Page 39 of Crown of Olympus
Hours later,I realised just how misguided that notion had been.
I dropped down unceremoniously onto a half-rotted log alongside the stream, gritting my teeth in frustration, wondering how many hours remained until I’d failed completely.
Failed Artemis’ trial.
Failed the realms.
Failed myself.
The only creatures I had managed to stumble across thus far were a tiny, transparent water sprite — who gleefully spat a stream of icy water into my face — and a great white owl. The latter cocked its head at an unnatural angle, fixed me with its enormous yellow eyes, and promptly flew off in the opposite direction.
Unfortunately, my doubts had been justified. I was proving to be as good at repelling wildlife as I was at repelling gods. At least I hadn’t run into a lamia or a harpy — yet.
I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, letting the dappled sunlight warm my face. It was one of the strangestsensations since I’d entered the Rite — feeling the comforting heat of sunlight against my skin. Though I savoured it, I missed the cool kiss of darkness, of my familiar starry sky.
I allowed myself five minutes to mentally prepare for what lay ahead.
But my mind drifted backwards, fixating on every horror I hoped not to encounter in this pace. The gruesome bedtime stories my father, or Charon’s mother, used to tell filtered through — tales of half-women creatures, cursed by the single most unstable primal to have ever existed: Hera.
Enraged by Zeus’ repeated infidelities, she turned his mortal conquests into harpies — once-beautiful women transformed into savage beasts. With human torsos and faces, leathery bodies, razor sharp teeth, feathered wings, and talons where fingers should be, they were the object of many a childhood nightmare.
Charon’s, of course.
The lamia were similarly cursed, though their bodies were fused serpents — giant, scaled creatures whose preferred method of attack was seduction followed by devouring. They weren’t fussy on what genitalia their prey possessed either — they’re Greek, after all.
I shuddered at the thought.
Cupping my hands, I reached down and plunged them into the icy stream. With hands halfway back to my face, I froze. A small, sharpcrackricocheted through the trees. A sound that didn’t quite belong. A sound that triggered the nervous system of prey.
In the span of five minutes, I had gone from huntress to hunted.
Something lurked within the shadows of these trees.
Silly beast — shadows are part of my soul.
I slowly twisted my hand, releasing the water it still held, and crooked a finger at the eerie darkness of the forest. Ibeckoned the shadows to me and they came lovingly, playfully winding around my arm like smoke.
And then, in the sudden brightness, a tall figure stood much closer than I had anticipated.
Realising he could neither run nor hide, the frowning, indecently muscled son of Zeus straightened and strode forward.
Honestly, I’d have preferred the lamia. At least we could have bonded over our mutual hatred of his mother.
Caelus stopped a few feet from where I crouched. He crossed his broad arms and narrowed his odd silver eyes, lips twisting into a half-smirk.
“My, my. What a pretty creature to find out here all alone,” he crooned, his voice deep and rumbling. “Perhaps I should try to bond withyou. Tell me — what great and terrible feat would it take to demonstrate my worthiness to the shadow queen herself?”
“Firstly, go fuck yourself,” I replied, crafting a shadow dagger from the tendril still twined around my arm.
Before Caelus could blink, I’d flicked it in his direction, pinning the loose fabric of his tunic to a tree and nicking his left bicep. To his credit, the god did not flinch. Not even a twitch.
Apparently,thatwas all it took to impress me.
“Secondly, loose clothing leaves you vulnerable to attack.” I grinned smugly. “And last but not least, green is a terrible colour on you, and you’re welcome for the free alteration.”
Caelus glanced down at his shirt with a frown. When he looked back up, his face had twisted into a smirk, matching my own.
“If you wanted me to take my shirt off, all you had to do was ask, Nightshade,” he purred. “And it’s funny you should mention the colour. It seems I’ve had a certain pair of emerald eyes on my mind as of late — perhaps I wanted to match.”
