Page 154 of Crown of Olympus
I awoke to an empty bed.I knew I shouldn’t be hurt by that — after all, I was the one who’d told Caelus it was a one-night deal — but it still stung a little.
I rolled over dramatically, lamenting his absence, my face landing in the pillow where he’d lain all night. A faint trace of caramel still lingered in its fibres, and without warning, tears burned behind my eyes.
We were bound, he and I. I had no idea what that meant for us going forward, or how much it had influenced my emotions these past few months, but I knew one thing: we were inevitable, in one way or another.
I let the tears fall, knowing I wouldn’t have another opportunity for solitude today. I needed this tiny unstoppering of anxiety, pain, grief, and overwhelm, lest I fall to pieces in front of those who would use my weaknesses to their advantage.
Resolutely, I made my way to the wardrobe, unsure if the day called for regality or reinforcement. Deciding against the impedance of a gown, I donned my usual set of black leathers. Caelus must have hung them to dry before he left because theywere bone dry, thank the Furies. I clearly remembered leaving them in a sodden pile in the bathroom.
I quickly ran a brush through my knotted hair and twisted the strands into a long braid that ran down the length of my spine. Better to err on the side of caution than be caught off guard wearing a dress with hair in my face.
My cold mask of detachment had been worn less and less lately. Somehow, without much conscious decision on my part, four persistent gods had crept past my defences and blasted down my walls. Despite every ounce of pushback, my friendship circle had grown from two sunshiny souls to six.
But today called for more than casual indifference. Today, I donned three additional pieces of armour: crimson painted lips, an icy facade, and the smoky, flickering darkness of the Shadow Crown. It weighed heavily these last five years, hidden away in the shadows, but no less burdensome than if I’d borne it openly.
I’d had no real idea how to bear it, nor the responsibilities that came along with it, not since the day it first appeared on my head. The same day my death-wielding powers manifested. The same day Charon’s mother died. The same day Hades faded through the Elysian arch.
It all happened so quickly. The last, startling Charon so badly he almost toppled into the Styx from his perch on his skiff.
It was a different kind of heartbreak, having to watch my best friend ferry the shade of his mother to the Isle of Judgement. Tears had flowed freely from his red-rimmed, grey-blue eyes as my father deemed Lethe worthy of the Elysian Fields.
And then Hades had shocked us both — throwing himself through right after her.
Just like that, he was gone.
They both were.
To this day, I had no idea how Charon forgave me for the role I’d played. It was my fault Lethe was gone; my fault Hades had followed her; my fault he’d lost his sole reason for living, because I had been born.
That morning, my gifts had manifested so violently, I’d been powerless to stop it. And Lethe had paid the price.
She’d been braiding my hair when shadows started leaking from my hands, then oozed from every pore and dripped out of every crevice. They leaked from my ears, eyes, nostrils, and mouth. I watched it all in my bedroom mirror. Horrified. Terrified.
When I cried, my fear caused the dripping to increase its steady tempo. My tears ran gold, mixing with the dark rivulets running down my face. Then my powers blasted outwards, like an explosion.
The edges of my morbid powers latched onto every surface it could find as it fought to claw outwards. The shadows had exploded like a trawler’s net, dragging every soul within a mile back into my body.
As with Leander, their bodies had dropped lifelessly wherever they stood. Empty shells — their souls devoured by my own, and my power had grown with every bite.
They had no shades left to ferry, no lives to judge, and no sentence to be determined. They simply ceased to exist, in any realm.
All except Lethe. Her, I gave back. My grief spat her out in the only way it could manage — a shade. Her own son ferried her across the Styx. My father had judged her. And then they both left us.
I shook off the memories as I laced my boots and headed downstairs in search of the Ferryman himself.
I found Charon in the kitchen — which is never where onewantsto find Charon. Utensils were strewn about haphazardly,pans balancing precariously on the edges of benches, remnants of food on every visible surface.
I circled the island bench?—
Yep. That’s a pan on the floor.
Give the boy a break, Velira’s chortle ricocheted through my skull.He’s been up for hours. I think he calls this “cooking.”
The violet menace lounged in the corner, glee in her eyes and flour on her snout.
I think you might’ve been the beneficiary of his prior attempts, I replied, grinning.
I shall not dignify that assumption with an answer.
