I threw on the simplest thing I owned — an oversized linen shirt, probably one I’d pilfered from Charon’s absurdly extensive wardrobe — and climbed under the covers.
He fussed, eerily reminiscent of his mother: checking the blankets, feeding the hearth, and making sure I had something simple to fill my belly. He also ensured the dragon had some fresh meat — I didn’t ask where it came from. I also didn’t ask what kind of meat it was, but the dragon, apparently, held no such reservations.
It wasn’t until I lay in bed, hours later, with the warm belly of a dragon curled up against my ribs, that I realised something: Charon’s hair hadn’t faded to white between my fingers.
I spentthe majority of the following week in bed. It took more energy than expected to heal from a hydra’s venom. It was not an experience I ever intended to repeat.
But Charon’s gamble had paid off. I was alive. The venom had been purged, my wounds had healed as much as they were going to. All that remained were faint scars on my thigh and torso, marks left behind by fangs and claws.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one left scarred by Artemis’ trial. Charon had not smiled easily in the days since I’d ingested the river water. He was haunted by what it had done to my body, while I had faced the ordeal within my mind. Until I’demerged from the water with a raw, rasping inhale — a rebirth; one final gift from my mother — he had believed me dead. Those minutes had been pure torture for my sunshiny friend. Ever since, he’d taken to hovering in doorways.
“I’m okay, Charon. I swear,” I groaned from my cosy corner of the library, in front of the open hearth.
He simply grunted in response, striding in to stir the embers.
“Did you know that, according to this book, Hera tried to murder a baby?” I asked.
Charon’s head whipped around to face me, his brows knitting together in the middle.
“You mean Hercules?”
“Yeah. Apparently, baby-Herc strangled a pair of serpents she sent to his cradle. Vindictive bitch,” I muttered.
“Careful. She’ll hear you,” he warned.
“But I’m not praying?”
“Doesn’t matter. That one likes to listen when she hears her name.”
I pursed my lips, contemplating.
“Hey Hera?!” I yelled into the fireplace — not because the fire would summon her, but because I didn’t know where else to direct my voice. “You and Zeus made a fine pair! Both outsmarted by babies you intended to murder. Vindictive bitch.”
Charon stared at me, mouth agape.
“I hope for your sake she didn’t hear that… or your next trial is going to be a lot harder,” he murmured.
I shrugged. “Keeps things interesting.”
Charon shook his head and sank into the armchair opposite me. He picked up a book I’d already skimmed, one about Hestia. I continued reading, eyes scouring the passage about Zeus’otherson. Then a thought struck me.
“Hey, Charon?”
“Mmm?”
“What became of Hercules in the end?”
