Page 199 of Bonds of Hercules
Drex waved us over to where he sat with Achilles and Patro, all three of them looking miserable.
I went to take the chair next to Drex—Kharon pressed his hand to my lower back and guided me to a different seat across the table.
Augustus stood so close his shoulder brushed against mine as we moved.
Awareness coursed through me.
You’re in grave danger.
Our new closer proximity was a perilous thing because the abrasive edges of resentment were slowly melting away.
Food trays circulated and Kharon waved down waiters, piling my plate until it overflowed. I ate every piece, and the worry lines around Kharon’s eyes relaxed with each bite. The old Spartan adage that hung on a plaque on the symposium wall was correct—a starving man does not choose his meal.
Our table ate in heavy silence.
No one spoke about Zeus’s calamitous power, but we were all thinking it.
All around, Olympians chatted in Latin with subdued merriment, their extravagant togas shimmering as they spun across the dance floor. Coy smiles painted their lips; long-tailed, vibrantly colored birds sat atop their shoulders.
Strained laughter echoed as lights flashed, the reporters capturing a group of heirs and heiresses.
They’d recovered from their terror quickly.
Zeus is on their side. They feel protected.
Drex slumped lower in his seat across the table, scraping his fork across his plate.
“What’s your favorite food?” Kharon asked me abruptly.
I turned to him. “I don’t … understand the question.”
Kharon searched my face. “What type of food do you enjoy eating the most? Sweet, savory, salty? Augustus’s favorite is steak. Mine is sweets, like baklava or …” He trailed off.
Why is he staring at my lips?
Augustus leaned close like he was interested in the answer.
“I don’t have one.” I dug my nails into the top of my hand, a strange sort of shame filling my chest.
Both men frowned.
Do they think I’m purposely being difficult?
“I guess … I just like any food that you can … uh … have every day,” I said with a forced smile, then changed the subject. “What are your favorite colors?”
Neither answered.
Kharon shared a pointed look with Augustus. Long secondspassed, and Augustus shook his head, as if to tell him to let it go.
“Gold,” Kharon said softly, as he reached up and wrapped his pointer finger in one of my curls—he tugged at it.
My head filled with static.
He leaned closer. “Ask me … what my favorite color was before you.”
“What was your favorite color?” I whispered.
“Nothing.” He stared at me with cold intensity. “I didn’t notice colors before you.”
