Page 13 of Blood of Olympus

“Fix the gateways to the afterlives. Do whatever it takes. I cannot risk Kronos calling forth more souls for his army from Tartarus’ depths.”

Fuck. I hadn’t even considered that.

“We would not survive it,” she breathed, brows furrowed.

Hephaestus reached up and placed his calloused hand over hers, dwarfing it.

“We will see it done,” he vowed, nodding to his son, Archimedes.

Arch strode forward, stopping level with his father. Their similarities were stark when in such close proximity — the same dark hair, the same strong build, the same determination written in the lines of their faces.

“Whatever it takes,” Arch agreed, inclining his head. A glimmer of sadness slid across his features. He knew all too well what this war would cost us; what fixing those arches would likely cost him. He knew that their repair would likely be paid with what little remained of his life, thanks to the curse on his godly power, caused by his creation of a Titan dagger.

A dagger that killed my father.

A dagger that killed me.

Nyssa seemed to have come to the same realisation because she jolted forward, stopping him before he could back away.

“Arch, wait,” she rasped, swallowing roughly. “I will find you a cure.”

“My queen.” He smiled sadly. “Even you cannot make that promise when you have missing gods, broken gateways, and war brewing. My life should not even factor into your burdens. I will fix the arches for you, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

Shivers skated down my spine, like fate had chosen just now to listen in — Arch’s words rang painfully true.

A tiny voice spoke up confirming it.

“Truth,” Aletheia whispered the word with sombre finality.

“No,” Nyssa swore. “I will not accept that price. There must be a way to fix them without it costing you,” she said, voice dropping into nothing more than a breath.

Arch said nothing back. He just held her gaze, that sad smile still etched upon his face.

Nyssa’s head jerked to the side so fast I automatically reached for my sword. Her alarm gripped my heart in its fist — but nothing happened. There was nothing there. Just empty space and silence.

Arch and I exchanged a glance, both of us concerned and confused about what in Tartarus just happened. What we both, apparently, missed.

She inhaled with a stutter, cloudy confusion overtaking the potency of her alarm, and I reached for her again.

“Nightshade?”

This time, she wrenched her hand from my grip and whirled away abruptly, marching back over to her throne. Unease filtered through the entire Parthenon.

Lykos’ large nose nudged my empty hand but it did nothing to quell the rejection swelling within my soul. When Nyssa finally faced me, her lips parted as though she were about to speak.

But no words fell out.

No explanation came.

Her lips closed again and that mask came down, shutting me out. And if I didn’t already know what a dagger to the heart felt like, I would have explained this feeling just like that.

CHAPTER 4

Nyssa

His lance of rejection pierced my aching heart. Caelus deserved better than this. Better than me.

What happens if I shatter completely? Will he break into pretty pieces too?