Page 33 of Crown of Olympus
And you loved my mother fiercely, didn’t you?
Three agonisingly slow heartbeats passed before a whisper flew by on the wind.
I still do.
And just like that, the torment ended — her words lodging in my blackened soul.
Her pain echoed my own, though perhaps hers ran deeper. She had borne her. Raised her.Knownher. Having lost her not once, but twice. Both times to death, in its various forms. Whereas I had never met her, not that I could remember. All I’d ever known was her absence, and the presence of my father’s unrelenting sorrow.
I opened my eyes to the other champions, each in various states of sorrow and pain. Each clambering uneasily to their feet.
I couldn't bring myself to meet their eyes, especially not the gloating god of thieves. Not with all of them ruminating on the one person I could barely speak of. And especially not after learning the truth about her sacrifice, from the one who took her life.
Reining in a sob, I hurled myself through a hastily-made arch of shadow, landing squarely in the rainbow-coloured living room — my mother’s room — and right into Charon’s waiting arms.
He said nothing, just clutched my leather-clad skin and waited for the sorrow to pass, as it always did.
It seemed I had already learned the lesson Demeter carved into Olympus’ future ruler:
Grief is a season too.
And all seasons must eventually end, to make way for what comes next.
In whatever form it must take.
CHAPTER 10
Caelus
Eating Demeter’sfruit had been a disastrous experience. I was immensely grateful no one else had located the tree when I did, because I’d taken one foolishly huge bite — and promptly shat my pants.
I had to backtrack about a mile down a dull grey path — praying I’d picked the right one — to go roll through the muddy hollow I’d almost face-planted into earlier. Once I was sure I was fully covered, the scent of shit masked by the deathly foul odour of sludge, I trekked back up to the tree to the sweet symphony of squelching, squeaking sandals.
Why this style of footwear was most favoured among the gods, especially the soldiers, I’d never know. Logically, they made no sense. From this point on, I’d be taking a leaf out of Nyssa’s book and lacing up my leather boots.
Fuck fashion.
Hermes appeared a few minutes after I called for him, thoroughly thrilled to make me wait, covered in mud and shit — though thankfully unaware of the latter. He took one look at me, turned up his nose, and sneered.
“What happened to you?”
“Slipped,” I grunted.
Pouting, Hermes delicately pressed a single finger to my forehead, where there must have still been a clear patch of skin. The earth fell out from beneath my feet as he stepped forwards, folding the realm in half as he moved. The Parthenon appeared around us, and my stomach revolted violently. I was once again in danger of faecal disaster.
I excused myself, ignoring the horrified gazes of half the Primal Council, and trudged down the marble steps built into the side of Mount Olympus. The Palace of Aetherion was built while my father was King, nestled into the mountain’s base. A tactical decision, so all who visited to the Parthenon had to stroll right past my parents’ behemoth of a home. A hot shower and change of clothes were in my immediate future, followed by a bottle of whatever alcohol was available at the Prancing Satyr.
With any luck, Aros would already be there by the time I showed up, and we could drown Demeter’s grief together. He’d probably fuck the first beautiful being who smiled at his wily charms, while I had a date with my hand in bed later on.
An hour, and half a dozen shots of whiskey later, I leaned back in the worn leather booth, enjoying the sound of a satyr’s pipes. He was accompanied by a raven-haired demigod, serenading the couples — and throuples — writhing together on the sticky wooden barroom floor. She remindedme a little too much of another dark-haired beauty, and I tipped back another shot in an effort to redirect my thoughts.
Thankfully, my fiery friend dropped into the seat across from me, grinning ear to ear.
“Did you hear who I spent my day with?” Aros asked, glee igniting his irises.
“Who?”
“The goddesses of love and death, respectively,” he chuffed, his grin turning wicked as my brows rose. “Imagine: little old me, strolling through the forest with a beautiful woman on each arm.”
