Page 114 of Blood of Olympus

“Poseidon was an enemy before I was even born,” I murmured, echoing the Titaness’ words. “His mortals are of no great concern. But that reminds me — Aphrodite?”

The goddess jerked upright, her amused grin dropping into austerity.

“Have you made contact with Nereus yet?”

After a brief pause in which her teeth ground together, she said, “I have.”

“And where does he stand?”

Her chin lifted, eyes uncharacteristically hard. “He will stand with us on one condition.”

“And what condition is that?”

“That his daughter cannot be condemned for her actions.”

“Done.”

“Nyssa, that’s not⁠—”

“I said done. Whatever happens, happens. We need his allegiance. Whatever act she has committed is surely a grain of sand in the desert that is this war.”

Aph nodded, refraining from further comment but the pout to her lips and narrowing of her eyes said we’ll discuss this later.

“We have the oceans,” I declared. “We have the skies. Now — what of the lands?”

One by one, the mortal rulers stood, cast their die, and made their allegiances known.

All except one.

“You already know my answer,” Aelia said, shooting a reproachful look Galen’s way as his sailors rowed him back out to their waiting ship.

Queen Idalia spoke next. “Cytheros stands with you.”

Aphrodite glimmered with pride — quite literally radiant. Her hair shone like the warmest hues of sunset, cerulean eyes sparkling like a glorious summer day, and her skin glittered like Helios himself had blessed her. Several of the men seated around the table shifted in their seats uncomfortably, resituating the way their attire clung to certain appendages.

Vel snorted a rumbling dragon laugh, the sound catching in the back of her enormous throat — enough to have said appendages returning to a more comfortable size.

“Meloidia stands with you — and you have our sincerest gratitude for providing us aid with those serpent-creatures.” King Lyros bowed, his lithe frame bending gracefully so that his nose almost brushed against the table’s splintered surface.

Princess Isadora spoke next on behalf of her grandmother — frail in the latter stages of her mortal lifespan. “Kardia stands with you.”

Hestia rose with fluid grace, striding over to where the matriarch sat, clutching a simple wooden cane in her timeworn fingers. The goddess reached for one such hand, holding it gently within her own, and pressed a kiss to Queen Calliope’s knuckles. A visible tranquility rippled outward, allowing the woman to feel a kind of peace in which she’d likely never known — courtesy of the goddess’ gifts.

Calliope rose slowly, with all the deliberate grace and dignity of one who has ruled longer than some present have been alive — myself included. Her cane dug into the soft earth of the Isle while Hestia offered a steadying presence. She winced as weary muscles stretched and aching joints loudly protested the movement, but no complaints ever crossed her lips.

Once fully upright, she relinquished Hestia’s hand after a subtle, grateful squeeze, and the goddess stepped back.

“I am old, that much is obvious,” Calliope said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I will not live to see this war through, my bones tell me so.”

Isadora’s brows furrowed and tears lined the lower rim of her eyes but she did not dispute her grandmother’s words.

“When I go, I leave my grandchildren to you,” she said, dipping her head in our direction. “Princess Isadora will become queen, as is our custom. Her brother, Atticus, is a little aloof when it comes to these things, but he is a prince of the people and they are in good hands with him.

“Kardia stands with you because Isadora had decreed it. I beg you, watch over her⁠—”

“Grandmother,” Isadora hissed.

“Our kingdom has no other heir. And so, I ask you not to shield her, but to equip her with the skill and the knowledge to defend herself and her people.”