Page 83 of Blood of Olympus

A gentle movement to her right snagged my attention, and it was Demeter’s green eyes that stared back at me across the space — two shades darker than my own.

If anyone could understand the woman’s pain, it was her.

It was us.

For I knew grief, too. I had danced with it, fought with it, accepted that it was to be my silent companion until I took my last breath — because what was grief but a continuation of the love you bore someone you could no longer reach?

There could be no love without it.

The goddess dipped her head in acknowledgement, gliding over to the woman, the skirts of her long, wheat-coloured peplos trailing behind her. She spoke softly, wrapped a bloodstained arm around the woman’s shoulders, and helped her to her feet.

I watched them go, slowly traversing the unclaimed bodies and crumbled stone. I watched until they disappeared, until the skies faded to night, silently paying tribute to the fallen.

One by one, others joined me — gods, goddesses, mortals, and beasts. No one uttered so much as a word, instead offering up their own silent prayers for the dead.

I knew, because I heard them.

Hades always heard them.

Eventually, though, a sliver of concern pierced our soundless gesture. Caelus’ emotions ached behind my breastbone, and I blinked up at Selene’s moon, realising just how much time had passed since we’d parted in that grimy little tavern.

Clearing my throat, I shifted, searching for Athena. Unsurprisingly, I located her within the crowd of silent witnesses recognising a particularly devastating chapter of history as it was being written.

I wondered how many of these moments the goddess had witnessed in her lifetime.

“Do we know how many fell?” I asked when she joined me.

Hers was a soldier’s stance — feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped at the small of her back — and when she spoke, it was with the forced detachment of someone who had long since mastered the art compartmentalisation.

“One hundred and seventy-eight mortal lives ended today, your grace. Forty-two Athenian warriors, and a hundred and thirty-six innocents before we arrived.”

My lips parted, though no sound slipped out.

“Those numbers, in addition to those lost in Neros, total twelve thousand, six hundred, and twenty-seven who have fallen to Kronos’ army in this war.”

Horror held me in its grip, squeezing the air from my lungs, rooting my feet in place.

“That is too many.”

“It is.”

An icy breeze brushed my cheek, freezing the teardrop that had unknowingly fallen. I pressed a hand to my face, knowing exactly what I’d see when I turned around. Knowing who I would see.

My lip quivered when I spun to face my somber army. There, right at the forefront, was the gentle, dimpled smile of my ghostly shadow.

Charon held my gaze, passing wordless messages across the chasm of life and death that separated us.

You did it.

I’m proud of you.

I’m sorry.

Decades of companionship meant that I could translate every flicker that crossed his face — as he could mine. He knew the sorrow that lingered in my heart, the blame I placed on my own shoulders. And he couldn’t save me from it. No one could.

He sidestepped and held out an arm, gesturing to the crowd of people who were looking to me — waiting for me to say something, do something.

Lifting my chin and inhaling deeply, I spoke.