Page 120 of Blood of Olympus

I snorted a half-there laugh, refusing to face her and let her see that she’d gotten to me in some small way.

“My mother thought she was doing the right thing — thought she was asking me to do the right thing. I have no desire to betray our queen, and I will do whatever it takes to prove to her, you, him, and everybody else that the blood of Artemis runs true. We are not some flitful beings, jumping between one side and the other, depending on who we think will win. We have made our decision, and are with you — to whatever end may befall our generation.”

I turned my head, addressing her without fully looking back. “I hope that’s true.”

Erato waited just outside the doors, matching my pace as we joined Aros and Arius on the grass.

“Do you want my opinion?”

I twisted, shooting her a raised brow. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really.” She grinned. “I think she means it.”

“And what hidden power do you possess to tell when someone’s being truthful?”

She shrugged, tossing her auburn hair over one shoulder. “None, but when you do what I do for a living, you learn very quickly to read a person’s body language.”

“And what is it that you do?”

Erato winked, sashaying forwards. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

I blinked, momentarily perplexed.

Foot down, godling.

I followed Lykos’ instruction without thinking, only then realising that I’d frozen mid-step, one foot several inches above the earth. I cleared my throat to distract watching eyes from my feet, but Aros still caught it, raising both brows in a sorely unimpressed stare.

“Where to now?” I directed the question at the waiting king.

“Nowhere just yet,” he answered cryptically — which enraged me.

Lightning sparked across my skin and my vision narrowed to his arrogant face. He was one misstep away from being electrified and he didn’t even know it. It arced and struck a tree in the clearing behind him — which, perhaps, clued him in a little to his waning safety — though I hadn’t consciously decided to do so.

“This is hallowed ground,” he said, instinctively leaning away from me. His body knew the danger even if his mind hadn’t fully comprehended it. “Many of our warriors fell here during the Titan War and we honour their spirits by coming here to pray before battle.

“We pray to Ares and ask for his guidance. We pray to our comrades, fallen before us, that they may guide our hands and give us a little extra time before we join them beyond the veil.”

“Veil?”

“The veil between life and death. We believe it is but a short journey to the other side — travelable by one minor incident: misreading an attack, forgetting to block, one slip of the wrist, or misplaced foot.”

“True enough,” Aros conceded.

“So you pray?” I asked.

“We pray. And if we are lucky, Ares answers.”

Aros scoffed. “You’re more likely to have been answered by Nike or me. Even Phobos and Deimos would bless you before Ares would deign to grant your wishes.”

“That may be so,” Arius allowed. “But it is the mindset we need more than the actual blessing. A warrior who believes he has been tapped on the shoulder by the Primal god of war, is untouchable, insurmountable, indefeatable because it is what he believes.”

Aros nodded, clearly interested. “I have seen as much.”

“Then, after the battle is won, lost, or both sides have withdrawn, we come home to our families. Our wives. Our children, if Hera deems we should have them.

“But some do not return home, and it is their families I wish you to meet.”

“Alright, then. Lead the way,” Aros instructed the surprisingly layered king.