Page 59 of Blood of Olympus

“Thank you,” Sophocles breathed, awestruck.

Aphrodite couldn’t help but approach next, clicking her tongue. “These stains won’t do. Not when this robe was so perfect before.” She snapped her fingers and the fabric shimmered — stilling, once her powers had removed any trace of the injury. “There,” she grinned, giggling at the poor, frozen man and his equally dumbfounded underling.

“My Lord Apollo, my Lady Aphrodite… I must confess, I know not why you grace us with your presence.” Sophocles studied Athena for explanation.

“We come because war has found its way to your doorstep,” I answered, drawing their mortal eyes back to the portal — and to the cohort of gods and creatures who came to save the realm of men.

I strode forward slowly, allowing my dual crowns to appear upon my head — letting the men come to their own understanding of what their presence signifies.

“We come because Kronos is already here, ready to make sacrifices out of you all. And we come because we believe you will join us to oppose him.”

Elias looked on the verge of tears, his face turning a sickly shade of chartreuse.

Sophocles breathed a horrified, “It cannot be,” before stooping into a low bow.

“Rise,” I ordered softly. “Rise and stand with us.”

To his credit, the elder swallowed his fear and confusion. When he straightened, his back was not as hunched, his beard not as trembling, and the lines of his weathered face instead bore evidence of grim determination.

“Welcome to Athenos, Lady…?”

“Nyssa. Daughter of Hades.”

He blanched, eyes darting once more to the crowns stacked upon my brow.

“Welcome to Athenos, Nyssa — Lady Death and Queen of all realms.”

An hour later, we found ourselves seated around a circular table in a round war room. A large, timeworn map covered the bulk of its surface, each of its corners pinned in place by an assortment of daggers. Miniature wooden models were scattered across it, representing various strongholds and known positions of the gods.

Ithacene, the capital of Athenos, was currently overfilled with figurines representing Caelus, Athena, Apollo, Aphrodite, Artemis, Hestia, Demeter, and three crudely carved lumps supposedly depicting Aros, Evadne, and myself. Tossed aside was Poseidon’s model, and Hermes’ was tentatively placed in Telaris — the capital of Dromaris, the land of his people — while Hephaestus’ and Arch’s figurines had been set to the side.

Neros was scrubbed out in thick, black strokes, and the rest of the map, depressingly bare. We had no inkling of where Kronos hid, no knowledge of the monster who attacked Thaldon’s capital, nor had we heard any whisper of Ares’ current location.

“What happened in Neros was a tragedy indeed — but how can we be so certain it is the beginnings of war?” A middle-aged woman with dark, slicked back hair and a severe frown questioned.

“You mean aside from Apollo’s prophecy, the fact that Kronos now roams free, and the unnatural blaze that destroyed an entire city?” Caelus snapped back.

I placed my hand atop his, feeling his ire slowly drain away.

The woman, at least, had the sense to appear taken aback. She fidgeted in her seat, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Apologies, my lord.”

He sighed. “Apologies are unnecessary. We have displaced you by arriving unannounced, bearing grave tidings. You mourn your world and your place in it, and it is not my intention to bludgeon those feelings.”

My brows rose, pleasantly surprised at his answer.

“But I must encourage you to shake these feelings in order to focus on how best we can serve your realm… and how we can save as many of your people as possible.”

“As many of our people as possible,” she quietly corrected.

Touche.

The hint of a smile graced his lips as he inclined his head.

“Demetria, where is your scribe?” Athena asked the woman.

She gestured vaguely across the room. “That designation falls to Sophocles and his students in times of war.”