Page 148 of Crown of Olympus
“But only Hades can wear that crown,” Hera whispered.
“Yes.Iam Hades now. It is as much a title as it was his name.”
Caelus laughed.
Helaughed.
I frowned, wondering if he’d finally lost his damn mind. Hera apparently wondered the same, shuffling back a half-step.
“Well, I guess now is as good a time as any,” he said between chuckles. “Mother, it appears I am your worst nightmare brought to life. I am in love with Nyssa, the Queen of the Underworld.”
Caelus doubled over laughing, clutching his belly, as my reality shattered in a single sentence.
Hera’s did too. Fury twisted her features. Wrath raised her hand to strike him.
But that would not do.
As easily as breathing, I whipped a shadowy rope through the air, lashing it around her wrist, halting her strike.
“But that’s not all,” Caelus continued.
How in Tartarus is that not all?!
“During the Fates’ trial, when I was the last champion left in the room…” His laughter fell abruptly short. He stepped closer, standing directly in front of me, taking up my space and stealing my air. I could never breathe when he looked at me like that — like I held every answer to every question he could possibly ask.
“I should have told you this months ago, Nightshade. And for that, I am truly sorry. But I don’t regret it.”
“Regret what?” I breathed. Anxiety turned my blood to ice and my heart raced like a beating drum.
“After you left, I found my thread. It was running right alongside yours.” Caelus’ face softened. “I severed my own thread?—”
“No! But why would you?—”
“—and wove it into yours.”
He let the words hang, waiting for the implication to hit me.
My eyes widened in horror.
“We are bound together, you and I.”
“YOU DID WHAT?!” Hera screamed, finally catching up.
“Our fates are tied together just as surely as the stars are bound to the night sky, Nyss.”
“What have you done?” I whispered, terror unfurling at the realisation — at what it might mean for him if I failed.
Or what it might mean for both of us if I didn’t.
“What have you done, boy?!” Hera shouted a moment later — reliable as an old watch, always just a few seconds behind. She lifted an arm again, but this time her mirrors betrayed her.
I watched as she retrieved a bronze dagger from a hidden pocket in her golden gown, its metallic blade glinting harshly under the glaring light.
She raised it like she meant to throw it, eyes locked firmly on her own son. Her own flesh and blood. Intuition tugged at my middle, and I lunged forward as fast as a viper, ripping the locket from her throat.
Hera stopped dead in her tracks, clutching at her neck asthough she might miraculously find the chain now gripped tightly in my fist.
“No! Give it back! Give it back now!”
