Page 135 of Crown of Olympus
When I realised why Apollo would appear as such an object, I almost fell apart. I choked on a sob, knowing my face was an open book, judging by the reassuring hand gripping my knee.
The god of sun and healing was deaf. Just as he could not hear the siren’s lure, he could not hear music of any variety. He did not know the magic that songs possessed or even what his own voice sounded like. He lived in endless, isolating silence — only included when someone had the wherewithal to sign what they were saying. And to be unable to heal himself when he could heal all others?
That was a pain that cut deeper than any blade. Knowing that all Apollo could do was give and give, and take nothing for himself — my respect for him reached an all-time high.
Needing a reprieve from my heightened emotions, I turned to Arch, praying his deepest desire was less… well, deep. I was relieved to see, in his place, the sword he had forged during his father’s trial. Callidus — the name Arch had given to his weapon — reflected the dimming sky, the sunset mirrored across its blade.
“You haven’t been able to retrieve Callidus either?” I asked.
The sword did not move, but Arch’s deep voice replied from its general vicinity. “No. I’m worried something went wrong with the forging. I should have been able to call it back by now.”
“Nightbreaker is still missing, too.”
“I’ll keep trying. And I’ll let you know if I manage to retrieve her.”
I nodded my thanks and looked to my left. Aros wore a familiar, pale face. She had soft features twisted into a scowl and looked exactly as I remembered her aboard the rotting ship.
“The nereid,” I said curiously. She grinned, tossing her light-blue hair back flirtatiously.
“She saved me. No offence, Nyssa. As much as I’d love to fuck your brains out?—”
A startled laugh burst from the mortal-shaped Aphrodite and my eyes almost popped out of my skull.
“—or you, Aph,” Aros chuckled knowingly. His nereid-shaped faced slipped into seriousness as he continued, voice low. “But I think you’re spoken for.”
The nereid’s sea-blue eyes flicked across the table briefly before returning to my own.
“I need to know why she saved me,” he explained. His deep voice was jarring coming from her perfect pink lips.
“I’m curious about that too,” I murmured. “Why would she defy the lord of the oceans to save a champion in the trial he designed to break us?”
“Because she knew a competition wasn’t worth the life it was taking,” Caelus replied, finally drawing my attention.
He, too, wore a familiar face — one I wasn’t sure how I felt about seeing in his seat.
Across the table, in a lacy black gown, with pale skin, ebony hair, and piercing green eyes, satme.
My perfect mirror image.
I bit my lip, contemplating the fact thatIwas Caelus’ deepest desire. Despite the hot and cold signals he’d been sending — ravishing me one moment and avoiding me the next — it wasmewho sat in his place.
I opted not to announce that to the table and instead reached for two tiny golden chalices filled with a deep red liquid. I handed one to the nereid version of Aros and hooked his arm with my own.
“Bottom’s up?” he asked with the nereid’s beautiful face. I nodded, and we both downed the sour liquid. With any luck,the new effects would override those of the water-that-wasn’t-water.
I turned back to Aros, relieved to see that he looked like himself again, albeit with a still-enlarged, barely concealed cock.
“Are you feeling okay?” Caelus arched a brow from across the table.
“Fine. I don’t feel any different. That drink tasted like a lemon — but I bet you’d taste much sweeter,” I replied. Both of Caelus’ brows were steadily approaching his hairline.
That was your out-loud voice, godling, Velira warned, smirking in her distinctly serpentine way.
“Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that, but youaredelicious to look at. Kind of like a storm and a sunrise at the same time.”
Out-loud voice again.
“Fuck.”
