Page 129 of Blood of Olympus

“Nyssa?” I demanded, ignoring her question.

“She’s okay, I think… but Caelus… it was bad.”

I searched her horror-filled gaze for answers but none were forthcoming. “Tell me.”

“Hephaestus — he’s dead,” she choked out past a sob.

Shocked, my head snapped round to where Arch sat. Sure enough, his father lay unmoving, and Arch stared dumbly down at his bearded face. He barely even noticed the shades passing over him, jostling him, going through him. I doubt he’d even hear his name called out right now.

Even as I watched, Hephaestus’ body faded.

Grief had a funny way of making time stop; of making you feel as though you could stopper it if you just ceased moving and you refused to acknowledge it.

Unfortunately, grief then had a tendency to take swings at you with a sledgehammer.

“How?”

Aph twisted to look over at Nyssa, thoughts and memories obviously plaguing her.

“Aphrodite, how?”

Tear-stained blue eyes met mine as the goddess swallowed roughly. “Nyssa fixed the first arch so quickly, I foolishly believed this task would be a breeze.” She looked away. “I was wrong. So very wrong.

“The second stalled her. Her powers waned with every heartbeat and I knew that she was close to burnout. And that she would prefer to burn out than give up.

“Arch knew it, too. He offered his soul up on a silver platter for her to take and use to finish the job. By then, she only had the third to go.” She shook her head. “I was right, then. Nyss — she — she almost killed herself trying to finish.” Fresh tears fell down her sunkissed cheeks.

And me? My heart was in my throat — guilt choking me. I’d known something was wrong — deep in my bones, I’d known it was more than a nagging worry — and I’d chosen to ignore it. And my beloved almost died. Hephaestus had died.

“What then?” I managed to ask, desperately fighting the need to go to her, knowing I couldn’t yet make it.

Fuck these souls!

“Heph intervened. Sacrificed himself in Arch’s stead. Gave Nyssa his entire soul to first fix the third arch, then heal the wounds in Archimedes’ with the remainder. He’s cured, Caelus. Cured, and broken all over again.”

I barely dared to speak, let alone ask, “And Nyssa?”

“Fainted after it was done. Evie caught her head before it hit the ground, but then this storm came out of nowhere and almost knocked me right into the Styx.”

“You wouldn’t be here to tell the tale if they had.”

“I know.” A pause, then, “You can see them, can’t you? The souls of the dead?”

I nodded.

“How is that possible?” she breathed.

“A perk of dying, I guess.”

“Interesting,” she mused. “I wonder what else you can do.”

Aphrodite fought against gravity and the winds to regain her feet, urging me to stand beside her.

“Direct them,” she urged over the wailing. “Guide them to their afterlives.”

My brows crashed down over my cynical eyes — I didn’t think such a thing was possible. I wasn’t a death god, after all. But I lifted my right hand and pointed at the left-most arch, trying anyway.

“Go home?” I ordered with a shrug.