Page 53 of Blood of Olympus

I bit my lip to keep the laugh contained. Trust Aros to turn a worrisome situation into something hilarious — whether he realised he was doing it or not.

“Honestly, it’s just a bit fucking rude now that you’re together and you have secrets,” he mock-whined.

“Calm down, Aros.” Caelus frowned. “A shade was here.”

The flamewielder tensed, his eyes going wide as they darted around the room.

“Is it still here?” he whispered.

I couldn’t hold back the laugh any longer. A snort escaped as I floundered with the concept that a god of war was seemingly terrified of a remnant of death.

“No, I said it was here,” Caelus grumbled. “Or are you hard of hearing, too? Shall we drop you on Apollo’s doorstep so that he might teach you to sign fluently?”

“Alright, no need to drag ol’ Sunny Boy into this,” he griped. “Although, in the spirit of honesty, he scares me a little, too.”

A second snort found its way out of my nostrils and Aros frowned in faux reproach.

“That needs to be addressed later,” I interceded before grumbling could escalate into thrown fists and broken furniture. I liked my bedroom exactly as it was, thank you very much.

Humour soon vanished as I considered my next words. “I think the shade was a Nerosian soul. I think that Sunny Boy’s prophecy has begun to ring true.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Caelus answered, “he spoke of death. Of someone who was supposed to bring light instead choosing to bring darkness. And he mentioned the phrase ‘the skies bleed in his presence, the oceans burn with his wrath.’”

And if I’d ever doubted that death had changed Caelus, that comment removed any lingering hope that he, perhaps, remained unchanged.

“Oh,” Aros breathed.

“Oh, indeed.”

The Parthenon felt sharper tonight. Its columns lay exposed to Selene’s glistening moonlight like a thoracic cage — open and chilled — the breeze passing through like frosted breaths.

Perhaps it was due to the fact that I was still sporting scalded skin from my unintentional foray into someone else’s lived experience.

“Tell me again,” Aph said. “You dreamt it? You felt it? How?” Her face contorted in a series of expressional backflips as she asked her questions. I don’t think I’d ever seen her quite so perplexed.

“I don’t know how or why, but yes.” My answer came out in a croak, my voice still scratchy — shredded from the screams I’d subjected it to an hour earlier.

I pivoted, turning my back on the beauty of the night sky to face the harsh reality of a chamber filled with concerned gods, goddesses, and halflings. Flickering candlelight illuminated the myriad faces all staring back at me and I skimmed over all of them until I found the golden gaze of the person I’d been searching for.

“Apollo,” I rasped, signing the rest. Have you ever heard of this happening before?

The god of sun’s eyes narrowed, his lips pursing to one side as he considered my question.

Eventually, he shook his head then lifted his graceful umber fingers. They hovered in the air, slightly flared, almost as if he were hesitant to spell out his thoughts.

To my knowledge… This has never been experienced before.

Any hope tentatively lingering within me burst.

He eyed me curiously, as though I was a puzzle he was desperate to figure out.

That makes two of us, Sunny, I thought. I’m an enigma.

Vel snorted her scathing amusement aloud, abandoning her usual favourite corner when she realised I was shivering. Her large frame simmered away quietly, warmed by her flame-filled belly.

“Bring in the messenger,” I ordered quietly.