Page 6 of Crown of Olympus
But who would pay its final toll?
CHAPTER 3
Nyssa
Laxatives worked quickly,and so did Hera. Same shitty end result, too.
The consequences of my actions, in the form of a rolled parchment missive, hung from the maw of Cerberus’ middle head. This one tended to do the bulk of the barking and biting.
My father’s obnoxiously large, tri-headed dog waited impatiently at the foot of the curved staircase in the darkened foyer of my home, shifting his paws — thankfully only four —from side to side, giving him the vague appearance of levitating.
Cerberus was a creature born of Tartarus. During one of my father’s treks into that icy hellscape, the beast had taken to plastering himself to Hades’ side. Shockingly, my father had warmed to him. The result? A strongly forged companionship bond, and a triple-headed bodyguard for his baby daughter.
I reached forward to rub Sir Bruce’s sleek, black fur — a childhood nickname that had, regrettably, stuck — earning a contented smile from the closest head.
My home, the Palace of Hades, was a grand monstrosity of Greek architecture, rising from the heart of the Underworld.With gleaming black columns and spires, onyx staircases, and deadly gardens, it was a home much better suited to the dead than the living. Poppies adorned the pathways, belladonna sprouted in the northern gardens, while aconite took root in pots, and black dahlias swarmed the bases of ebonwood trees.
The exterior was the same ominous obsidian as the rest of the Underworld, but inside, my mother had been granted creative freedom. Beyond the dim, formidable receiving rooms — kept intimidating for any surprise visits from Olympians — were the living spaces.
It was as though my mother had woven parts of herself into every room. It immediately felt like stepping foot into an eternal spring. Plush, vibrant rugs covered every floor, and the furniture was a cacophonous mismatch of styles and colours. Yet, somehow, every piece was either comfortable, comforting, or both.
Jasmine vines climbed every pillar and banister, and ivy featured on all the main walls. Stepping inside always felt like a ghostly embrace from the mother I’d never known.
Cerberus nudged my hand with his nearest head, gently reminding me of the scroll he was desperately trying not to chew. I grimaced and unrolled the saliva-soaked parchment, huffing a disappointed breath as I discovered the contents were even less desirable than the drool.
Hades, Lord of the Underworld,
Nyssa, Daughter of Hades,
By command of the Goddess Hera,
Queen of Olympus,
You are hereby summoned to the Parthenon immediately. Whichever of you is responsible willstand before the Primal Council and account for your actions in the sentencing of Zeus’ immortal soul.
Do not test my patience. There will be no mercy for delay. You shall present yourself at once, or face the wrath of your Queen and her council.
Clenching my teeth, I balled up the parchment and tossed it back to Sir Bruce, who promptly swallowed the summons whole.
That psychotic bitch of an ex-Queen actually believed she possessed the power to disciplinemelike an errant child. She thought she could summon Hades himself from his deathly domain? I laughed, low and rolling, like thunder before the lightning strikes.
Like Charon’s, my day was about to become a whole lot more entertaining.
And Hera was about to find out exactly what happens when someone dares to fuck with death.
I flicked my wrists outward, palms parallel to the floor, and called my power down. Shadows pooled at my feet, swirling like inky tendrils of smoke caught in a soft breeze. Another flick of my fingers, and they formed a softly rippling doorway. I stepped into the darkness effortlessly, my cozy home fading behind me. With each stride, the world reshaped itself, painfully bright and glaring. The white marble of the Parthenon rose to greet me harshly — a cruel contrast to the comfort of the shadows I had left behind.
In my midnight-coloured gown,I sauntered into the atrium. It was shrouded in the harsh glare of midday light and perfect silence.
I stood in the centre of the opulent structure, exactly where I’d intended to appear. Sneaking in was far too cliché. I loved a good, dramatic entrance.
Seated in a circle of enormous golden thrones were the ten remaining Primal Olympians, each one staring down at me with cold sneers sewn into their otherwise flawless faces—except for one.
Aphrodite.
The goddess of love, beauty, and desire peered at me from under long lashes, perched delicately on the edge of her seat. Her fair brows were knitted tightly together, rosy lips pursed in concern. She leaned forward slightly, assessing me as her brows drew closer still. The crease between her brows deepened, and her cerulean eyes searched mine for answers I could not yet give.
Aphrodite — the only other being besides Charon I considered a friend — parted her lips as if to speak. She paused when I shook my head once, a warning she heeded. Let the other Primals remain in the metaphorical dark. Our companionship, if known, would be used against us, and I would not let her suffer for my reputation or my actions.
