Page 15 of Heroines of Olympus

He cares about her. A smile spreads across her face as her heart warms at the thought. She has never so much as hinted to him she may have feelings for him all these years. There was no point. What kind of love could they share through a stone? Can a chance encounter that led to the briefest weekend with the Allegiance be enough to form a relationship?

She had returned to the Temple of Olympus as a spy. Every day since then has been tense with worry of being discovered or, even worse, being unable to prevent some of the truly horrific actions of the Pantheon.

Hestia sits down and mindlessly rearranges the papers on her desk, unsure of what to think or how she wants to respond. Questions keep nagging her. How long has he cared for her? Does he love her? Does it even matter if he does?

Her traitorous heart screams at her at the last question. Despite the separation, danger, and futility of any dreams of love with everything going on, it matters.

8

ICARUS

The crowd roars and the echoes of it bounce around the chilly stone tunnel, making Icarus’s head throb. She should have gone straight to the inn and to bed last night, but she can’t remember when she had that much fun. In front of her are fellow potential Heroes, competing in the Trials as they stand in line and wait their turn to enter the arena.

Three identical tunnels hold the remaining recruits, one tunnel on the same side of the arena as hers, the other two across. She wonders which one Lysander is in.

Icarus had sailed through the preliminary recruitment rounds, bruising quite a few egos along the way. While she has no delusions about escaping this process without making some enemies, their fragile self esteem is not enough to make her second guess her goals or dreams.

Only one more round, with forty competitors in ten waves of four, stands between her and becoming a Hero of Olympus. Another round with the final ten to show that she belongs in an elite legion - hopefully Pegasus. If she closes her eyes, she can feel the wind blowing through her hair as she flies through the clouds, her steed’s feathers glistening under the warm light of the sun.

The ill-fitting armor of her breastplate digs into her collarbone, and she rolls her eyes at the design meant for a male chest. Women may be few and far between in the Heroes, but surely they are at least given proper armor? The gendered hinderance is irritating, but she shakes it off, confident she can carry her weight in the arena even if she had no armor.

The delicate chain of her pendant is smooth against her fingers as she pulls it from beneath the thin tunic she is wearing beneath her armor, the stone at the end of it glimmering as soon as she touches it. She should have asked the woman what kind of gem it is, but Icarus is positive it must be one of a kind. Her sunstone. That’s what her instinct tells her it wants to be called. As if it has a life force of its own and was made for her. Tucking it away again, emboldened by its presence, Icarus brings her focus back to the arena.

It may be untested arrogance carrying her confidence, but she feels at home with a weapon and trusts her instincts and training. As long as she does not panic, she will be fine.

The line shuffles forward, and she steps up to fill the gap in front of her. Her heart flutters as she gets closer to the entrance.

There are only two people in front of her now, and her pulse quickens. Lost in focus, trying to keep her head in the game, she almost doesn’t hear the man in front of her.

“Must be nice to be inhergroup, so’s you know at least one person will do worse than you,” He laughs.

Her grip around the pole-arm in her right hand tightens in anger, but she refuses to turn her head, does not acknowledge him. Gregor had taught her long ago, to let her training do the talking for her anytime someone’s mouth gets ahead of them. She whispers the mantra he taught her under her breath.

This shall not break me

She smiles to herself as she imagines the looks on their faces when she is the victor of her group.

The next rounds are over much faster and before she knows it, she is standing at the threshold of the arena, up next, in the last wave. The metal gate comes sliding down into place in front of her. She does a last minute mental rundown of the weapons on her. Pole-arm in right hand and shield on left arm, check. Sword sheathed as a backup, and her boot daggers, check. Icarus is ready for it.

A horn sounds and her heart threatens to leap out of her chest as the gate rises again and she steps out into the arena. Cheering erupts from the stands from people who don’t know her- or likely anyone participating here. The noise is deafening, but she tunes it out. It surprised her to learn that the general public could spectate the recruitment trials, but after finding out the Pantheon charged them for the tickets, it made a bit more sense.

As Icarus gets closer to the metal disc marking her starting point, the smell of blood and sweat assaults her. At least half of the groups have already gone, and what started out as pristine white sand now has splotches of pinks and reds from the blood of the Hero hopefuls.

Squinting against the sun, she cranes her neck to make out who is on the platform in the places of honor. Ares, in red for the Heracles Legion, is a given, but she wants to see who else will be watching her today. She is on the opposite side of the arena as the podium with the Pantheon, and she has to strain to see anything.

Athena’s fiery red curls are distinguishable, and the goddess is dressed for the occasion in what can only be considered an armor and dress combo. The deep green of her Pegasus Legion cloak matches the rich emerald tones of her dress. Icarus wants to roll her eyes, but it looks pretty bad ass.

Zeus’s silver cloak glistens and Icarus has to wonder how many of the combatants today are hoping to end up in his personal guard - the Lightning Legion. Poseidon is there, as well as Artemis - in blue and gold for the Oceanic and Hind Legions.

Only one other face stands out, Dionysus. It is no surprise that the party god would be at a spectacle like this. He waves his hands around excitedly while he talks and she can hear the deep belly laugh that escapes his lips.. He appears to be making a reputation of always being drunk. Instantly dismissing him from her thoughts, Icarus focuses on the challenge before her.

The only visible opponent is directly across from her. He is smaller in stature, but she will not mistake that for weakness, especially since he looks like he knows how to use the knives he is wielding.

To her left is what looks like a small labyrinth made of stone walls, running along the side of the arena between her disc and one of her other opponents. The maze also looks to be mirrored on the other side of the arena. To her right is an open pit. She stretches her neck, standing on her tiptoes, and can see the sharp points of spikes in the bottom. Like the maze, a copy of this trap is also on the opposite side. Going left then.

“Ready!” calls the overseer of this spectacle, the head of the Heroes, Ares, his booming voice amplified with magic, and the participants ready themselves into their fighting stances.

This shall not break me.

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