Page 116 of Blood of Olympus

Aros belted out a laugh, overtaking Aph’s old wench cackle and Hestia’s surprised hum. Even Diana, as unfamiliar with Charon as the mortals, burst out with a dainty giggle.

“Knowing that particular ferryman, it was absolutely the truth,” I admitted with a grimace, my gaze snagging on the uncharacteristically bright blush staining the cheeks of the only demi-god in our midst.

Oh, I’m even more certain now. And horrendously curious how that particular scenario would play out.

Perhaps you should ask her, Vel chimed in.

A loud clearing of a throat interrupted the melee. Somehow, I’d actually forgotten about the one monarch who had yet to answer. The biggest of the mortals, and yet somehow smallest in character.

“Strathos remains neutral,” Arius began. When I raised a solitary brow, he cocked his jaw and continued. “We know not where our god is⁠—”

“Makes two of us,” Aros grumbled.

“—and until such time as he is accounted for, we will not choose either way.” He rose, tucking his gilded helmet beneath one arm. “And it is clear that you do not believe we are not providing him sanctuary. So: we invite you to journey with us to our lands, to meet our people, to learn our customs. Get to know us.

“Our prayers have long since been unanswered. Perhaps you could alleviate some of them whilst you are there.”

“You mean to extort us,” I growled. “Our blessings for your warriors.”

The prickly bastard had the audacity to lift his chin. “We request that you consider granting our people certain commodities — as is within your power — in exchange for our consideration on which side of this war Strathos will stand.”

What do you think? I asked my storm-wielder.

I don’t think we have much of an option. We need their warriors if we’re to stand a chance.

And if we don’t?

Then they are who we will come up against in the battles to come. They are who our mortal allies will have to cut down.

No contest then.

No contest, he agreed.

Behind the king, an ink black shape appeared, flickering and shimmering in the waning light.

“After you, then,” I declared, gesturing to the shadowgate.

He spun around, jerking backwards in horror. “I’m not going through that thing! It probably leads to Tartarus!”

“As warranted as that option might have been, that is no gate to Tartarus. You’ll meet that one soon enough. It’s much prettier,” I added with a wink. “This one leads to the portal in the Temple of Ares.”

Arius’ toes curled visibly in his sandals, apprehension coiling his every muscle.

“If you cannot brave a doorway made of shadows, why then should we count on your warriors to be of any use against monsters dredged from your darkest nightmares?” I seethed.

The hit landed as intended. The Strathos king’s ego had his posture straightening and fists clenching. He shoved his helm down on his head and unsheathed the sword hanging at his waist.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But I’ll not do it unarmed.”

I bit my lip to contain the laugh that threatened to undo me. One thought about how badly he would startle the priests on the other end of the gateway and I almost dissolved in a fit of amusement.

The king marched through and vanished from sight. His warriors jolted after him but Aros only allowed two to pass.

“Tsk, tsk,” he tutted. “The rest of you will have to take the long way home. Someone has to man your warship, after all.”

After a moment’s hesitation — and a glare from the war god whose amber eyes blazed to life as he waited — they turned on their heels and fled, which broke the dam of my restrained laughter.

I giggled watching them go, stumbling over their own sandals and tripping each other with their spears.